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samodivaa · 7 months

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Training Techniques

Winter Soldier x Reader He is not allowed to move an inch—he can only watch you pleasure yourself—but why is there a ring on your finger?

Warnings - smut, light angst, mastrubation(f), rough sex, choking, breeding kink Words - 2600 ⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄ You have absolutely no pleasure in the work in which you sometimes so madly indulge—training the assets with delicacy of words with which their handlers don’t approve of—Soldat is your favorite, with his expression of endless and unconditional gratitude and a silent promise of complicity unto death—he may not remember your face, but he always remembers your voice, its' gentleness. The soporific air of your room, in the soft breath of bread and sweets—he was sent there, because he was misbehaving again.

It has not been in the pursuit of pleasure that you have periled this life and reputation—but here you are—on your bed trying to sleep when you see him sitting on the chair, waiting. And this isn't a romance. You're not a damsel in distress and he is not the handsome prince who comes to save you—this is his desperate attempt to escape from torturing memories, from a sense of insupportable loneliness and a dread of the impending doom, but they didn’t know that.

You know.

He can't stop looking at you—Soldat is gazing at a distant star. It's dazzling, but the light is from tens of thousands of years ago, because he is not allowed to move until you instruct him to.

Subconsciously, he licks his lips at the sight at your body in a night dress and wonder if he will ever just cum in your mouth as you suck him off to your knees…or if he’ll take you by the hair before he’s finished and fuck you into a sobbing heap before blowing his load. It doesn’t seem worth the risk —but he wanted this for so long now, he needs to voice it.

“Please-” —an irrational and indulgent mistake. you stand up on your elbows in shock at the word he utters—his eyes drift leisurely back up to your face and his lips twitch. Soldat has fallen into a state of feverish lust, but that is not a justification for his disobedience. His heart goes into a shameless delirium when your eyes meet. “Desperate?” you mock, but underneath the mockery Soldat finds a reservoir of understanding. You lay back on the bed as nothing has happened, and your voice takes on a restful strength “I still need to punish you for that, Winter” He behaves as naturally, with such discretion, that he does not lose his composure, not even when you remove your wedding ring—who committed the impertinence of marrying you? He goes through a crisis of disappointment, fury, jealousy, but this is your way of giving Soldat a layer of respect—he wants to call it loyalty. And maybe you can be his or maybe you will be entwined in this sexless foreplay tonight.

He wants to ask so many questions, but he can’t. Not now. There is a pent-up curiosity, hysteria of his unsatisfied needs, unnaturally suppressed communion and also a kind of tense respect, because if he is obedient enough—he will be rewarded.

“You will watch me, that's all you will do for now” you say, your voice has sunk to a whisper. Your words stoke a warmness in his stomach, a fire in his crotch. And he doesn’t care what you will do with him—even if you want to cut him, sharpen him however you please—that's all he knows anyways. He wants this memory to stay what it is, one intense moment, something that is strong and sweet enough to stand on its own. Your room has turned into an idyllic paradise for a good many years, your skin glistening in the light coming from the slits in the blinds as your hands play with your breast through the nightgown. He has lost his voice and a thread of cold sweat runs down the path of his spine, suffocating with heat, because of the black leather clothes—the stiff collar and the tight harness that is restricting his breathing, is becoming increasingly annoying.

His eyes are growing moist with indignation, with angry impotence, and for the first time, he is barely controlling himself. It is the natural sequel of an unnatural beginning—he needs to be patient, but it’s hard—not harder than his cock—It's more erotic, more intense to watch you touch yourself. He is master of what he does, but never of what he desires. You are greatly overestimating his self-control. But this is what you are testing tonight—his ability to subordinate the impulse to fuck you. Self-control might be as passionate and as active as the surrender to passion, but you need to show him who is in charge while your panties are becoming steadily slicker. All you need to do is to tell him to come, but you refrain from doing the thing you want so badly—to be consumed by Winter. You glance up to find his eyes blazing with raw need—blue orbits pleading for you to command him. You spread your legs open, positioning yourself in front of him—one hand still toying with your nipple while the fingers of the other hook in your panties and drag them down your legs slowly before throwing them in his direction. His breath stutters as they land on his left boot and Soldat eyes them wickedly, knowing that all he can do is watch.

"Good, very good, Soldat '' you coo, sliding two fingers into your core, scissoring and stretching, curling over the one sweet spot—imagining his metal digits. You remove them as your index finger takes their place, rubbing slow, torturous circles on your clit, sliding down to tease your opening, then back up. Over and over again.

He slides his tongue across his teeth, remembering the taste of your nectar, becoming more and more aroused with every beat of his heart that runs down his shaft.

“I want you so much, gosh” he is stirred by the lust in your smooth voice. You are breathing deep with your mouth wide open—he doesn’t blink, he doesn’t dare blink. Soldat can swear he feels the pressure of your palms on his cheeks—or is it a memory? Everything is a memory to him. “I want you here, fucking me” There is something raw and pleading in your voice that surpasses sexual desire, these fleeting moments of carnal craving.

With the auspicious attention of a strained killing machine, he examines your fingers, your shivering body and listens to your muffled moans meticulously. It is such a tumultuous and intemperate invasion to his mind—your scandalous behavior is pulling at every string of his nerves and self-control.

It is such a prolonged act, so meticulous, so rich in all aspects as you are giving yourself over to the deserved adoration of your own body and pleasure. It leaves Soldat breathless at the tremendous spectacle of your nudity and lack of shame as you bring yourself closer to the edge.

“Jesus-I am so close” You confess, surprised at how fast the arousal is budding. You arch your back and hips buckle like an electric current runs through your body, moaning, rubbing your clit faster, forcing yourself to let out a louder moan. The orgasm wrecks your body from head to toe and being watched by a ferocious male is exciting—all he needs is a feeling as primitive and as simple as that of love.

You see his eyes, still unblinking and you feel menaced by some invisible danger—you are keenly aware of every movement, every breath you take. Lust is a weed that grows in the vacant lots of an abandoned mind and the stacks of bad words that you have been forced to swallow, spills “Soldat, come here” you command, languid and serious.

You lick your lips, trying to quench the thirst for him. Your throat is dry as you watch him between your spread legs, getting up and slowly coming towards the bed as his thick, black pants fall to the floor around his feet, the belt clattering noisily. Winter craws on top of you and he cannot articulate a word, capable only of an animal sound, a strangulated wheeze that shocks him deeply, enraging him, this sudden loss of the faculty of speech that feels somehow bestial and forgotten. He breathes, his chest rising and falling so close to yours.

“Kiss m-” you whisper the words, and before you even finish saying them, his mouth is on yours and you are melting under his lips, eyes flutter shut—and it is blissful oblivion—giving you the most intense and explosive kiss you two have ever shared. With the coldness of his lips and the warmth of his tongue beneath yours, you vow an endless bliss. He pulls back with a groan—Winter’s sky-blue eyes stare back into yours, and in his eyes you can see no parting from you. You put your hands on either side of his face, and the room falls away. You have never gotten so lost in a kiss before. And the kiss is not gentle. It is a wrestle of who would lead the excursion into the territory of passion and ecstasy, heat and unending craving for one another. You suck on his lower lip between your teeth and he lets out a low groan. It sounds almost aggravated and definitely impatient. Fire looks into his quiet eyes, touches his dear, familiar face—you lean upwards for a moment and dip your head towards his ear, grazing his soft skin with your teeth, while your hand slides to the harness. Soldat stills, angling his mouth towards your bare, perfect neck. You feel a warm slickness on your skin, his tongue trailing a path towards your shoulder.

It is a wild, animalistic compulsion, an urgent need as he suddenly slots himself between your legs and you turn your head away. Your fear is returning, crawling through your limbs and leaving you numb to everything. You shut your eyes, gripping the sheets, and whimper when he pushes himself inside you. He releases a ragged breath before moving, slow but with purpose, and you simply take it with soft whimpers and gasps as he pumps in and out of you, now starting to set a steady pace. His eyes, the blue completely gone from his them, soften for a moment and he kisses you tenderly before he whispers in your ear, his breath puffs against your skin. He spends a good amount of time on your neck, a brief stop at the base of your throat—he wants to bite you, but he can’t—something melts inside Soldat that hurts in an exquisite way—you are not his. “Who did you marry, Snow White?” He asks, voice throbbing with menace—before slipping inside you again and burying himself to the hilt. Sex with you this time is different, he has never felt this dominant, this claiming. He is so far in that his balls are right against your lips. You arch your back and moan “It doesn’t matter” as he slides back out nearly all the way before slamming into you hard and fast. You wrap your legs around his waist as he slams into you over and over, the only sound in the room is the skin slapping. You close your eyes and swallow. Your mouth parts and stills—your voice is barely a whisper as his tip touches your cervix. “Pierce…I am closer to ruining his plans, closer to freeing you” Despite your eyelids being tightly shut, a single, hot tear runs out of your eye. You are so angry that it has escaped—so angry—he stops his trusts completely. You moan as you feel his movement out of you. Then, as he almost has the tip fully out, he slaps it back in. When your eyes meet his gaze as you are sitting here staring at each other, time stops. Your fingertips reach to trace the metal shoulder, but he grasps your hand with his own. He leans down, far enough that the ends of his hair brush feather-light against your face, catching in your lashes and tears.

His breath, warm and measured, hits your cheek. Two breaths. Three. Then you stop breathing, and a second later, you feel his lips on your mouth. It is hungry, desperate. His metal hand wraps around your neck, thumb presses into the skin—you moan, it ripples over your nerve endings. His breath caresses your ear again—his grip on your neck tightens. And this makes you always still and submit…the act of Winter taking shameful, contemptuous possession of you is the kind of rapture you want.

“Next time-” you try, but with your restricted of oxygen brain, you are not able to. He tastes passion. He tastes lust. He tastes his power over you. He tastes a world of stimulants he’d never imagined. You are right there in front of him, he can do whatever he wants. Winter loosens his hold—only to observe you as you breathe raggedly, sliding down slowly, a moan ripping from your throat.

“Next time he calls you in his house, I will be there, too”

I have nothing to give but my heart so full and these empty hands.

“I need to kill them one by one, Winter” His mouth curves into a smile—his eyes are light blue and dancing with life. He pauses for only a fraction of a second. Then he leans forward and presses his lips to yours "Okay, yeah, yeah" a devil-soft whisper. He blinks several times like he is trying to comprehend your plan word by word. His trusts become so hormonal—you want his roughness. His other hand slips to your waist, pushing you into the mattress as he fucks you. For him, sex intimately relates to the most primitive kind of human contact, which can satisfy all of his needs he has been deprived from. "Winter " you gaspe breathlessly "Slow down" You try to let out a choked squeal, but his metal hand tightens around your neck again, muffling any sounds, your toes curling as he brings you steadily closer and closer to orgasm, reeling from the thrill and the fear from both his forceful thrusts of his powerful hips and the choking. Soldat is unrelenting in his domination of your body. But you are his at this moment, your cunt clenching around him while you mewls and grunts fill his ears, he can’t slow down even one bit. Logic would say that this is insane, every other fibre of his being says it's right—he has to fill you up. You can't move. You can't breathe. And his pace. And the adrenaline. “I will cum inside—dear Snow White” This is his demarcation line, all of a sudden it seems unfair to withhold it from you. Your inner muscles tighten as waves of pleasure start to build and ripple out. You don’t normally get off this fast, but you are lost in the exquisite sensations—you put your hands on his metal arm as your body bursts into flames, your fingers curling into the metal. You can’t make a sound and it is a shame, because it is the best orgasm you ever had. It is unbearable, unreal, unimaginable—it is too much as your eyes can only see darkness due to the choking. You can only hear a broken and hoarse cry escaping his lips, his warm come filling you up completely.

You can hear his breath, as your vision slowly becomes solid—a stray lock of dark hair falls into his eyes as he is looking down—he moves his hips back and then into you again, enjoying his cock being in a tub of cum, swimming in your honey.

#I WAS POSSESSED #but this is real #metal arm kink fr #winter soldier x you #winter soldier smut #winter soldier imagine #winter soldier x reader #winter soldier fic #winter soldier fanfiction #smut #slight angst #bucky smut #bucky barnes smut #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #marvel x reader #bucky barnes imagine

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pullhisteeth · 6 months

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worry lines | eddie munson

requested here -`♡´- your ex turns up and Eddie gets jealous. idiots in love! 4.7k

cw !!! for a borderline abusive (ex-)boyfriend. 18+ please and thank you x

contains hurt/comfort, fluff, jealous!Eddie, fem!reader, conflict, shitty ex-boyfriend. everyone’s in their early 20s

He was cruel, Eddie knows that much. Cruel enough that it took weeks and lots of gentle handling to coax it out of you.

You were a shell of yourself until you weren’t. Eddie doesn’t know the details, because who would he be to make you relive it if you didn’t want to? But he knows enough to sear a tar-black scorch mark in his gut, a branding, a fury reserved only for him.

And he’s perhaps a little oblivious to it, but Eddie’s patience never went unnoticed by you. The two of you might be like parallel lines - apparently doomed to just miss one another forever - but you’re still filled to the brim with giddy love for him. The fact he stuck around through it all only adds fuel to the fire. Something unruly burns behind your eyes every time you think about him.

“What about this one?”

You hold up a record and show him the front while you peer at the back. Eddie looks up from the stack he’s been flipping through for the past three minutes.

“Garbage,” he mutters, eyes back on his busy fingers.

“What?!” you exclaim, mouth wide and attempting to hide a grin. You’re fighting him for fun, really; you’re already putting the record back where you found it. “It came out, like, a month ago! How’ve you heard it already?”

“Gareth’s mom got it for him for his birthday,” he tells you without looking at you, side stepping only slightly to move onto the next box of albums. He’s close enough now that you could lean over and bump his shoulder with your own. You don’t.

You sigh, though it’s bright with amusement. You go back to your own shelf, eyeing up the scarce new releases stock that Trax only manages to update every few months.

“No shit,” you whisper, grabbing with greedy hands at the record you’ve spotted. You catch Eddie’s attention, his own hands stopping as he looks over. “I’ve been looking for this everywhere!”

He smiles, not because he likes the album - it’s The Cure, and they’re far too British, even for him - but because he likes your smile. Sometimes you make a face, with your mouth twisted to the right, because you’re holding it back. You told him once that you don’t like your smile very much, that it’s too wide, too toothy. He couldn’t disagree more, and when he catches you in these moments, the ones just before you realise you’re grinning and close your mouth, he cherishes it.

“You want it?” he asks, tone nothing but genuine.

“Fuck off, Eds,” you say anyway, still smiling. He’s lapping it up. “I can buy it myself now, don’t need your filthy drug money.”

He elbows you softly with an expression of faux offence. “Hey, y’didn’t mind my filthy money all those times it got you food at Benny’s.”

This makes you giggle, and Eddie is on cloud nine.

You tear your eyes away from the cover to meet his and he damn near keels over; it’s like a mallet on his temple, a slap across the cheek. He could look at your eyes forever and it’d never not hurt.

“Can I buy you one?” you ask him, adding “please?” when he gives you a look like he’s about to tell you no.

“Absolutely not,” he says, still grinning.

“But you’ve bought me so many!” You’re closer now, toe to toe with him, beaming back at him and gripping the record between clenched fingers. “I make my own money now. Consider it me payin’ you back, or at least starting to.”

“You don’t have to pay me back,” he mutters, “I like buyin’ you records. At least it meant you listened to somethin’ other than this shit.” He bumps the bottom of the cardboard sleeve with his fist.

“Hey,” you bite, pulling it out of his reach. “I like The Cure.”

“I know y’do, that’s the problem.”

You look at him for a beat, one so brief he only just gets a chance to take in your pensive face - adorable - before you scrunch your eyes and stick your tongue out at him.

“Suit yourself,” you say, turning on your heels and marching down the aisle, heading for the cash register.

He watches you cross the store, the way your walk shifts from comical to confident. This walk is familiar to him; it’s your I’m-nervous-because-I’m-in-public walk.

His eyes are still on you when you take your change from the girl behind the desk. He watches you pocket it, and catches your self-satisfied smile as you turn. And then he watches as it falters, and your face drains of colour, and he feels himself walking over to you before he has time to think about it.

You’re looking at the door, where the bell’s just chimed, and the bottom of your stomach’s fallen away. Heart in your throat, you stare blankly at the man who just walked in.

“Oh, hey,” he says, though he may as well be on the other side of the glass for the way he sounds so distant. He shakes snow off his hair and you feel the ghost of it between your fingers. “Fancy seein’ you here.”

You feel Eddie before you can muster up a response. He stands behind you, just close enough that, if you wanted to, you could reach behind and take his hand.

“Hey,” he says lowly, just by your ear, words for you alone. “Who’s this?”

There’s something simmering in his voice, something defensive. He knows.

