#softly spoken - mini series! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

everythingne · 3 months

Text

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ ➛ looking in a mirror, riptide (op81)

last installment / series masterlist

mark and sebastian have vastly different ideas for how the strategy should go for bahrain. oscar has a mini victory, daisy struggles to adjust from f2 and people learn her politeness is more of a facade than anything.

warnings/notes: hate comments, no injury accidents, lance stroll being bitchy, this took so long to get out i apologize. i changed yns faceclaim to cecilia chancez

Mark and Sebastian had been behaving for the most part. Porsche was using them as trainers alongside the rest of their staff, and so far it had been smooth sailing. Mark was good at keeping to a regimented plan, keeping both drivers with strict meal plans, workout schedules, and media duties, while Sebastian did more of the experimental work. The car had come along beautifully, the uniforms were gorgeous, and everything was sleek and ready to go.

And then it came to team strategy.

It was a bit of a bicker point for the two retired drivers, and while it was clear you had a big strength with overtaking while Oscar had a bigger strength on defense, it was often bickered about who should do what.

The plan for Bahrain, excluding all the minute details, is mostly for you to lead with Oscar defending you from behind. The two of you are to stick together like a pack, trying not to get seperated. It's clear Mark doesn't want Oscar to get pushed to a second drivers position either, not that the younger Aussie minds it, but knows you have a better chance of shooting ahead with overtaking last moment, so it's a weird balance back and forth for Mark alone. Add Sebastian in and it’s a whole mess.

Arriving in Bahrain, you and Oscar are ushered to the hotel to drop your stuff and then immediately to the paddocks. Its been a mix of dread and excitement for the whole eight hour flight, and Oscar's easy to talk to about it. Hence why you both buckle down in your drivers room, snacking and laying back.

"I still haven't spoken to Rhys about the swap." You admit when Oscar asks, causing him to hum as he leans back against the wall he's sitting against while you stretch against the opposite wall.

"I mean, you haven't really been home. We've practically lived in the garage for weeks." Oscar shrugs, "my sisters are getting real impatient with me not answering them, I imagine with Rhys being just as busy its hard."

"And now he's in a new time zone too. It's so weird." You huff, lowering the bar you've been using to stretch out your shoulders and neck absentmindedly while Oscar rolls his wrists out on one of the small pediatric balls you've been given.

And as deadpan as usual, he says, "It'll come up this weekend, probably. Are you still angry about it?"

You shrug. It's a betrayal, for sure. You'd both promised to always stick together, but here you were... left behind. Like all baby sisters were eventually. On the other hand, you understand his desire to chase what may give him the best chance at a strong future. No other team had offered you a contract, but McLaren wanted Rhys. So it made sense to you.

"Being conflicted is better than just hating him, y'know." Sebastian's voice chimes and you turn to the German who smiles softly, welcoming himself in. Not that you or Oscar will complain.

"I don't hate him, I don't think I can." You shrug, handing Oscar the pipe for his shoulders when he asks for it softly. Sebastian just nods, its not like he's told you that Rhys was chasing money rather than a dream.

"Twenty minutes to media," Mark steps in too, giving Sebastian a soft smile and nod in greeting before turning to you and Oscar, "How are you guys feeling?"

"Fine," Oscar hums, "same old, same old."

"A bit nervous." You admit and Seb leans over to nudge you while Mark gives you a sympathetic smile, but allows your strategist to give you a pep talk while he kneels down to talk with Oscar.

"Ay, it's not nothing you haven't already done." Sebastian leans on the wall near you as you stretch a bit, "Just go slow, and we'll be nearby if you need to like get out of a weird situation."

"Its not weird shit I'm worried about, its Rhys." You huff, leaning to pop your head on Sebastian's shoulder, "you know how he gets, and I don't want media getting any crazy ideas that we like.. hate each other or something."

"Do you hate Rhys?"

"I... I'm fucking pissed and right now, in this moment, I hate him a little bit."

Sebastian nods and wraps an arm around you, shrugging as he says, "You think after everything I did, I didn't hate at least one person in the moment? Hell no, it used to be impossible to put Mark and I in a room together."

Mark laughs at that, but nods.

"But, we got over it. Or, more so, I realized it wasn't his fault and that I was being reckless. But we were young, now we're older and we get it."

Mark chimes in, "Look at Lewis and Nico, they hated each other. But now Lewis buys Nico's girls gifts all the damn time."

"It's a rough patch," Oscar says when your expression looks a little too confused, "they're saying, basically, one day it's something you'll look back at and be able to accept. It's nothing set in stone. You and Rhys are two peas in a pod or whatever, just let what happens, happen. He's still your brother."

“I know it’s just… I dunno.” You groan, burying your face in your hands. There's not much more to say at that point, so Sebastian just gives you a hug and soft reassurances before sending you and Oscar off for media day. Oscar takes your wrist to tug you along, before you both get settled in the media pen, Logan's the first to come up to you.

"Why don't you go see Rhys? He's right over there!" Logan cheerily notes, giving you the biggest all-American smile he can muster.

And when you peek behind Logan, Rhys has amassed a small crowd with his flare. He's smiling, definitely chatting it up with one of the McLaren volunteers or interns and you feel a weird sickness settle in your stomach.

"Uhm. No, I don't think he wants to see me." You say, "I'll just stick with the interviews, I'm not used to this yet so I just wanna be in and out, y'know?"

Logan and Oscar share an odd look but simply let you go off on your own. And for the most part, media is kind to you. You doesn't have to worry about any harsh comments about being a woman, or rude assumptions about your relationship with Rhys after the exchange... or questions about your ex. It's surprising. But, that surprise, you mostly equate to Oscar literally glaring daggers at any reporter who even tries.

The best part of your day, however, is meeting Jenson. He happily brings you off to the side a bit more, laughing as he bids away, "your guard dog, Piastri."

But Oscar smiles and steps closer, humming as he says, "Hey, I don't trust half of these media people."

"Oh, neither do I." Jenson smiles, patting Oscar's arm to show the dismissal was in jest. Cameras capturing you laughing at the two, and answering Jenson's simple questions. It takes maybe twenty minutes, purely because you find Jenson hysterical as you both keep going back and forth. It's Sebastian who comes to get you and Oscar, shooing Jenson away as he shouts,

"You're stealing me and Mark's kids!"

"Oh! Are you two married now?" Jenson doesn't miss a beat, grinning and making everyone in the nearby area start laughing. Sebastian kicks at him jokingly, Jenson sticking his tongue out in jest as he dodges and then bids the Porsche drivers farewell.

The rest of media day passes in a blur, and by the time the last event rolls about, you've got Oscar's face squished against your shoulder as he softly snores. You're about the same distance away from completely falling asleep when Oscar's hand shifts from where it's across his stomach to wrap around you, and you smile, snuggling into the warmth that is your black cat of a teammate.

porscheracing

liked by f1, rhyspearce, markwebber, and 569k others...

porscheracing: look like our drivers had a long day!! see you tomorrow for our first ever quali!

oscarpiastri: in my defense I was tired ?

landonorris: i told you for two years naps rock, and now that we arent teammates you finally nap??

msdaisypearce: im a comfier pillow <3

landonorris: BETRAYAL OF THE HIGHEST ORDER.

rhyspearce: good luck!

msdaisypearce: the tik tok doom scroll rlly got to us

user1: ok seriously. they are dating.

Qualifying went... alright. Oscar ending in P7, with you, even after penalties from other drivers, ending up in P18. Rhys ending up P9.

You try not to let the side eyes and sneered comments over the low placement get to you, but its hard when its just about every damn male reporter. Lissie and Jenson are by the far the only saving graces you find in the absolute shit show that is the post Qualifying interviews, and then you tuck yourself into a corner in the back of your drivers room to hide from the world for a moment--headphones on and blasting something as you keep your head leaned against the wall.

Three knocks rumbling the wall cause you to open your eyes, Sebastian sitting down next to you. He taps his ears and you oblige, sliding the headphones off and pausing the music.

"You had a great drive today, you know that, right?" He hums and you shrug, "c'mon. Don't let the media get to you, it's your first race. A lot of drivers flunk their first race. You're new to the car and everything, just be a bit easier on yourself, okay?"

"I hold more than just my own successes on my shoulders, Seb. I hold the door for every other girl after me. Doriane, Chloe, Amna and Hamda, Maya, Bianca, Abbi-- you get it." You huff. Having come from F1 Academy, you'd spoken to Susie on countless occasions about how she felt like she'd closed the door. Never scoring points, never getting a podium. She made the academy to open it again, and you were the test subject of all of her hard work.

Hooray.

"If I fuck this up, how can any of them get here too?" you try to bite back the btter tone in your voice. It's not Sebastian's fault this all sucks, but hes the only person close enough to take your anger out on, and you grunt, "and Rhys isn't even here."

Sebastian just leans back against the wall a bit more for a few moments before he asks, "but would having Rhys here help?"

You pause, looking up at Sebastian as he watches your vacant expression, watching the way you slowly sink down and shake your head, "I think he would honestly make me feel worse. He's always been the better driver of us. People are gonna compare us a lot as is, but if we were on the same team I think it would be a lot worse."

Sebastian just nods slowly, then stands, offering you his hand so you can get up. He peels you off the floor, bringing you back out now to the much quieter garage. There's a few engineers walking around, and Sebastian brings you up to the monitors and sits you down.

"Look at your statistics." He says, pointing at the screen, then glancing over his shoulder as Mark approaches and leans on a nearby wall, and Sebastian continues, "your marks, overall, are almost just as high as Oscars are. See? In training, you guys are neck and neck. I honestly think you were just in your head about it today, tomorrow you're gonna have the track nailed down, and know how the cars gonna handle, it hopefully it'll be easier for you."

Mark turns to leave then, giving a curt nod in goodbye. You notice the odd bristling along Sebastian's shoulders, but make an effort not to mention it. Not worth digging into years worth of drama this late on a race night.

"Just..." Sebastian sighs when he can tell you arent' fully convinced, "Go out there tomorrow, try your best. There's no real... real danger if you do terribly. Media can say whatever, but what matters most is here in this garage, right?"

"Sure." You sigh, "sure. Thanks, Seb."

"Don't mention it, Dais. Go get some sleep." He smiles, punching your shoulder as he stands, turning to the offices to go collect his items. You get up, moving to the hall where the drivers rooms are and pause. Mark murmurs something to Oscar with crossed arms, and you'd feel rude to interrupt or accidentally eavesdrop. But when Oscar's eyes meet yours, you can't deny the flame of competitiveness you see in them.

Oh boy. Here we go.

It's hot. Abnormally hot for Bahrain at night in March, settling around 32 degrees celsius. It's set to drop quickly to somewhere around 15, but you're burning up as you start the race. Hands stay firm on the wheel, your eyes firm on the Alpine ahead of you.

Your engineer, Jovanni, is softly speaking in your ear as you cruise around the first few passes, getting you firmly into P16 within the first five or so laps. You squeeze around Lance, getting some sort of near miss as you force him out of the way in the turn, and confirm your spot ahead of him.

"Keep pushing, you're doing amazing so far." Jovanni says, "uh... adjustment up for rotary, everything else seems good."

"Copy." you take a sip of water, adjusting the rotary in the straight as you come up alongside Alonso. Which is... such a weird feeling when you grew up watching him win as a kid. As you get level with his back wheels with your front, you go around the turn and are forced wide. It knocks you back behind him but you hum, speeding up to take the inside line in the next turn.

You almost make contact, but luckily he eases off to the wide and you manage to get in front of him. A soft laugh leaving your throat as you happily grin at the feeling. It's weird to pass a childhood hero, but you grip your hands tighter on the steering wheel as you press forward.

"Great overtake, keep pace." Jovanni says and you affirm his statement, pushing forward to where Checo's fallen back due to car issues in the first few laps. Glancing ahead in the crowded turn, you see Oscar overtake someone beautifully, and then you maneuver your way to the outside of the curve to try and overtake Checo.

And shit.

"Contact with Perez." You curse as his rear tires hit yours, "not sure of damage."

"Still on the track?"

"Yessir." You push ahead, but Checo blocks you. So, its a comfy P14 for now.

"Copy, box this lap."

You continue driving, keeping yourself firmly behind Checo until it becomes apparent someone is riding your ass a bit too close. Glancing in your rearviews you can see an Aston Martin, but you aren't sure which one. Pressing to keep the racing line as best you can, you force your way closer to Checo until there's a sudden slow. Cursing, you break and weave out of the way of whacking into the back of the Red Bull in front of you, but not of the Aston behind you.

The driver hits you and nails you into the gravel, causing you to spin out. It takes you a moment to recover, but quickly you push yourself back onto the track.

"Whichever Aston hit me needs to be paying better attention, he's being dangerous." You grumble out the complaint, "Definitely have damage."

"Get back in and box, we'll go from there." Jovanni says, but he sounds void of any confidence he might've had prior to this. You let out a string of frustrated curses and continue the drive, not worrying about passing or getting too far up before you have to box. Its a struggle just to keep the car moving at the point, and you can feel dread pooling in your gut. As you pull to the pits, you're disappointed to see Sebastian standing off the pitwall and instead at door of the garage.

"Damage is too extensive to the rear axle, you're going to have to retire the car." Jovanni says softly and you feel your head just fall to hit the steering wheel.

And then you lift your head and slam your hand into the steering wheel, "Motherfucker!"

By the time you're approached by Sebastian, it's been long enough for you to stew in your anger in your drivers room. You'd been taking our your anger on one of the training tennis balls, throwing it at the wall progressively harder until the small green scuff on the wall started to turn into more of a dent. After the last throw, you just batted it down to the ground like a cat and sunk to a ball on the couch in frustrated tears.

"Not yours, but he got a ten second time penalty." Sebastian's voice chimes from the door, you can't even find the strength to look over. He continues, "Oscar had brake issues, ended P10. Honestly, a better start than I was expecting."

Your head perks up at that, narrowing at Sebastian who just shrugs, "two drivers completely new to cars that have never been on the track before, from a brand new team? I expected P20 and P19."

"I had to DNF." You deadpan, "that should count as a shit start."

"Y/n. You got rear-ended because Stroll couldn't keep his eyes focused on one thing at once. It wasn't your fault, it happens." He stays in the doorway, eyes narrow on you, but Sebastian doesn't make a move to come into the room. He can sense you need the space.

When you don't respond he just sighs, "Look. You've got media in twenty. So you have about fifteen minutes to wipe the attitude off, Pearce."

The door clicks shut shortly after and you groan into the air, slowly dragging yourself up. Media. Yay. After ten minutes of pacing to get the last bits of angry energy out, you change into normal team gear and head out to the main bit of the garage to find whichever poor soul from the PR team is going to have to deal with your mood. You get stuck with a just out of highschool girl named Mollie, shes shy and bouncy as you walk, and her excitement rubs off on you a bit.

You ask her a few questions about her work within Porsche and she happily explains how much she adores the media team, and you let her go on and on while you walk because its sweet.

And when you get to the reporters, and she can sense you tense up, she gives a tiny smile.

"Media can be bitches," she murmurs lowly, making you laugh as you wait for the Bahrain reporter to organize his notes, "just give it back to them."

You give her a little fistbump, seeing a friendship forming in front of you, before you start down the wall of reporters. Most are very forgiving of your race result, wishing you better luck for the rest of the season. You make it halfway down, finding yourself in front of Sky News. Jenson is kind, happy to report to you, giving you a hug when you tell him how frustrated you were with your placement. And then you make it to the last ESPN reporter.

He's a lively guy, accent clearly from somewhere in the States. He starts calmly, slowly bringing you in, before you can see the pin is about to drop. Even Mollie sends you a nervous look.

"And, I wanted to avoid bringing it up, but how did you feel after the rear-ending that ended in your retirement from the race?"

You sigh, digging through your head to formulate some sort of classy response, eventually stammering out, "I mean.. it's unfortunate. We all had to slow due to an accident on the track. I tried to swerve out of the way, but Stroll drove into the back of me. He damaged my rear axle enough I had to retire. It's unfortunate but sometimes it happens."

"Yes, it is unfortunate." The reporter nods, looking over to his camera man before saying, "We did speak to Lance about this earlier. And uhm... he said, to quote, 'she's an idiot. You can't just stop in the middle of the race so yeah, I hit her. Maybe she should go back to F1 Academy and learn how to drive, or not have paid for a seat in F1.'"

Your jaw ticks shut. Mollie clears her throat and you glance down as she shows you whatever your PR agent wants you to say and you shake your head at her. She nods softly as you murmur, "no, thats too nice for a dick like Stroll."

Turning back, you lean closer to the mic hissing through your teeth, "Well, for one, Stroll has a lot of room to talk about being a pay driver. He's got a lot of room. And Lance has been driving for how long? He's not a bad driver, never has been particularly awful, but he's got a lot of attitude. I don't need to go anywhere to learn how to drive, and I'll come back next race and show that. Trust me. But what Lance may need to do is hire someone to teach him to not opening his mouth when it should be shut. This isn't the first time, and I know it won't be the last. He wasn't looking, he drove into the back of me, end of story."

The reporter blinks, shocked at the sharpness of your voice as you continue with a rough growl to your tone, "Everyone knows you watch the car in front of you. That's like the cardinal rule of driving. Regardless of if you're on in a road car or on a race track. He put me in danger, and if the accident had been worse, other drivers in danger -- especially with how fast we were going. He should rethink his choices before commenting on my skill and my ability. I got here because I deserve to be here, end of--" you click your tongue to avoid cursing, "end of story."

The reporter just slowly nods, thanking you for your time, and as you leave Mollie grins as she says, "that was kinda badass."

"Thanks," you grin, taking a drink of the Red Bull you snagged off a random table in the garage earlier, "I feel better now."

"Good." Mollie giggles and you smile, moving along with her back to the garage.

liked by sebastianvettel, oscarpiastri, lewishamilton, and 816k others...

msdaisypearce: not the first race i wanted to have in f1. but we keep pushing. see u in saudi <3!

user1: last pic is a whole mood

oscarpiastri: no pic credits :(?

⤷ msadaisypearce: ur so spoiled. (oscar took the last pic)

user2: shes an f1 driver and yet didn't post herself in uniform?

user3: erm. oki girl whtv u say like u didn't slam on the brakes.

rhyspearce: u did ur best !!

⤷ user4: why is this so passive aggressive??

⤷ user5: daisy hasn't even LIKED her brothers posts since he moved to mcl

⤷ user6: that's so conceited of her. like if ur butthurt ur brother got a better team just be better next time?

sebastianvettel: tough start of the season but like i said before, you've got this kid !!

user7: her beef w lance is SOOO good like pop off daisy

user8: just proving f1a hasn't prepared its drivers AT ALL.