“Uh, hi,” you squeak, fingers clutching the plastic bag you’re holding to keep them from shaking. “Hi- uh, Eds, this is, uh-”

“Tom,” the man says, sticking a gloved hand out to Eddie. You feel him shift slowly behind you; his eyes move between the back of your head and the man in front of you a few times before he returns the gesture.

He’s handsome, Eddie thinks. Better looking than he is, anyway. Cleaner, softer; none of the hard edges Eddie harbours that he doesn’t know you think are soft as anything.

“We used to go out,” you say quickly, before Tom tries to explain it himself and makes you feel smaller than you already do. You hope Eddie gets the hint.

He does. The burning in his gut flares and his hands clench into fists without him meaning them to.

“Eddie,” he states, sharp and blunt.

��We were just, uh- We’re headed out,” you say, and the way you’ve come over all nervous and quiet is almost enough to make Eddie’s heart split right down the middle. He hovers a hand over the small of your back and steps around you, around Tom, until you follow him.

“Well, see you around,” he says as the bell chimes again and Eddie damn near pulls you out into the snow.

The cold, damp flakes that land on your flushed cheeks are a sweet relief. So are Eddie’s hands, which wrap around yours to take the bag from you. He doesn’t miss how they shake.

“Fuck,” you breathe. The air escapes your lungs and doesn’t return for a second, long enough that you have to think to inhale. Eddie looks you over, desperate to pat you, fawn over you, kiss the snowflake off the bridge of your nose.

He opts for something safer. “You alright?”

The busy Indianapolis sidewalk doesn’t allow for too much fussing, and you’re quietly grateful for the bustling Saturday afternoon crowd pushing the two of you along and away from Trax.

“Yeah, yeah,” you say, breathless again, trudging through stomped-over snow. “Just took me by surprise.”

“Yeah, no shit. When’d you last see him?”

“When I picked up my stuff from his place.”

“Shit.”

You walk aimlessly around the corner, until Eddie begins to lead the way. Wordlessly you follow him for six blocks, and think to yourself that maybe he’s getting you as far away as he can.

He knows a coffee place, apparently, one so much better than any of the ones around Trax that you know are just as good. He ushers you into the warmth and buys three pastries - one each and one to share - and you eat until you’re not thinking about Tom anymore.

Robin sidles into the booth beside you, the familiar shape of her slotting into your side without care. She nudges her hip into yours, a wordless signal for you to move around and make more space.

The six of you squeeze around the tiny table as Eddie and Steve place drinks down across it. Pints of beer, far too big glasses of wine and six sickly coloured shots decorate it and all of a sudden you’re counting to five and banging a tiny glass on the varnished wood.

It tastes of sour apple and coats your lips with a shiny, sugary lacquer. Eddie sits opposite you harbouring a fiery urge to lean over and kiss you clean.

You grin at him, missing the flicker of affection in his tipsy eyes, and lean into Robin, who takes a swig from one of the pint glasses.

“Rob!” Steve shouts, reaching over and grasping at the glass. “You asshole, that’s mine-”

“What’s yours is mine, dingus,” she slurs, her dopey smile met not by something frosty but by Steve’s own grin. The tenderness inside your stomach is just as sickly as the shot; you’re drunk on sugary liquor and an unbridled love for your friends.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

The bickering stops as Eddie raises his glass from the table.

“A toast,” he says, “to the newly-weds.”

You grasp your own pint and raise it too, along with everyone else, as Nancy and Jonathan beam back at you. They’re the picture of happiness, her rosy cheeks blooming from joy and champagne, his smile so wide you’re scared he might split in two. Nancy’s so pretty in a simple, short dress, Mrs Wheeler’s pearls around her neck, and Jonathan looks so smart in his suit, fresh from the dry cleaners courtesy of Joyce. A long day of family celebrations ends here, in this bar on the east end of Indianapolis, four walls that have seen the six of you grow up and into yourselves.

Nancy and Jonathan thank everybody, and Steve disappears without a single one of you noticing, reappearing with a new round of shots. Robin takes your hand in hers and squeezes, which tells you that she’s putting off crying. You’ve already covered the shoulder of her new shirt in tears. Happy tears.

If some benevolent force happened to be looking down and caught a glimpse of your happy little table, they’d find that your mind and Eddie’s look very much alike right now. Dizzy daydreams of a future neither of you are confident in, that neither of you think the other would ever even dare to consider.

The distant call of your name pulls you up off Robin’s shoulder. You hear it again, and the voice it’s called in sends your blood running cold. Regardless it beckons you and you turn to look, seeing him approaching like a fucking stalking lion.

“Oh,” you breathe, “hi.”

His unwelcome hands spread over the back of the booth, his fingers brushing the back of your neck. You bristle.

He grins down at you and then looks up and around at everybody else. “Hey, guys. I guess these are your friends?”

All you can do is look up at him. Eddie can see you recoiling and his stomach churns.

“Oh, hi again,” Tom says, spotting Eddie. This is your nightmare situation, frankly, and you’re afraid of where Tom might take it.

“Hey, man,” Steve says. His words are lopsided because he’s three pints and four shots in and too giddy to recognise this for what it is.

“Steve, right?” Tom asks. His knuckles whiten as he grips harder.

“Mm-hm,” Steve hums, leaning just enough to the left that Eddie has to push him upright. In the brief moment he’s preoccupied with his untrustworthy friend, he doesn’t see the way Tom dips his head to meet yours, or the attempt at a kiss on the cheek that you dodge, or even the quick words whispered in your ear. He does see you flush, your face, already warmed by wine, becoming even brighter. Before he can ask what’s happening, Robin’s scooting out to let you stand, and Tom’s hand’s on your waist and you’re off to the bar together.

Nancy shifts uncomfortably beside Jonathan, her hands on the table. “Is that…”

“Yeah,” Eddie says.

“Fuck,” Jonathan breathes.

“No way,” Robin barks, almost loud enough for Eddie to chastise her; you’re only twenty feet away.

Despite the stretch of time separating this moment from your last one with him, Tom’s hands haven’t become any less curious. They paw at you, never settling but instead trying each possessive spot he loved to frequent before you left him. Your waist was his favourite, but you’ve felt the unwelcome impression of his palm on each arm, your shoulder, the small of your back, and when he goes for your hip you twist just enough that he’s forced to drop it.

He’s telling you about his promotion. When you left, he’d been clamouring for it, doing everything he’d once confessed to hating: sucking up to his boss, shmoozing, working late. It pays well, apparently; well enough that he’s got his own place. It’s a five minute cab ride away. Want to come see it?

“Why would I want to do that?” you ask him, emboldened by the fiery rage his wandering hands are reigniting within you.

“Oh, c’mon,” he says, cooing your name with a sincerity so false that you taste the saccharine flavour of it on your gums, “you’re not telling me you haven’t missed me, huh?”

“No,” you tell him honestly, “I haven’t.”

“What, you with that metalhead or something?”

“Eddie is just a friend”, you bite.

“Yeah, right,” Tom scoffs, slamming his glass on the bar. He’s leaning closer, crowding you, and there are too many people behind him and all of a sudden you’ve lost sight of your table. “Knew I was right to put a stop to that.”

“Fuck you, Tom,” you spit, trying desperately to wriggle free. “I want to get back to my friends now, please.”

“Had his fuckin’ hands all over you the other day,” he continues, ignoring you. “Bet he tried it on when we were together, didn’t he?”

“No, he- Fuck, Tom, will you please just let me out-”

Eddie catches glimpses of you between passing bodies. He sees the way Tom’s crowding you and how you’re squirming and, honestly, he wants to walk into the sea.

Tom was never introduced to your friends. It was mostly his own choice, but Eddie and Robin and everyone else saw it for what it was. You just managed to get out before he cut you off from them all completely.

Now, in the low light of the bar, he’s not so certain that you’re done with him. Sure, you seemed unnerved when you bumped into him at the record store, but he begins to wonder if maybe you’d just been caught off guard, and if you’d thought about him since then. Had you called him?

“Hey,” Robin mutters, leaning over the table to Eddie with her eyes on you, “I think- I don’t know, she looks annoyed.”

Finally, there’s a gap in the crowd, and he sees it too. The pinch of your brow, and the squirming that isn’t squirming. You’re scared.

He stands so quickly that his head spins. He sees Nancy in his peripheral vision standing too, though she’s penned in by Jonathan and Steve. Eddie’s heavy footsteps take too long, he’s too slow; Tom’s hand is around your arm and he’s leaving, taking you with him, willingly or not.

He follows the silhouette of Tom, dark against the brash streetlamp light coming in through the glass doors. He can see the top of your head and feels himself pulled to you like a fish on a line.

He catches up just as Tom pushes the door open and stumbles into the snow, blinded by the fluorescent bulb in the lamp above. You feel the inebriation seep out of you with every second spent in the cold, your bare arms covered in goosebumps.

“Tom, what the fuck?” you spit, finally separating yourself from him. You feel the burn left by his tough grip on your upper arm. He’s still close, close enough that he can take your head in one firm hand.

“Just wanted to see your pretty face,” he says, his voice suddenly softer, his breath too hot on your face, “couldn’t see you properly in-”

“Hey.”

You turn just as Tom does to find Eddie in the doorway. His fists are clenched again and so is his jaw; you know him well enough to see your own anger reflected back at you.

“You okay?” he asks, looking at you, tender as always and it does something to dampen the fiery rage you’re keeping at bay. You nod as Tom drops his hand and scoffs.

“See,” he spits, “loverboy won’t leave you the fuck alone.”

You take three steps back. Eddie comes closer.

“Go home,” he says to Tom as you reach out and take his fist into both hands. He relaxes, and you wind your fingers together.

“Oh, c’mon,” Tom says, “you can’t be serious? Look at him, babe, he’s…”

“Can we go back in?” you whisper to Eddie, whose stern face is beginning to worry you. He says nothing but tugs on your hand and, to your relief, Tom seems to back away around the corner as you retreat indoors.

The door shuts and Eddie turns, but before he can say anything you throw your arms around him and push your face into his neck. He’s startled, but not so much that he can’t return it, his own arms around your back, the pressure a welcome thing.

“Hey,” he coos, “are you sure you’re okay?”

“Thank you,” you say, muffled by his shirt. “Thank you.”

He pulls back, too worried to care to hug you any longer. Instead he lets himself fuss over you, a tentative hand at your jaw as he looks you in the eye.

“I’m okay,” you finally say, sighing. “I hate him.”

Eddie can’t help but laugh. “I do too.”

“Thank you for not hitting him,” you murmur.

His fingers hover by your ear and just as you think he’s going to touch you, he lowers his hand.

“It’s okay,” he says. “I knew you’d hate that.”

He takes your hand again, a gesture which sends both of you independently loopy, and returns with you to the table, where Nancy nearly falls over Robin to get to you. As you reassure her and take your seat again, sandwiched between the two girls, Eddie takes a long swig of beer.

“Hey,” Steve slurs, leaning over to you. “Did y’know Eddie’s ears go red when he’s jealous?”

You look back at him with wide eyes as Eddie gives him a swift thwack to the arm, telling him to fuck off.

“It’s true!” Steve assures you. “I saw it with my own eyes! Like, five minutes ago, I-”

He’s stopped by more of Eddie’s playful hitting.

Quietly, just to you, Nancy says, “It’s true.”

You turn to look at her. She’s got that sparkle in her eye. It appears when she’s got a plan, or an idea, or knows something.

“For a minute, it looked like you were enjoying it,” she continues. “I bet he could’ve burned this place to the ground with how jealous he was getting.”

She nods to her left, where Eddie is dealing with a still restless Steve. He senses you looking and meets your eye, and the pretty pink blush that covers his cheeks is enough to make you look away.

The coffee machine pings just as the doorbell goes.

You jump, startled by both noises. Leaving the coffee to stew you pad through the apartment and open the door slowly, making sure to hide behind it to save the postman seeing you in your pyjama shorts.

When you pull it back, you’re surprised by the sight of your best friend, standing at your door in his own pyjamas.

“Morning,” he says, chuckling lowly.

“What are you doing here?” you ask as you let him inside. “Did you- Did you walk here in that?”

“God no,” he says, “have you seen it out there?”

Truthfully, you haven’t dared pull the curtains back yet. “No,” you admit, locking the door again and wishing you’d had the sense even in your drunken stupor to put your good pyjamas on. You pat the front of the crinkled cotton at the top of your thighs, smoothing it down to no avail.

“There’s coffee in the kitchen,” you tell him as you step over to the living room window and pull back the blind to reveal what can only be described as a blizzard.

Eddie comes in behind you with two steaming mugs. “Slept on Steve’s fucking couch,” he says, laughing again. “Dimwit couldn’t get himself into bed and then the weather got too bad for me to get a cab home.”

Steve lives two floors above you, in an apartment much the same as your own. His couch is small. Eddie’s back must hurt.

“How is he?”

“Steve?”

“Hm.”

“He’ll be fine,” Eddie sighs, throwing himself onto your couch and kicking his feet up, socked toes just missing the side of your bare thigh. “Probably regrets the fourth round of shots, but at least he had fun.”

“Did you have fun?” you ask softly.

“Yeah, I mean- Of course.” He reaches over to pick up your coffee and leans over to pass it to you. “Didn’t you?”

You take it from him and sit back, sighing. “Yeah, yeah, just…”

Your throat is suddenly too thick to drink the coffee. You stare at it, the deep mahogany liquid pouring steam into the tepid room.

“How does he still manage to ruin everything?” you ask, the question more an abstract frustration than anything aimed directly at Eddie.

He stiffens on the other end of the couch. He knows you don’t mean Steve, that your mind is elsewhere, on the impatient hands that couldn’t keep themselves from pressing painfully into your arm or the coddling of his hot breath on your face out in the snow.

“Hey,” Eddie coos, softening when he notices your hands shaking. He takes the mug, his own hands gentle on you to save from startling you, and replaces it on the table. “Here, c’mere-”

You lean into him, pushing your face into the softness of Steve’s sweater that he’s wearing. You keep apologising - variations of I’m sorry spat out between quiet sobs - and he keeps telling you it’s okay. One hand holds your elbow while the other smooths up and down your back, his cheek pressed to the top of your head.

“Thank you for saving me,” you say, and he exhales when he hears the smile in your words.

“Y’don’t have to thank me again,” he says. You lean back and the two of you sit as mirror images of one another, one knee up on the couch and the other foot on the floor. You wipe your eye with the back of your wrist. Eddie yearns to knock your hand away and do it himself, to clean you up and kiss you when he’s done. He keeps his hands to himself instead.

“I dunno what I’d have done,” you whisper, “I mean, I don’t think he’d have done anything, but I still don’t wanna think about it.”

“I don’t either,” Eddie agrees before he can stop himself.

You look at him. There are deepening shadows beneath his eyes that you’re sure the couch is to blame for, and his hair’s unruly, matted from what you can only imagine was an useless night’s sleep, but your favourite thing - the mellow brown of his eyes - is just as pretty as ever. So’s his skin, pale and imperfect where he’s inked the left side of his neck and you can see the very top of the scar that stretches over his collarbone. He broke it when you were both ten, and he still teases you about how quick you were to run from him when you saw the bone and the broken flesh. You’re desperate to know if it’d be warm under your fingertips, your lips, your tongue.

“Do your ears really get red when you’re jealous?” you ask him. You see him stiffen at the question, his eyes narrowing just so, as his hands flex over his knees.

“Steve’s an asshole,” Eddie says.

“I know-”

“But yeah,” he says, the corner of his mouth breaking loose into a smile, “He’s right. It’s stupid.”

You kick his foot with your own softly and laugh.

“Why were you jealous?”

“Oh, seriously?”

“Yes! Why were you jealous?!” you repeat, grinning.

“You’re really gonna make me say it?”

“Yes.”

He sighs, all dramatic and silly and you laugh until his restless hand lands on your knee instead of his own.

“I thought you were glad to see him,” he admits.

“I don’t know how you got that impression,” you say. You’re trying to ignore the soft rumbling in your chest, lest it take your breath away.

“Dunno,” he says, and suddenly he reminds you of sixteen-year-old Eddie, awkward and goofy, the boy you fell for.

“Well,” you say, “I’m very glad you came to my rescue.”

“I didn’t rescue you, you’re perfectly capable of doing that yourself,” he says, laughing. His knee knocks yours and his fingers spread until the tips of them are meeting the middle of your thigh.

“Still, it was a nice thing to do.”

He hums and you inhale as you place your hand on his. He looks up at you and the contact seems to provide some courage.

He says your name, and it’s softer than ever in the quiet of your living room. As far as the two of you are aware, there’s nothing beyond here; no blizzard, no hungover Steve two floors up, no shitty ex-boyfriends. Just you and Eddie and the string of starlight pulling you together.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks in a whisper, leaning in, already resting more weight on the hand on your thigh. Somehow, it feels like the most natural question in the world.

You nod. “Yeah, please.”

He closes the gap with his forehead to yours, tilting his head enough that his nose slots beside yours as he kisses you. You expected a peck, something nervous, but that’s impossible when there’s a decade of want behind it. He’s firm and certain as his hands finally take grateful handfuls of your hips, and your mouth burns as you kiss him back. He worries he’s being too handsy, especially after last night, but when you feel him retreating you take his larger hands in yours and keep them there.

This morning, as his tongue moves past yours, Eddie tastes like spearmint, coffee and tobacco. You miss the taste as soon as his lips paint tender kisses at the corner of your mouth and over the hill of your jaw, but you keen at the sensation anyway, arching into him.

“This okay?” he asks in a pant, pulling back and hiding a smile as he hears you whine.

“Yeah,” you breathe. You use shaky fingers to push curls back so you can see his face and, holding him in both hands, kiss the swell of his cheek followed by the other. “Thank you.”

“Stop thanking me,” he says, chuckling.

“What do we do now?” you ask him.

He looks back at you, feeling more whole than ever, and notices the creeping worry lines between your brows. Pushing against your hold, he leans forward and kisses you there. The satisfaction of feeling you relax is enough to keep him going for a thousand years.

“Well,” he whispers, and his breath isn’t too hot like Tom’s. It’s warm and friendly where it blooms over your closed eyes. “Go take care of Steve, probably.”

“Kiss me again?”

He does, wordlessly, softer than before, once on your mouth and another on your forehead. You wind your arms around his back, and with cheek resting on the top of your head, he says those fateful words into your hair:

“Love you.”

You squeeze without thinking, smiling into his chest.

“Love you too.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #stranger things #eddie stranger things #eddie x reader #eddie munson x you #stranger things 4 #stranger things fanfiction #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x y/n #eddie imagine #eddie fanfic #eddie fic #eddie #eddie munson angst #stranger things au

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hogwartslegacyreactions2 · 19 days

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Hey, I'm pretty sure that this was asked before, but I can't find the post.

What if MC died in the repository instead of professor Fig?

(I'm sorry, but I'm in an angsty mood)

I love your posts, and thanks

A/N: I do have vague recollection of answering a similar prompt once upon a time, but nothing wrong with a reprisal!

HLC REACT TO MC DYING IN THE REPOSITORY

WARNING: angst, death, grief

Dark ancient magic flew violently through the air around MC. The whirlwind of human agony consumed them as they released silver blue light from their wand. The magic thrashed and roared as MC expelled more and more effort to contain the chaos. Cracks started to form along the length of their wand.

Time slowed for them. MC could see Fig's silhouette just beyond the veil. The hundreds of young souls above them weighed heavy on their conscience. If they can't do this, everyone will die. They had to use all of it.

MC closed their eyes and whispered their goodbye. A light even brighter than the one from their wand emerged from their chest. The ancient magic within them burst forth with the fury of dragonfire. The silver light merged with the darkness, and as quickly as it had appeared, the magic vanished.

MC was gone. Their broken wand was all that remained.

SEBASTIAN SALLOW: He has officially lost everything. After losing his uncle, Anne, Ominis, and MC all at once, he's cracking. They can't be gone. Not them. They were too powerful to just vanish. He just has to find them. Yes. That's what he needs to do. He leaves Hogwarts. He MUST find them. Then Anne will see. Then Ominis will know. What he did was worth it.

OMINIS GAUNT: He rarely speaks anymore. The silence in his life has become so oppressive it took his own voice. The good life he thought he had was nice while it lasted, but now it's all come apart. It's only a matter of time before he loses Anne too, and when that happens...he doesn't know what he's going to do with himself.

ANNE SALLOW: She doesn't know how to feel about MC's death. On the one hand, they were trying to be a good friend to her and her brother but on the other...they also enabled Sebastian in his treachery. She's so very tired of the pain. She just wants to go to sleep.

IMELDA REYES: Well, damn. Mc was the closest thing to a friend she had in years. Someone competitive but friendly and fun to have around. They could dish out as much sass as she could, and she respected them for it. She cries a little at the end of year feast.

NATSAI ONAI: She should have been there. She could've done something! Why didn't they tell her!? She would've had their back! She....she...she breaks down into sobs so intense, even her mother can't comfort her. Her best friend was dead. Her heart was shattered and it would never be whole again without MC.

GARRETH WEASLEY: What? No. Nonono. Not them. That's impossible. They couldn't be dead. They're too strong to be.... He's in denial all the way until the MC's memorial service at the end of year feast. Then he breaks down. A bit of his fire died with MC.

LEANDER PREWETT: He wasn't super close to them, but he was still quite fond of them. They were a real friend. He hopes they're at peace and raises a goblet in their honor.

AMIT THAKKAR: He feels cold and numb all at once when he hears the news that MC died in the attack. He'd grown to care about them. He cursed himself for not spending more time with them when they were around.

EVERETT CLOPTON: He and MC didn't talk much outside of flying class but he had liked them. It was a shame he didn't get to know them more. He doesn't feel like eating when the feast is presented.

POPPY SWEETING: She hadn't cried this much since she left her parents. She finally made a friend, and just like that, they were gone. She doesn't know if she could make another friend again if she wanted to. Was she just doomed to lose every human connection she made?

ELEAZAR FIG: He wholeheartedly and inconsolably blames himself. Even if this fate couldn't be avoided, why did they have to die so young? He can't stand to hear the words "ancient" and "magic" in the same sentence at the same time anymore. It sends him into a dissociative trauma spiral.

He finds MC's wand. It's snapped in the middle with bits of wood frayed outward like the very core of the wand exploded. The two pieces are held together by the slightest sliver of wood.

He retires from teaching at Hogwarts. He doesn't trust himself with the care of students anymore. He doesn't trust his own judgment. He's tortured every night by the survivor's guilt taunting him that he should have done more. He should have protected them. He shouldn't have let them go as far as they did. They weren't ready. They couldn't handle the power they were forced to control. It takes everything in him to not attempt to destroy the map room with the portraits of the Keepers. He just leaves.

But every once in a while... On quiet moonless nights.... When he sees MC's wand displayed with Miriam's, he hears a whisper. A quiet breathy whisper that he could swear on his life sounds like MC. He chalks it up to the fact that he could be going mad from grief, but it's still strikes him as strange... If he looked at the wand hard enough... He could swear he sees a blue glow...

#hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy reactions #sebastian sallow #ominis gaunt #anne sallow #imelda reyes #natsai onai #garreth weasley #leander prewett #amit thakkar #everett clopton #poppy sweeting #tw death #tw grief #angst

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sapphire-writes · 1 year

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Hi! Could I request Aegon Targaryen x reader

Yn is his sister wife and Helena’s twin and she see vision and also dreamy like her twin but more self aware. And she saw when Aemond got his eye cut out and when Deamon and Rhaenyra had s*x after Laena’s funeral. So during the last supper (Also If you could can you add Rhaenys to the dinner) after Helena’s toast yn makes her toast and she tells everyone the truth on what happened the night Aemond lost his eye and tells them what she saw Rhaenyra and Daemon doing and just goes off on them. Then the kids reaction to the Rhae and daemon is disgust and anger on how they would do that to there mother. You could add or just adjusted to your liking. Thank you. X

The Dreamer's Toast

pairing: Aegon x Sister!Wife!Reader word count: 0.6k warnings: reader is Aegon's sister wife, language note: Hope you enjoy 💚 masterlist

“I should like to make a toast,” you said, rising from the table, goblet held up towards the air. You could not help yourself at the sight of your half-sister Rheanyra sitting next to Daemon. Princess Rhaenys sat to your right, glancing at you as you stood. It was the first time you spoke all evening.

Your sister Helaena gazed up at you, sensing her twin’s fury. You sisters were quite alike. Both of you dreamers, doomed to be underestimated by the members of your family.

But not tonight.

You could no longer hold in the secret you kept since that fateful night on Driftmark. When you dreamt of your sweet half-sister Rhaenyra during the night, watching as she kissed and caressed Daemon Targaryen. The dream was ripped from your mind as your vision filled with blood, and you had awoken screaming.

“A toast to my sister, Rhaenyra,” you say, giving her a tight smile, “and her new husband, Daemon.”

Daemon’s eyes meet yours.

Say it. He had said in the throne room before slicing Vaemond Velaryon’s head from his shoulders. Would he do the same to you?

“That is one thing about my sister,” you continue, “ever the devoted lover. Even when her kin’s blood spills to the floor.”

“Y/N-” your mother Alicent hisses, but you ignore her.

“Did you feel it in your bones, sister?” you seethe, knuckles turning white as you grip the glass, “when our brother lost an eye. When your son maimed him?”

Aegon giggles from his seat, eyes wide at the sight before him. He feels sometimes that he is the only one who truly sees the fire within you. Aemond’s eye watches you carefully. The only one who demands justice on his behalf besides your mother.

“I did,” you continue, words coming out more in a growl, “I felt our brother’s pain, while you were too drunk on your uncle’s cock.”

The room is deathly silent.

“What?”

Baela is the first to speak. Her eyebrows knit together as she looks at Daemon and Rhaenyra.

“Is it true?” Baela demands. Rhaenyra opens her mouth to speak, but Baela continues.

“Our mother was barely laid to rest. Your wife,” she snaps, head turning to her father. Daemon’s glare is murderous and aimed directly at you.

You tilt your chin, bringing your cup to your lips. Alicent stands.

“Cousin-” Rhaenyra says, looking towards Rhaenys. Princess Rhaenys scoffs, holding her hand out to silence Rhaenyra.

“Y/N, why would you say such things in front of all these people?” she whispers, cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

“She was merely defending her family mother,” Aemond says, immediately coming to your aid.

“Speaking the truth,” Rhaenys says, rising from her chair. She glares at Rhaenyra.

“All this time, I have stood by you,” she seethes, “both of you.”

Daemon has not removed his eyes from you. You do not waver under his stare.

“My children deserved better,” Rhaenys said, “as do my grandchildren.”

She moves to put her hands on Baela and Rhaena’s shoulders.

“The girls shall return with me to Driftmark,” Rhaenys says. Jace and Luke are sitting silently, in utter disbelief, their faces painted.

Rhaenrya looks at you, eyes full of tears.

“Why?” she spits.

“You think of no one but yourself,” you hiss at her, “mother was right about you. Everyone around you is trampled under your pretty foot.”

Alicent glances at Rhaenyra, a pained expression on her face.

“I am done being stepped on,” you tell her, eyes moving to Daemon. The Rogue Prince sits silently, most likely planning your demise.

“Well done, my wife,” Aegon says, rising from his chair. He clinks his goblet against yours giving you a loving smile, as though blissfully unaware of the tension in the room.

“A marvelous toast.”

#aegon imagine #aegon x reader #aegon ii fanfic #aegon ii x reader #aegon ii #aegon ii x you #aegon ii targaryen #aegon ii fic #aegon ii targaryen x y/n #aegon ii targaryen x reader #aegon ii targaryen x you #aegon targaryen x you #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen imagine #aegon targaryen

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pocketjoong · 6 months

Text

☾₊‧⁺˖⋆noctem⋆˖⁺‧₊☽ 〘act 1, chapter 1〙

〘Synopsis〙『Your hatred of dragons is a hate born of witnessing their flames consume your village, leaving nothing but destruction in their wake. The worst of all is the beast that haunts your dreams, the very dragon whose memory fuels a burning desire for revenge within you. But life has a way of unsettling even the most steadfast convictions. And when you stumble upon a truth that shatters the boundaries of your understanding, you begin to question the very essence of the world you live in.』

〘Pairing〙『Night Fury!Seonghwa x afab!Reader』

〘Genre〙『FANTASY, ACTION, SMUT』

〘Word Count〙『2.1k』

〘Chapter-specific Warnings〙『Based on How To Train Your Dragon. Canon-compliant violence. Mention of injuries. Mentions of dragons attacking the mc's village. MDNI.』

〘Banner Credits〙『@playmetheclassics』

please note: there will be NO taglist for this series

With your heart pounding in your throat, you duck beneath the low-hanging arch of a weathered stone walkway, pressing yourself against the rough surface. Jagged rocks dig into your spine, but the momentary discomfort is nothing compared to the fire raining down from above. Bright orange flames dance in the sky, casting eerie shadows on the cobbled streets of your town.

Pulling the collar of your cloak closer, you try to shield yourself from the fiery onslaught, but even that is not enough to entirely dodge the few sparks that rain down on you, singeing the tips of your hair. At least it’s better than becoming a human shish-kebab, you think wryly.

In the distance, urgent shouts pierced through the roar of the conflagration, and you feel the tendrils of dread coil around your heart. You dare to peek out from your hiding place, only to see children and the villagers who are not fighting the creatures, scrambling to put out the fire that has engulfed the roof of one of the buildings. They pour buckets upon buckets of water to douse the flames, sending a few droplets raining down on you. You welcome the cold relief brought by the icy liquid amidst the heated air, thanks to the fires raging as far as the eye can see.

It’s not a new sight, definitely not one that scares you anymore; it merely sharpens your senses and steels your determination. But in your heart, you worry for the safety of your fellow villagers. The fortnightly attacks by dragons have been a grim routine, much like the twinkling stars in the night sky that had guided your ancestors to the beautiful land of Amberdale. It was named after the waters that would turn the colour of liquid gold every sunrise and sunset, a place where serenity met grandeur. But dark legends whispered only in secret tell of a day that the waters would turn red and spell your village’s doom.

Amberdale is a sanctuary of sorts, surrounded by water on three sides and imposing mountains on the other. It is a haven, a space safe from the threat of other clans, a paradise marred only by the fire-breathing pests that have made life a living hell for the occupants of the town for centuries.

From the corner of your eye, you spot a shadow descending from the sky, signalling the arrival of another winged menace. Realising that no one is around to help, you take a deep breath as your fingers tighten around the trigger of the meticulously laid dragon trap. The mechanism springs to life, and the air crackles as a net shoots towards the beast. The colossal creature crashes to the ground under the crushing weight of the entangling mesh.

As some villagers haul the ensnared dragon away, your gaze locks with the eyes of the dragon. The intelligence in its eyes and the silent plea for help send a shiver down your spine. Shakily, you look away, not wanting to think about the creature anymore.

“Move to the upper defences. We’ll counteract their attacks with the catapults!” Your brother’s command cuts through the cacophony of battle as he rallies the warriors to their positions. He appears beside you under the arch, eyes mirroring the tempest swirling within. The storm in his gaze briefly yields to surprise and concern when he meets your eyes. It’s clear that he wasn’t expecting you to be outside during an attack.

He scans you from head to toe, his sweaty and soot-stained face softening in relief when he sees that you’re unhurt. “Why are you outside? Did something happen at the infirmary?”

“We ran out of supplies, so I had to run all the way across the village to restock,” you inform him grimly, pointing at the bag dangling from your shoulder that is filled to the brim with supplies. “We really should move the warehouse closer to the infirmary, Yunho. Or better yet, expand the infirmary itself to accommodate the supplies. Not only will it save the healers from making unnecessary trips when the village is under attack, but it will also keep the medical supplies safer since the sick bay is the only fireproof building in the entire village.”

“I truly am sorry, Y/N,” your brother dips his head in a gesture of genuine regret, but you catch the weight of responsibility etched on his face. “I know you’ve raised this issue multiple times throughout the years, and I promise you it has been on our to-do list for a while, but…” he trails off with a sigh, shrugging helplessly.

You understand the cause of the delay; you truly do. There are more important things to do, like rebuilding structures destroyed in the attacks, preparing for storm week that arrives every three months, ensuring the safety of everyone during the attacks, forging more weapons and installing catapults around the cliffs, training people how to fight dragons and conducting research on the various species of the beasts that haunt your existence. There is so much to do, leaving little room to address the nagging issue of relocating a warehouse or expanding the infirmary.

“I understand we have more pressing matters to attend to,” you offer him an impish grin, taking the opportunity to nudge your brother’s shoulder with your own playfully. But the joke on your tongue dies down when a whistle-like sound you’ve come to associate with danger pierces the night sky. Instinctively, your gaze darts upward as you try to spot the source of the sound.

Objectively, you know that you should find cover to escape the inevitable attack that is to follow. Still, your fascination with this particular beast outweighs any and all sense of self-preservation. Your eyes scan the skies, hunting for any sign of the approaching peril, but, as usual, there’s nothing. There’s no telltale movement, not even a blur, that would allow you to pinpoint the location of the elusive beast.

“Night Fury,” the whisper leaves your lips at the same time as a pair of strong arms wrap around your shoulders before the person tugs you to bring you into a crouch. The abrupt movement sends a jolt through you, and you come crashing down on your knees.

“Duck!” Wooyoung’s urgent shout tears through the chaos, piercing through the clamour of battle. He shields you with his body just as a ball of fire collides with the catapult installed on the cliffs looming above you. The impact shatters the contraception and sends a cascade of stone and wood raining down upon all of you.