( taglist is open ! )

@evie-119

#f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #formula one fanfiction #formula one fic #formula 1 fic #formula 1 fanfic #formula one fanfic #oscar piastri fanfic #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri fic #oscar piastri x y/n #oscar piastri x reader #op81 x you #op81 x reader #op81 fic #nicole wrote this

91 notes · View notes

ultralightpoe · 2 years

Text

Blood of my Blood Pt 2 - Aemond Targaryen

Authors Note: There will be a part 3 soon, and maybe a couple mini chapters after. But the final part of the series is part 3

Warnings: Smut- reader gets lashed- Aemond kills

Word Count: 3,252

Description: Your affair with Aemond could be exposed to the court.

Part One --------- Part Three

Aemond had spent months as your lover, had spent every night he possibly could claim you as his, and he never once thought of you.

Well he thought of you, he thought of you while he ate and slept and rode his dragon. He thought of ways to make you smile and ways to kill your husband so he could protect you. You were on his mind every splitting second of every day.

But he never thought of you falling pregnant.

It was your job, you had said as much on one of the many nights he spent sleeping in your chambers, with you tucked under his chin while rubbing your bare back. Neither of you had spoken above a whisper, and yet your words were still so loud to him. He blatantly ignored them. The thought of you falling pregnant with that man's child hurts.

He never thought of the chance the babe would come out with silver hair and purple eyes. He was selfish. So fucking selfish.

If that babe came out looking like him then you would be killed, prince or not there were rules that needed to be followed. His mother would never protect you, neither would his father. He needed to protect you. He needed to step up.

He got you appointments with the royal maestor, spent afternoons walking around the gardens with you for the exercise the maester recommended. He had more guards posted around your room so your husband wouldn’t be able to hurt you during your pregnancy. Not that it mattered really, now that you had fallen pregnant the vile idiot didn’t bother looking at you.

Oh how Aemond wished to tear his guts out one at a time.

You were growing, your dresses now popping out and your breasts swelling in a way that had his pants tightening and a blush traveling his neck. He was taking care of you, he was making sure you were okay. Moments he could not be there he had you sat in a room with Helaena, and you absolutely loved her.

Aemond realized that Helaena would say her crazed thoughts and you would indulge his older sister by making up fairytales, using her words as a prompt.

Things were going great.

Then his mother found out.

She called for him in her bedchambers, sitting on one of the many seats in her seating room, already glaring when he came in. “I know Aemond.”

“You know many things, mother.” He snarks, hands coming to fold behind his back.

“Don’t do that. Don’t you dare-” She snarls back, standing up with a hand on her stomach and another on her forehead in stress. “We both know you ended up being the most cunning of my children and you know I hate when you act-”

“Mother-”

“YOU’VE IMPREGNATED HER!” She screams, hands flying wildly. “I let the fucking slide, assuming you wouldn’t think with your cock like your brother-”

Aemond can only roll his eyes at that.

“But then she fell pregnant and her husband was made aware and so was his grandmother. There is no option for moon tea, but it’s fine. There is no way my cunning son would ever let her fall pregnant. Then the maestor tells me of his most recent question on one of the visits he has been paying him for-”

“You knew about th-”

“I KNOW EVERYTHING! I have many people in this castle watching you, including the Maestor. Who was more than willing to report that you were questioning for ways of sensing if it was a Targaryen child-”

“I need to know-”

“So you can plan everything in your favor?! Kill the child and-”

“I WOULD NEVER KILL THE CHILD NOR LET ANYTHING HAPPEN TO EITHER OF THEM SO BEFORE YOU KEEP SPILLING ACCUSATIONS AT ME-”

“And what happens when the child comes out looking like him? Huh? When it is his child?” She asks softly, moving closer. “Will you hate the babe? Hate her?”

“I would be a better father than he ever would.”

“It doesn’t matter to you the descent of the child.” Alicent mutters, realization finally setting in.

“She matters. Y/n matters. I would be glad for that child to come out looking like his twin if it means nothing happens to her.” There were tears building up, teeth clenched as he looks to his mother. “They will kill her-”

“We won’t let that happen.” She admonishes, pulling her son in. “I just needed to know you weren’t going to destroy this family.”

“I would destroy anything if it meant she was safe.” And deep in his bones Aemond knew that he would have to.

—---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Aemond spent the next 2 months plotting, on how he would get away with this all and still keep you safe. He thought of this as he lazed in his bed one morning, you right beside him.

Normally he would be out, taking Vhagar on her daily ride. But the bigger the babe got further into your pregnancy the more tired you became. So instead he stayed in, watching you sleep peacefully in his chambers instead of your own.

He also felt a little guilty at the fact that he took far too much pleasure in keeping you up late.

The further along you got the more insatiable you got. Any touch from him and you were moaning, round after round, which he was more than happy for.

At this very moment he was looking at the marks he had left, from bitemarks to lovebites, all strewn across your skin as the sun showed in through the windows. He reached a hand to trace along one, before sliding it to your belly and feeling where the babe lay. This was something he did quite often while you slept.

Leaning forward he placed a small kiss on your stomach and began whispering to the child, praying to it. “You have absolutely no idea how much pride I would take in a child, but that would be a danger to us all, so just this once I ask you to listen.”

“Are you begging an unborn babe not to look like you?” You giggle, eyes slowly peeking open as you stretch to the morning, breast close enough for him to lick at. This draws a fiery laugh from you before a moan, moving back to avoid his touches.

“That is not fair.” You say, breathy pants taking over as he crawls closer, growling like a predator.

“Twas not fair? Was it?” He smiles, looking down at you as he leans over your figure, hair hanging down around you like a curtain and purple eye gleaming whilst his sapphire glints in the sunlight. “Why is that Little Bird?”

“You know how sensitive I am.” You smile, hand coming up to rub his neck lovingly while the other reaches to hold the wrist holding him up beside your head. “And it is far too late for you to do anything about it-”

“I am the prince, it is not far too late for me to do anything.”

“I am expected to see my husband and his grandmother today. Not to mention if I am seen leaving your quarters then it’s-” He interrupts you by blowing hot air on one of your nipples, drawing a moan from you. “Aemond-”

“Y/n.” He mocks your serious tone, kissing you on the lips softly before sliding down and tugging the blankets off your lower half.

“Aemond-” You warn, but it is too late, your lover has already set his eyes on his mark and is diving for your cunt in no time. He is licking and sucking, pulling you into him by your thighs and refusing to let up as you moan and crumble beneath him.

You’re mewling his name over and over and he just cannot get enough of the sound nor your taste. He pushes you closer, so his nose can begin rubbing your folds as his tongue expertly moves into you.

It’s not long before your back is arching and you are screaming his name.

He leans back on his knees, panting as he licks his lips hungrily. You had made a mess of his face and leaned up to wipe it clean when his wrists caught both of yours. “What did I say about lifting a finger during your pregnancy?”

“Am I not allowed to clean you up, my king?” You know exactly how to get what you want, and Aemond loves the playful look in your eyes as you speak the words. “Am I not allowed to clean the mess I made of my king? My one true-”

His lips are on you in an instant, taking your bottom lip between his teeth and biting down. You reach down and grip him softly, raising a brow. “Would a king leave a loyal subject wanting?”

“Well I would ask you to bend the knee to me….but after last time…..” He teases, watching your face heat up and you snatch your hand away.

“You jest too much, lover. It was not my fault-” You defend as he laughs, hands cupping your cheeks as you relive the memory of getting stuck on your knees and having him lift you off the floor due to your stomach.

“I was going to say, if you simply let me finish my sentence…” He smiles, hands moving to rub your stomach. “If you could not bend the knee to me…. I must do so for you.”

You raise an eyebrow, looking at him and he can feel his heart through his chest. “Aemond, what do you mean?”

“Marry me.”

“Aemond?”

“Marry me.” He begs, getting off the bed to get on his knees before it, grabbing your thighs to pull you to him. “Let me kill him.”

“You would dishonor yourself by doing so-”

“I’ve done far worse and would do far worse-”

“Aemond. You are not thinking properly.” You whisper, pulling him up to stand. “What would happen to me? To the babe?”

“You would marry me.”

“I would be scorned. This child would be treated like a bastard and it would ruin your family's honor.”

“Fuck my familys honor.”

You seem to lose it at that, tugging his neck down so he is at your level. “Don’t ruin your life for me-”

“Don’t ruin yourself for a fucking honor code-”

“Nothing will happen to me. You’ll protect me. I know it.”

You leave it at that, pulling him into the bed and letting him mark you over and over and over.

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You sit by your husband in court, hand stroking your stomach in quiet contempt as you stare at the ground, just as you always did when you were near your husband.

Aemond hated that. He hated how weak and scared that man made you. He wished you would rip his throat out with your teeth.

His brother elbowed him harshly, drawing his glare away from where you sat with that monster. Aegon gave him a sneer, already knowing, but Aemond was too far gone to care.

He hadn’t seen you all day, your husband had summoned you to his chambers last night for pleasure which pissed Aemond off to no end. You were so far along in your pregnancy, and if that man had been even the slightest bit aggressive with you he would-

He is once again drawn from his thoughts by his siblings, Helaena this time, pulling him by his arm as everyone leaves the throne room. “The little bird will scream as the dragon will unleash.”

His fists clench, heat traveling his neck as he looks down at her, letting her lead him. “What does that mean?”

He had given up guessing what her riddles meant a long time ago, but this one struck a nerve he hadn’t realized he had.

“Eye to eye. Fate laughs at us.”

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He was separated from you all day. His sister Helaena had dragged him to sit with their mother for tea and then he had to attend a family dinner with his half sister and her bastard sons.

He got a small bit of release when he started a fight with his family, guards rushing to keep them separate as his uncle Daemon blocked his children from Aemonds attack.

It got worse when he entered his bedroom to find the grandmother. The old crone related to your husband, sitting on a settee with a smug smile placed onto her features.

His mother, who had come with him to bitch him out for his behavior, stopped short behind him. “Lady Mirva, might I ask why I find you waiting in my son's chambers?”

“You might want to shut the door.” She smiles, drinking from her goblet of wine. “I’m sure you don’t want the castle to know my next words.”

Aemond is stuck in place, one hand on his sword the other limply at his side. He senses his mother shutting the door before coming to stand behind him, a hand on his shoulder. “Speak.”

“She will be killed, you know?” She laughs, looking at Aemond. “The second that bastard comes out they will have her head on a fucking spike, Targaryen or not. They’ll probably kill the bastard too.”

“How did you figure it out?” Alicent asks, moving forward.

“You really think I would move into this place without at least some foresight. I’ve been paying your maids.” Clever. The maids would be the ones cleaning both their sheets and repairing the dresses he ripped.

“What do you want? You did not come here for nothing.” Aemond mutters, taking a step forward.

“I could say the babe died during labor, I have a maid in there with her now. It would be easy.”

“In with her…..now? What do you mean?” Aemonds heart stopped, his hands shook, one tightening around his sword. “Is she in….”

“I lashed her.”The crone admits, standing tall. “I beat her until she told the truth, and once she did I lashed her back until I drew blood. Labor started soon after that. I will make it a lot worse for all of you unless of course….”

“Let me guess…” Alicent starts as Aemond processes the words. “You want your son to become a lord, and earn his own land.”

“It’s what we have been fighting for since we came to this-” She didn’t get to finish her sentence, Aemonds sword driving straight through her neck in a swift movement. Her eyes were wide with fear, blood leaking from her neck as her head slid off.

Alicent looked away in shock as Aemond wiped the blood off his blade.

The room stays silent for a moment as Aemond stares at the crones body, a sneer laced onto his features while his mother lets out a sob. “We’ll be ruined. Aemond. Once…..once people find out she was slaughtered in your chambers we’ll be-”

“She hurt Y/n.” It was all he needed to say for Alicent to stand tall, wiping her eyes. “You need to find Sir Cris-”

“I need to find Y/n.” He snaps, moving to the door only to be snatched back.

“The second you step into that room and that babe is born with white hair it is all over. Get Sir Criston, now. I will tend to Y/n-”

“Her husband will-”

“I will attend to Y/n. Go. Now.”

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He kept his word and got Sir Criston……then immediately ran to your room.

His mother would be a fool if she thought he would stay away from you. It didn’t take long to reach the rooms, the door already slightly open allowing him to open it wider and peak in.

Only to stop short at what he saw.

Your forehead was pushed up against Rhaenryas, hands fisted into the shoulders of his half sister's dress, sobbing for help. “Please don’t tell….please.”

“It’s okay, no one is going to tell. I can send Daemon if you want for him to find-” His sister tries to ease his beloved, helping her into the bed. “But if he is here they will know.”

It clicks, you had been asking for him, in your time of need you had wanted him. But that would put you at risk, and it became clear that he needed to leave.

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Your husband had been out on the town the night you gave birth, the night Aemond slaughtered his grandmother. You had spent hours in the room with Rhaenrya, and Aemond had sat outside listening and praying.

He was sure the gods were laughing at him in this moment. The man who had slaughtered so many for fun…….. Now praying for the life of his love and her child.

He was about to begin praying again, when your screaming stopped and the room fell silent. No…No no NO NO NO NO NO NO.

He launched up, ready to tear through the door until he heard the cries of a babe and the gasps of the maids.

“Lady Y/n……” He knew. That’s all he needed to hear to know. Shit. “You’ve given life to a boy.”

A boy.

He had a son…. You had a son.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Your room stayed busy until the early hours of the next day.

Your husband finally made it to see the child and there was a constant stream of handmaids coming to check on you and your injuries. Aemond never got the chance to slip in, though he tried.

So he waited, going down to the training yard and taking all his frustration out on the poor guards training. He waited, to hear the news of your babe. To hear the gossip.

But nothing came.

Finally, in the early hours of the morning, he was able to slip into your room.

He found you standing there, gripping the arm of a settee and doubled over in pain. A slight anger took over as he rushed to you. “Is there a reason you are not resting?”

“I was waiting for you.” You whisper back, turning to him slowly. His arms come up to catch you, wrapping around your waist as a feeling of pride washed over him.

“I heard the news. A boy…. You did it.” He whispers with a wide smile, setting you down. “You did amazing.”

“Aemond-”

“You need to get to bed, you have injuries from a lashing as well as making a son. You shouldn’t be-” You look shocked when he mentions the lashing but ignore it, slapping a hand over his mouth to stop him.

He kisses your palm as his eyes close, breathing you in. “I need to know you’re okay.”

You kiss his temple as an answer, before moving to go grab a small bundle from your bed, turning to move back to him. He’s launching up in a second to save you a trip.

He helps you lay on the bed, grabbing the bundle from your arms and filling his eyes well up with tears as he looks down at the boy.

Your hair. The child had your hair.

Thank the gods.

“It’s his…….” He’s ashamed to admit the disappoint crossed through him, but there was mostly pride. Then the babes eyes opened and Aemond gasped, his lungs exploding in his own body as the child stared at him.

The violet eyes that stared up at him completely wrecked Aemond, within moments he was quietly sobbing. Targaryen eyes.

This was his family. He just had to remove one thing in his way.

(Do you really think Aemond will let your husband live after this)

#aemond targaryen angst #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen smut #House of the dragon #house of the dragon imagine #house of the dragon x reader

2K notes · View notes

hiddenwritingsintheworld · 26 days

Text

Midnight Rain Ch. 4

Rich Mans World Series | Man After Midnight Series

Donations | Thoughts & Feelings | Chapter 3

“It was fucking wild Seb. She acted like she was her regular old self again and I just know she’s gonna crash and burn it all to the ground.” Brooke said as she helped Seb cook dinner. “Maybe she is just getting back to her normal self Brooke…why is that such a bad thing? It’s been almost 4 months since she lost her child, why does she have to remain in this constant state of depression and wanting to kill herself?” Seb turned asking her as a thick silence fell over the kitchen.

“I’m not going to kill myself. I lost my baby, that alone will keep me fighting for some while. I have boxes that need donated, Seb if you could handle that or call Anthony or someone, I don’t care who. Just get someone to take care of it. The rest of the items not being donated will be moved to my new apartment across town.” you said causing both Sebastian and Brooke to turn and look at you. “You two can take over the lease here…I don’t want it any longer.”

“Y/N…I don’t think that’s such a great idea.” Brooke said walking around the island to you. You looked at her, squaring your shoulders. “While I appreciate everything and I do mean everything you and Sebastian have done for me Brooke, I don’t need pity…I don’t need a mother hen standing over me, making sure I don't cry at the drop of a hat. I need a right hand girl who's going to gut the guy responsible for killing my child. If you can’t provide that service now, then guess what? Move along and I’ll find someone better.” You weren’t vicious in your speech, you were stern. You…you were back. “I packed up….her room as well. Donation boxes are in the hallway, if we could get that taken care of before I get back that would be great. I worked on this all night, I am not changing my mind, I don’t want to think about it anymore. I’m going to go meet a friend for coffee, I’ll be back later.” you said as Brooke tried to interrupt you multiple times.

“Wait, a friend?” It was Sebastian's turn to follow you. “Are you meeting Chris?” he asked as you grabbed your purse and headed for the hooks that held the keys. “No, I am not. I haven’t spoken to Chris since he left yesterday. I said I was meeting a friend. Not my…” you stopped short before turning to look at Sebastian. “I’m meeting a friend at the Starbucks down the road, if you need me, you may reach me on my cell phone, but unless it’s an emergency, then don’t try to reach me. If I need anything I’ll call you.” you said before snatching up the keys, and walking out the door without another word.

Sebastian looked at Brooke who stared back at him, “What are you waiting for! Grab your purse and let's go!” he said, huffing out. Like they’d ever let you go out alone to meet someone they weren’t familiar with.

“So, how are you?” you asked Steve as you both sat in a small circular booth in the back of your favorite coffee shop. Steve smiled while sipping the coffee before looking at you, “I’m good. Better now that we’re having this mini date.” he chuckled as you laughed softly. “A Mini date? If this is considered a mini date…what do you consider a real date?” you asked as he leaned back, smirking at you. “First of all, I’d pick you up, none of this…” he made a motion with his fingers, “driving yourself…you’re a lady, you should be treated as such. Secondly, we’d go to this nice little italian restaurant, I’d rent it out, so it’s just you and I…play romantic music, take our time enjoying dinner, dancing a little. Then, once dinner was done, we’d go for ice cream, then after enjoying an ice cream, I’d be the perfect gentleman and drop you off at your front door, a soft kiss, and then…I’d call you the next day to set up our next date.” he picked up his coffee as his eyes drifted away from you and out the window to your right.

You stared at him, realizing that you’d never been treated right, Chris never did this, he never treated you like this…you couldn’t recall the last date you went on with him. You smiled and raised your eyebrows as you brought the coffee cup to your lips. “Sounds like you know how to show a girl a good time.” you mumbled out after sipping the hot liquid. You welcomed the burning sensation in your throat, making it difficult to speak for a moment. Steve was incredible, he’d told you about breaking up with his long time girlfriend around 5 months ago, that he’d tried to go out a few times but found the women were really just dating him to get him into bed, which he did not do on the first date.

Steve also told you about his dog, a golden retriever named Boomer, and his fat orange tabby cat, Bernie, "Boomer sounds like a sweetheart," you remarked, recalling Steve's stories about his furry companions. "And Bernie must keep him on his toes," you added with a chuckle.