After what feels like an eternity, the onslaught finally stops, and you cautiously sit up, eyes scanning the debris-strewn landscape. Your first instinct is to fuss over Wooyoung since he had covered you with his body to shield you from the debris. The ringing in your ears and the reverberations of your pounding heart are momentarily drowned out by your concern for his well-being.

“Your stitches,” you frown at the red-haired male, reaching out towards where towards him. However, the male is quick to intercept your hands with his own, covering them protectively as he shakes his head.

“I’m fine. I took care to protect my injured side,” he assures you, a smile playing on his lips. His words ease some of the panic coursing through you. The moment you turn to check on Yunho, you find him already crawling closer.

“Are you two okay?” He asks, concern etched across his features as he gazes at the two of you.

“Dandy,” you mutter darkly, brushing off the debris from your cloak and cursing the blasted dragons under your breath. Now that you’re sure both males are relatively unhurt, you turn to Wooyoung with a grateful smile. “Thanks for that, Woo.”

He shakes his head, rolling his eyes good-naturedly, “Someone has to look out for you when you're not paying attention to your surroundings. We can’t afford to have our best healer getting hurt, now, can we?”

Yunho grins at his friend’s words but shifts his attention to you as you prepare to resume your journey back to the sick bay. “Do you need an escort to the infirmary?”

“Yunho, they’ll probably need you at the ballista. The other dragons we can deal with, but that menace is what we need to hunt down as soon as possible,” Wooyoung tells the taller male, regarding him with pleading eyes. Now that the Night Fury has appeared, every hunter is a crucial asset, and your brother happens to be the best in the entire village.

Yunho, caught in the dilemma of divided priorities, purses his lips. The familiar struggle between his duty to protect the village versus the instinct to ensure your safety is evident on his face. You know your brother well enough to recognise that he would drop everything in a heartbeat to ensure your safety first and foremost.

“I’ll escort her if that makes you feel better,” sensing the conflict on Yunho’s face, Wooyoung steps in to break the silence that hangs heavy between the three of you.

“No, it’s okay,” you say, sighing when both of them stare at you with concerned expressions that cause a pang in your heart. “The two of you are the most gifted warriors we have, and there’s no point in either of you sticking around to escort me to a building that's practically a stone’s throw away from here.”

“But—”

You shut Yunho down with a firm look, your voice cutting through any protest. “I’ll be fine, Yun. I’ve done this hundreds of times. Just promise me you won’t come back injured. If there is one thing I can’t bear, it’s you getting hurt.”

Yunho’s tough exterior softens at your words, and he nods in agreement, “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be careful.”

Convinced, you turn to narrow your eyes at Wooyoung, catching him off guard. He gulps at your sudden change in expression. “And you. Don’t you dare reopen those stitches, young man. It took me an hour to do these, and I will not be gentle if you mess them up. You’re almost healed, and redoing the stitches will unnecessarily delay your healing.”

“Yes, ma’am!” Wooyoung responds with a salute, straightening his posture to stand at his full height. “I promise to be careful as well.”

“Are you sure you’re okay with me leaving?” Your brother tightens his grip on the handle of the sword that’s strapped to his side. “Wooyoung can escort you. He’s not fully healed anyways, and no one would mind him sitting out of the battle for once.”

“I’d feel much better if I knew the two of you are together,” you confess, averting your gaze from both of them to take in the chaotic scene unfolding around you. Despite your efforts to seem nonchalant, you can feel both males regarding your features with probing scrutiny and worry.

Wooyoung opens his mouth to say something, but a familiar, piercing whistle cuts through the air—the unmistakable herald of the Night Fury’s return. The dragon has circled back around the mountain peak to descend upon the village once more. The noise snaps you into action, and you shove both males towards the path that leads to the cliffs. “Go.”

Yunho releases a sigh, his shoulders slumping in a resigned acceptance, and he nods. Before he and Wooyoung dash toward the mounted ballista—the only weapon that would give the village a shot against the looming beast—Yunho's hand finds yours, offering a reassuring squeeze. YOu nod back at him and watch them run towards the ballista.

“Your sister is downright terrifying when she wants to be!” Wooyoung’s voice carries back to you. His whiny tone is met with an involuntary laugh from you, mingling with Yunho’s echoing laughter, which is followed by more whining from the other male that you can’t make sense of now that they’re much farther away.

Before you step into the infirmary to prepare for the inevitable influx of injured villagers, you’re unable to resist the urge to scan the skies once more. Your gaze lingers on the moonless sky as you search for the elusive Night Fury, the dragon that no one has ever seen.

You hope that Yunho and Wooyoung can hunt it down, for even though the Night Fury doesn’t pillage like its brethren, it acts as a guardian to the other dragons. It is always there to help them to attack the village and steal livestock and supplies. Removing the dragon from the equation would undoubtedly make the task of defending your village much easier.

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tybalt-you-saucy-boi · 5 months

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Let's talk about what Winner's Theory means for the next season of Life SMP, and what we could see depending on who wins Secret Life.

Disclaimer: I know this is just a theory and they don't actually base the new games off of the winners of the previous season, but that's the fun of theorizing.

Etho - Underselling himself, no longer the best at PVP, but with a long legacy of obliterating all competition in death games. Loyal to a fault to his team, with no expectations from them in return. A bit similar to how Scott plays in terms of his alliances, but more likely to be hostile towards others outside of his group. We could see another season similar to Double Life, with game-mechanic incentive to keep your teammates safe at all cost.

Cleo - Similar to Etho, but with a lot more arson. She's also loyal to her team, but if anyone crosses her they will be her biggest target, regardless of a previous alliance. You cannot betray Cleo without life altering consequences. You get one chance and then it's over. I would expect something that will be ruthless and unforgiving if you make the wrong move. Something that feels like stepping on eggshells.

Sidenote: Cleo is the only member of the Divorce Quartet without a win so far, and it would really tickle me if this was her season.

Joel - He's a leader, but also distant from his pack. Only one in his alliance to live outside their walls. First one on yellow. Started a cult. He's with them but he's also with himself. His game is vengeance, for Lizzie, for Jimmy, for Mumbo. His season will be brutal. It will start out brutal and it will end brutally. Players will be picking themselves up from the floor the minute they spawn in. Imagine a season where everyone starts in the Nether. That's Joel's revenge.

Bigb - You thought Cleo was gaslight? This man can pack some fire in his words. And what a season for it! His alliance is pretty much doomed, trying to pull themselves out of the wreckage, but he's got plans that go beyond Skizz and Tango. Right from the get-go with his first task he's marked as the odd one out. He gives out lies like they're candy, and not just for his own preservation, but for FUN. His winner's season will be built on chaos, not knowing where you stand among everyone else, and rewarded for tricking and betraying others. This will be the return of the Boogeyman.

Gem - Big risks, big rewards, bigger fury. The newest member of the series and defying all odds to earn her place in victory, in her season players will face challenges they've never seen before, but will be stronger beyond measure if they come out alive on the other end. Regardless of which life you're on, you'll have just as much chance of winning right up to the end, but the victor must be prepared to risk it all for their spot of glory. This will not be a season to shrink back from and make logical plans before acting. One must have quick feet.

Impulse - Almost the opposite of Gem, Impulse has taken his time, patience is his virtue. He's been so close to winning, but he'll know when the time is right to strike. He'll do whatever it takes, but it will be intentional and planned. I anticipate his season will be one with rough terrain, similar to the big rift in the middle of the Double Life map dividing everyone across a chasm. Reaching other players will be treacherous by foot, but ripe for planning elaborate traps and schemes to secure the win. Most certainly players will need to work hard for it.

Scar - Lone wolves roam free! He's been forced to work for himself alone this season, and so far he's reaped plenty rewards! The next season will give players a motive to work alone, and they will have to build themselves up using their own ingenuity and wits. Making yourself look like an underdog will be vital, stealing will be even more necessary, and the world will be ripe for monopolies. It's a real war out there, and you can't trust anyone.

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babyblue711 · 9 months

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Temptation

Ettore (High Life) x Reader - Part 1 Summary: Tired of the monotony of everyday life aboard the spaceship, you decide to start a little game to taunt Ettore. But your plan backfires and now you must deal with the consequences of temptation. This fic was heavily inspired by these two songs. I recommend giving them a listen before continuing: "Fill the Void" by Lily-Rose Depp & The Weeknd and "Little Girl Gone" by CHINCHILLA Words: 6.3K

Warnings: PLEASE READ! NSFW, Smut, Mature Themes 18+, Sexual Content 18+, Noncon, Dubcon, Rough Sex, Physical Violence, Mention of Suicide, Mention of Physical Abuse, Language, Degradation A/N: Consider Part 1 to be "just getting warmed up". I hope you all enjoy! Thank you to @arcielee for beta reading and @myfandomprompts for providing most of the pics and gifs! Dividers by @firefly-graphic

Every day was the same.

Trapped on this doomed spaceship that was destined for hell, every day felt like a relentless loop of monotony and misery. Same work, same people, same experiments, same old bullshit every fucking day.

The utilitarian living quarters of the spacecraft make you feel like you are in a mental hospital, cold and uninviting. Every facet of the interior is minimalistic; a mix of sterile clinical spaces and dimly lit, shadowy corridors. Blue light shines at night that’s supposed to help the inhabitants sleep. The bland functionality and oppressive “sameness” just makes you want to scream.

Some days it all becomes too much to bear and you feel a small part of you snap. You despise feeling helpless and not in control of your life anymore; with each beat of your heart, white hot fire courses through your veins. At times, you yearn to unleash your fury on someone, anyone, to let out the pent-up frustration that has been building within you for far too long. But then the storm inside of you passes and you settle back into your repetitive routine once more.

Your fellow shipmates are a bunch of criminals and weirdos. You try to make due with what you have, except for Dr. Dibs, whom you hate with your whole heart. Her cold demeanor and cruel experiments are a constant source of dread. She seems to derive pleasure from the suffering she inflicts upon you and the other girls aboard the ship.

Although you aren’t really sure you could call them friends, there are a few people you were “ok” with, mainly the other girls that also had to suffer through Dr. Dib’s sick experiments. A few of the guys are alright too; Monte is a loner that mainly keeps to himself and you’ve never heard him say an unkind word. Tcherny’s favorite place on the ship is the makeshift garden and you couldn’t blame him since it reminds everyone of Earth, of home.

Ettore is…unusual. He has a certain aura that just feels…off. Your hair stands up on the back of your neck whenever you catch him staring or whenever he passes too close in the corridor, as if an electric current surrounds him, radiating off of his body. He’s a man of few words; you’ve rarely ever heard him speak.

Amongst the girls, it’s well known that he doesn’t give a fuck if he is caught staring or leering, which he often is. Boyse especially dislikes him because he gives her the creeps. She normally has trouble sleeping at night because she says she can feel her skin crawl when he looks at her. You try your best to just ignore him most of the time.

Until one day, during lunch in the cafeteria, you are sitting with the girls, mingling and talking quietly, when you feel a tingle go down your spine. You glance up and immediately make eye contact with him.

His eyes lock onto yours, and you find yourself momentarily captivated by the intensity behind his gaze.

You were already having a bad day and you can feel the beginnings of another storm brewing inside. You’re sick of Ettore’s shit so you stare right back, issuing him a challenge in a silent duel to look away first. The air seems to sizzle with tension as you watch his glare harden when you don’t look away, like most of the girls normally do; he looks positively predatory with his sharp angular face and dark blue eyes.

You refuse to let him intimidate you. Your eyes are watering but you’re too involved in this stupid little battle of wills to concede to him now by blinking. Thankfully, a welcome interruption arrives in the form of Monte. Having not noticed the little contest between you and Ettore, he walks right in front, breaking the spell between you two. You blink rapidly and take a deep breath, watching as Ettore leans around Monte to look back at you, an unspoken promise in his stare that seems to say, I’m not done with you yet. You roll your eyes and look away.

“What are you looking at, Y/N?” Boyse asks from beside you, snapping you to attention.

“Uh...nothing,” you mumble back, not really wanting to engage with her.

“That fucking creep. He sits across from us to stare at us on purpose, have you noticed?” Boyse says, noticing the trail of your gaze.

“Yeah, I know but don’t let it bother you, Boyse, just ignore him,” you try to diffuse the situation. You don’t want to be involved in yet another incident where Ettore made a girl feel uncomfortable. Boyse goes back to picking at her food silently and you do the same.

You ignore him now; he isn’t worth your time or attention. Even though you get a bad vibe from him, you can’t help but notice a certain attractiveness about Ettore. He is tall and lean, with corded muscles on his arms, toned chest, and abs. He has a very angular face, strong jaw and chin with a sharp nose and luscious lips. You have to admit that you had never seen a man with as beautiful lips as his.

Lost for a moment thinking about his body, you bring yourself back to the present. You scold yourself; perhaps the monotony of this ship really was driving you insane, lusting after someone who gave off such ominous vibes. You swore to hate men for all eternity after what you had endured. That’s how you ended up in this hell hole to begin with….

After years of torment and physical violence of both you and your mother, you finally snapped and murdered your abusive stepfather in his sleep after he was passed out from another drunken rage.

But, despite arguing in court that your actions should be considered self defense after years of abuse, the jury found you guilty and sentenced you to life in prison...or join this sick experiment in space. You aren’t remorseful that you had killed your step-father. He got what he deserved and no other woman would have to deal with his violence ever again. However, when your mother learned that you had chosen to accept this mission in space, she couldn’t bear the pain of losing her only daughter. She took a bunch of pills and never woke up.

Now, you are an unloved, unwanted murderer and no one cared if you lived or died. This mission is perfect for people like you.

You’re standing in line for the shower that evening, towel in hand, when Ettore walks by; his hair is still wet from his shower and he’s wearing a fresh set of scrubs, towel slung over his shoulder. You see him coming and avert your eyes so as not to attract his attention. He saunters over anyway and you know he’s trying to annoy you on purpose.

He stops right beside your left shoulder and you reluctantly bring your eyes up to meet his gaze. His presence is imposing and you can't help but notice how much taller he is compared to you, making you feel small and vulnerable in his shadow. He leers, invading your personal space and it takes everything in you to not step back from him as he looks down his nose at you. Your eyes lock in a tense standoff, each daring the other to back down.

Despite your inner resolve, you feel a knot of tension in your stomach, and your hand instinctively tightens around the towel you're holding. It takes all your strength to hold your ground, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing you flinch.

“I know what you’re doing,” he sneers in a low voice.

You realize that he is trying to intimidate you with some stupid alpha-male shit, but you are not afraid of him. Fire burns hot in your blood and you are ready for a fight.

“I’m not doin’ shit, Ettore, now fuck off,” you say back aggressively, letting him know you won’t be an easy meal with your tone.

“The fuck you aren’t,” he growls lowly, deep in his chest. He steps closer to you, suddenly trailing a finger from your eyebrow down the side of your face. The gesture is so unexpected that you flinch and freeze, staring up at him with wide eyes mixed with confusion and defiance.

“C’mon, love, I know you’re just playing hard to get,” he whispers as his eyes look you up and down suggestively. Finally, he turns and walks away.

As he exits the bathroom, you let out a breath that you didn’t realize you were holding and think, What the fuck was that? You curse internally; you knew you shouldn’t have started anything back in the cafeteria. Now he thinks you’re interested or some shit. But…maybe you were, in a way? You feel conflicted, knowing that he thinks of you as an easy target.

Finally, it’s your turn for the shower. You undress quickly and start to relax as the hot water streams over your shoulders. As you’re washing your hair, an idea comes to you and butterflies flutter in your chest at your wicked thoughts, the most excitement you’ve felt in a long time. Because of your abusive past, you refuse to let anyone ever make you feel small and insignificant ever again and decide on the spot that Ettore is going to become your next target of torture. You knew his weakness; you’d exploit his obvious sexual deviousness, which was probably fueled by the rules on the ship that the inmates couldn’t engage in any sexual behavior with each other.

A dark chuckle escapes your lips. You’d show him who’s boss. Given the lack of privacy on the spacecraft, you’d never fear his retribution; you could tease him mercilessly and always be able to evade any potential advances if he thought he would take things further…or so you hoped.

A tiny alarm bell rings in the back of your mind. You knew that what you were planning was the equivalent to waking a sleeping dragon but you didn’t care. You are so beyond sick of the monotony of everyday life that you convince yourself that you needed this little extra bit of spice as an escape from the mundane reality of your circumstances.

So, you allow this little game to proceed between you and Ettore, a cocktail of emotions swirling within you: boredom, lust, anger, hatred, desire—all of them fuel this strange dance.

As the days pass by, you continue to provoke him with stolen glances and lingering eye contact that says more than words ever could. He responds eagerly to your meager attention, just as you knew he would. His advances quickly became more pronounced as simple stares turn into physical contact: brushing your shoulder on purpose as he walks by, daring you to react. Anytime you are in the same vicinity as him, you feel a magnetic energy pulling the two of you together. You have created this friction on purpose to drive him mad, but you can’t help but feel like you are getting caught up in it too…

Something had awoken in you that night when he touched your face in the bathroom. A wild, feral animal rattles at the bars of this proverbial cage that you had locked away deep inside a long time ago. Women aren’t supposed to be sexual creatures in the same way men are. It was a part of yourself that you have spent years hiding because you are afraid you’d just be labeled a whore or a slut. But what did it matter anymore on this dreaded spaceship? You can’t deny that you, too, feel a deep void, an ache in your chest, a need for something more.

Upon arriving back at your bunk one evening, you hear a deep breath from behind you. You whirl and see Ettore across the hallway, standing in another doorway, watching you. It’s the most provocative he’s looked thus far since he’s shirtless, wearing only a pair of black sweatpants. You hesitate, then decide to make a show of looking him up and down, biting your bottom lip, secretly admiring his toned chest and abs. When your eyes flick back up to his face, his gaze locks onto yours as he reaches into his pants and starts pleasuring himself right in front of you, not caring if anyone saw.

Your eyeballs pop in shock at this brazen display of desire. Your heartbeat picks up and a million thoughts start to race through your mind. Should you tease him in return? What if he decides to come into your bunk? Red flags wave a warning in the back of your mind and you knew you were walking on a razor’s edge. You think he’s about to take a step towards you when, thankfully, a door slams nearby and Ettore vanishes into the shadows. You let out a deep breath, doubting your stupid plan to taunt him that was working way too easily. A ripple of unease flows through you. You could feel that he was like a volcano waiting to explode. What would you do when he did?

You decide to ignore him from now on to try to diffuse the tension you had built between you both. He needs to get a grip and, honestly, so did you. So, as much as you despise it, you release your frustration within “The Box” when it all becomes too much to bear.

A few nights later, you are walking back to your bunk after visiting The Box. Still unsatisfied, you turn the corner and see Ettore scrubbing the floor in front of you, his back to you. He is shirtless again, dressed only in orange cargo pants. He doesn’t look around and you don’t think he’s heard your approach. You pause behind him, admiring the way his shoulder and back muscles ripple as he scrubs the floor. He has three tattoos, all black triangles; one on his right forearm, another on his left bicep, and finally, one on the right side of his neck. You assume they are symbolism for some type of gang. You’re staring, openly, almost hypnotized by the movement of his muscles.

“I know you’re there,” he says suddenly and you jump out of your revere, heart leaping into your throat. He continues to mop the floor, not even bothering to turn around.

You feign nonchalance and start to walk by him, glancing down just as he is looking up at you.

“I can do you better than that box, you know,” he purrs at you with a cocky smirk.

He doesn’t miss the way your eyes widen at his words. Your heart pounds and you know you can’t give him any encouragement, so you give a noncommittal grunt before hurrying back to your bunk. When you lay in bed that night, you know, deep down, that if you stood there and watched him any longer, half naked on the floor, you might just be tempted to find out for yourself.

The next day starts like any other. You’ve been assigned to organize the storage room; a redundant and mundane task, located in the bottom level of the ship. You’ve been at it for a couple of hours, in the middle of inventorying the stockpile of supplies, when you feel a presence from behind. You don’t know what tipped you off exactly because he hasn’t made a sound, but you turn to see him silently shutting the door behind him and locking it, staring at you with a predatory gaze.

“The fuck do you want?” you ask aggressively, firing up at once. Anger is your first line of defense as your heartbeat picks up, but the smallest thrill of fear laces up your spine. An alarm bell goes off in the back of your mind, a small voice is screaming a warning to get out of that room. You are quite alone down here in this part of the ship and you doubt anyone would hear you if you try to scream. This was it…you had pushed him too far and now the consequence was right in front of you, looking at you mercilessly.

“I think you know what I want,” he almost growls, voice deep. “You have a choice, we can do this the easy way….or we can do this the hard way,” his gaze hardens as he stares at you.

“Fuck off,” you say defiantly back. Inside, you are cursing fluently. You knew this day would come, knew he wouldn’t be able to resist temptation. He chuckles as he steps closer until he’s right in front of you, looking down.

“You wanna know what I think?” he says, and you really don’t care what he thinks but you know he’s about to tell you anyway so you don’t even bother responding. “I don’t know what you did to land here on this cursed spaceship, but I think, deep down, you’re just a good little girl, pretending to be bad, aren’t you?” He says this as if hoping to corrupt your innocence; you smirk to yourself, thinking he has no idea who he’s messing with.

You raise your chin, looking him straight in the eyes and you just can’t help the words that escape from your mouth. “Well…this good little girl is only a bad girl for the right man,” you say with fire in your gaze, taunting him on purpose even though you know it’s a stupid thing to do. “And that sure as hell isn’t you.”

You could feel the heat radiate off of him from the proximity of his body so close to yours. He smirks and his eyes darken dangerously as he takes the bait.

“Is that so?” he says easily. “You’ve been provoking me for weeks. You think I didn’t know exactly what you were doing all along? I saw you staring at me too. I think you want me as much as I want you.” His eyes seem to burn into you with desire, lust blowing out his pupil.

“It was just a stupid little game, Ettore. It didn’t mean anything, it’s not that serious,” you know you’re babbling as you try to remain calm by playing it off like you don’t know what he’s talking about. His nostrils flare as he sniffs out your lie and you suddenly feel like a mouse that has just wandered into the lion's den. “Besides, you know we can’t,” you say sternly, referring to the rules, trying to get him to see reason.

“That’s bullshit and you know it. And I don’t give a fuck about Dibs’ rules,” he says menacingly.

Rage starts to come to your rescue as you realize he’s not going to listen to a word you say.

You level him with a hard glare. “I don’t fucking want you, Ettore,” you growl back at him.

Panic seizes you for a moment when he reaches for you suddenly and cups your face with his hand. His thumb runs over your cheek in an unexpected gentle caress before moving over your lips, pulling your bottom lip down. His eyes flick up to yours as lust surges through your core at his touch.

“Such a smart little mouth you have,” he says quietly as he takes a deep breath. “I won’t have a problem fucking the brat outta you.”

He moves so fast you don’t even have time to blink as he lunges for you, spinning you around and smashing you against some cardboard boxes stacked against the wall nearby. His fingers have a tight grip on your hair as he pushes your face into the box, using his knees to kick your legs apart, unbalancing you, one hand grabs your left arm and twists it behind your back. He moves at such a lightning pace that it momentarily takes your breath away.

He pulls your head back from the box by your hair and bends your neck to the side so he can run his nose from your ear to your shoulder, groaning like an animal in heat as he savors your smell. Your heart hammers in your chest. Shockwaves roll over you at the speed of his assault and you can’t even form words yet, only whimper slightly from the pain of having your hair pulled. At the same time, wetness pools at your center.

“I gave you an opportunity, didn’t I?” he whispers darkly in your ear. “It didn’t have to be like this, you stupid little cunt,” he grunts as you try to struggle with all your might to get away from him, but he’s just too big, too heavy, too strong to break free of his grasp.

Rage boils in your blood as you realize just how well and truly trapped you are. Deep down, you knew this would happen. You realize he saw an opportunity to get you alone and he took it. You know what’s about to happen and you know you can’t stop it, but you aren’t going down without a fight.

Your breathing is fast as he starts kissing your neck, biting down on your pulsepoint, feeling your heart race.

“Fuck you, Ettore,” you say through gritted teeth.

Provocatively, he grinds his hard cock against your ass through your clothes. “Oh, you will,” he growls as he lets go of your hair to effectively pin your arms behind your back with one hand. With the other free hand, he starts exploring your body, running his hand over your breasts and squeezing until he trails down lower, dipping his fingers under the band of your pants.

You truly lose it at this moment as you feel him reach for your core. You struggle and fight for all your worth and he's forced to stop his path to your center and hold onto you tighter to keep you from getting away. His fingers latch around your throat and he squeezes hard, immobilizing you easily as you struggle to take a breath. His body pushes you further into the boxes, leaning his weight on you.

“Stop fighting me,” he loudly growls into your ear aggressively. “You stupid little bitch, I know I do things to you too, just the same as you do me,” he breathes harshly. “Look how your body responds to me,” your nipples are pebbled against your shirt and he could clearly feel them when he assaulted your front a moment ago.

“And I bet, if I touched you right now, you’d be wet, wouldn’t you, love?” he licks the outer rim of your ear and releases his grip on your throat. As you gasp and suck in air, as his fingers reach below your panties and his fingers find your slippery core. You whimper and draw shallow breaths as he groans into your ear when he feels how wet your cunt is.

He dips down to your opening and gathers some slick, bringing it up to circle your bud and you feel the fight slowly leave your body. It has been so long since a man touched you, you feel like a switch has been flipped, lust now running rampant through your veins, like a shot of ecstasy to your system. He feels you relax under his hand and loosens his hold on your wrists that are still pinned behind your back. You moan softly and lean into him.

“That’s what I thought, you little slut,” he whispers in your ear. You allow yourself to enjoy this moment, but you’ve already formulated a secondary plan and intend to make him pay for this too. You’re simply lulling him into a false sense of security right now. By loosening his hold, he’s actually done exactly what you wanted. You let him circle your bud for a few more times, before you tense, spinning around and shoving him away from you as hard as you can. You aren’t the only one who’s going to feel pain today as renewed rage pounds in your chest.

You leap at him and the fight for dominance ensues as you grapple with each other, falling onto the floor. Physically, you know you are no match for him, but taking your anger and frustration out on him just feels so good. You kick and punch and scratch and scream. He’s doing everything he can to block and contain your flurry of blows but he’s not hit back yet either. Even if he does, that’s nothing new to you; you still have plenty of scars from your step-father.

You’re on top at first, but you’re under no illusion that you’re “winning”, just simply letting the frustration out as you claw at his chest. He quickly decides he’s tired of being your punching bag and he flips you over and lays his full weight on top of you, pinning you to the floor.

You wrap him in a bear hug on the floor, thinking that if he can’t lean away from you to punch you, you’re safe from any strong direct hits from him. You’re both breathing heavily, Ettore trapped between your legs and you try to kick him from your position but he grabs your hip and pinches harshly, causing you to yelp in pain.

He wiggles free of your arms, pinning your hands above your head with one of his as he looks down at you, fury in his gaze.

“Are you fuckin’ done yet?” he taunts you, knowing you’re pinned now.

You literally growl back at him like a rabid, wild animal and show him your teeth; maybe he’ll think you’re insane and he won’t want to continue this anymore. It doesn’t work...

He smirks instead. “There she is…you weren’t lying earlier about the bad girl thing were you? I got myself a right little she-devil, haven’t I?” He chuckles darkly, a menacing sound causing fear to tingle at the base of your spine. “Don’t worry, I’ll have you tamed by the end.”

You don’t respond, distracted by his other hand that has traveled up your shirt, roving over your breasts. You try to buck him off but he’s just too heavy and you barely get him to budge. In alarm, you realize you’ve missed your chance to escape. He watches your face as he touches you and you glare back up into his eyes, hating feeling helpless like this. His touch is surprisingly gentle as he squeezes your breasts and then runs his warm hand down your ribs.

Hatred and fury pound in your chest, but you’re caught off guard that he isn’t beating you to a pulp. It’s what you had come to expect from men, especially after the physical altercation you just had with him. Involuntarily, you feel yourself relax a little at his touch and your breathing becomes a little more steady. After a few more moments, he notices the tension leave you and suddenly his lips find yours in a violent kiss that’s all teeth and tongue. He starts grinding his pelvis into your aching cunt and you moan into his kiss, hating yourself for liking this but you succumb to his attentions, unable to resist more. Animalistic lust and desire blooms from deep within, your head swirls from his kiss, your body aches for his touch.

You surrender the fight. “Take your shirt off,” you say when you both come up for air from your kiss; he knows he has to let go of your hands in order to remove his clothes.

“Are you going to stop fighting me?” he asks and you nod. He smirks, “so you gonna be a good girl now?”

“Shut up, Ettore, it's your dick I want, not you,” you growl back at him and his grin widens.

He lets go of your hands and quickly pulls his shirt over his head. You notice the red marks on his chest from where you clawed him earlier. You watch his abs contract with each panting breath, noticing his defined chest and lean muscles of his arms. You feel more wetness pool in your core as your eyes appreciate his body.

You reach for the bottom of your shirt and surprise him by removing it yourself, your breasts pebbling in the cool air; you barely bothered wearing a bra anymore. He looks down hungrily at them, running his hands softly over your nipples. You arch your back and he immediately takes one in his mouth, the other rolling your nipples between his fingers. Your hands are in his hair as you grind your hips into his hard length. He bites down on the skin of your left breast, sucking a bruise onto the skin while massaging the other one firmly with his other hand. He moves upwards, kissing along your collarbone until he reaches your neck, biting, licking and sucking at all of your exposed skin. You rake your fingernails down his back, becoming impatient for more.

He pulls away from your neck and sits up, reaching for your pants. You lift your hips so he can remove them completely. He admires your naked body, laying bare on the floor beneath him, the swell of your breasts, the curve of your hips, your wet cunt open for him. From his position kneeling between your legs, he takes your knees and spreads them apart, opening your pussy more for his view, groaning deep in his chest as his eyes feast upon your body. Deciding to tease him a little, you reach down and start playing with your bud and he stares shamelessly.

“Fuck,” he murmurs and watches you for a few moments. “Such a needy little slut aren’t you?”

You moan and grind into your own hand, fingers dipping down to your entrance to gather some slick onto your fingers. You bring them up to your mouth to taste yourself, knowing that you’re about to drive him absolutely wild. Since he’s seen your “feral animal” wild-side, now you want to see his too.

His mouth hangs open, his chest rising and falling rapidly with his breathing as he watches your lips close around your fingers as you taste yourself and moan. His restraint snaps in an instant.

He pulls down his pants, freeing his large, veiny cock and gives it a couple pumps, watching your face. Your eyes widened at the sight; his cock is bigger than you expected, long and thick, a pearl of his spend visible on the tip. Your eyes meet and you’re sure he can see the slight trepidation in yours as he smirks.

“You can fuckin’ take it,” Ettore says confidently, as if this is supposed to reassure you. He doesn’t waste any more time as he lines himself up with your entrance.

You were wet and willing and ready for him but you cry aloud as he sheathes himself fully in one thrust, not caring to take things slow with you. You pant and arch your back as his large cock fills you so completely full, eyes popping a little at the intensity of the intrusion. The stretch burns more than you anticipated and you focus on breathing through the pain.

He gives you a few shallow thrusts before mumbling, “Fuckin’ hell, your pussy is so fuckin’ tight - sorry if that hurt a little after all,” he says in a voice that doesn’t sound sorry at all.

He pauses for a moment as he watches your face wince at the pain. He doesn’t give you long though, knowing that he’s hurting you but can’t seem to control himself as his hips start to snap into yours at a steady pace.

After a few thrusts, you’ve adjusted to his size and pleasure starts to course through your core. You begin to meet his thrusts with your hips. He seems to take that as a sign to speed up as he suddenly pounds into you, much harder, causing you to cry aloud not from pain, but from pleasure.

His hips snap into yours as he fucks you hard, brutally, wickedly, deliciously, and you groan as lightning races from your cunt into your chest. Pleasure starts to build deep inside as his thick cock continually rubs your g-spot. He grabs one leg and puts it over his shoulder and leans over you, changing the angle, driving you wild and your walls start to clench around him.

“Gonna cum for me already?” he pants, an amused smirk on his luscious lips.

“Fuck, Ettore,” you mewl as the pleasure starts to overwhelm your senses. It had been so long since you felt this good. “Harder,” you challenge him, as if he isn’t already fucking you hard enough.

He glances up at your face before withdrawing completely and you feel momentary emptiness at the void left behind as he pulls out from your aching pussy. Flipping you over on your stomach, bringing your ass back in the air as he kneels behind you. You prop yourself up on your elbows as your knees dig into the cold, hard floor; you know you’ll have bruises on your knees from this position. He thrusts back into your aching core with a guttural groan and you feel a stinging slap to your rear end. You cry aloud and mewl pathetically, then feel him yank on your hair from behind. He pulls you up so that your palms are now resting on the floor, your neck pulled back, held by his grip in your hair; he fucks you ruthlessly as he rides you from behind. His other hand grips your hip so hard you know you’ll have more bruises tomorrow.

You both are panting heavily as he lands another blow to your ass, harder this time, you’re positive a red handprint remains and you may even form yet another bruise with the strength of his slap. He doesn’t even bother to run his hand along the tender skin to soothe it, he just keeps thrusting with single-minded intensity. The slaps sting but in a pleasurable way as you feel your core become impossibly wetter each time he hits you.