Steve nodded, a warmth spreading across his face as he talked about his pets. "Yeah, they're quite a pair. Boomer's always up for a game of fetch, and Bernie, well, he thinks he's the king of the house."

You smiled, enjoying the easy conversation and the genuine interest Steve showed in sharing these details with you. It was refreshing, a stark contrast to the indifferent and self-centered attitude Chris had always displayed.

As you both continued chatting, you found yourself captivated not only by Steve's stories but by his attentive manner and the way he made you feel valued and respected. It was something you hadn't realized you'd been missing until now.

The cozy ambiance of the coffee shop seemed to fade into the background as you lost yourself in conversation, the hours passing unnoticed. Before you knew it, Steve glanced at his watch and chuckled softly. "Looks like we've been here longer than I realized." You checked the time as well, surprised at how quickly the afternoon had flown by. "Time really does fly when you're having a good time," you replied with a smile.

Steve nodded in agreement, his eyes meeting yours with a warmth that sent a flutter through your stomach. "I've really enjoyed today," he admitted sincerely.

"Me too," you replied softly, feeling a sense of contentment settling over you that had never existed before.

Steve hesitated for a moment, then reached across the table, his hand covering yours gently. "Would you like to do this again? Maybe for a... proper date this time?" You looked down at his hand on yours, a smile tugging at your lips. "I'd love that," you answered, meeting his gaze with certainty.

And as you sat there, hands intertwined, you couldn't help but feel grateful for this unexpected moment, realizing that sometimes, the best things come when you least expect them.

Tag List:

@adriellej @auriel187 @patzammit @bval-1

30 notes · View notes

littlest-w01f · 16 days

Text

Cures

Eris Vanserra x Celeste (Lucien x Oc's mini-series coming soon)

For @erisweekofficial

Eris week 2024 Masterlist

Day 3: Healing

Summary: After Eris was beaten bloody by his father, left abandoned in a shed, a witch finds him, she is more than willing to aid him

Cw: Wounds, blood

The sun had set hours ago, Eris was strung up in an abandoned shed miles outside any civilisation, crying was no use, and screaming for help wasn't one either, the cuts on his chest had slowly started to heal, the whip marks were cauterised, causing nothing but pain.

Eris hung limply from the chains, his head drooping forward as he struggled to remain conscious through the agony that wracked his body. The metallic scent of blood mingled with the musty odor of the decaying shed. Each labored breath sent fresh waves of pain radiating from his wounds.

Outside, the night pressed in, silent and uncaring. No saviour would come. He was utterly alone with his tormentor. A faint rustling came from the shadows at the back of the shed, his father returning. Eris tensed, dreading what new torments awaited him.

Heavy footsteps approached, hurried. "Oh, Mother," A soft voice, not his father. "What happened to you? Poor thing..." The voice tutted as gentle hands got him out of the chains.

When the female came into view, Eris' breathing got caught in his throat, her eyes were like pink diamonds, having little feline slits in them, hair to match, and her face was round, soft and innocent, contrasting her sharp eyes, concern etched over her features.

The young female, barely older than Eris himself, looked upon him with a mixture of shock, pity, and a hint of fear. Her large, gemstone-like eyes took in every detail of his battered form - the dried blood caked around gashes on his torso, the swollen bruises discolouring his skin, the vacant stare in his eyes. She let out a small gasp, covering her mouth with a delicate hand.

"Oh gods, what heartless creature did this to you?" She whispered, her voice trembling slightly. She glanced towards the door, she made up her mind, gently scooping him up into her arms as if he were a fragile doll.

Her touch, though gentle, sent jolts of agony coursing through his abused body. Yet there was something comforting about her warmth, her concern, it was a stark contrast to the cold brutality of his father.

"Who… who are you?" Eris managed to croak out, his voice raw from screaming. His eyelids fluttered as he tried to focus on her, each movement causing more pain. He winced, biting down on his lower lip to stifle a groan.

"You may call me Celeste," She spoke softly, "Who left you here? Not many Fae visit this part of the woods."

Celeste's name rolled off his tongue like a soothing balm, a stark contrast to the hellish reality of his situation. He could barely believe that such a kind soul existed amidst the cruelty of his world.

"My... Father... He brought me here," Eris murmured, his words slurred from pain and exhaustion. "He said I deserved punishment." He swallowed hard, his throat feeling raw and dry. "Why are you here? This place is dangerous…"

His gaze drifted to the door again, half expecting his father to burst in at any moment, only to find Celeste instead. It was confusing, overwhelming, yet somehow reassuring.

"I'm a witch," She admits casually, waving her hand to produce a bunch of different plants and salves.

Eris watched in awe as Celeste waved her hand, conjuring up veritable herbs and ointments. Witchcraft was often spoken of in hushed tones, seen as a threat to the established order. To see it before him now, used to ease his suffering, filled him with hope.

"Witchcraft is outlawed in Autumn..." He began weakly, his voice trailing off as he stared at the array of healing items. "But I don't care right now. Please, help me."

"Yeah, because we can just outlaw faeries." Celeste snorted, reaching for a paste to put on his cuts.

Celeste's flippant remark brought a wry smile to Eris' lips despite the agony. There was a spark of defiance in her tone, a refusal to be cowed by the oppressive forces that ruled their lands.

As she applied the cooling paste to his wounds, Eris felt a sense of peace wash over him. For the first time since being dragged into this nightmare, he allowed himself to relax, trusting in Celeste's ministrations.

"What's that?" He asked, pointing to a particularly vibrant dark purple herb. "It smells wonderful."

Celeste glanced up, her pink diamond eyes sparkling with amusement. "That's Nightshade Bloom. It has remarkable healing properties. Among other things... My friend from the Night Court got them for me."

"Nightshade? Isn't that poisonous?" Eris asked, intrigued despite his weakened state. He knew the basics of herbalism in Prythian from his studies, but this was beyond anything he'd encountered.

Celeste chuckled softly, her fingers deftly crushing the petals into a fine powder. "Poison and medicine are two sides of the same coin. It's all in how you use it." She mixed the Nightshade with a clear gel, forming a thick paste that glimmered in the dim light.

Carefully, she applied the mixture to Eris' worst wounds, humming a lilting tune under her breath. The pain receded, replaced by a warm tingling sensation that spread through his body. Eris found himself relaxing into her touch, lulled by the melody. "There now, when it dries, it means you've healed."

Eris watched, mesmerized, as Celeste worked her magic. With each application of the paste, he felt his body responding, the pain ebbing away, replaced by a strange sensation of renewal. Despite himself, he found his eyelids growing heavy, the rhythmic hum of her song lulling him into a state of peaceful numbness.

"I've never met a witch before," He admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "You're… very different from what I imagined."

Celeste hummed as she moved behind him, taking care of his back, "What did you imagine witches look like?"

Eris sighed softly, the question drawing him further into a meditative trance. "An old crones, ugly and wicked," He confessed. "With pointed hats and brooms. But you… You're beautiful, kind."

A wave of warmth washed over him as Celeste touched his injured back, sending tendrils of pleasure weaving through his sore muscles. His eyes fluttered closed, his mind adrift on a sea of comfort and relief.

"And your magic… it's so gentle, so caring," he continued, his voice little more than a whisper. "Nothing like the wild storms or sudden lightning that people fear."

"Well, I could cause sudden lightening if that's what you prefer to see." Celeste joked. "Or flood this little shed."

Eris laughed weakly, the sound rough and ragged from disuse. There was something endearing about Celeste's brash humor, a stark contrast to the somber atmosphere of his predicament.

"That might startle me," He teased back, attempting to lighten the mood despite the discomfort still plaguing his body. "Although, I think I prefer your gentler magic."

His eyes remained shut, the sensation of the Nightshade working its wonders on his back too pleasant to risk opening them. The rhythmic cadence of her movements lulled him into a relaxed state, his worries drifting away like leaves on the wind. "Thank you, love."

"Of course, just don't tell anyone about this..." Celeste whispered softly.

"I won't..." When Eris opened his eyes, the mysterious which was gone, leaving him alone in the shed.

{General Taglist - @nox-ceur @lilah-asteria @paleidiot @dee-writes-smut @adalia-jaycee @anarchiii @alwayshave-faith @velarisnightsky444 @minnieoo}

{Eris Taglist- @fxckmiup @slut4acotar @secret-third-thing @shadowsingers-mate @fieldofdaisiies @st4r-girl-official}

#erisweek2024 #acotar #acotar series #acomaf #acosf #acowar #eris acotar #eris fanfic #eris vanserra fluff #eris vandaddy #pro eris vanserra #eris vanserra #autumn court #high lord eris #eris x oc

23 notes · View notes

comphy-and-cozy · 2 years

Note

yay finally caught you when your requests are open!! I still have so much to backread (🙈) but how about cheek kisses with nolan patrick? 🖤

anything for you sweet pea xo

I changed up the format for this a little bit, with a series of snippets instead of a full blurb! hope you enjoy 🤍

Prompt: Cheek kisses

Pairing: Nolan Patrick x Reader (f)

Word Count: 833

Warnings: Just absolutely disgusting fluff.

On a first date

The pink tinge of his cheeks as he drives through the snow is sweet, and you aren’t sure how much of it is from the cold or from nerves.

You were surprised when Nolan asked you out on a date, never thinking that the soft-spoken curmudgeon could ever have that kind of softness in his heart. What surprised you even more was the thoughtfulness he showed, planning a date that was surely out of his comfort zone — an arcade and mini-golf.

He wasn’t perfect, but truthfully, you found his quiet demeanor incredibly charming, and the more time that passed, the more he loosened up, cracking dry jokes and even poking fun at you when you sent your ball flying into the pond.

“I’ll walk you in,” he mumbles, and you have to hide your smile as you hop out of his car, the warmth from his body shielding you from the breeze.

The tell-tale anticipation sets in as you approach your front door, digging for your keys in your purse. This is it.

“I had a really nice time, Nolan,” you say, looking up at him through your lashes. The flush in his cheeks darkens as he shifts nervously on his feet.

“Me too,” is his quiet reply. Then, as if he’s mustering his courage, he leans forward to press a kiss against your cheek. It’s warm, though you can’t tell if it’s more from his lips or the heat in your own cheeks.

When you finally get inside, your cheek is still tingling from his kiss, and you can’t stop smiling. Maybe, you think, it’s just Nolan.

Holding the door open

“You look incredible,” he murmurs, heat radiating from his eyes as they scan over your body. It’s been two months since your first date, and though you’ve been on several since then, he seems to be just as captivated by you now as he was then.

“Thanks, Nol,” you smile. “You do too. As always.”

With a blush, Nolan helps you shrug your coat on before leading you out the door. Once you approach his car, he shuffles forward to open the door for you, and you smile at him, offering a kiss to his cheek as thanks.

Your heart floods with butterflies when you see the dopey smile on his face as he jogs around to the driver’s side, wings beating even more rapidly when his hand reaches over the center console to grab yours. For a quiet grumpy gills, he sure does love affection, always wanting to have some part of you touching some part of him.

When he presses his lips against the back of your hand, you think to yourself that you don’t mind it one bit.

Before bed

The warmth of your blanket is comforting, your boyfriend’s arm slipped over your shoulders even more so as he gently strokes circles onto your arm. The volume on the TV is turned down low, the play-by-play announcers talking softly as the camera pans over the players on the bench.

“Babe, go to bed,” Nolan says with a chuckle. “You’ve yawned like, three times in the last five minutes.”

“But I wanna see the end of the game,” you say sleepily. It’s not often he is home at night for you to fall asleep in his arms on the couch, so you don’t want to take the moment for granted, even if it’s something as simple as watching a hockey game.

“I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow,” he promises. “Now, go.”

It’s with another nudge that you finally heave yourself up out of the warmth of his arms, leaning over to press a kiss to his cheek. “Goodnight, Nols.”

“Night, baby.”

Playing video games

You’re on the couch, snuggled up in your blanket with Charlie in your lap when your phone buzzes on the table beside you. Sacrificing the warmth of your cocoon, you stick your arm out to grab it, surprised to see a text from Nolan.

[Nolan 💖:] can u refill my water bottle please

[Nolan 💖:] im in the middle of a game and I can’t leave or I’ll die

Rolling your eyes, you chuckle to yourself as you gently slip out from underneath Charlie’s head, doing your best to avoid disturbing him, though he looks up at you with curious eyes.

“Sorry, buddy, your dad is too busy gaming to get his own water,” you say apologetically.

Padding into the office where Nolan’s game system is set up, you sneak behind him to grab his Hydroflask off of his desk. He doesn’t even notice you, eyes focused on shooting his target, his headphones blocking out all sound.

When you return a few moments later with fresh water and fresh ice, you press a kiss to his cheek to let him know his water is waiting for him once he’s done. With the split second he has, he turns his head to peck your lips, murmuring a “Thank you.”

#c does requests #nolan patrick blurb #nolan patrick fic #nolan patrick imagine #hockey fic #nhl imagine #n. patrick

209 notes · View notes

the-lost-girl-in-the-tardis · 2 years

Text

A piece of me. A part of you.

Pairing: The Doctor x reader

Reader type: Gender neutral

Song: Roslyn- Bon Iver

Warnings: N/A

An: It has been a hot minute lol. I'm thinking about doing a mini series of various one shots with a specific type of reader in mind. This is mostly just a quick idea of sorts to figure it out. I'll be tagging all of these ones, if I do it, as readerreader until I figure out a better name lol. Anyways enjoy this one! Any feedback is welcome!

"Just because you are soft doesn't mean you are not a force. Honey and wildfire are both the color gold."

- Victoria Erickson, Edge of Wonder: Notes from the Wildness of Being (via woodlandfawn)

"Are you mad at me?" You asked. Your voice wavered. Spoke the pain you felt.

"Mad?" The Doctor asked softly. Held you closer in his arms. "Why would I be?" He trailed off. Pulled your hand into his. "Y/n." A whisper. Your name is uttered in such soft reverence.

"Please Doctor." You sounded meek. Tired. God so tired. "Tell me." You look up. Your damp cheek still pressed to his chest. "Please."

He brought your hand to his lips. Layed a kiss on broken and bloody knuckles. His jaw clenched. His eyes soft as he looked at you. "Never. Not of this."

He held a lifetime of sorrow. Carried it in a body hewn of ancient stone. Drowned in a pain beyond your comprehension. The Doctor has faced beings claiming God has spoken to death and was spared her hallowed curse. Yet he came out the victor. The lone man in a blue box condemned to live out a life loss and ruin.

There are times you catch a glimpse of him. Genuine moments of his joy. Of his love for learning. Such as now. On a cool, crisp day. Breathing in the mountain air of a foreign planet. He speaks to you, almost tripping over his own tongue as he tells you of the planets history. Its people. He tells you of events as if he has lived them. And perhaps he did. Watched as the first mountains formed.

Did he hold his breath as the first green sprout rose from rich soil? Did he know of that tree? Breathed in the air it gave as it towered miles high into the air? The crown of it touching the clouds. Daring to break the atmosphere and touch the stars just as he did.

You say nothing. Hold his hand while he speaks. You look into eyes that have seen both the birth and death of the universe.

If you listen. Catch your breath. You can hear the TARDIS. The cry of alien animals. Although the Doctor would tell you that "You are just as alien to them as they are to you." You smile at the memory that thought brings up. On a far warmer planet that had a sky of deep violet hues.

Your face warms when the Doctor waves a hand in front of you.

"Are you even listening? I am being very clever you know." You chuckle. Slightly embarrassed at being caught lost in your thoughts.

"I am. I promise. I just." You pause. Get lost in the look he gave you. One brow rose and a flicker of a smile on his lips before he looks away.

You would give anything to see yourself through his eyes. To see what he saw in you. To know what he deemed worthy enough to keep you around.

"Come along then." The Doctor pulled you towards a worn foot path. "There's a town nearby that I want to show you. It has the nicest little shops." Slowly he fades out. Eyes following the curve of your profile. Lost in the look of your eyes. A fresh view in the planet he often visited.

Yet you were the first companion he brought here. The first to view this small piece of peace he so desperately clung to. And he showed you as if to say. Here I am layed bare, open. See the part of me that I keep hidden. Please notice the peace. The untainted memory he so desperately held onto.

His own lips copy the curve of your smile. Finding his own happiness at your joy of another alien world. Caught in new sights and smells. He watches as you call out. Greet people unknown to you.

You have grown since you've first met. No longer cold and calloused to the world. Finding your own softness after being walled off for so long.

You nod as you pass yet another. The people of this planet range in brillent hues of blue. Each of them shifting darker in shade as they age. Their "hair" was a tuble like tendrel that they held great care for. They decorated them with jewels and golden clasps. Horns sprouted from the tops of their heads. Curling like a rambs as they grew older. From this was draped a sheer fabric. A religious practice for some. They have four arms. The bottom set wrapped around their torso when not in use.

You nod your head at a passing couple clothed in deep green hues. A child between them skin such a pale blue it was almost white. Your head nods. Eyes closed. The Doctor copied you from by your side.

A polite greeting that they copy in turn. They tell you of festivities being held in town. An important one for them. Something only held every one hundred years.

These people live for centuries. A long life of peace and deep appreciation of the arts and sciences. They yearn and crave knowledge.

The Doctor grins. Laughs and waves goodbye at the family and pulls you further down the path. Through fog covered trees and over a stone bridge. His hand still in yours as you reach the town.

And oh it was stunning. Filled with the laughter of children and foreign food wafting in the air. Sweet and aromatic. Spice intermingling with the pine like scent of the woods.

What you could only call orbs floated high into the hair. Multi colored balls all shades of the rainbow

Children ran past you. The Doctors hand slipping from your own. His gaze follows the children running towards the bridge you just crossed. Their laughter rung. High and bright.

With a hand between your shoulders the Doctor leads you towards various stalls. Having you try different foods. Drinks. Even getting you a trinket or two. Silver bangles on your wrists. A new ear cuff shaped like a dragon from Earth's folk tales. Takes that held some tune of truth to them.

The day blends into the night. Your full. Body satisfied by a different blend of food. Even so you held a warm drink in your hand. The Doctor had lead you to a high hillside above the town. The two of you sat on dewy grass beneath twin moons.

You shivered. Wishing you had brought a warmer jacket. You took a sip of your drink. Sweet and almost chocolaty. It was caffeinated almost like a coffee. You bumped your shoulder against the Doctor who in turn nudged you back. "Why did we come up here again?" You asked. The Doctor smiles.

"They hold a light show. Drape thier bodies in the floating lights you've seen all night. " His voice is soft. Far off in a memory. One you're soon about to make. "They dance. Tell the story of their people. It's a long one. Sad and filled with pain and trauma. But they tell it. Teach their young about their history and just how difficult peace was to achieve." He begins to add more but stops when the dancing begins.

Light waves. Rolls across the town like water on the ocean. Breaking and scattering when it hits the edge of their home.