You reach a hand down to play with your pearl, your walls clenching around his thick cock as pleasure coils low in your belly.

The bites, the bruises, the ache around your throat from being choked, the pull of your hair on your scalp, the sore spot on your ass cheek from his repeated slaps, the drag of his thick cock inside your wet, tight pussy causes your mind to go blissfully blank, all of the sensations overwhelming you. Your eyes roll in your head and you idly wonder how much pain and how much pleasure your body could handle until it snaps.

Ettore can feel your orgasm approach as your walls start to spasm around him.

“Little slut, gonna cum all over my cock, aren’t you?” he growls, increasing his tempo.

You have the wherewithal to get out one request before it’s too late. You try to speak in between his brutal thrusts. “Please…Ettore,” you pant. “When you cum, pull out.” All of the women who had gotten pregnant through Dibs’ sick experiment ended up dying. You didn’t want that fate just yet.

He doesn’t respond, continuing his pace and your breathing becomes harsh as you approach the precipice of your orgasm. The coil snaps and your release rips through you, obliterating everything else, your vision goes white. You cry out his name as he continues to fuck you through your high.

“Fuckin’ shit,” he grunts as he feels your cunt clench down on him. Your orgasm is still rolling through you but he can’t hold back any longer, he pulls out and paints your ass with his spend.

He finally lets your hair go and you collapse onto the floor and he falls next to you. You both pant and breath harshly for a few minutes, not saying anything. As you come down from your high from your intense orgasm, reality sets in: part of you feels satisfied for the first time in a long while, the other part of you feels like you can’t believe you just let that happen to you. You wanted it but you didn’t want it; you didn’t know how to feel. You feel relief that he at least listened and pulled out.

Finally, he sits up and starts looking for his clothes. You take one last deep breath and are about to do the same when you unexpectedly feel him clean his spend off of you with his shirt, making you jump a little. He’s a little rough with the wiping but the gesture is almost nice for Ettore. He throws your shirt and pants over to you and you both get dressed in silence.

He helps you up off the floor and lifts your chin with his finger.

“Don’t tell anyone about this,” he warns, looking deep into your eyes. You nod in acquiescence, there is no way you’d ever tell anyone, but you give him the reassurance that he needs.

A smug smile plays on his lips. “So compliant now, I see. I told you I would fuck the brat outta you.” You scowl and try to pull away from him but he’s trapped your chin between his thumb and forefinger. He leans in closer and you think he’s about to kiss you, but he doesn’t.

“You’re mine now, mine to use whenever I want, my own little slut, you fuckin’ belong to me. Don’t forget it,” he squeezes your chin and gives you one last dark glare before opening the door and exiting the storage room, leaving you stunned.

You watch him go and feel a little paralyzed. You feel as though you just opened Pandora’s box.

What monster have you just unleashed?

>>> Part 2

Tags: @peonamay @quinnquinn317 @pandemonium105 @aemondsscar @cyeco13 @multyfangirl @chainsawsangel @boundlessfantasy @bellaisasleep @sylas-the-grim @megatardisbaby

#ewan mitchell #ettore high life #ettore x reader #ewan nation #ettore fanfiction #aemond targaryen #ettore smut #ettore crackfic

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quillthrillswriting · 1 month

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did anybody else ever really want to know what happened those few weeks when aang was in his coma? we have it briefly summarized for us, but we never really get to see healer katara and how difficult it must have been for her to keep trying week after week only for aang to remain unconconsious?? plus the amount she would have had to work on her healing abilities and push her knowledge to her limits??? i don't typically write very much kataangst (see what i did there??), but i made an exception for this in-progress fic concept. i present to you some bits and pieces of "i'm no longer a kid, and everything has changed":

---

Katara felt the same flood of emotion that had washed over her as her mother fell as she watched Aang crumple and crash to the ground, Azula’s lighting still blazing through his body. For a second, she was back in her tent from years ago in the Southern Water Tribe, trying to waterbend to save her mother, only to realize that she had doomed her. Katara hadn't been able to believe it was real, even when the cloth-covered body’s arm was still wrapped in the bracelet Katara had made her in school only days before. Even when she saw the familiar necklace around her mother's neck.

Even when she had clasped the same necklace around her own neck.

Seeing Aang now, she felt powerless, again, despite all that she had worked through, despite the skills she had gained. Fury rushed through her, and suddenly, she didn’t care who she hurt, who she got in the way of. It didn’t matter. They didn’t matter. He did. She had to get to him.

---

He wasn’t moving. He wasn’t moving. That was all she could think about, even as Sokka and Toph joined them, twin looks of horror on their faces as she quickly briefed them on the situation.

---

I know I can’t exactly… see it, but…” Toph said, solemnly. “Twinkle-toes looks… seems ... a bit…worse for wear.”

“Can you monitor his heartbeat?” Katara nervously ran her hands through the air above Aang's body. “I’m probably going to need to attempt something a bit experimental. I need to know if I need to stop, if it hurts him.”

“Is this the best idea?” Toph raised an eyebrow sceptically. Katara rested a hand on her lap, hanging her head slightly. “It’s the only idea I have.” Toph nodded sharply, as if she had just received orders, and rested her hand lightly on Aang’s upper arm.

“Heartbeat steady.” She confirmed. “But something’s wrong with his breathing pattern. His lungs aren’t receiving enough blood, I think.” Katara exhaled, shakily, wracking her mind for something that could work. Her thoughts were cut off by the squeak of boots against metal, echoing from the doorway.

Her and Toph turned sharply, nervous that they were harbouring a Fire Nation stowaway, only to visibly relax when they realized it was only Sokka, joining them after setting the ship on its course. “If his blood is a liquid,” Sokka mused, crouching beside Aang,

“Couldn’t you… bend it, Katara?”

♥ check out the completed fic on my ao3:) ->

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cyberhopper · 1 month

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Dying Stars

Characters: Mario, Peach Genre/themes: Hurt/comfort, mild angst, mild fluff, pre-relationship Also posted on AO3

--------

It was minutes – no, seconds – after Peach’s Castle had been returned to its rightful place, a dazed Bowser had been escorted away by the guards, and they had finally been given a moment’s peace amid the chaos, that Mario’s knees gave way and hit the tiled floor of the castle foyer with enough force to bruise.

It was not her own nagging exhaustion that prompted Peach’s knees to drop her down beside him.

Her heart had yet to settle back into a normal pace, and she was still reeling with the afterimages of watching the universe die around her, her ears still hearing the squeals of a thousand innocent star children throwing themselves into the heart of a black hole. The Lumas’ sacrifice would never be forgotten. They had acted with unimaginable bravery – but did it really count as a sacrifice when they had no choice? If they hadn’t acted, then there probably wouldn’t even be a cosmos for them to live in now.

She had a feeling that despite her bone-aching weariness, it would be another few days before she could rest easy. Those screams weren’t going to leave her head anytime soon, and nor was the existential dread of knowing that they’d come within inches of losing literally everything.

She desperately needed something to focus on other than her own whirlwind emotions, but she would have dropped to her knees beside Mario even if that wasn’t the case. He had been through hell, travelling to more planets and galaxies than either of them had known existed just to save her.And at the very end, he’d been forced to watch, finally helpless, while the black hole greedily sucked up the crumbling matter of space. Peach had caught a glimpse of his face in those terrifying moments, and had seen utter horror reflected there, followed by weary resignation, then rebellion.

It had been hard to focus on anything at the time, but now – sifting through the memories – she vaguely remembered him pulling her into his arms, as if he could protect her from the supernova with his strength alone.

Everything; he did everything he could for her. Even when it meant nothing. Even when he knew they were both doomed.

The faint memory of his embrace was coloured with a trickle of regret, because he had never held her like that before – it was normally Peach who initiated hugs and they were never quite that snug – and she hadn’t even been in a state of mind to fully appreciate it.

She could remember how it felt, though, her body clinging to the sensations even if her mind forgot. Mario was always strangely warm, as though a fire burned inside him stronger than anything that could be conjured from Bowser’s jaws. But on this occasion, she had literally felt heat radiating from beneath his overalls. Seeping into her bones.

He hadn’t been capable of feeling embarrassed at the time, so it definitely hadn’t been a flush she’d felt. It was more like the fire inside him had risen up to keep her safe. A rightful fury directed at Bowser, the black hole, the shattered universe, everything that was trying to pull them apart in that moment. A last-ditch effort to save her from the inevitable.

At least, that’s how Peach liked to think of it. Maybe she was letting her overactive imagination get the better of her. Maybe he had wrapped his arms around her out of pure reflex, or in an attempt to anchor himself. Maybe the heat coming from him had been caused by fear or stress or even fever. Maybe that’s all there was to it.

She suspected, however, that a few people might think otherwise. Toadsworth had listened to her lovesick ramblings about the man on at least five occasions, and he’d always been of the opinion that her… pining wasn’t unrequited.

Peach had not liked his use of the word “pining” at the time, but in the days following their conversation, she had been forced to acknowledge that it was an apt description.

She wasn’t quite ready to confront these feelings head-on. It would take more courage than she currently possessed. But then again, Mario had just journeyed across the universe to save her, so maybe he deserved her best efforts.

Another day. Not now, when they were both worn and mentally bruised beyond belief.

Her knees were already beginning to feel the impact with the hard floor when she wrapped her arms around the hunched, slightly trembling man, hoping that her body provided him with at least some of the protective warmth he had given her earlier. His initial reaction to the hug was a slight flinch, causing her to jolt and draw back instinctively, thinking that he felt too vulnerable to be touched right now, but it was with an expression of desperation that he pulled her back, too hurt to be embarrassed.

Peach was easily tall enough to rest her chin on top of his head, and she hoped that he wouldn’t mind when she did exactly that. Her hands stroked up and down his back, passing over rips in the fabric and a rough, dry patch of something that she worried might be dried blood. If she found out he was actually injured, she would immediately drag him to the medical bay. She cautiously quested her fingers over that spot, pressing down gently, wincing in anticipation, but Mario didn’t show any signs of pain.

Deciding that asking him about the bloodstain could wait a little longer, she relaxed into the hug and continued to rub his back.

The faint trembling that had shaken his form when they started was now gradually lessening. Before, she had felt him holding himself up. The silly man hadn’t wanted to make her take his weight, despite being on the verge of collapse. Now, though – either because he was finally relaxing or because he simply couldn’t stay upright any longer – he began to sink into her arms.

Peach had never really considered her own strength. Those who complimented her strength were invariably referring to the emotional kind, praising her devotion to the kingdom, her kindness and her love for helping others. Rarely did anyone mention her physical prowess, and although she exercised through sports and walking, she didn’t think of herself as being strong.

Mario was surprisingly heavy for someone of his size. Dense, like a boulder. But she didn’t feel encumbered, even when he gave up fighting and slumped tiredly against her. Smiling a little, she lifted one hand and removed the scratched, dirty, slightly singed cap from his head. Keeping it in her grasp, she gently nuzzled his soft brown hair, kept in fairly good condition thanks to his cap.

She wondered if he was beginning to fall asleep. She wouldn’t mind one bit, although she had no delusions about picking him up bridal style and carrying him away. Most likely, she would either have to call for help or remain kneeling on the hard, cold floor with him until she found the heart to wake him up.

Face against her shoulder, he mumbled something low and tired.

“Hmm?” She pressed a kiss to his hair. “What is it?”

“...Grazie…” he said.

“Oh.” She smiled; she wasn’t fluent in his native language but had heard enough to recognise that word. “Mario, you don’t have to thank me. You’ve been through so much. In fact… I’d like for you to stay here in the castle tonight.”

“Oh, I couldn’t…”

“I want you to. We have plenty of guest bedrooms and the Toads will bring you any food you’d like. I want to make sure that you’re OK before you go anywhere.”

He responded with something too muffled to be heard as anything other than a hum. She didn’t know what he’d said, but decided against asking him to repeat it. He was so tired. Come to think of it, so was she.

“And, Mario,” she said to him, “I want you to come to me if you need help, or… if you need to talk, OK? We’ve just seen something absolutely unbelievable. Something completely terrifying, and… I think it’s going to take us both a while to get over it.”

She knew he wasn’t capable of absorbing most of her speech right now, and she would no doubt have to repeat all of this another time, but she just wanted to speak. Every time she permitted a lull in the conversation, her ears filled with the Lumas’ cries and the roaring of the black hole.

“I…” Mario had to draw a deep breath before he could continue. “I would like to sleep… for a while. If that is OK.”

“Of course it is. Come on, let me help you to the guest room. I’m sure that we have some pyjamas you can wear.”

He looked down at his damaged clothes in a vague sort of way.

With her help, he managed to drag himself to his feet and walk to the guest room. A large four-poster bed with freshly washed sheets awaited him. She sat him on the edge and tried to keep him awake while she searched the closet and nightstand for the spare pyjamas, but by the time she found them, he had already passed out fully dressed on top of the blankets.

Even in sleep, he didn’t look entirely relaxed. His face twitched with the echoes of dreams, and his singed, torn overalls stood out like a sore thumb.

But she decided against waking him up. The most important thing, right now, was for him to get some rest. Everything else that she wanted to shower him with – food, a bath, clean clothes, (praise, affection) – could wait until later.

However, she did allow herself a few moments to watch him fondly before she left the room. Once he was no longer in sight, the weight of the last few hours came crashing down so hard that it took all of her willpower not to sit down with her back against the door and sleep. Harnessing the last of her strength, she kept walking until she reached her own bedroom. Trusting the Toads not to disturb her unless necessary, she took a leaf out of Mario’s book and collapsed on her four-poster without changing.

She and Mario had almost watched the universe die today. If not for the Lumas, they wouldn’t even exist right now. It’s really quite hard to wrap your head around that sort of thing.

That being said… they did exist. They had survived, and so had their world. She was doubly appreciative of everything now… especially Mario.

He needed care, and she needed something to care for. He might not think he deserved special treatment or that Peach should be giving it to him personally, but she was resolute. He had done so much to save her. The least she could do in return for his bravery was ease his weariness and pain.

Thinking about looking after him brought a little smile to her face, and she finally allowed herself to sink into a slumber that, all things considered, turned out to be surprisingly restful.

#mario #princess peach #mareach #fanfiction #super mario galaxy #metablade's fics

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violentdelightsandviolentends · 1 year

Note

Hi lovely!! Congrats on 500, maybe 40 + 49 + E for Stewy hurt/comfort with Roy!Reader? Thank you so much!!

Consequence.

40. "I love you." 49. "Stay. Please." e. Heatwave

Author's Note - this is a drabble written as part of my 500 Followers Celebration!! find that post here if you're interested in sending a request!! thank you anon, you're the sweetest!!

Pairing - Stewy Hosseini x Roy!Female Reader

Age Rating - 18+

Warnings - cursing

Word Count - 1072

Masterlist. 500 Follower Celebration Masterlist.

Was it a good idea to walk across New York City in a pantsuit on the hottest day of the year? Probably not.

You'd refused to get in one of Stewy's cars, and you couldn't exactly call your siblings and ask them to pick you up. So, you'd walked.

Big mistake.

By the time you're on your block, you're miserable. Your hair is sticking to your forehead, there's sweat dripping down your back, and your pantsuit is soaked through.

You thought that the walk would give you time to think, time to decompress, time to process. It didn't. Now, you're angrier than you were when you stormed out of Stewy's office. You're practically vibrating with fury, rage rattling through your bones. You're honestly not sure if the heat you're experiencing is from the blazing sun or your blood boiling with annoyance.

At your front door, your hands are shaking, making it a struggle to fit the key in the lock. You kick the frame violently, frustrated and sad. More than anything, you're just sad.

You finally swing your door open, screaming in terror when you see a man stood in your entryway.

"Fuck!" he yells, startled by your sudden entrance.

He turns, and your shoulders tense instantly upon seeing his face.

Stewy Hosseini. The most complicated man you've ever met. The most complicated relationship you've ever had.

A relationship that ended today.

You'd known it was doomed from the start. You're the youngest Roy sibling, he's Kendall's oldest friend and a Waystar board member. It was bound to fail.

That didn't stop you from taking the risk, though.

All it had taken was the brush of his fingertips against your waist and soft, murmured words in your ear. You'd jumped with no parachute, straight into the Stewy's arms.

It was all too good to be true. Secret dinner dates, late nights at his penthouse, clandestine meetings in cars sent to you. The thrill of the illicit nature of your affair had the two of you thrumming with excitement, barely able to keep your eyes off each other in the boardroom.

All that energy, that heat, that fire. It had to explode sometime.

It did today.

You'd woken up this morning, instantly checking your phone and expecting to see your usual 'Good morning sweetheart' text from Stewy. Instead, you'd been met with tabloid photos of him with with a supermodel on his arm outside a club.

You'd gotten dressed and stormed straight over to his office, consequences be damned. Blinded by rage, you marched in without knocking, unaffected by the questioning looks you were receiving from his staff. They'd all assumed it was business related, perhaps a Waystar deal gone wrong. If only they knew.