They dance and sing. So much pain and sorrow held in their story. It calls out to you. Transfixes you. It also speaks of hope. Of faith.

The Doctor says nothing. Watches you as you watch the town. Colors dance across you skin. Flash in your bright eyes. You face is soft. Small minute expressions only he could see. He has seen this a thousand times and will a thousand more. But he thinks. Just this time. He is seeing it for the first time again through you. And it stills his hearts. Warms his chest.

He sees a part of himself in you. A desperate need to learn. To see. And he knows you see yourself in him to. The hurting. The pain. The coldness. Often he wonders how the both of you got along. How the both of you balance each other out.

You got to grow softer. Learn to give a kindest you so desperately fought for. Learn to give it to others so that you to may get it.

The Doctor got to see things in fresh eyes. To relearn the reason why he ran off in that blue box in the first place. He saw a piece of himself in you. And perhaps you part of himself in you.

#the doctor x you #the doctor x reader #11th doctor x reader #11th doctor #tenth doctor x reader #10th doctor #eleventh doctor #10th doctor x reader

181 notes · View notes

blankdblank · 1 year

Text

Protego Pt 3 - Half

Posting Pt 3 of this mini series. hope you like it and do let me know what you think if you are so inclined. More fun to come with this era and group. All I’m posting today to let everyone enjoy. :)

“Full up.” A twiggy shaggy brown haired boy said. He'd slid between the open train car door. Ruining the plan both James and Sirius made. Bent on being the one to tussle their way to sharing the ride with those redheads. In front of their faces, both boys willing to sit on the floor if they had to, the glass windowed door was shut and locked sending them elsewhere. Along the way to actually trade names and see who the fellow loser belonged to.

Right around the cunning teen turned. Lips parted in a successful puff of air to help a grin form in greeting the twin girls. Both partly hidden behind the dark haired boy, that had moved to block them in the door scuffle. “Remus,” he spoke first to the other shaggy sandy haired boy nearest to the window the trio looked to in confusion. Hand extended, they began a brief clasp more than a shake. Each greeting the familiar face during the contact returned then dropped. Enabling the now named Remus to fix his baggy cardigan around himself to sit down.

“Junior,” the part of his name spoken had the instigator smirk. As it revealed Remus had only heard what the former was called by his father inside the Ministry.

“Glad to see a familiar face.” Next his hand was offered to the round glasses, corduroy and tweed clad boy on the other side of Remus. “Diggory, right?”

“Yes, Amos.” The bowl hair cut around this new boy's face shifted mid nod. Then stilled in a quizzical look at the taller boy, whose hand Amos released. “But your name isn’t Junior? Right?”

“Barty." Barty replied and right away turned his body to reach around Severus to offer his hand right to Jewels. “Crouch Jr. Pleasure to meet you.” Through the glass barrier behind him more slow passing teens stole their own glances inside the car. Many already had peered inside of on their way past, all eager to see what those before them had noticed and had to keep stealing partly obstructed looks back at once passed.

“Jewelia Evans,” the girl replied in an uncertain tone to the timid offer of her hand. Reluctant to take his hand as if he was a snarling dog, unable to take her eyes off his direct stare.

“Our dads work together in the Ministry, different fields, er, Remus Lupin and Amos Diggory.” Right away his eyes snapped to Lily at the pull of the hand out of his so Jewels could cling it to her belly, and blindly ensure it was intact still by means of her spare hand. “You are?” Again his eyes darted to Jewels and back again.

When Barty's eyes were off her Jewels looked to Remus in the flinch of a wave her way she returned. Not noticing the slip of her natural dead on purple eyes Amos fixated on their alluring green shade. Until they fell on his grinning self and became purple to Remus’ new green view.

“Lily Evans,” the sister said proudly, even from behind Severus. Smiling as she did so mid subtle stretch to straighten up her posture in doing so.

Off Jewels Barty's eyes snapped to Severus, still unmoved from his place as a wall blocking Lily whose hand was taken next. “Brother? Triplets are rare here.”

“Neighbor,” Severus answered flatly. Still staring directly in the shared brown eyed half curious half protective staring contest.

“Sevy,” Jewels softly uttered in a poke to her best friend’s arm that broke the stare as both looked her way.

“Eyes,” Lily sharply muttered. Bumping her body into her sister to force them both onto the seat to help hide the shift back to look identical to Lily. Avoiding once again being the one to stir up whispers about the pair. To stop the first try to call them freaks and ruin their chances to make friends here. Gaze fixed upon the floor Jewels sat. Lost to focus of her mind on every inch of her body to get control again after being startled into the reveal. A look of fear glint across her face in doing so. A look Remus felt stab at his chest from a fellow secret keeper.

“Severus Snape.” He drew focus of Barty and Amos back onto himself in declaring his name and tightening the grip on the hand still locked in Barty's. A move that had the other half of the newly introduced pair smirk back at him.

“There’s a fifth year,” calmly Remus spoke. Those now emerald eyes landed on him to the knock of his weathered shoe into her new polished pair, “can do that with his eyes.” the rest of the sentence spoken in a gesture of a finger to both of his own blue pair.

Awkward and curious a grin tugged onto Jewelia’s face to ask softly, “He can?”

Remus nodded, “Maybe you’ll be sorted to his house. I’ll point him out.”

Lily smiled, “Can’t wait to be sorted. Make new friends.” Settling better into her seat to make room for Jewelia she’d noticed was pinned into the corner of the booth and the wall in the hasty plop to sit down.

Severus broke the contact first and sighed in lowering himself down to sit beside the girl he loved. Still watching as Barty claimed his seat beside Amos, who had now righted his own clearly hand me down jacket around his sticky self. “Where do your parents work?” Barty again was looking right at Jewels, who tried not to blush at being the focus of this odd boy’s attention. As she’s usually be forgotten beside Lily back home. “Haven’t seen you about. Don’t sound from the North or anywhere near the isles.”

“Uh, Daddy works in Tax Law, Mummy is a Pet Groomer on the side.”

That had Barty narrow his eyes and Severus state the obvious, “Their parents are Muggles.”

And between them Barty looked and let out a disbelieving chuckle, “No, you can’t be serious.” Unable to believe one with such a magical and inherited allure affecting the attentions of so many could come from mere Muggles.

“That, is what our parents do.” Jewels said haltingly.

“The Prefect sent to speak with us said Muggle-Borns are quite common.” Lily argued to help break any focus off her sister who might let slip another reveal of her eyes to the staring boys.

“Barty be nice,” Remus interjected and had Barty look his way and scoff.

“I am being,” he looked back to Jewels saying, “I’m not insulting you. Just, caught me off guard.” And he looked to Severus asking, “Muggle-Born too?”

“My mother is a Witch.” Severus sighed and relented more, “Works in a book editing company. My father has many seasonal trades.”

“Where was your mother sorted?” Barty asked with a smile, “Mine were Slytherin and Gryffindor. Mum broke out her red and gold scarf today.” Adding a chuckle to how happy she seemed in the send off as the train began to let off a whistle and jerked from its stationary place to leave the platform.

“Slytherin.”

“Take it she’s not the Snape?” Barty asked with brow raised.

“Eileen Prince,” Severus answered and the boy grinned.

“Kicked my dad out of the dorm once, literally. Never let’s go of a reaction like that.” Over the sisters he looked again and spoke with the boys to his right next, “Where your parents after for you two?”

Remus answered flatly, “Anywhere but the forest.” And Barty chuckled to the turn of Remus’ eyes to the window to avoid thoughts on being sorted, and how he would keep his other side to himself. Amos spoke up on his own parents' hopes. Then Barty dove into sharing more on the houses for the girls and broke out stories he’d heard from older friends, relatives and his parents about the school. The start of a gap bridging conversation, that more than once would lure out slips of those same color changing eyes on the very giddy Jewels. Who hoped to be making friends that could last for the next seven years. Every detail memorized to be written down later in both their diaries and letters home.

“Who are you?” Bellatrix Lestrange asked Jewels. Who'd just apologized for bumping into her arm on the way to the numerous first years in a swarmed mess to be lined up for the boat ride ahead.

“Jewelia Evans,” she replied. Almost sounding like a question at the break in her voice to the intently staring girl who had noticed those same eyes right away.

“Be nice to the Muggle-Born Bella.” Barty spoke up as he came to take Jewelia’s side. Kindly patting the startled redhead’s back to comfort and show support.

“Don’t lie to me, Crouch.” Bellatrix uttered. And when he stepped away from Jewels he led the darker haired witch aside. To stop what he knew could only escalate and make the Muggle raised girl more uncomfortable.

“Right up to the front,” Lily urged and tugged both sister and Severus along into view of Rubeus Hagrid. The groundskeeper who helped the trio into a boat one at a time. Every inch of his half giant frame ready to catch any child with uncertain footing.

“Why are we taking boats?” Jewels whispered to Severus to Lily’s settle into the front seat of the boat. The question made Rubeus smile and offer his hand next to her.

“Never quite got a response myself my first year. For the view, my guess.” His reply accented with a chuckle.

“Gryffindor!” Proud Lily was the first of the trio sorted. And to the shock of everyone there the next child with the nearest birthday was called. Not Jewels who smiled at the sister she assumed to be joining at the clapping table soon. A belief shared by the boy who went to take a seat at the same table. Leaving room for the identical sister between him and Lily for that assumption.

“Slytherin.” Severus off his turn at the stool was watched by the still lingering sister. Her being whispered about by many throughout the crowd to be sorted and those at their assigned tables. Without a glance back on his path to the clapping table to take up the seat beside a soon to be named, dual hair colored, Narcissa Black.

Barty had even gotten sorted. And gave the anxious girl a pat on the arm on his way towards his seat at the Slytherin table. Once there he asked the girls beside Severus to kindly scoot over so he could sit down. All so he could ask the best friend, “Why wasn’t Jewelia called after Lily?”

“Jewels was adopted.” The answer dawned on Barty and those within earshot at the much welcomed explanation.

“Oh that clears it all up,” and Barty let out a relieved chuckle, “No Muggle could pull that off.” Instantly luring Severus to look directly at him. Instead of James Potter and Sirius Black who had been inching closer to the girl left behind Remus had been keeping equally anxious company in their wait.

“Hmm,” three minutes the sorting hat sat silent atop her head. No longer in deep reflection but merely in awe at the odd slew of tongue twisters Jewelia had been reciting in her mind to not be a multicolored mess right now in front of the entire student body and staff at the wait for where she belonged.

“Ahem.” Minerva spoke up and the hat opened its cloth fold eyes.

“Yes Minerva?” It replied and arched its head to peer at the Professor who had moved closer to see if she might help move things along.

“Her house?” Minerva asked.

“Aha, yes, a fine adornment for Ravenclaw. Fair penchant for tongue twisters to boot.” Minerva smiled in relief to the eruption of noise from the silver and blue adorned table. Every one of them more than glad to make room for the girl who stumped the hat for so long. Relief swelled and spilled violently throughout the hall and crowd just to leave Jewels so far from Lily and Severus.

“Sirius Black.” The name that came next, another name the girl didn’t recognize out of those left. One by one to be called while she was at a table filled entirely with strangers to her. Friendly but strangers no less.

Through the crowd during the final few, Remus by her was spotted. He drew her focus to a grey feather embroidered black jacket wearing teen seated a bit farther down the Ravenclaw table. To the older teen from his eyes Remus' fingers moved. Right away her lips parted in remembering the fact that had many at her table check between the first years and warn the fifth year of being talked about.

Ted Tonks, who she’d later be able to meet when he helped to guide her and the other first years to their tower. One of the Prefects she’d have ample time to build up the nerve to talk to. Right when his eyes landed on the overly quiet first year he assumed to be nervous he urged his eyes to flicker a few colors mid sudden sprout of his natural ears into those of a bear around his black pointed hat, to try and make her smile. The shock of which had her eyes instantly change to purple widening his smile. Right to her glass she looked so he could have an angle of her eyes that looked green and he let out a chuckle. Forcing his ears and hair back to normal. He straightened up on his seat to share with his friends around him the obvious reason why he was pointed out to her.

Mentally he made note to talk to the girl even if he had to wait for the walk up to the tower to do so. Let her know that even without her sister to room with she wasn’t alone. Sure he was the only one able to change like her he knew of. But amongst the other female student body there were those the boys could feel an unyielding pull to gawk at and shadow to be in their company. Just as soon as she stopped focusing on her sister too engrossed in conversation of the two boys who tried to get inside the train car earlier.

Much like her sister Bellatrix, Andromeda Black, beside her boyfriend Ted, kept a lingering stare at the first year who seemed to have Slytherin's eyes. Marking them as relations of a most perplexing variety if she was born from a pair of Muggles. Yet somehow of stronger connection than the Black line to have inherited that one feature. Those questions would have to wait though as the new girl would be early to bed to rest for the first day of classes and the pair of Prefects were off to their first meeting of the year.

*.*.* Jewels *.*.*

On break between Transfigurations and lunch the first years were let loose to roam the halls at their fancy. Jewelia and Severus walked alone, hoping to find a sunny place to sit and wait as Lily was halls away having a word with the Potions Professor on a weird reaction her hand had to an ingredient to see if it needed a quick remedy or not.

Severus broke the focus she had on more students whispering and nodding her way from the other end of the corridor by saying, “The moody one came down to our dorm last night. Has a cousin in the room across from mine, let him in and gave him a blanket for the couch in the common room.” Jewelia’s brow rose at the curious notion of the perplexing Sirius Black. The boy who seemed to be gaining popularity amongst Gryffindors thanks to his new friend James Potter. A clearly well off Pure-Blood from a family nearly as old as the Black Family. The pair now firm in a group of four boys including curiously enough Remus. The boy who kept to himself nearly as much as she did, somehow tangled up with the pompous Potter Lily now mentioned daily in his tries to get to know her better. “Apparently not all is going swimmingly between the pair.”

Clearly Jewels was on edge, or so he heard, having checked in with a few older Ravenclaw students who said the young eye grabbing co-ed was not being the most talkative since being split from Lily and himself. Even more so when she would take spare time each night after curfew to write to another mysterious sister not attending here others had bets on what magical school she had been accepted at if not here.

And just like a bad egg being stepped on a voice like a foul scent filled the air of the space announcing James Potter here to spoil the assumed calm afternoon. “Mind the balloons Snivellus, wouldn’t want to spoil your only tailored piece of clothing to your pitiful name.” James mocked aloud mid explosion of a balloon charm he cast that coated Severus in colored powder reeking of papaya.

A crack of a broken nose followed and the smug peacock dropped to a hard fist colliding with his face by none other than the now red and gold eyed glowing girl in love with the target of said prank. Bloody handed Jewels stood glaring at the prankster who enraged her. Goading cackles and noises from the students milling by muffled in her ears as her body stood ready to hit him again if he went for his dropped wand. That hand in a fist while her other arm remained locked around her books she hoped to keep in good order for their price for years to come. But not a moment later a startling authoritative shout drew a visible flinch from several.

“EVANS!” Minerva shouted in a determined stride that way. Under the ruckus the sound of Jewels’ books she let free to hide and flee muffled, same as the disappointed sigh from Severus, who bent to collect them to join his own on his way to find where she had raced off to. Unnoticed by Sirius’ wide eyes that followed the clap of hands over the beginnings of a beak on Jewels’ face and her race away. “Soon as you find her send her to my office!” Minerva instructed.

Sirius moved past bloody nosed James to ask the flustered Professor en route to speak to said groaning boy bent forward collapsed onto the stone floor clutching at his throbbing face, “Muggle-Born, right?”

“I beg your pardon, Sirius?” she asked ticking her brow upwards.

“Jewels, she’s supposed to be Muggle-Born?” He clarified the question that nearly everyone of well off lines had asked themselves. A puzzle in human form, showing traits of beings that could not be found ever in Muggle lines causing many to insist they heard from others Severus himself said she was in fact adopted both solving and not solving the perplexing puzzle.

“I don’t rightly see the worth-,” she tried to say but was cut off.

“I think she’s half Veela.” He said dropping the Professor’s jaw. In a pinch of fingers mid tug of that hand away from his lips he motioned a hand to elaborate his point, “Beak, and she glows, and the temper.”

Minerva huffed. Just now realizing the most logical reason why the young girl had been coming off possibly as owner of an unnamed chip on her shoulder requiring spare effort. “That, is a possibility.”

He nodded and said, “I’ll find her a book on it.” Order free he made his way to the library leaving behind James and lanky Remus, the latter leaned against a wall snickering at the sudden change of goals in Sirius. All at this proof of their week long debate on why Jewels seemed to be unmistakably irresistible to look away from. Peter alone was the one to help guide James to the Hospital Wing.

Softly Sirius cleared his throat on the other side of the bathroom Jewels was pretending to not be inside of. With his arm nudged the door open enough to levitate the book inside. “I’m sending a book in, don’t damage it or anything. Librarian Pince will raze the school to the ground if her collection is damaged. Thought you might need a few answers.”

Before he guessed it would the door opened and his wide eyed self peered on at the pink cheeked girl with still golden pupils, who held the open book facing him to show what could only be named as an inhuman creature. Two legged but with wings and a bird head to match the talon ended feet and sharply clawed thick knuckled fingers of the rage filled beast. “I am not-,”

“That’s a full Veela,” he blurted out. Then gestured at the stuffed miniature cow shaped stool at his side that she looked to then back up at him again, making him sigh and step aside to reveal a chair with legs that didn’t match in length. “I’m still only able to make wobbly chairs, that’s got four even legs.”

Softly she huffed and eased out of the door to plop down on the cushioned animal stool in demand of answers. Down onto his chair he lowered, extending the plant of his feet at the tilt of the chair to one side he ignored the motion to explain this fuller to the girl who had absolutely no clue what had been happening to her. “Half Veela don’t fully change like that, it, depends on the family line, some countries have different traits. I think it’s twelve chapters in, talks about half Veela. They do have powders for the glow, perfumes for the allure of others, and some shops do have charms to help, with the,” his hand rose to gesture out of his mouth like a beak just making her bashfully cover her mouth with a hand.

“I didn’t mean it, like that,” onto her shoulder his hand moved. “It’s a nice beak, at least the base of it, haven’t seen it full on yet.” At him her eyes glared and he choked out a laugh and cleared his throat again. “James, he can be like my Mum sometimes. Just a light switch. Sudden ignition, no reasoning required. You can’t,” he said and felt his voice taper off in the lock of his eyes on hers to just stare at the eyes so unlike any half Veela line he’d heard of before, but rang close to his own.

The shove into his arm that had him rock unsteadily on his seat snapped his thoughts back to the present. “Stop doing that, everyone in my dorm already stares at me.” Muddled in self pity and uncertainty of what to do with the name of this supposed condition of hers she dropped her eyes to the book now open on her lap. Freeing a full look at the roots of her hair that began to bleed out lime green.

“You’re a Morpher too!” Up at him again her eyes snapped, this was her turn to be the wide eyed one. “Super rare mixture! No wonder the reaction is so reflexive when you get upset!”

“What?” she asked squeaked. Up he stood gesturing his wand, pulled from his pocket, at the cow stool that levitated behind him to head for the library not far away from this rarely used bathroom. “I can walk…” she stammered out with hands and feet locked on the stool to not fall off at the same time.

“Best you stay on the stool or you might hit someone again. Professor wants to talk to you still you know, trouble maker you.” He joked, turning his head back to flash her a quick wink trying to calm her down in the wait of this newly added fact.

But at the end of the proper aisle inside the library he helped her down to share the system to her organizing the rows on various conditions that were inherited through magical lines. “Metamorphmagus. Gobblety gook word for shape shifters. Your body hits a rage and that kicks off to fill out what the blood knows to be a hidden side of you.” Pulling out the proper book he had been in search of.

Up at him she looked and timidly asked, “They don’t, lock those up, do they?”

Over her face he looked in concern and shook his head. “No. No they don’t. Muggles might not ever think they’re actually real outside of science fiction or fairy tales, but they are, just regular people who are able to change how they look, people, animals, creatures even if they practice enough. Like that Prefect Tonks who’s dating my cousin. So maybe, now you know what’s going on it might help, with the-,”

“You lift your hand I’m going to punch you.” She said luring a wide smile across his face.

“Detention, in the least. Now, I’m gonna take you to Professor,” and he moved to the side of the stool to pat the head on it winning a sigh from her in return for the action. “Or I could be labeled an accomplice and end up in the desk beside you. And think of the misery in that, spending an entire evening with me at your side.” That had her plop back onto the cow and he smiled again, “Thank you, from the deepest cockles of my heart for sparing me and yourself the cruelest of evenings party to my company in shared misery of the foulest of tasks.”

“A bit thick,” she muttered and he chuckled, going to check out the second book for her to borrow so he could hover her to the stern but understanding Professor. Who for most of the time until dinner would share all she could to fill in gaps, including hand over an order form for some Veela products to help with the most troublesome traits Minerva herself would foot the bill for and keep up to date on check ins to see how they would help in day to day issues. Sheepishly the teen spoke up to Minerva’s inquest on any more questions to ask, “Does any of this help with the nightmares?”

“Nightmares?” Minerva asked straightening up, “Concerning what precisely?”

“There’s a woman, and she’s locked away, alone, I keep seeing her. She can’t get out. She looks like me.”

Minerva over the top of the desk leaned in to rest a hand on top of Jewels’, “How often do you have this dream?”

“Seven years. Few times a month in the least.”

Minerva’s mouth opened a moment and she nodded, prompt to stand on her feet and offer a hand. “Come with me. Divinations Professor Onai is best to play council to these dreams of yours, and if not her we shall inquire upon a Centaur of the herd in the dark forest.” A possible Seer of limited capabilities, just foreboding dreams apparently linked to a single trapped woman they couldn’t name in any way was the given and unhelpful prognosis. The solution, nightly rituals to help and dampen the frequency of said dreams at least were added amongst the new tasks for detention each night until the window of punishment had run out.

Tricks easy enough for her to carry on all on her own, but not alone, soon she would make good on her self made plan to sneak into the forbidden forest to find the Centaur herd and see what they might have to draw out of the dream. A plan successful in that she got her answer, the trapped woman is a ghost of some power to her past. A guiding spirit instilling warnings of things to avoid muddled by lack of knowledge on how to share the pain precisely beyond the dividing veil. To the Muggle side of her upbringing it rang closer to a guardian angel, and like their biblical counterparts were equally terrifying as beautiful, so the fact these warnings came to be nightmares shifted a bit less unsettling once seen through that light.

To get out of the castle proved to be a simple task. Sneaking back in however was how she got caught. That trip would spur on a month more detention, through which her absent humming observed by Flitwick would begin a change to her life in a way she would have never guessed while being a student in this magical place.

Pt 4

#Harry Potter #Marauders Era #Jewelia Evans x Severus Snape Unrequited #Severus Snape x Lily Evans Unrequited #Sirius Black #James Potter #Remus Lupin #Peter Pettigrew #Regulus Black #Minerva McGonagall #Librarian Pince #Metamorphmagus #Veela #Muggle-Born troubles #Not a Monster #Long fic #rewrite #Sibling drama #teen drama

19 notes · View notes

weretheones · 2 years

Text

Observant

Plot/Request: Daryl only ever heard Merle’s crude flirtations, but even he could think of something better than that guy’s stupid moon line-- it only took a little observation. (Season 5)

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader

Word Count:  750

A/N: a random little piece of fluff while I work on the monster that this mini-series is becoming...

prompt: “Do you think the moon is jealous of how pretty you are?” from this post

—————————————————————————————

“Do you think the moon is jealous of how pretty you are?”

Daryl scoffed, unimpressed, “Sappy lines like tha’ really work?”

“He was sweet,” you retorted, shoving his shoulder with a small smile, “but no, it didn’t work.”

“Why not?”

You shrugged, a bit timid. His eyes flickered over your frame, oblivious that the reason why the line hadn’t worked, even if it almost made you blush, was because it hadn’t been from him.

“Stupid, anyway,” he exhaled a puff of smoke, pointing the finger that limply held his cigarette up into the sky, “can’t see the moon for shit.”

You glanced up at the wide, dark cloud that had covered the moon’s usually bright shine and rolled your eyes, “I think it’s supposed to be poetic.”

“Still,” he hummed, “‘M sure there’s a million other things he coulda compared ya to.”

“Oh yeah?” You raised your eyebrows in challenge, turning to face him, “like what?”

“Like ‘em stars,” he huffed, pointing again to another portion of the night sky where the clouds had opened to expose millions of little lights, sparkling, “got no city lights to hide ‘em anymore, bright as hell, but tha’ ain’t nothin’ compared to tha’ sparkle ya get when ya find a new book, or when ya found tha’ chocolate ya like— last one in all’a Virginia, ya said.”

He looked down to his fingers, flicking the ash off his dart before returning it to his lips. The amber at the end grew stronger from another pull.

“Hell, could compare ya to tha’ flame. Yer feisty n’ warm, shine a light when it’s dark,” he spoke absentmindedly, almost, as the tobacco cylinder hung from his lips, “or even the smoke itself— a head rush.”

You felt that flicker of warmth he had mentioned catch in your chest.

“Did you just come up with all that?” you mumbled under your breath, unsure if he could even hear. Your heartbeat was pounding so hard against your chest, echoing thumps in your head, that you couldn’t.

His cheeks flushed, eyes flickered anywhere but yours, as if he’d forgotten you were still standing there, ear present and listening, “Oh, I, uh— I dunno.” His shrug was tepid, feigning nonchalant, as the implications of his words had slipped from his mind through his ranting and were only hitting him now.

After they’d caused that pretty pink blush along your neck, up to your cheeks, and just under the eyes he thought were prettier than the stars.

You whispered softly in the chilly air, “Did you mean it?”

He didn’t answer, didn’t dare loosen his stiff jaw, but his expression was piercing. The way his eyes locked on yours, unable to break even if he seemed almost ashamed of the surprising affection they exposed. His pupils had grown in the dim light, sparing a thinner ring of blue than you remembered, but even in that sparse colour, it was potent. There was something so emotional behind the eyes of a man who never dared admit his feelings, especially when they were so bare and vulnerable— like now.

You found yourself blinking away a prickling in your eyes. He didn’t have to answer, really. For perhaps the first time, you’d deciphered that look that had always bewildered you— with the aid of his spoken observations, of course.

Daryl Dixon was a man of his word, no matter how little there were. He didn’t lie and he certainly didn’t say things he didn’t mean.

You stepped forward until you were maybe half a foot away, standing in front of him just ever so slightly to his left, aligned with his heart. He was stiff when your hand landed on his shoulder, gripping him for the support you needed to reach to the tips of your toes. His tension didn’t melt away, but his skin was warm when you kissed his cheek in the gentlest manner you could. A careful but present brush of your lips just above the slight scuff of his beard.

When you slowly pulled away, you locked onto his shy eyes. You had returned to your normal height now, tilting your head to still watch him from the lower angle, but the hand at his broad expanse hadn’t fallen yet. For a beat, you held his stare, growing more timid and bashful as the seconds past under his nervous gaze, hesitant blue dancing across your features under the soft light of the foggy moon.

“For the record,” you spared a warm smile, “that worked.”

—————————————————————————————

A/N: aww, I hope daryl wasn’t too OOC in this. I find the line with him & fluff is a bit blurrier (for me). let me know what you think!

if you’re reading this, thank you! I hope you enjoyed this fic. please feel free to leave feedback, it helps so much and I love to read it. have a lovely day <3

tagging the sweetest @fandom-cuties <3

700 notes · View notes

captainsimagines · 3 years

Text

the warmth of winter || three

Summary: You’re home for the holidays after landing your dream job. When your dad’s old army friend stops by for the month, he makes waves immediately. Your little vacation is disrupted... for better or for worse? Nobody has to know.

Pairing(s): Bucky Barnes x (F) Reader

Based on the Song: ‘Illicit Affairs’ by Taylor Swift

Mini-Series (3/6)

Warnings: 18+ ONLY; unprotected sex; oral sex; strong language; slight exhibitionism; suggestive language; clingy/creepy male co-worker; age difference kink (Reader is 25, Bucky is 39)

Word Count: 9,000+

Author’s Note: Well, we gotta fast-forward to Christmas, no? Yes? It’s a yes. :)

You wake with a content groan and a couple snap-crackle-pops throughout your back and elbows. You stretch as far as you’re able, completely not remembering sharing the bed last night. But you don’t touch anything as your leg makes it all the way across to dangle over your full-size bed and your right arm knocks a couple pillows off.

You sit up, throat dry and with heavy eyelids. It only takes a few moments for you to completely replay last night’s events, and you’re more than happy when the satisfaction outweighs the guilt. Because if there’s anything you are right now, it’s satisfied.

There’s the tell-tale noise of plates and glasses being stacked in the kitchen. You figure it’s now or never — time to face the music — and that it’s probably not healthy to think too much about it first thing in the morning. You’ll get your answer once you go down there.

But an answer to what? Two things, really: Did Bucky sneak out your room during the middle of the night, or is this more to avoid suspicion from your dad? You’re really hoping for the latter.

You clean your face, smack your cheeks to wake yourself up more fully, and throw on your oversized, forest green cardigan. The voices from the kitchen are hushed but seem to be engaging in a regular conversation, and you have to stop yourself from blushing just from looking at the staircase you almost tumbled down last night.

“Bumblebee! How you feelin’? Better?” your dad asks. He’s already dressed for work. The clock reads 8:01 and you’ve barely caught him before he leaves in the next nine minutes.

You clear your throat awkwardly and send Bucky a quick once-over. He’s back in his cliche checkered pajama bottoms and has seemed to swipe the sweater Clint forgot last night. It fits him nicely, you think. They’re about the same size. “Feeling better, yup.”

“You were feeling bad last night?” Bucky asks, smug smirk hidden as he raises the coffee mug to his lips for a long sip. The glare you give him is minimal, carefully calculated, like you’re really simply dismissing him.

“Horrible.”

Your dad exhales and stands to wash his own mug. “They haven’t been that horrible since your teens! You wanna see a doctor before you head back to New York?”

“Dad!”

“What? Oh— stop it. The menstrual cycle is nothing to be ashamed of and should be openly spoken about without the threat of backlash—”

You groan playfully, “Mr. Feminist over here preaching—”

Your dad cackles and places his mug on the drying rack. He grabs a towel to dry his hands. “Back me up here, James!”

Bucky mimes a ‘cut it out’ motion near his chest, but he’s more nonverbally stating ‘cut it out, don’t include me.’ He sits down in the chair beside yours. His right knee knocks with your left.

“Go to work,” you tell him, and roll your eyes as your dad dips down to kiss the top of your head.

He mumbles as he picks up his winter jacket and briefcase. “Didn’t know I was living with such a misogynist…”

You kick softly at his ankles, your smile straining your cheeks. He laughs again, “Sorry, sorry. The information was private. Sorry. Make sure she doesn’t tire herself out today, James? Please?”

“I’ll keep an eye on her.” It sends a delicious shiver up your spine, rigorous in its speed and wrecking each of your battered nerve endings. Suddenly all the amazing feelings from last night cloud your mind. You struggle to push them back down, even as your dad and Bucky have a few more seconds of small talk with you sitting in between.

Finally, your dad leaves and locks the front door behind him. The smell of coffee is inviting, comforting even, but you only make it half-way out of your seat when Bucky tugs you by the waist, lifts you up, and sits you on the table. His lips immediately attack yours.

“Fuck,” you gasp out, immediately tugging Bucky’s sweater up and over his head. You didn’t expect such fierce kissing this early in the morning — last time you were kissed this early was forever ago. Bucky tastes of strong coffee and you minty toothpaste, and it should be such a weird combination, but it only fuels you both.

Your cardigan slips over your hands because of how long it is and it warms Bucky’s neck as you grip it from the back, pulling him down rougher so he’s basically plastered against you. You wrap your legs around his waist and revel in the small groan Bucky gives when your heels accidentally stab his tailbone. “You really gonna fuck me in the kitchen?”

Bucky nods eagerly and goes to lick a swipe from your exposed collarbone to the underside of your chin. Now the electric currents your body produces travel like brutal shivers down every single one of your limbs. Bucky’s got your willing body on fire, but it isn’t enough to ignore the cold seeping in from outside. The fireplace and heater aren’t turned on, and it seems more snow fell during the night.

“God, yes,” Bucky groans, and plants several more kisses along your chin. He slips his hands underneath your cardigan, careful in keeping his metal appendage away from your skin, and pushes it off. He also takes off your shirt, leaving you bare in your childhood kitchen, but before you can protest against the cold, Bucky makes quick work of pulling your heavy cardigan back over your shoulders. He even helps you slip your arms through.

It’s such a pure gesture and it’s got your stomach curling for different reasons.

With a breathy sigh, you help him by slipping out of your shorts and underwear. It feels naughtier being bare except for the cardigan, and Bucky in nothing but his pajama bottoms. He’s in a hurry, sort of frantic, and you want to tell him ‘hey, we’ve got all day’. Right?

Bucky pulls down his pajama bottoms to the middle of his thighs and strokes himself a few times, gaze running from your flustered face, heaving chest, stomach, and inviting mound. He groans half to himself, half to anyone who wants to listen in, bends to his knees, and mouths the top of your mound like a hungry man, breathing in deep. The hair slightly tickles his nose, which is turning a wonderful shade of pink, and he pokes his tongue out to get a tiny taste. You gasp, hips rocking up and knees threatening to close around his head. Bucky swears to the heavens he can live down here, licking the juices seeping out of you and pulling every delicious noise from your chest, but he set a rapid pace for a reason.

To put it softly, he’s got shit to do this morning.

“It’s wrong that you—fu..fuck—oh, it’s wrong that you’re eating me out immediately after we’re left alone in the house.” Bucky pulls another tight scream from you when he licks a long swipe from the bottom of your cunt, up. You grip his curls tightly, guiding him up to your mouth, and it pulls a ragged breath from his throat.

“Wrong how?” Bucky asks, and his voice turns shallow and shaky when you curl your hand around him. He’s hot and heavy in your palm, leaking from the tip and begging to be taken care of. “I’m not eating you out, doll. I’m, ah, but I am gonna fuck you.”

You release a moan that Bucky’s mouth immediately swallows. He chuckles and pulls back a little, wanting to dirty talk you further and see if you’ll absolutely crumble from his words. He doesn’t get to say anything because you pull him back to hold him in place. Just from that he can tell how needy you are, greedy groans smothering his parting lips, and decides to tear you apart with only his voice some other time.

Bucky lifts you from the surprisingly sturdy table, turns you around, and pushes you down. Your breasts make rough contact with the cold material below that it causes you to gasp loudly and writhe to create quick friction. Bucky makes sure your arms are comfortable and stretched over your head, sleeves pouring over your cute little fingers, before he pulls the cardigan up and over your ass.

The sudden coldness startles you again and you whimper to voice it. But you’re horrified that when the sound comes out of your body, your hips decide to do a little wiggle at the same time. “Bucky.”

Bucky lays over you, his naked chest making you somewhat warmer even over the fabric, and he hushes you. It’s so soft against your ear, breathless and ragged. The restrained rut of his hips tells you that you’re not the only one struggling with resistance.

“You’re being so good for me, doll,” Bucky praises. It makes you whimper again, but this time you move to rub your thighs together. Bucky allows it to happen and the feeling of excitement literally drooling out of you is embarrassing. Your thighs stick together momentarily until you reluctantly separate them. The soft rub on your clit was nice, but you want Bucky more than you want to handle yourself. “Guess what?”

Bucky moves to kiss between your shoulder blades, teasing. He only does it to smother himself in your sweet scent. The cardigan smells of fireplace wood and the same perfume you were wearing yesterday morning when you went shopping. It’s your sweet scent.

“We’re all alone now,” Bucky voices, and this time decides to angle his cock with his hand, gently sliding it between your wet folds. The action causes you to jump a little and your hands clutch at nothing but air. Instead, your knuckles just drag over the fancy wood. “You can be as loud as you want.”

Your eyes widen a little as you look up, chin resting on wood, and see that the window drapes are pulled open. You’re exposed to the whole neighborhood and the sunlight is dim but bright enough to illuminate the household if anyone were to peek in. You’re suddenly even more grateful that Bucky kept you layered up. What if someone were to knock? What if the mailman comes? What if your dad forgot something? What if someone catches you and decides to watch—

“Let’s give the world a show, huh kid?” The nickname catches you off guard, and that’s why it’s a delightful shock when Bucky pushes his cock deep inside your already fluttering walls. He feels bigger and harder to take than last night but that could be because the two of you didn’t really get into the nitty-gritty of foreplay as much as you did the first time around. But Bucky rocks slowly, his hands gripping your hips to slightly elevate them so they’re not smashing against the tough wood. Suddenly all the pleasure within you rushes to that one special spot, greedy and true, and you push back so you can take him deeper.

Bucky takes it slow for the first few pumps, enjoying the way it drags out your moans and makes you clench down harder. He watches you watch the window and it takes everything in him not to throw the front door open too.

“Gonna fill you up, sweetheart,” Bucky breathes, and takes a handful of your ass in his metal hand. It’s cold, but not too cold that you throw him off of you, and it sends you forward into the table. Bucky’s abandoned coffee mug sits idly by, half full and just waiting to be spilled. “Fuck, you’re so warm… goddamn made for me, huh?”

“Uh-huh,” you gasp out, shutting your eyes involuntarily as Bucky starts pistoning his hips. Now the nasty sound of skin-slapping-skin erupts, wet and sloppy and so fucking good it has you screaming for more. Bucky obliges and has to bite his lip to keep from yelling your name when you clench down particularly hard.

“Yeah, just like that, doll. You want me to fuck you? Hmm? Fast?”