Stewy had tried to explain himself, but it had only made things worse.

"Sweetheart, come on. You know what it's like out there. They don't know about us. It's just me keeping up appearances."

"Keeping up appearances? With a fucking six foot gorgeously blond supermodel?"

"She grabbed my arm. What was I supposed to do, throw her off? Don't you think that's a little suspicious?"

"I think a lot of things right now are pretty fucking suspicious, actually!"

He'd sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, clearly stressed.

"Honey, please, keep your voice down. I don't need you to be the talk of the office today."

"No. You just don't need me, full stop."

"That's not true and you know it."

"I don't know anything anymore."

And with that, you'd left, breaking both your own heart and his. You always knew it'd end in tears. You felt stupid for even trying.

Now, you're face to face with the man you'd been screaming at in his office an hour prior.

"How did you get in here, Stewy?" you ask while kicking off your shoes.

"I have a key, sweetheart."

"Are you here to give it back?"

He inhales, and takes a step closer to you, looking at you intently.

"No. I'm here to tell you that I love you."

It takes you a second to process his words.

"What?"

"I love you."

You can't decide whether to hit him or kiss him.

"So I break up with you, and you decide to break into my apartment and tell me you love me?" you ask incredulously.

"I didn't break in. I have a key," he replies, slight smirk on his face. "And you didn't break up with me. You stormed out and didn't give me a chance to explain myself. God, you Roys are always so blinded by your emotions."

He's not wrong. You'd seen red and ran, rather than letting him talk to you logically. You know that you only reacted that way because of how you feel about him, but still. You're so used to betrayal, and lies, and deceit. Thinking that Stewy had done the same thing as everyone else had broken your heart.

"Baby," he explains. "I'm surrounded by supermodels and actresses and musicians every night of the week. And the entire time, I'm thinking of you."

His big brown eyes are staring into your soul. You couldn't look away if you tried.

"I don't care if we have to keep this a secret forever," he continues. "That's a price I'm willing to pay. If you're still worried about people finding out, then we'll sneak around for the rest of time. If not, I'm happy to walk into the Waystar building hand in hand right now."

Tears are threatening to spill down your cheeks at his words. He's not usually so open, so vulnerable. It makes you love him even more than you already do.

"I couldn't leave things the way they were this morning. I had to say my piece. If you still hate me, fine. But I had to tell you."

He gazes at you carefully, looking for a reaction. When you don't reply, he makes his way past you, towards the door.

"Stay. Please," you almost whisper.

With that, Stewy turns on his heel and strides towards you. Cradling your face in his hands, he kisses you hard. He's grabbing at you, and your hands are grasping for purchase anywhere they can find. You're both not sure if the other person is going to disappear any minute.

"I'm here," he murmurs against your lips when he pulls away. "I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere. Ever."

You believe him. You believe him.

stewy tag list -

@justacaliforniandreamer

@616wilsons

@shawty-writes-a-little

@isuspectitwasthenargles

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harrieatthemet · 1 year

Text

One Is Enough III

HERE Y’ALL FUCKING GO DAMN. HERE, TAKE IT.

Everyone is practically drowning in it now.

The silence is insufferably deafening; swallowing the entire room whole, its occupants along with it. The most begrudging, loudest silence of all is radiating from the seat next to yours. Harry’s painfully quiet. And if you’ve taken notice, it’s likely so has everyone else. It’s likely why Anne leaps at the opportunity to jump in.

“Well,” her sigh is sing-song as she smiles, happy to be the one to break the tension, “s’wonderful news, honey. Absolutely wonderful really, I could just cry!”

You’d be lying if you didn’t admit to relishing in some form of relief. Keeping a pregnancy under wraps is mentally exhausting and putting it out there on the table, almost literally, was an un-ignorable weight lifted from your shoulders. Though it became his burden to carry, evidently, as Harry slides his wine glass back onto the table without uttering so much as an exhale.

The subtle screeching of her chair across the floor is muffled by the onset of congratulations from everyone else; Gemma gushing on about having a nephew (she hopes), Clare and Mitch keen on the idea of a friend for their own little guy.

You accept the slew of kisses and hugs from your mother in law, agreeing to send her ultrasound photos and share name ideas once you have them. Harry keeps mum; expression stoic, barely moving when his mother rubs his shoulders and peppers him with kisses in congratulatory bliss.

There’s an onset of emotion, perhaps a little bit of everything all at once; anger, embarrassment, disappointment, befuddlement. hostility. The list runs onward and is so overwhelming that he, himself, is truly battling which one to address and digest first.

He’s like this for the rest of the evening; quiet, blank, and mentally removed from the physical atmosphere. You’ve been watching him out of the corner of your eye every so often, unable to ward off the ever-growing sense of uneasiness. The expression on his face hasn’t moved once, not even when everyone sang happy birthday and cheered as he blew out his candles. A weak smile was all he could muster up and give, though it was quickly wiped off.

“No wishes needed,” Clare inquires, “(Y/N) gave you the best one!”

Everyone hums in agreement except the two who are actually expecting. Of course, you smile meekly at Clare for the compliment before awkwardly adjusting yourself in your chair. But he says nothing, running his tongue over the front of his teeth behind closed lips. Unbeknownst to everyone else, you know he’s absolutely submerged in fury.

Everyone starts shuffling out one by one, couple by couple until Anne and Gemma are the only two remaining. Once the last person leaves, the door closes and he does the lock, he’s sure to blow up; it’s almost like a silent understanding between the two of you. Each time one of you catches the other’s gaze, he makes sure to shoot you one of those glares. The infamous ‘I’ll deal with you later’ glare.

“Give th’baby lots of kisses f’me,” Anne’s halfway out the door, coat hanging off her shoulders, “both of ‘em.”

About 90% of you wants to get on your knees and beg her to stay; just a little bit longer to wait out the inevitable conversation. But he’s got one hand on the door as he coaxes her out. You might not be ready to talk but he certainly is. If he didn’t love her as much as he did and adore her to death, he’d have given Anne a little shove out the door (as lovingly as possible, obviously) and shut it behind her. Biting his tongue this long and taming the fire in his gut was starting to feel impossible. He was one more photo of Anne’s recent holiday away from spinning off the planet.

The sound of the lock to the front door, even from all the way down the hall into the dining room, is almost blood curdling. The weight his footsteps are much, much worse. Each click of his heels against the wood sounded like impending doom. Closer, closer, and closer until he was standing right behind you.

You can feel his eyes on the back of your head as you clean up the table, “Did you want to save the wine or-”

“(Y/N) I don’t fucking care about th’fucking wine.”

Upon turning to face him, perched like a statue in the archway of the door, you really really wished you’d just kept your back to him. The expression of his face is taught, riddled with aggravation as the line between his eyebrows becomes prominent as ever. With lips tight-lined and pressed, body stand-offish and tense, it’s obvious it’s taking whatever shred of self restraint he’s got in him right now to keep from flying right off the handle.

“Ok,” you huff in annoyance, “I’ll toss it than.”

The spout of the bottle is in your hand, gripped so tightly your knuckles have to be ghostly-white at this point. He knows you’re trying to dance around this because your execution earlier was so wrongly mishandled. And he scoffs when you walk past him out of the dining room and down the hall; mum and without word, head intentionally low to avoid eye contact.

“What the fuck is wrong with you” he growls, hot on your heels as you do the roundabout into the kitchen, “I mean, really (Y/N), how long have y’known about this?”

It feels like he’s about to crawl out of his own body, he’s so angry. Especially because you’re keeping your back to him, as though somehow emptying out the wine takes precedent over this conversation. And when you're done with that, you just move onto cleaning something else. Like he isn’t even there.

“Tell me how fucking long.”

The escalation in tone, as well as volume of his voice lands exactly how he wanted it to. The water in the sink stops running and and the clinking of glasses comes to an abrupt halt. His eyes are trailing your body, watching you begin straightening it out before turning around to look him right in the face.

“Three weeks,” still, you’re a lot smugger than he’d like you to be, “give or take.”

He swears he can feel the blood in his body come to a complete boil. There is no rash way to address this. Or you. Desperately, he tries to sift through his thoughts and find the right way to express what he’s feeling. Three weeks is almost a month; that’s what he can’t quite manage to wrap his head around. Of all the moments, big and small, within the past three weeks you had the opportunity to tell him you chose tonight; with an audience sat congregating at his own dinner table.

When you turn to go back to the dishes as though you don’t see him vibrating with anger, he swears he might actually jump out of his own skin. And he’s honestly astounded at the audacity you’re exercising in a situation as heavy as this one.

“Y’out of your bloody fucking mind?” he snaps at you before stomping over to the sink, moving your hand and shutting the water off again, “Sat on this f’three fucking weeks?”

“Isn’t that literally what I just said?”

“Christ enough o’ that, really.” he’s truly struggling to practice patience with you right now, especially when you match his anger with sarcasm, “Y’like a petulant child, (Y/N), with th’attitude. Grow up.”

It’s admirable, really. There’s an incredibly stark difference in demeanor between you two. He’s writhing with enmity and embarrassment right now, but you’re smugness is unmatched. He would’ve thought hurling an insult would get you to waiver. Evidently, you’re not interested in backing down or waving a white flag because the expression on your face doesn’t even flinch. Unfortunately for you, neither is he.

“Had plenty of opportunity t’speak up,” and his face is so close you can almost smell the remnants of wine on his breath, “but y’decided t’cause a scene, right? Had t’do it for an audience, give ‘em a show.”

“Fuck you Harry, seriously,” and there it is, now he’s got you riled up, “I didn’t wait for your birthday dinner to drop the pregnancy bomb and unload our marital bullshit.”

A brief puzzled expression flickers on his face. What about this pregnancy was unwanted? You take notice, though it’s brief, that he really does appear to be confused by that remark. But he reminds himself that he’s mad and has to channel that back.

“Wanted t’embarass me f’something, than?” he asks, voice lower than before but still louder than you’d like, “What’d I fucking do tha’ was so awful you would keep a secret like this from me? Y’should’ve told me.”

Honestly, you have to blink a few times to keep from crying. This is definitely not how you wanted to tell him you’re working on your family of three becoming a family of four. And past all that anger is an abundance of pain; you can see it just from the look in his eye. He’s angry you embarrassed him but he’s devastated you didn't allow him the privilege of being the first to know.

“What did you do?”

You repeat his own words back to him slowly, as though you can’t even begin to understand why he’d ask something that stupid. All he does is stare, maybe blinks once or twice. He doesn't say anything though; just waits for you to spit it out and give him a reason. You owe him at least that much.

“Oh, yikes one is enough mum,” you pull a face mockingly as you do a shit job at mimicking his accent, “another baby is years off, right babe? Right love?”

“(Y/N) I didn’t-”

“All that ‘two under two sounds so bloody fucking awful’ bullshit tonight” you drudge on and, God, that accent is so bad, “and you wanted me to tell you? You’re shocked that I didn’t jump up and down with a positive Clear Blue test and ask you for name suggestions?”

The tension in his body starts to settle a bit before he can completely relax his shoulders, dropping them in total defeat. If you wanted to make him feel terrible you did an absolute stand up job. The guilt that’s starting to swallow him up is all-consuming, especially because he can see tears start to pool at your water line. Truly he had no idea. You know he just runs his mouth sometimes. He talks just to talk and he’s not fully aware of the capacity of what he’s saying. He’s always been so comfortable around you where he’s never felt the need to filter every thought. Clearly he should start.

He completely comes off the defensive when he lifts his arm and extends his hand out a little, using his thumb to wipe away a spilled tear. With that he feels you start to soften a bit as well, relaxing your body and letting any renewing tension go with an extended exhale.

“Hate seeing y’cry,” he pouts, “Especially if it’s ‘cos o’me.”

You sniffle, “Then don’t be a dick.”

“Christ, would y’let me apologize, please?” His smirk makes a more prominent indent when he evokes a defeated chuckle from you, “M’so sorry, baby love. Just wanted t’keep mum off our backs ‘n thought we had time t’plan it all out.”

He feels like his apology isn’t really good enough. The guilt is so obscure he can’t even articulate how badly he feels. Truly the last thing he’d ever want is to create an environment where you felt like you couldn’t tell him anything. Which seems to be the exact thing he managed to do here. He wants to undo it so badly.

“But this,” he hums, crouching down until he’s eye level at your stomach hand his palm is flat on top of it, “this is amazing, yeah? Angel baby - a big sister, s’amazing.”

Your tone is cautious, but you peer down at him as he glances up at you, “So you’re not.. upset.. about another baby?”

“Upset?” His exclaim is playful as he stands back up, hands rubbing your shoulders and then your arms, “M’thrilled, button. S’like our rainbow baby. But oi, next time tell me first, yeah? Makes me feel cool t’ know stuff before everyone else.”

He’s so relieved to hear you laugh; even more relieved when you pout your lips out to ask for a kiss. To which, he happily obliges before smashing them with a slew of kisses. And as a way to settle the score, he wants to be the one to tell Angel Baby.

“We gotta celebrate the right way,” you hum in turn, “but you pick! However you want. It’s my apology to you.”

“Sex,” he breathes out in such relief and desperation you almost audibly snort, “my God, so much sex.”

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em-writes-stuff-sometimes · 1 year

Note

heyyyy i love your series so much. I’ve read it so many times and its always amazing. Can you pleaseeee write an AU blurb to daemon’s reaction of babey dying.

Someone wanted to suffer so OMG I AM SO SORRY FOR THIS! (Also sorry it took a while to get out, I wanted to finish off 'Worship' before getting to this little blurb, but I hope it feeds your need for pain!) THIS IS AN ALTERNATE UNIVERSE BLURB, DO NOT PANIC!!!

the stranger ('terms of endearment' au)

On the night of your child's birth, Daemon's world implodes.

Triggers: death in childbirth.

When had the world gone cold?

His was a body formed from fire and blood, a raging inferno that sweeps away all who dare to cross him in a maelstrom of heat and passion and fury. He burned bright, deep, dark, and all who knew his tempestuous nature feared it. Feared him.

But he is frozen and hollow now, a carcass left abandoned in the dying light for the vultures to pick upon. The emptiness swallows him whole.

He barely registers Rhaenyra’s sobs, or Viserys’s remaining hand upon his shoulder, or the Hightower bitch’s snivelling murmurs. When the attendants seek to move you, he thinks he snaps at them, but he cannot be certain. The noise is insensate, like trying to hear words under the waves of the ocean. His pulse fills his ears with useless sound, every beat a reminder that your own heart toils no longer.

Your hair – moonlight spilling over the pillows in luminescent shine – is as bright as ever, as soft and perfect and you as it had always been. He takes your jaw in hand, thumb tracing the bow of your petal lips, fingers across your cheek. You are so, so beautiful; it is a tragic beauty, the bloom of colour gone from pallid skin, pigment leached from stone. You were warm once, he recalls, but it is fading, oozing black and red across the mattress. It soaks through his breeches, wetting it with the life essence that ought to have remained within you, kept you vivid and buoyant and everything that is real and necessary. One of your small palms is clasped in his own, and they have always been cold, he has always warmed them for you. Why is it not working now?

“… the boy… his name?”

Ah, yes, he recalls. The babe.

His brave, brave girl. You had rocked and moaned and pushed and wailed as the child tore his way through you, retreating to that instinctive bestiality of ancient womanhood. He cannot recall the last words he had ever spoken to you, if there even were any, so lost in the haze of pain and torment as you had been. It was overwhelming, alarming, utterly destroying to do nothing but watch as new life had made you undone, had ripped itself from you and left you fractured beyond repair. He barely remembers it; hopes he never will. Those flashes of tears and screams and the lingering scent of doom will haunt him forevermore.

Dimly, he senses someone shifting your arm, something wiggly and squalling being deposited into the crook of it. Silver braid, black sleeve. A woman. He looks down at it, at that small, small lifeform, rosy flush and bow lips and pale hair so like yours. The child’s cries abate at the feel of his mother around him, a bond that will never break, not even when you are ash upon the wind.

The boy looks like you. Perhaps that’s impossible for a babe so new, but he does. His rosebud mouth is suckling, rooting for the milk that will never come from you, his little brows scrunching in frustration. He smiles. It is a broken, desperate thing.

Well done, my darling.

“Good girl,” he whispers, caressing your face. “My clever sweetling.”

Here, in this bed of blood, a part of him dies.

Don't worry, this WILL NOT HAPPEN in the main series - but I am happy to add these little blurbs to the Alternate Universe train! Thanks for reading!

#terms of endearment au #daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen fanfiction #daemon targaryen x you #daemon targaryen x oc #house of the dragon #house of the dragon fanfiction #hotd #hotd fanfiction #terms of endearment blurbs

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elegantsplendour · 8 months

Text

Fire and Storm

Summary: As the Seven Kingdoms hesitated between the Blacks and the Greens, Aemond stood ready to flip the script.