You extend your arms out further; they reach past your head, but there’s no leverage. Bucky has full control of your body. If he wants to toss you around, he can. If he wants to flip you over and shove into you with more force he’s giving right now, he can. If he wants to pull you to the floor and fuck you into the tile, he surely can. All you can do is lift your chin up slightly so it doesn’t rub against the table harshly as the impact of his thrusts makes you bounce back and forth.

“Please, Bucky, baby— o-oh, shit!” Bucky leans down for only a quick moment to bite into your shoulder, not too hard, as a response to the pet name you’ve just given him. He’s a sucker for them. He comes back up, purposefully ignoring your plea for him to continue marking you, and fucks into you until you’re seeing white stars. His thrusts make the table creak, its legs slightly sliding against the tile beneath. Bucky’s coffee mug is inches from your right hand and with one particular thrust, you shove your hand out to hold it down. The tips of your fingers touch (thankfully) mild temperature coffee and two things happen at once: Bucky lifts one of his legs up to steady it on a nearby chair, angling his hips to perfectly hit that sweet spot inside of you, and his rapid pace causes the coffee to slosh and spill. “Fuck, yes, yes!”

Bucky grins and watches you in increments: first, how you lift your head and arch your back, the perfect position for him to grab a fistful of your hair; second, the way the cardigan is slipping down your left shoulder, bunching up near your elbow and exposing just a little part of you to the outside world; three, the way your ass jiggles as he fucks deeper into you, disappearing and reappearing with even more slick than before. He pieces all these increments together, makes a series, then chooses other things to focus on. Your voice, the goosebumps on your skin, the words you say. If he thinks about all these things at once, which may seem like the normal thing to do, he’ll implode — both literally and figuratively. So he takes his time.

You’re surprised you get this loud. You’ve never been so loud that you start comparing yourself to a pornstar. But it’s the vibe you’re getting. You sound almost pained, out of breath, completely fucked-out and close to coming four minutes into the video. You’re more or less past words, only able to formulate those animalistic grunts and high-pitched whines. The sensation of Bucky firing into you, through every one of your sparked up nerves, has you wound up so tight it’s almost painful to think about. You need to come. You need Bucky to fill you to the brim again, like he did last night, all forbidden, hungry, eager, and true.

“Yeah, that’s it, doll. You close?” Bucky pants, slowing down momentarily to catch his own breath. He rocks slow, alternating between long strides and deep ones, grinning when it makes you mutter a multitude of curse words. “Fuck, I’m close. I want you to come with me… can you do that? So goddamn fucking beautiful like this, you wanna come?”

You nod frantically. “Oh, my god! Yes! Yes, fuck yes!”

Bucky pulls your hair back harder than you expect, causing you to yelp and clench down. With his slower pace, his cock massages all your deep crevices, the burn unbelievably wonderful and just this side of oversensitive. Bucky’s force stands you up, back arched and stray strands of hair sticking to your forehead.

“Come on, doll,” Bucky mewls in your ear, licking a quick flick against your earlobe. His hot breath paints your cheeks, then your neck, and Bucky moves his way back to your parted mouth. He accepts your gasps and shares his with you, tasting the minty freshness of your spit that you’re having trouble swallowing. He lets go of your hair to reach down, trailing his hand lovingly and a little chaotically down your front, until the pads of his rough fingers meet your swollen clit. He rubs expert circles, holding you up as your thighs begin to shake. “So goddamn good for me. Only me.”

After that, you basically devolve into nothing but a mess of short whines and failed limbs. Bucky’s got your neck angled in a way so he can kiss you, all uncoordinated but definitely one of your top five favorite things in the world. You sneak a glance out the window, suddenly aware again that you’re on full display. The cardigan has dipped dangerously low on both your elbows and Bucky’s left arm is wrapped tightly around your waist. He’s got you held solid, safe and exposed all at the same time and — fuck! — Bucky shifts and hits that spot just right, electric and sensitive, and somehow you take him even deeper. You vaguely hear yourself begging.

“Best fucking lay you’ve ever had,” Bucky grinds his hips and it makes you groan out loud, “Huh?” His breath hitches and he holds you impossibly closer, his sweaty chest against your now exposed back, and he shudders as he nips your neck. “Best I’ve ever had, that’s for sure.”

You tremble against him, now on the very edge, walls fluttering uncontrollably and stomach uncurling, parted lips kissed-out and numb. Bucky pushes in slow, deep, deep.

“I’m—” Your arch and gasp, mouth dropping in an inviting oval as Bucky presses against the tender spot and rings an earth-shattering orgasm from you at eight in the fucking morning. Your nails scrabble against the table, coffee mug now knocked over and contents spilled, and you push yourself back multiple times to help Bucky milk your release. Bucky groans loudly as you come around him, jerking into you fast and dirty as he chases his own sudden high, until he’s coming too. You grit your teeth as the feeling of his warm release coating your insides sends another excited thrill up your tight spine.

You two slump together, Bucky over you as he trusts the miserable table to still have some fight left. He presses lazy kisses along your shoulder blades, quiet chuckles escaping here and there, until he lifts himself up. He carefully removes himself and you hiss from the overstimulation. Bucky cups his hand over your mound before his release can drip onto the floor. He doesn’t exactly clean you up — instead, he spreads your mixed releases all over. You grunt in both annoyance and horniness.

“Seriously?” you say, voice scratchy and used. Bucky only laughs, turns you around, and presses a chaste kiss against your tired lips. It’s such a contrast, a well-received one, and it makes your stomach turn pleasurably all over again. Then Bucky pulls back, looks at you through his long lashes, and sucks each individual finger — with both your release, and his.

He knows exactly what he did, because he only laughs louder when you start dragging him to the upstairs shower for round two.

Wanda and Clint are both near the cash register when you burst through the door, almost ripping the holiday bells off their hinges, with an exclamation of: “Well! We fucked! Thrice!”

Clint scrambles over the counter while Wanda flutters her hands over him as if that would help him from toppling over, but he messily achieves it, and lifts you from the ground. You don’t know how he does it — Clint’s had more experience lugging around inanimate boxes than people — but he throws you over his shoulder with ease and proceeds to bounce on his heels. You’re screaming ‘put me down!’ while Wanda encourages him. They chant and chant and congratulate you, and when Clint finally puts you down, he hands Wanda a twenty.

You huff and shoot her a glare. “Aid and abettor...” you mumble.

She sticks her tongue out and pockets the money.

“I bet on next weekend. Not this weekend,” Clint clarifies.

“You know, it makes me insanely mad at myself that I couldn’t hold out for that long.”

“Not even forty-eight hours,” Wanda mumbles.

After a couple smacks to her shoulder and a litany of curses, she holds her hands high up in defense. “I’m not judging! I encouraged you last night!”

“You encouraged me to get fucked. Not get fucked by my dad’s best friend!”

“Is he the best?” Clint smirks.

You suck in a long breath and send him a glare. “The thing is, I’ve had time to think about it since he fucked me in the shower this morning and on the walk over here. I think I’ve created quite a fuckin’ pickle.”

Wanda chuckles low, still scared about annoying you further. “We all joked about it because we could see the tension at the bar. In all honesty, we didn’t think you’d actually do it.”

You grumble, unsatisfied, and throw yourself down onto the couch. You glance around the store for the first time since barging in, surprised that it’s empty this late in the morning. Usually the shop is full during the weekends. Date nights and all.

“Look,” Clint sighs, shushing Wanda as she tries to stop him from talking. He looks at her with a soft smile, like a promise that he won’t tease. Yet. “You’re a woman. Not a baby. You have the right to do whatever you want. We’ll tease the shit out of you but we’re not judgin’ you. It’s not like you’ve fucked all your dad’s friends. Just this one.”

He shrugs nonchalantly and it actually makes you huff a great laugh. He continues, “Is this a fling? Serious?”

You open your mouth to reply, but find that you’re seemingly unable to. You haven’t really thought about that yet.

Wanda answers for you. “Don’t ask her that the day after she fucked her first older guy.”

You side-eye her. “I think I like him.”

“I think you like him too considerin’ you’ve just ridden his dick thrice,” Clint says.

Wanda holds in her laugh. It’s nearly impossible, and a few cut off gasps of air leave her mouth. She says, “Get to know him. You’re here together for the same amount of time and then it’s off to New York for you two. You can see where that leads.” She shrugs. “Maybe once the adrenaline dies and the secrecy goes away, you find you’re better off as friends.”

“Yeah,” you breathe out. “Yeah, that’s good. I’ll lead with that.”

“What? You’re gonna talk to him now?” Clint asks, standing up from where he was crouching down in front of you.

“Why not?”

“Dude just got his dick wet, give him an hour.”

Wanda fails to hold in her laugh this time, as do you. You all order sandwiches from the cafe and talk about a number of different things. You realize just how much you’ve been neglecting since you arrived. It’s refreshing to talk about work, flower shipments, the holidays, politics, and even old times. The shop starts filling with customers, a rush around mid-afternoon, but you decide to help out rather than leave. You’ll worry about Bucky and the situation later, but for right now you’d much rather enjoy Clint’s random rants about streaming service prices being too high.

Once, when Bucky was fifteen and took his dad’s car for a joyride, he ended up slamming into a fire hydrant and had to work all summer to repay his dad for the damages. It taught him a valuable lesson in personal responsibility and to always second guess decisions that don’t make total sense.

Now, at thirty-nine years old and having just taken another joyride (this one obviously fucking metaphorical), Bucky wonders if a summer job can cover the consequences.

It’s not that he regrets it — hell fucking no, he would commit that deadly sin all over again if the opportunity arose — but he does realize the fucked up things that can follow after his actions. Bucky Barnes, who has always prided himself with having his head screwed on straight most of the time, has just fucked his friend’s daughter.

And fuck, it makes him shiver and get hard at the same fucking time. It’s depraved, immoral, so fucking wrong to take pleasure in it, in remembering the curves of your body while he showers again that morning, cock in a tight grip while he wrings out a third orgasm.

And he has to remind himself of the three simple facts: you are not underage, you consented, and he took care of you. You may be fifteen years younger, but you’re a full adult. You had one drink and a shot last night, most of the buzz drowned with water anyway, and he was clear-headed as well. And, as fucking weird as it sounds, he treated you with respect and care while he fucked you. You are his friend’s daughter after all… it’s the least he could do.

But now Bucky’s faced with a wild predicament. He didn’t mean for this to happen, at least not so suddenly, because let’s face it, the tension was there ever since he first called you sweetheart. And the predicament is complicated: One, do what he doesn’t want to do and call it quits, or Two, continue fucking his friend’s daughter when he’s an invited guest staying rent-free.

Bucky thinks of this, even as you burst through the front door, an urgent question on your lips. “What are we doing?”

Bucky’s eyebrows shoot up his forehead and he mutes the television as he turns on the couch toward you. “I was about to ask the same thing.” It’s a lie, of course. Bucky has never been one to talk about his feelings much, but he figures he’s got to do it sometime. Especially with you, considering how many invisible boundaries you two have already crossed.

“This is crazy right? Like, spur of the moment type of thing?”

“Exactly that! Yeah!” He doesn’t know what he’s saying, fuck that, but he’s a guy and you’ve just caught him off guard while he was in his own head.

“Because what we did was wrong! Taboo. Wrong.”

Bucky stutters, then clears his throat. “I wouldn’t say taboo but uh—”

“And you must regret it because well, I’m just a fucking kid like you said and—”

“Woah, hey, woah.” You’re talking a mile a minute. Bucky stands from the couch and reaches out, holding your shoulders in place so you can stop pacing. “Do you regret what we did? I admit we’re both fucking crazy but you don’t have to stress about it.” He sighs. The good in him will always outweigh the sins of the bad, but it doesn’t mean he has to like it. “If you wanna pretend it didn’t happen, then it didn’t happen.”

The words get stuck in your mouth. You had it all planned out. Tell him you both have to stop, that it was a mistake and that it wouldn’t happen again, that it was all lust and not true. Tell him you two can pretend it never happened, that you didn’t feel what you so obviously felt, that the rest of his stay doesn’t have to be tainted because of what occurred. But Bucky looks so sad as he proposes the solution that it damn near breaks your heart. He’s got this crease in the middle of his eyebrows, deep and rough, and you want nothing more than to run the pad of your thumb on it to smooth it out. Your conversation with Wanda and Clint earlier starts to seep through and you decide that Bucky, and even yourself, deserve the truth.

Suddenly, unpracticed words spill subconsciously. “I don’t wanna pretend that.”

“So it happened.”

“It happened.”

Bucky nods slowly. “I think… that we both think it’s wrong because of who we are to another. But us as individuals—”

“It doesn’t feel wrong.”

It's barely the morning after, and yeah he’s fucked you three times, but he honestly didn’t think you would bring up this conversation now. Granted, he wanted a few more days of absolute x-rated fun before he had to speak of the consequences. Fuck logistics.

If he had met you anywhere else, he promises the same thing. He would have flirted, gotten your number, maybe even asked you out sometime. He hasn’t dated in a while. He’s rusty and unbalanced and doesn’t know the first thing about making a situation like this work, but he’s willing to try. “So what happens now?”

“I’d like to continue if that’s alright with you.”

“You’d like to continue?” Bucky smirks.

“You’re really gonna make me say it out loud?”

“I’m really gonna make you say it out loud.”

You roll your eyes. “If I met you at a bar, a bookstore, a coffee shop, even a grocery store, I probably would have flirted with you.”

“Is that so?”

“Don’t make me take it back.”

“It’s not just attraction?”

“Bucky,” you sigh, and take his metal hand in yours. “I have the sudden urge to find out what your favorite breakfast food is so I can cook it for you. I want to dance stupid little old-timey dances to those old-timey songs I heard you playing on your earphones yesterday. You made me smile five seconds after meeting you. I think I like you.”

Bucky smiles to himself more than to you, looking down at his feet to contain his blush. You sound corny, your confession a little cheesy, but Bucky was always a sucker for a good rom-com. “I think I like you, too.”

You bite your tongue to keep from squealing. His grin is so bright you have to look away and at the ceiling. “So, what? We keep this a secret? Sneak around? See where it goes?”

Bucky inches closer and lays his metal hand over your warm cheek. He says, gently, “I’m up for it if you are.”

You breathe in deeply, his soft voice like salve on a wound.

It’s crazy, but you’ll think about that later. Right now, you tell yourself that you deserve this. You deserve to live out your Hallmark movie. Or rather, an R-rated version of one. “What do we tell my dad if he finds out?”

“He won’t. At least, not now.” Bucky places a chaste kiss against your lips, which are slightly open and ready to protest. He hushes you softly, “If this works out, we’ll talk about it then.”

You’ve always been good at keeping secrets.

When you were six, Sam got the passenger door of Steve’s new car torn clean off and when you found him frantic and embarrassed, he made you promise not to tell another soul. Bruce helped replace it in under an hour. Steve still doesn’t know.

When you were thirteen, Wanda finally kissed her crush and made you promise not to tell anyone — she thought she was bad at it. Then her crush moved across the country and no one knew why she was depressed for a good month.

You even keep secrets at work. Some of your clients have published best sellers and when the sequels are in the works, you get to read about the secret new characters, the secret new plot twists, the secret new endings and beginnings.

You’ve become so good at keeping this secret that it’s getting kind of scary. Your dad leaves the house and both you and Bucky can’t keep your hands off each other. It’s a race to kiss stretch marks, to make the other produce a new sound, to see if the other has the ability to change the Earth’s axis. Then, strangely, it becomes domestic. You make him laugh, tripling the lovely crinkles by his eyes, and he’ll read you a chapter from one of his favorite novels while he breathes in the scent of your shampoo.

It’s two weeks of this: domesticity and a sense of normalcy. You watch television together; you fuck or take it slow (depends on the mood); you take walks at the nearby park with your hands tucked in your own pockets, feeling the invisible string that calls you together when you have the freedom of being in private; you visit the bar together most nights to greet everyone. In front of others, even if they know about the two of you, you both keep it chaste and practically nonexistent. You’d get the side-eyes from Wanda, the smirks from Clint, the thumbs-up from Kate — it’s light and carefree but you both know you have to be careful. They’re the only people who know. And Pietro and Peggy. But Peggy doesn’t speak to or know your dad so she’s in the all-clear.

And when you come back home and your dad is there, you have to act as if Bucky is nothing more than a new acquaintance, barely a friend; a small part of you freezes over when Bucky does the same. You’re merely friendly with one another — it does nothing to showcase how much you’ve come to know, nothing to demonstrate how much you’ve learned while paired like parentheses on your bed and twiddling your fingers together.

Bucky’s favorite color is blue. His cat Alpine is the most important thing in the world to him after his sister Rebecca. He hasn’t had a serious relationship in nearly ten years. He bought his bar at twenty-five when he didn’t know shit about running a business. Steve Rogers may be his roommate, but Sam Wilson is his best friend. His hair once reached his shoulders and he promises to grow it out again, just for you. His SAT score was just a few points shy from perfect (both math and reading). He’s right-handed, which he thanks God for everyday considering he lost his left arm. And he visits California each year and comes back with a new upgrade to his arm, courtesy of T’challa and Shuri.

It feels weird knowing more about Bucky than your dad does. So when Bucky repeats the same information sometimes when your dad’s around, you act as if it’s brand new.

Bucky feels the awkward shift when the days end as well. When he sneaks out of your room at the crack of dawn and has to tip-toe down the stairs to prevent them from creaking, he feels guilty. Every morning, he feels as if he gets his full and straight up bails. No matter how long he stays to brush hair from your forehead or count your tiny snores, he feels sick leaving the bed.

And he should have known better. It’s not like he planned on sleeping with his friend’s daughter. He especially didn’t think he’d fall for you either. If he were anyone else, he’d find this situation wrong. But then the rational side of his brain expresses the other known facts: you’re closer to thirty than eighteen, he’s single and ready to mingle, and you both live in New York where your relationship can possibly bloom further without having to censor and hide. Sure, this is an affair but it isn’t an illicit affair. He feels guilty for wanting to cut this vacation, where he’s supposed to be spending time with your dad, short.

And he has spent time with him, don’t get him wrong. They’ve gone out to eat, Bucky’s helped plan the Christmas party, and he’s even visited him at work — they’ve even discussed the war. They don’t go into immense detail but they do get their points across. Bucky doesn’t know if they’ll ever truly talk about it. Bucky makes sure to wear his gloves whenever your dad is around.

He feels guilty after it all, after a great day, when all he craves and prays for more than anything is to make you laugh and produce those sweet love-sounds.

“How’s this?”

Bucky hums and says, “Retro. 70s.”

It's a rainbow, long-sleeved striped shirt that’s loose on the bottom and form fitting on top. You lay it over your chest and model it a little, grinning shyly when Bucky blushes.

It’s not for you. Christmas shopping for your friends and family has been going well. So far you’ve bagged your dad’s gift, Kate’s, Clint’s, and Pietro’s. This little number is perfect for Wanda.