Dance of the Empire inspired one shot.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Lannister! reader, mentioned Aegon II Targaryen x Lannister! reader

Note: Hi my dearies, I’m so sorry I haven’t been active in the last month. Transitioning from Montreal to Toronto has been a lot to handle. But the good news is that I got elected as student council vp in my new school🤪. Here is a one shot inspired by my first fic Dance of the Empire (a bit spoiler). I will be back writing all the three fics and will try to update weekly. Thank you all for sticking with me❤️❤️❤️

Warnings: major character death

Tagging my friends :) @qyburnsghost @lovelykhaleesiii @boundlessfantasy @vhagarswar @purple-writer8 @valeska-fics @lexi-anastasia @f4ll-for-you

Within the chilling walls of the seat of House Baratheon, the hearth held a flame that danced rebelliously, threatening to bite those misfortunate enough to find themselves in proximity. Torrential water poured mercilessly from the sky while the wind howled ruthlessly. Sealed by the solid bricks of the castle, the flames, fragile compared to the frightful storm yet unpredictable and dangerous in nature, continued to consume silently.

The silver haired prince sat calmly by the scorching heat, his long fingers brushing against each other. It had been two days since the Lord of Storm’s End pledged allegiance to the prince’s elder brother, called by some the Usurper, in return for a marriage pact between the prince and one of the lord’s daughters. Amidst the looming threat of a deadly civil war, every second counted, but his delay was calculated. Aemond had been waiting silently and patiently for his nephew's arrival, much like a flame waiting to devour its fuel.

A servant knocked by the door, bowed and announced the news. Without a word, he arose from the chair and paced through the solemn hall of the castle with stately ease. The effortless regality exuded from his presence was as if he was on his way of being coronated. A sharp curl appeared on the corner of his thin lips as he recalled his drunken and debauched brother , expecting the Conqueror’s Crown on his head like an infant. With each step Aemond took, he felt himself drawing nearer to his desires: power and her.

Aemond Targaryen wanted everything and was ready to steal, scheme and slaughter.

Unlike his half sister Rhaenyra, the named heir of the late King Viserys, or his brother Aegon, born with the title of the first born son, Aemond Targaryen's life was a battle, a relentless one against a seemingly inescapable destiny of becoming another insignificant Targaryen royal, riding an ordinary dragon, holding a hollow position in court, accompanied by a mediocre noble woman, doomed to be forgotten in history.

However, when his mother suggested betrothing him to the eldest daughter of Tyland Lannister, he was taken aback. Could he, the overlooked second son, really be promised the "Beauty of Casterly Rock" and an alliance with the house guarding mountains of gold? Promises were a strange to the One-Eyed Prince, as he had always been a taker, much like he had claimed the largest dragon in the world. The fleeting memories of the golden lady of emerald eyes all appeared to him a cruel jest. The tender moments of her smiles were overshadowed by her anguished cries upon learning that she had been bartered off to Aemond’s elder brother Aegon, who would rather bury himself between the legs of harlots of the Flea Bottom.

Contained fury blazed in his chest as Aemond watched the young Lucerys Velaryon, his bastard nephew, who had taken his eye eight years ago.

Lucerys conveyed with a trembling voice Rhaenyra’s message to the Lord of Storm’s End. Aemond paid no attention to the words coming out of his mouth. His one violet eye burnt a hole in the quivering messenger. His throat throbbed with thirst for retribution as the flashes of scarlet and black that had blinded his eye when Lucerys’ blade had cut through his flesh.

This rage was tainted with despair, for what he truly desired was taken by his own kin and given to his brother. He soon realized he had nothing left to lose.

With that, as the Lord of Storm’s End dismissed the Velaryon impatiently, the prince’s shadowy figure also disappeared in the hall as he watched Lucerys mounting his pathetic and minuscule dragon Arrax while the storm still raged on.

Soon, the monstrous Vhagar hovered over the young dragon. The lightning tearing through the black sky and roaring of thunder were music to Aemond Targaryen’s ears, as if the gods were in awe of this spectacle of terror. In the face of raw power commanded by the largest dragon of the world, neither Lucerys, Rhaenyra, Aegon, nor even the games of thrones stood a chance. Aemond was the second son who inherits nothing he doesn’t seize for himself. Addicted to the intoxicating scent of the lioness of Casterly Rock and the adrenaline rushing in his veins from being on top of the world, Aemond whispered to the green beast, “Ipradagon.”

Eat

Scarlet blurs flashed before him, followed by a haunting dragon squeal echoed before him with no one but him to bear witness to the gruesome bloodshed. While others might see flesh and dragon bones plummeting from the sky, Aemond saw a vision of the Conqueror’s Crown landing on his head. While his mother, the Dowager Queen, sought to suppress the war, Aemond stroked the anger bubbling in Rhaenyra. And what better way than slaying her favourite son?

War were precisely what he craved; for war breeds to fear, fear spawns to chaos, and chaos is a ladder.

As the Seven Kingdoms hesitated between the Blacks and the Greens, Aemond stood ready to flip the script.

All his life, he had been but a sword wielded at another’s will. At that moment, Aemond Targaryen became the master of his own terror, and the realm would watch a second son rise to rule the continent.

#aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #hotd #aemond the kinslayer #hotd aemond #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen x oc #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen imagines #aemond x reader #aegon targaryen #aegon targaryen x reader #rhaenyra targaryen #lucerys velaryon #asoiaf

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buckrecs · 1 year

Text

2022 Bucky Barnes Fic Rec Wrap Up 2

part 1 | masterlist

favorite fics from 2022 series fic recs

All of them are COMPLETE Series.

1. Fatal Attraction by @gayouijaboard

Bucky x Assassin!Reader

Bucky’s quite the flirt, even when you’re in the middle of trying to murder him

2. Lost Without You by @angrythingstarlight

Mob!Dad!Bucky x Reader

Soft Mob Bucky Series

3. should’ve been you by @classylo

Bucky x Reader, past Steve x Reader

a Stark gala, a cheating boyfriend, an upset reader, and her boyfriend’s best friend...let’s begin shall we?

4. kisses, cookies and such | candlelight & cuddles by @stevebabey

Neighbor!Bucky x Reader

Something had... shifted. Yet somehow, nothing had changed. You can’t put your finger on it, but sometime between then and now, there’s a difference. Well, that much was obvious — a lot of things had changed since Bucky and you became friends.

5. Something More by @tellmealovestory

Bucky x Reader Modern AU

After a bad breakup you ask your best friend to take your virginity. It’s just friends with benefits. What could possibly go wrong?

6. The Contingency Plan by @dilemmaontwolegs

Bucky x WOC!Reader

Bucky had promised he would find you after the war ended but you were planning on keeping your own promises to him, for better or for worse, so you were heading to Italy and to the front lines. Life in the war was fast, it was living moment to moment because you didn’t know how much time you had together. Then Bucky went missing and for a moment you had him back, all thanks to Steve, and despite your pleas Bucky went straight back into the fray of the war never to be seen again. When Bucky got his mind and body back in the 21st century he finds your name on a memorial for women who lost their lives or were missing in action during the war. He never had any idea you were still waiting for him.

7. Something Domestic by @fandoms-writings

Ex-military amputee!Bucky x Reader

Needing an escape from the loud and busy city life, Bucky comes to stay with you on your little farm. He didn’t expect you, a hardworking and beautiful woman with struggles of your own, to take his breath away and make life a little less dreary.

8. we’re fools. by @achillieus

Bucky x Reader College AU

for all bucky barnes knows, he hates clichés. and this thing between you two, happens to be the biggest one.

9. The Bienville by @indyluckycharlie

CEO!Bucky x Reader

Bucky is the young CEO of his family’s publishing house. A year into the role and working his ass off, he’s finally taking a much needed vacation (upon the advice of his well-meaning family and friends).

10. Greatest Hits by @lunarbuck

Bucky x Reader

You work at your family's record store, and Bucky lives next door. He comes into your store and asks you for some music recommendations. You soon realize that he has a lot to learn and make it your personal mission to show him the world he missed out on through music.

11. Obey by @waiting4inspiration

Bucky x Hydra!Reader

An assassin is brought in by Fury because he thinks she has a connection to HYDRA. Bucky recognizes her and knows how to handle the programming installed in her mind (much like his Winter Soldier programming). Things become challenging now that he is her new Commander and has the responsibility to look after and protect her from HYDRA.

12. Playing With Fire by @beccaanne814

Fireman!Bucky x Reader

What happens when two people who have nothing in common suddenly have to pretend to be in a relationship? Will the sparks between them ignite into something more, or is this romance doomed to crash and burn?

13. Strange Times by @/beccaanne814

Bucky x Reader

You have a certain type - smart, charming, and handsome as sin. For years you’ve been in love with the only man you thought possessed all of those traits, but a chance encounter with a Strange individual sends you and a certain ex-assassin on a journey of self-discovery. As you try to find a way back home, will you also be able to uncover the perfect man hidden beneath layers of guilt and self-loathing.

14. Invisible String by @oitommothetease

Mob!Bucky x Reader

James Buchanan Barnes, the owner of the most expensive-looking club in town and your new apartment. He was a dick and you hated him. What could possibly go wrong when you, the new girl in town, start bartending at his club to pursue your dreams?

15. A Weapon No More by @empyreanwritings

Bucky x Mutant!Reader

You made a promise to retire from the life of being used as a weapon after you escaped the Facility, but what’s one more mission? You wanted revenge on the doctor that created and tortured you for all those years, and S.H.I.E.L.D was giving you the opportunity to do so. Would it be worth breaking that promise?

16. Scars by @tokoyamisstuff

Bucky x Reader

Based on the Soulmate Prompt where whatever you write on your skin, it appears on your Soulmate’s.

17. Stepping Up by @i-am-a-closet-fanfic-fiend

Bucky x Reader

When Steve can’t go with you to your cousin’s wedding, he sends Bucky in his place. What happens when more than one person assume you’re dating?

18. Bucky’s Bistro Dates by @wonderlandmind4

Bucky x Reader

A Bistro owner is witness to Bucky Barnes bad dates.

19. Better by @captainscanadian

Doctor!Bucky x Doctor!Reader

Dr. James Barnes has it all: a loving family, caring best friends, and a successful career as one of the best heart surgeons in New York. He has everything he ever wanted his whole life… well, almost everything. One thing he never thought he could ever have was Y/N Y/L/N. She may have been a lot of things, but he loved her because she made him better.

20. Under Pastel Skies by @redgillan

Writer!Bucky x Artist!Reader

Bucky doesn’t need anyone, especially not a sugar baby. He isn’t that desperate... but she smiles so sweetly and she's endearingly awkward, and he’s so lonely. She’s an artist, a painter, the type of person who always puts others before herself. Throwing caution to the wind Bucky offers her a place to live, a place where she can finally paint whatever her heart desires. He doesn’t need much in return; a friend, a muse.

21. Save Me by @espinosaurusrexex

Bucky x Reader College AU

Bucky Barnes has never had it easy, which ultimately turned him into a caveman-like introvert with no desire to see the positive side of life. But what happens when the clumsily charming art student, Y/N, stumbles to his rescue, determined to show Bucky how truly wonderful the world is?

22. Summer Plans by @notimetoblog

Bucky x Reader Modern AU

Planning a trip with Bucky takes a turn when someone new comes into his life. Will it all change or can you still manage to have the perfect summer you planned?

23. i hate you but by @buckybarnesthehotshot

Bucky x Avenger!Reader

bucky and y/n can’t stand each other, but y/n needs help with her sister’s kids (enemies to lovers au)

24. Hello and Goodbye, by @sweetascanbee

Bucky x Adopted Wilson!Reader

You are Sam's adopted little sister, and he brings home a mysterious friend.

25. Dreaming of Better Days by @wizardofrozz

40s!Bucky x Reader

Steve always manages to find a fight no matter where he goes and Bucky is always ready to defend his best friend, until one day someone beats him to it. Bucky isn’t prepared to find you standing up for his best friend and he definitely wasn’t prepared to be so swept up by you. But most of all, he didn’t expect you to have such an important place in his future.

26. Grease Lightning by @language-rxgers

Bucky x Reader

You’re on the hair & makeup team for your school’s production of Grease, and Nat has signed you up to do the makeup for the lead role of Danny Zuko- played by none other than Bucky Barnes.

27. Snow by @delaber

Bucky x Agent!Reader

Tired of your constant bickering, Sam sends you and Bucky on a mission alone. When the worst possible outcome happens and you’re forced to spend several days together in a small cabin, you finally get to see a different, more pleasurable side to the man whose flesh you’ve always had a thorn in.

28. How to Make Small Talk in Five Simple Steps | How to Make the Right Decision in Five Simple Steps by @certifiedskywalker

Bucky x Reader

When people meet, they often use small talk as a means to negotiate and define the start of a new relationship. When you and Bucky meet, you both struggle to find the right words.

29. Next to Me by @sgtjbuccky

Bodyguard!Bucky x Reader

After an attempt on you and your identical twin’s life, your father calls in the Avengers for protection. Bucky soon realizes your father’s goal is solely to keep you sister safe, and decides that the times of doing the bidding of others are long gone, and takes your protection into his own hands.

30. Money, Power, Glory by @sergeantxrogers

Criminal!Bucky x Informant!Reader

James “Bucky” Barnes, New York state’s most infamous organized crime leader since the 1980s. With Bucky weaving through the fingers of local police and the federal government for far too long, they decide to go with plan B: you. Your job? Simple. Relay inside information back to the FBI, slipping through the cracks of Bucky’s fortress of a crime ring as an unknown imposter. The Bureau, however, has no idea you and Bucky are much more acquainted than you let on.

31. Blue by @softlybarnes

Bucky x Reader

James and Y/N take a road tip across the country to help Bucky’s recovery process. A question Y/N asks at the beginning of the trip sets Bucky searching his memories for an answer, one he finds he needs if he can move forward.

32. It’s All Fun and Games by @yikeswtfmate

Bucky x Reader MCU AU

A glimpse into Bucky and Y/N’s relationship, where they’re not together, but every single one of their friends would beg to differ.

33. A love that never leaves by @bitsandbobsandstuff

Bucky x Enhanced!Reader

Sometimes when you go looking for the past, you find things you never expected. When an accident brings him face to face with something he never knew he lost, Bucky Barnes begins to understand an age old truth – it’s so easy, sometimes, to love the things that destroy us.

34. Heart to a Gunfight by @lailannajacobs

Bucky x Reader Modern AU

You didn’t want to help Bucky Barnes make it through the party by pretending to be his fake girlfriend, after all, you had just met him. You also didn’t plan on the charade lasting as long as it did.

35. Café Crema by @wonderlandmind4

Bucky x Reader

The first time was an accident. The second time was coincidence. The third time is just unlucky. The fourth time is getting out of hand and the fifth may or may not be with intent. Otherwise known as The One Where He Spills Her Coffee.

36. If Only You Were Mine… by @bbgem329

Bucky x Reader Modern AU

You’ve been in love with Bucky Barnes since the moment you laid eyes on him. That was five years ago, when your older sister brought him home for a Sunday lunch and introduced him as her boyfriend.

37. желание by @sebbytrash

Bucky x Agent!Reader

Steve had drafted Bucky in to help with your training, not knowing you had feelings for him. Feelings? Ok, you were attracted to the man. Insanely so. And he hated you. Or at least that’s what you think, but is there more going on than you realise?

38. Awake My Soul by @foreverindreamlandd

Bucky x Reader Zombie Apocalypse AU

It's been five years since zombies first started walking the Earth, destroying anything and everything in their wake. Now, in this apocalyptic world, fighting for survival comes as naturally as breathing. The one thing you've learned ever since they arrived, though, is that the living can be so much more dangerous than the undead. When you stumble across two young, scared boys lost in the woods and being chased by walkers, you go against your better judgment and help them to safety. Little did you know that helping them would lead you to Bucky - an angry, grumpy, distrusting member of the camp Shield. Bucky has zero interest in having you enter his life. He's been hurt before and lost too many people to risk experiencing that kind of pain again, and he knows that there are secrets you aren't telling the group. Yet, when push comes to shove, and you're put at risk, he'll stop at nothing to keep you safe.

39. Fatality by @moonlight-prose

Bucky x Reader

After being dusted for five years he was back, except so were the memories he never had a hold of before. No longer did they sit dormant in his mind, but instead they attacked him day in and day out. Moments in time he didn’t believe were him. Until one returns to him and brings with it a piece of himself he thought he’d lost for good.

40. pretty woman, this is me trying by @captainsimagines

Bucky x Sex Worker!Reader

Bucky Barnes does not like to be touched. He’s completely ready to live a distant life and give up when the time is right. Until Stark hires him his own personal pretty woman. Over time, Bucky Barnes begins to learn how to touch again. How to feel again. How to love himself again.

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