“What are you getting my dad?”

Bucky takes the shirt from you to place it in the basket he’s lugging around. “Oh you know, this and that.”

“Mm, my favorite kind of gift.”

“I think the real question is: What am I getting you?”

You send him a confused glance over the racks of clothing. He sends a similar glance just to mock you. “You don’t have to get me anything.”

Then Bucky’s left eyebrow cocks and he purses his lips. “Uh, I know a trap when I see one.”

“I’m serious! You don’t have to get me anything. But if you wanna get me something, I like Lamborghinis and Rolex watches.”

“For sure, doll. I think my bartender’s salary can swing that.”

“You own the bar.”

“I own a bikers bar in Brooklyn. All the important hippies go to Manhattan,” Bucky laughs.

Bucky, who’s shopping for Steve and Sam as you speak (even if he doesn’t know when he’ll next see them), does not need to buy you anything. Or, you think he shouldn’t. You’re in the middle: the relationship is new and he shouldn’t feel obligated, but also he’s technically your super secret boyfriend and it would be the nice thing to do.

“Whatever you think my heart desires then.”

“Give me a hint.”

Your mouth opens then closes with a snap. You don’t need anything so… “I have everything I need… get me something you think I’d like.”

Bucky scans the area you’re both in and points to the most hideous shirt you’ve ever seen. You stare hard, trying not to burst out laughing, until Bucky gets the message. He gives up. “Tell me three random words right now and I’ll get you something based on that.”

“Uh… Snow… couch… round.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Thanks a lot, doll. Can’t fucking wait to stress over that combination of words.”

“You asked!”

He’ll find you something. Bucky promises himself that. If you get this much joy buying everyone else presents, you must look even more perfect unwrapping your own.

By December 20th, it feels like time has passed way too quickly. You can honestly say that the last two weeks have been more exciting than all your past relationships combined. The ducking behind counters, the runs home when you think you’ve been spotted, the making-out in the hallway when you have guests over. The day Bucky bent you over the kitchen table, he had snuck into your room that night and asked you what your favorite food was. Then the next afternoon, he spent an hour making it.

It’s become routine now, being this close to Bucky. Your dad had even commented about how well you look, how happy you seem to be, that you’ve spoken more to him than you have over the phone this past year. It makes you take a moment for yourself in the privacy of the bathroom — overthinking and curious about how much your dad knows.

But you don’t think he suspects anything. And that’s what makes your stomach churn.

“You’re fucking with me, right?” you say, nipping at Bucky’s stubble-covered chin. He shaved a week ago, but his hair is growing back fiercely. You find that he goes crazy when you run the very tip of your tongue over his chin dimple, shuts his eyes and breathes low and everything. His reaction could be because of that, or because you’re sitting firmly on his naked lap, riding him slowly and tortuously. It’s still early, maybe five, and no one is supposed to be home until eight. So you take your time, rolling your hips for merely your own pleasure. Bucky tries to guide your hips with his own hands, but you keep slapping them away. You brace your hands on his shoulders. “C’mon, baby. For every question you answer, I fuck you fast and dirty. It’s what you want, right?”

Bucky groans deep and leans his head back into the cushion. He’s fully clothed with only his cock out, which is buried deep inside your cunt and practically pulsing. You can feel it each time you slow your hips down, clenching around him purposely to see if you can get him to accidentally come. No dice, Bucky’s a strong one.

“Mm.” It’s all he can seem to muster. He’s pliant and loose beneath you, turning red in the cheeks and licking his lips as if to distract himself from your sweet cunt squeezing him like it’s your god-given right. And the little noises that fall from his mouth are clearly unbidden — each time he makes a sound that resembles a tiny whine or plea, he grasps helplessly at your skin. All of it. Because you’re completely naked on top of him, tits right in his face, and he’s not allowed to touch unless he answers.

“How old were you when you lost your virginity?”

Bucky chuckles, short and dry, and rolls his eyes as he realizes it’s better to answer than not at all. “Twenty. Okay? Twenty, jesus.”

You grin wide, lift yourself up slightly higher, then ride him fast. “I was nineteen!” Bucky throws his head back again, eyes lolling to the back of his head, your answer only barely registering. His upper pelvis is wet with your juices, and his clothed thighs shake from the impact of your bouncing. He gasps out your name, no pet name this time, and you watch as a satisfied smile lazily etches across his bruised lips. “Just like that, yes fuck, yes, just like that.”

You spring your hips fast a few more times, then stop to grind slowly. Bucky literally pouts, a small cry escaping his tight throat, and he struggles to open his eyes to glare at you. You giggle and peck the tip of his nose. “This is called edging.”

He bites his bottom lip, eyes challenging. He hooks an arm around your waist and fucks up into you, pulling you toward him as you shout from the sudden impact. He grinds fast, moaning every time he fills you deeply. You pull back, a rather difficult task to do as Bucky literally knocks the breath from your chest, but you achieve it. You rest your forehead against his, the tips of your nose brushing and rubbing as Bucky bounces you. “Oh, yes! Yes!”

He keeps this relentless pace, loving each mewl he pulls from you. “Got any other questions?”

You chuckle, then gasp, and inwardly tell yourself you’ve got the strength to keep this up. You’re the younger one here after all...

“You wanna go on a date?”

Bucky gazes up, hips stalling, eyes quickly scanning your face. Sure, your mouth is agape in a parted gasp and slight annoyance since he’s no longer moving, but you look genuine. He watches you watch him, then feels his heart swell when you smile. He rolls his hips up, a movement so perfect it pinches that coil in your stomach, and grabs the back of your neck to kiss you hard. It’s fierce, near brutal, but god, Bucky was going to make sure you knew how much you mean to him.

“Yes,” he breathes against your lips, the little puff of air tickling his own skin. “Yeah, let’s go on a fuckin’ date.”

You laugh and return your lips with his, and bring your hips up only to snap them back down. There’s no other way to describe it — you fuck him hard, fast, making sure his thrusts are quick and match yours. You fuck him as you wail, hands curled behind his neck as he buries his face in the slope of your neck and shoulder, where he plants sloppy kisses and muttered praises of ‘there we go, c’mon sweetheart, make yourself come on my cock, use me, use me, I’m yours.’

You twist your hips a little, slamming deep, all concept of time dwindling. You can fuck Bucky for hours, which is technically what you already do, but it’s just so brilliant to think about. It’s late in the day, Bucky was out, and this is the first you’re fucking him since last night. You’re young, hey, you’ve got drive.

Bucky can feel you reaching your end if the tight heat engulfing him was anything to go by. Your bounces were staggering whether you noticed or not, and Bucky has mapped out your body and its tells since you two started this little affair. Your nails start digging into his skin and he’s found that you mainly claw deep into his metal appendage, absentmindedly reminded to not hurt him. He thinks it’s sweet, no matter how heated it makes him. Your thighs also begin to shake, and when that happens, your chest starts to heave delicately. Then your nose does this thing, where it scrunches up like a miniscule sneeze, and your eyes go the slightest bit wide and your mouth drops and then… All that exists is Bucky’s cock deep inside you, ringing every last drop of your orgasm, the sensation one compared to Bucky claiming you, making you his.

Bucky slows down his strokes, not wanting to set you back on fire so soon. He holds you tightly as you recover. He relishes in your heavy panting.

“Use me, baby,” you gasp into his skin, trailing your lips down his neck like a paintbrush on a canvas. Bucky groans deep, but when he pushes up and into you again, you hiss in deep discomfort.

“Are you okay?” Bucky asks, gently pulling your face away from his neck to see you. You bite your lip, studying him, and decide it’s better not to lie.

“I’m a little raw down there.”

Bucky chuckles and presses a sweet kiss to your chin. Ever so slowly, he helps you off him. Your mind swoops with the sight of his heavy and hard dick, red with want and slick with your come. It causes you to whimper with interest but you know for certain your body can’t take another orgasm. It’s only your first one today, but if you’re counting the amount of times Bucky fucked you last night, it’s like the ninth in twenty-four hours. Bucky has a firm grip around himself, using the self-made lubricant to squeeze around himself. You climb off of him and settle down on your knees. The carpet is a little rough, but a lot of things outweigh the itch: the warmth from the blazing fireplace, the smell of the pie in the oven (the wait is what led to this rendezvous in the first place), the sight of Bucky’s drooling cock just aching for your mouth.

“You don’t have to—” Bucky tries, but catches his unformed words once the tip of your tongue licks a naughty swipe into his slit, licking up the pre-come. He’s been fucking you raw for weeks and always went down on you, but this is first time he’s graced with the wonderful image of you with your mouth on him. He gives an aborted thrust, one he couldn’t stop. It makes you laugh.

“Oh, I have to,” you say, and lick a long swipe from the base of his cock to the red, drooling tip. Bucky gives up and throws his head back into the cushion. He shivers as you swirl around the tip, the self-made lubricant apparently not enough as you spit down on him. It takes everything in him not to grab you by the hair and push you down. But you don’t tease him any longer — how can you? You’ve already come and Bucky’s been such a good boy. “Bet I’m not the only one who gets too loud.”

He’s not expecting it, not even close, when you swallow him down. Once you begin to suck, up and down, tasting the saltiness of your own release and the taste that is so obviously Bucky, does Bucky gasp and lay his flesh hand on the top of your head. But he doesn’t press down, he’s got enough self-control right now, just lays it there. It’s a tight fit with how thick Bucky is, but you make it work. The tight suck of heat and saliva, you holding his thighs down and jerking what you can’t fit, sends tingles throughout your fucked-out body.

“Ah— shit, doll,” Bucky gasps, curling his fingers against your head when you give one particularly nice suck. His hips thrust up and he hits the back of your throat. “Fuck, I’m sorry.”

You pull off him for a second, catching your breath. You wipe your mouth. “Can’t control yourself, huh?” Your smirk soothes the tight coil at the base of his spine, its gratifying unraveling has him holding his breath and urging himself not to come yet. “Use me, Bucky.”

It’s not a hint, no, it’s a full-on fucking request. So he guides your head back and sinks into the feeling of your wet mouth engulfing him once more, but this time he moves his hips along with you. He doesn’t outright fuck your throat — he’ll save that for when you’re full of energy — but he does sink deeper as your mouth expands. You’ve got your tongue on the underside of his cock, massaging the protruding veins then the underside of his tip, and Bucky sees stars.

“Oh, fuck, just like that, doll. Taking my cock so well.”

You moan around him and fail to wholly grin when that pulls another deep groan from the middle of Bucky’s chest. You look up at him from your knees: little beads of sweat along his hairline, mouth parted with wet and red lips, cheeks and neck pink. He’s a beautiful sight, one you call yourself lucky enough to witness.

It’s when you bob your head in earnest, sucking him deeper and more clever that Bucky becomes a mumbling series of praises and incoherent words. One second he’s telling you how good you look, how well you’re doing, how his cock belongs in that perfect mouth of yours, and the next he’s blubbering all over the place, stuttering phrases of f-fuck, doll, I’m-I’m, please, please, please!

You trail your hand down in between his shaking thighs. It’s a tight fit with the cramped stretch of his jeans and all, but you’re able to shimmy his jeans a little further down. He helps you, completely gone to ask you what you’re planning, and simply falls in sync. Cupping his balls and massaging them, Bucky bites his bottom lip and tries to raise his hips to give you more access. You bob your head up and stay there, swirling your tongue around the angry head. Then you gently press the pads of your index and middle fingers against his perineum, and look at him. The breath catches in his throat and he flutters his eyes open. His rambling comes quicker. “Yes, yes, god yes!”

It’s all the permission you need. You suck him back down and angle your hand, rubbing with more pressure and milking his prostate from the outside. Bucky literally sings, moans and whines spilling from his mouth. His hips drive up faster, almost hitting the back of your throat, but you’ve got excellent technique. You press harder, rubbing expert circles like he would your clit, and hum around his pulsating cock. Bucky’s there, ready to come down your throat, and it’s the amazing combination of your hand pressing against his prostate and the sudden repeated swallowing around his cock, deep in your throat, that does it. Bucky shoots off, each stutter accompanied by vocal exclamation. You swallow his spent, bob your head a few more times to make sure you get it all, then come back up. You leave a small kiss on the tip.

“Holy… shit,” Bucky says, and lazily smiles down at you. You carefully lift yourself up, wincing slightly from the carpet burn. You snuggle into his side, legs dangling a little off the arm chair. He pulls you in close and scatters kisses across the top of your head. “I’ll never stop thanking you for that.”

You snort and turn his head to you. “So about that date?”

“Tomorrow,” Bucky confirms, still trying to get his breathing under control. “Dinner. Mini-golf. A show. Dancing. Movies. Whatever the kids do these days.”

You roll your eyes and watch how the grin expands across all his features. You’ll never tire seeing him happy, joyful, peaceful. You’ll never tire of how this man kisses you breathless or how he always seems to know just what to say. He stares back at you, all hot and electric, and you have to admit to yourself: you’re falling in love with him.

“No, no. I don’t think you realize it, doll. I cried my fucking eyes out.”

You stifle your laugh with flour-covered hands, smudges on your cheeks unnoticed. Bucky takes a moment to admire how it forms a half mustache.

“At what part? First time I cried was when she was forced to marry the guy and then when she had her son.”

Bucky whines softly, and rolls his neck. “I didn’t cry during the book, just at the end. I mean, she left her son but dedicated the book to him? Broke my fucking heart.”

You produce a little hum of agreement and finish mixing your ingredients. Bucky’s working on his own batch of cookies: his dough is already mixed and he’s just starting to roll them into balls to put on the tray. The store-bought pie sits on the counter, sizzling, apple aroma filling the house.

“Yeah, that killed me, too. But she had to leave. She realized if she stayed she’d end up like her mother or worse.”

Bucky nods and rolls a cookie quickly so he can turn back to you. “Ah, the irony! The fact that she hated her mother and saw her as weak when she was a kid, only to understand her when she herself was in an abusive relationship? Fuck, doll. Thanks for the great read.”

You giggle and move to swiftly kiss his cheek. He leans into the quick peck, and makes a noise to mock your cookies. You’ve slightly flattened them while Bucky made them round. He bet you his cookies would somehow have more flavor. Once your tray is filled, you put them into the oven and set the timer. “No problem! I love rocking people’s worlds with literature finds.”

Bucky abandons his cookie-making to catch your waist. He easily picks you up and places you on the counter. He’s let his beard grow out a little more: you count nine grays — five above his upper lip, and four scattered across his chin. You rub the pad of your thumb across his bottom lip, watching his eyes watch you.

Slowly, Bucky leans in and gives you a gentle kiss. Holding his cheeks while you taste him has become a habit. One second you have your hands to yourself, and the next they’re brushing his skin with both a sense of delicacy and urgency. It’s magnetic.

“I’ll get started on the other one right away,” Bucky mutters against your lips. You tug his bottom lip gently, pulling until his whole body leans into it, and smile once his hands have found purpose higher up on your waist.

“You do that,” you reply, and finally move your hands lower to grasp the sides of his neck. His facial hair becomes slightly less thick the further down it goes. “You’ll only cry once for this one… or maybe twice.”

“You’re tellin’ me I’m gonna cry with the sex book?”

You ruin the kiss with a laugh and push him away by the shoulders. “It’s a book with sex!”

Bucky smiles, all ready to argue, but decides against it. He glances at the clock on the wall and once he calculates how much time he’s got in between now and when your cookies are ready, he leans you back onto the counter and reaches for the button of your jeans.

It’s nearly seven when a sudden knock at the front door practically flings you from Bucky’s lap. The knock doesn’t startle Bucky as much as it does you and he teases, “Kid, if it was your dad he would have just walked through the front door.” He holds you by the hips and even tries to drag you back down.

“Baby, stop,” you whisper-yell to him, smacking his hands away as he tries to claw you closer. Once you finally break free, he grunts in annoyance. “It’s probably the mail or something, now hush.”

Wanda, Kate, and even Clint would simply walk in. They have keys. So do Sam, Bruce, and Captain Rogers. And it’s a Saturday so mail is unlikely.

You smooth over your clothing to make sure nothing is out of place and pay extra close attention to the top of your head. The person at the door knocks again, a little harder this time.

It’s not even an exaggeration: Hell has just frozen over.

“Miss me?” Brock Rumlow announces, arms extended and with a large smile on his face. If there's a Hell, you’re in it. If there’s a Heaven, you’ve been barred from it. If there’s a purgatory, you’ve just been assigned one of the most insane plot twists for your ticket out.

“Uh— hold on,” you stutter, and suddenly slam the door closed. Bucky stands from the lounge chair with an amused grin. “It’s the guy from work. It’s Rumlow. It’s the fucking guy from work.”

“What?”

“What do I do?”

“What do you mean ‘what do I do’, send him away!”

“Bucky, what do I say?”

Bucky waves his hands around. He sees the way your face contorts, the way your shoulders sag, the way you're tapping your foot with uncontrolled nerves. You keep glancing at the door and back to him. It suddenly hits him: you’re scared.

“Answer the door. I’ll get him to leave.”

“Bucky—”

“I’ll get him to leave kindly,” Bucky makes sure to clarify. Satisfied, you go to open the door again after Bucky hops out of sight.

You hold your breath as you do so. “Brock, what are you doing here?”

Rumlow smiles and leans on the doorframe. He must’ve finished the project early. He’s confident, beaming, and obviously using up his vacation time on your front porch. “You said I should visit sometime! Well, here I am! Sometime!”

You blink as if it would help clear your mind. You rehash a thousand memories at once trying to pinpoint that exact phrasing. Nothing comes up, and Rumlow is starting to look past your shoulders and into the living room, and you still have no idea—

‘Yeah, I come from this small town where everyone knows everyone. It’s tiny but it’s homey.’

‘I’ve always wanted to spend a winter in a town like that!’ Rumlow had admitted.

‘You should!’ you had commented, pouring your coffee in the breakroom. ‘The holidays are just around the corner. You should look into it. I hear there are a lot of Airbnb’s.’

Rumlow had smiled, nothing too creepy. ‘Sounds like fun!’

That was it. That was the whole conversation. You never invited him. Hell, you didn’t even say where you were from. How does Rumlow know where you’re from—

Fuck. Work. Those stupid ‘Get to know me!’ presentations Pepper had you guys do when she assigned teams. Leave it to Brock Rumlow to take notes.

“Yeah,” you laugh awkwardly. “You are.”

“Aren’t you gonna invite me in?”

“Oh, well, you see, my dad has guests every year and it’ll be a little rude to invite someone in while they’re sleeping or eating so—”

A hand settles above yours on the wall, and Bucky’s large body frames yours from behind. He makes sure to leave enough room for you to slip under his arm and stand behind him. “We having guests today?”

Rumlow stares at Bucky hard, scanning him from the roots of his hair to the soles of his feet. It’s a silent war, one Rumlow is actually very good at fighting. It’s smooth, quick, and Rumlow’s back to smiles. “Sorry to show up unannounced. Wanted to surprise this little one!”

You cringe from the outside-in. No matter how much you adored pet names, the wrong pet name from the wrong person immediately shatters the wholesome nicety.

Bucky produces the fakest, most rehearsed smile in the world. “Well, that’s nice! I’d invite you in but her dad’s not home and he has this weird rule that if you’re not family or one of his best friends, you can’t breathe the air he pays rent for unless specially chosen.”

You turn to hide your sudden snort and slip behind Bucky’s outstretched arm. Quickly, you shoot a smile over your shoulder to Rumlow. “Catch up tomorrow! Text me where you’re staying, okay? Bye!”

Rumlow opens his mouth to say something, but Bucky claps his shoulder then says his own goodbyes. He shuts the door in Rumlow’s face.

“Fuck!” you whisper-yell. Bucky speed-runs over to you, clasps his hand over your mouth, then drags you up the stairs in an uncoordinated race to your room. Once in the safe confines of your bedroom, you both burst out laughing.

“Oh, shit. This is so goddamn weird that I don’t even know what I should say right now,” Bucky admits, collapsing onto your bed. You go to lay beside him, then drape one arm over his torso to hug him tight.

You giggle into his chest. “This is so bad. I don’t even think my brain is fully processing it.”

“Give it a minute.”

You roll your eyes. “I know one thing for sure, though. My boss is getting a very strongly-worded email tonight about personal boundaries and how I’m no longer tolerating the violation of them.”

xxMoni

#Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes x reader #reader x bucky barnes #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes smut #dbf!bucky #holiday fanfic #captainsimagines #by Moni #bucky barnes AU #avengers x reader #marvel fanfiction #marvel masterlist #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes miniseries #the warmth of winter

551 notes · View notes

fairykazu · 4 months

Text

take a bite

he's afraid of how this feeling could change his relationship with you. he's afraid because every time he has gotten into a relationship; it was too good to be true. it has to be good luck that he managed to land in here and the karma of the bad will come to reap the rewards of him being alone once more. scaramouche stared at himself blankly in the mirror, his finger traces the brown, intricate engraved frame. he remembered when he got this, you were shopping and gifted it to him.

well, before, in a relationship, he purposely provokes the other person, hoping to see if they take the bait. to see if they'd be angry or not. what if he...

he snapped out his thoughts, he walked around, pacing in his room. no, he doesn't want to make everything hard for himself and especially for you?

but he likes it. he revels into side of the relationship for reasons he's not sure how he'd developed it. well, maybe because of the idea of him having the control like the control he wasn't able to have before his mother abandoned him.

he held the ends of the vanity, looking at himself in the mirror again. the eyebags sunken, evident on his pale complexion.

he doesn't want to act on his feelings for you but hell, will he be damned if you end up in someone's embrace just because he was too much of a coward to confess. maybe he's expecting too much from you. god, if only there was a way to read each other's minds or see the world you are able to see it, then he'd take it. he'd take the chance of seeing colors you view the world.

maybe if hes yours then he doesn't fall into his tendency to ruin it for the taste to control. but the more he thinks about it, the more he wants to. maybe he'd had to settle on being solely your friend, not to ruin the perfect friendship you have with him. he clenched his hands, slamming his hand on the vanity.

frustration fading away as his heart drops when he noticed a crack on the mirror's frame.

shit.

#astronetwrk #softly spoken mini series!#scaramouche x reader #scaramouche #scara x reader #scara #scaramouche imagines #genshin scara #scaramouche genshin impact #genshin impact fanfics #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact #wanderer x reader #wanderer x you #wanderer x name #wanderer x y/n

62 notes · View notes

frogtanii · 3 years

Text

iwaizumi was... overwhelmed, to say the least.

the past few days had been such a whirlwind of change that hajime could barely properly process, much less appropriately react to it all, so he behaved much like a zombie, saying yes when prompted, signing papers when told, and packing up what was his entire life for the past 11 months.

wow. iwaizumi collapsed on his bed as he scanned his now barren bedroom. he’d been here for almost a year and yet, all his belongings were in boxes within a couple of days.

hajime couldn’t keep the disbelieving chuckle from escaping his chest as he leaned back on his bed, dark brown eyes trained on the ceiling.

it felt like he’d spent such a large chunk of his life trapped in this house, under the foot of the woman who he thought he’d marry but in reality, he’d been in little leagues longer than he’d been in love.

iwaizumi scoffed and rolled his eyes. yeah, “in love”. it’d been about a week since his whole life started to unravel and he had hardly seen, let alone spoken to meiko throughout that entire time.

over text, she’d sworn up and down that she loved and cared about him but as she passed by him packing his things a few days ago, she’d barely spared him a second glance.

hajime wasn’t going to lie. it hurt. he’d opened his heart up to her, something he didn��t do easily, and she’d taken his trust and used it to twist him into her weapon.

he always believed he was stronger than this — he’d never forget his mother telling him so when he was younger. he had fallen and scraped his knee yet he refused to cry to keep from upsetting his mom. iwaizumi existed to live up to what his mother thought of him but here he was, completely enveloped in meiko’s shit, doing her dirty work and following her bidding like some mutt.

god, toorū was right. he really was her bitch.

“i could hear you thinking from down the hall, iwa-chan.” speak of the devil...

oikawa stood at his doorway, leaning against the frame with a posture that seemed relaxed at first glance but if you looked a little closer, you’d notice the tenseness in his shoulders and the tightness of his smile.

hajime quickly sat up on his bed before motioning for his old friend to enter. “uh, yeah,” he began, his voice cracking a little from disuse, “i have a lot to think about.”

the light haired brunette let out an understanding hum before wandering into the room, sharp observant eyes darting to look at all the empty walls. “looks like you’re all packed.”

“pretty much,” iwaizumi nodded before the room fell into an awkward silence, the two childhood friends completely avoiding one another’s eyes.

“look, i-“

“iwa-chan, i’m-“

they both paused for a moment before bursting into laughter, the sound carrying into the hall and throughout the house.

hajime wiped a few stray tears from his eyes, shaking his head at their awkwardness. “you first, shittykawa.”

toorū gasped in halfhearted mock offense before quickly sobering up, training iwaizumi with a completely serious look. “i’m sorry and before you go on some bullshit, self sacrificing rant, you’re not the only one to blame for what happened to our friendship.”

he sighed while making his way to iwaizumi’s bed, sitting down gently beside him. “i should’ve known better, okay? i shouldn’t have let my jealousy and insecurities get in between us but i guess i got swept up in the attention, yknow? meiko is actually charming when she wants to be.”

iwaizumi nodded in agreement, knowing all too well how compelling meiko could be. the room fell into a more comfortable silence as both boys escaped into their thoughts, questions about the future of their friendship flitting throughout their minds.

“oh!” oikawa was pulled out of his own head at hajime’s exclamation, his eyes moving to observe his friend dig through his pockets to procure a thick white envelope. “here. i’d like you to give this yn.”

all toorū could do was nod, his brain short circuiting at the sight of iwaizumi’s apparent kindness to the woman he tormented for so long. “uh, what’s in it?” he ventured to ask, his soft hands toying with the sealed envelope flap.

a soft chuckle came from across the bed. “don’t be so nosy toorū, just give it to her, yeah?” oikawa rolled his eyes but obliged, the bed creaking as he stood to his feet.

“so... this is it, huh?” it was like the reality of the situation was just now sinking in — they hadn’t been close in a while but iwaizumi was still his best friend and he wasn’t quite ready to let him go.

they’d been through so much together, practically growing up together and now, they’d only see each other on holidays, if even then, and then he’d never be invited to hajime’s wedding as his best man as they’d planned and he also wouldn’t be the coolest uncle/godfather of iwa’s children and—

“fuck no,” hajime scoffed with a bright grin on his face. “thought you were gonna annoy me til the end of time shittykawa. don’t tell me you’re quitting your job now.”

the hidden meaning behind iwaizumi’s words brought tears to oikawa’s eyes and before he could stop himself, he launched his body into iwa’s arms. hajime hesitated, his hands stuttering at toorū’s sides as though he’d forgotten how to hug but the feeling passed, his arms winding around his friend’s lithe waist.

“‘m gonna miss you hajime,” oikawa’s voice came out as a broken whimper, his arms tightening around his shoulders.

iwaizumi hummed instead of responding, too afraid of his voice cracking under the weight of his emotions. they stood there for a moment but the honk of the moving truck outside signaled the both of them of their limited time.

hurriedly, oikawa wiped the tears off his cheeks before waving awkwardly at iwaizumi as he left the room with a friendly, “don’t be a stranger.”

and then he was gone.

toorū finally allowed himself to collapse into sobs on his best friends empty bed, his palms pressing into his eyes as he sat there and just let himself feel.

apparently, he wasn’t crying very quietly because it took only a few moments for you to find him, your soft footsteps alerting him to your presence. oikawa scrambled to wipe away what he knew was an unattractive mixture of tears and snot as you got closer.

you were one of the last people he wanted to see him like this.

“hey,” you whispered, standing a few feet away from him. “um, i know this is probably a bad time but i just wanted to thank you for apologizing? back at the awards show?”

toorū sniffed as he looked up at you with confusion written on his face. “what? you shouldn’t thank me for apologizing. ‘s common courtesy.”

you laughed softly, nodding in agreement. “well, not always. so, thank you.” finished with your piece and not too keen on lingering where you weren’t wanted, you moved towards the door but were swiftly stopped before you got there.

“um, here. it’s from iwa-chan.” you gaped at the thick envelope oikawa was handing you before taking it and opening it, a low curse falling from your lips.

inside the package was a dense wad of cash, more money than you’d seen in months. accompanied with it was a letter, written in beautifully loopy handwriting.

you shut it quickly before oikawa could see, stuffing the envelope deep within your pocket where you could access it alone in the depths of your room.

“do you wanna come eat? last i heard, bokuto and tsumu were doing a cooking competition and i’m sure it’ll be fun to watch.” you were severely thrown off by the money and letter but you were determined to show toorū that you’d accepted his apology and were on your way to making amends.

he gave you a shy nod and trailed behind you to the kitchen, the loud sounds of fire and screaming coming from down the hall. you wanted to focus on the fun and merriment but the envelope was practically burning a hole in your pocket.

later that night, you finally got the chance to open the letter and read it, your former manager’s words bringing tears to your eyes.

dear yn,

i’m probably the last person you expected to hear from. you probably didn’t want to hear from me at all if i’m being honest and i don’t blame you. i know there is nothing i can say that could make up for what i’ve done to you but i’d like to try.

i’m sorry. those words don’t nearly express in and of themselves how truly remorseful i am but they needed to be said. there’s no excuse for how i treated you — not meiko, not my stress, absolutely nothing.

you deserved my common decency and respect and i didn’t give that to you. instead, i abused my position and made your life hell. i’ll never forgive myself for that.

uh, i bet you’re wondering what the money is? i promise i’m not trying to pay you off, it’s just all the money i’ve denied you since you moved here. i have a lot of wrongs to right and this is one of them.

sorry, i’m not very good with words but i just wanted you to know that i’m very sorry for everything that i’ve done. and i’m in no place to make demands or anything but i just wanted to ask if you’d keep an eye on oikawa for me.

he’s strong but he’s also vulnerable. he might be a pain in my ass but he’s my best friend and since i can’t keep him from drowning, i was wondering if you’d do that - not for me but for him.

anyways, this letter is shit but i suppose you get the gist. use the money for whatever you want and if you’re as unselfish as i’ve heard, you don’t owe me anything. you don’t owe me money, kindness, or forgiveness.

take care of yourself,

iwaizumi hajime

℗ poker face

so... this is it

series masterlist

(●’◡’●)ﾉ

an - soooo m back :D hopefully this is the last of my mini hiatuses!! this chapter sucked to write but i’m not mad at how it turned out?? pls let me know how i did skjdkd don’t forget to feed me <3333

taglist - if your name is in bold, i cannot tag you

@boosyboo9206 • @geektastic84 • @elianetsantana • @trashy-simp • @infinitebells • @6mattsun9 • @suhkusa • @katsulovee • @kotarosbabygirl • @fucktheworlddude • @insomniacwreck • @calumsfringe • @saltylettuce • @chai-blu • @al3x1ss • @hawksyoongi • @syndellwins • @jooleuuh • @loubells • @kissungjae • @liberhoe • @tetsurocore • @animeoverdosee • @duhsies • @saikishairclip • @afire24 • @premiyagi • @kit-kat428 • @doctorspencereid • @daphnxy • @kyomihann • @maer-333 • @sinoflust19 • @peteunderoos • @peachiikichu • @iidanotlida • @yongboxerrr • @kac-chowsballs • @tanakaslastbraincell • @memorableminds • @risjime • @starry-magicshop • @sugavwara • @smuttyanimeslut • @kiwibirbs-library • @haijkk • @airybnb • @crybabygumi • @iwaisa • @decaffinatedtealover • @notameera • @kawaii-angelanne • @rintarovibes • @urlocalsimp

the rest of the tags will be in the replies!!

3K notes · View notes

casuallyimagining · 3 years

Text

Official

Min Yoongi x reader

Summary: Yoongi insists on going on a proper first date. Unfortunately, it doesn't go to plan. Word Count: 1,244 Notes: Many thanks to @jeonnhera for the beautiful banner!

This fic is a part of @bangtanwritingbingo’s spring bingo event and fills the square first date.

Part of the Long Term Couples series. Read more here.

The restaurant was warm and inviting, and the smells that were wafting out of the kitchen were absolutely divine. You stood in the foyer in silence, waiting for the hostess to return. She had scuttled away as soon as Yoongi had spoken to her, promising to prepare a table quickly for you. Yoongi stood beside you silently, pressed close enough that if you were to move, you would elbow him in the chest, but far enough away that he wasn’t crowding you.

“Wait… is that?” You heard a young woman whisper, her hand covering her mouth. When you glanced in her direction out of the corner of your eye, she was sat waiting for a table with her friend.

They both were staring at Yoongi.

You felt him sigh beside you, but he did nothing. Not until her friend responded. You couldn’t quite hear what was said, but you felt a hand on your back, guiding you to turn around and out the door.

This was the second restaurant you’d been shuffled out of. Outside, you pulled your coat tighter around you.

“Sorry.” Yoongi sounded sheepish, and you could hear a hint of real sadness in his apology.

He had been excited to go to this restaurant.

“Not your fault.”

And you meant it. It wasn’t his fault. A side effect of his career, maybe, but certainly not of him. He gave you a small grimace like he didn’t believe you, but didn’t say anything as you walked back to his car in the parking garage around the corner.

“Where next?” you asked softly, buckling your seatbelt.

Briefly, Yoongi frowned, but it was gone in an instant. “Want to go to the park?”

“It’s February.”

He hummed. “Right.”

It was quiet in the car. Neither of you had even plugged in your phones yet, so the only sound was the heater on max strength. The silence was oppressive, but not awkward, which was one of the things that had drawn you to him in the first place. The silence was never awkward with Yoongi.

“Do you want to go see a movie?” he asked tentatively.

“Do you?”

“Not really.” He frowned, the back of his head hitting against his seat.

You snapped your fingers. “I have an idea.” Yoongi’s eyes widened, but you hummed. “It’s a secret. Just drive. I’ll give you directions.”

And so he did, listening dutifully as you directed him left and right through the city. The sun had set a few hours ago, so the city was alight with a neon and fluorescent glow. It was beautiful, in its own way. The drive wasn’t long, and soon enough, you were telling him to pull into the parking garage under your building.

“If you wanted me to take you home, you could have just said,” he told you softly. You could hear a hint of hurt in his voice.

“Come upstairs with me.” Cautiously, you took his hand from where he clutched the steering wheel. “Let’s just hang out.”

“I-are you sure?”

“Of course!” You squeezed his hand. “Come on. We can get something delivered.”

When you opened the door to your apartment, you cringed. Had you been expecting to invite Yoongi over, you would have cleaned up a bit. But instead, your living room was a mess, everything from your workday strewn pretty much everywhere. Sheet music covered your coffee table, and your laptop, iPad, and mini keyboard took up your couch.

“Sorry,” you apologized, unplugging your keyboard and gingerly moving it out of the way. “I uh… I was working on some stuff for my students before you picked me up.”

He chuckled, moving your laptop off the couch so he could sit.

You ordered dinner from the barbecue place a few blocks away and chatted casually as he helped you organize your sheet music so you had room on the coffee table. For a while, you thought he’d moved on from the issues you’d experienced earlier in the night. You noticed him pause on a stack of sheet music, examining it with a look on his face that you couldn’t quite place. When he sighed, you approached him gently.

“You okay?”

Yoongi hummed, thumbing the corner of one of the pages. “Tonight hasn’t exactly gone to plan, has it?”

You shrugged, approaching him slowly. “Maybe not-”

“I’m sorry. This… sooner or later it always happens.”

“What do you mean?”

“There’s a reason Jungkook’s the only one of us who’s had success with a long-term relationship.” He sighed, lowering himself gently onto your couch. “It doesn’t really work with… well, who we are. I don’t normally do this.” He gestured between the two of you. “What’s the point? It always ends the same.”

“Yoongi-”

“I don’t blame them. We don’t have a lot of time to foster good relationships, and when we do…” He glanced up at you, then, his dark eyes sad. “You saw what happens.” His gaze fell back to the papers clutched in his hands. “I don’t blame anyone for not wanting to deal with it. What self-respecting person wants a partner who can’t devote the time and energy to them that they deserve?”

“I can only speak for myself, obviously, but…” Gently, you took the sheet music from him before grasping one of his hands. “I had fun tonight.” Yoongi scoffed, a noise of disbelief. “I did! And I…” You sighed.

It was too early to dump your entire life history on him, but really…

“I just want you to like me,” you admitted sheepishly. “As much as I like you.”

And it was the truth. You wanted him to like you. Because god, you liked him. You’d only known him for a few months–less than a year, really–and all you wanted to do was know him more. He was comforting, and kind, and really, really attractive, and you couldn’t help that you were drawn to him.

Yoongi looked away, and if it weren’t for the bright pink tinging his ears, you would have thought you’d said something wrong. But he squeezed your hand tightly, and after a moment of shy, yet comfortable silence, you continued.

“I don’t need much. I don’t mind just hanging out.” You traced the tip of your index finger along the side of his hand, following the contours around his fingers to the small handful of thin bracelets around his wrist. “I just want to get to know you, okay? I wouldn’t have agreed to this silly official first date if I didn’t.”

“Valentine’s Day is too cliche for a first date.” He held your gaze for a moment before continuing. “But okay.” His voice was soft, and for a moment, you thought that maybe he still didn’t believe you. But he flashed you a convincing enough smile. “I just don’t want it to end with us hating each other.”

You hummed, leaning into him. “I appreciate your concern, but I don’t think I could ever really hate you. Unless you turn out to be some sort of serial killer. Or someone who eats limburger cheese or something.”

He snorted. “Good thing I don’t really know what that is.”

You laughed. He probably still didn’t believe you. You knew it took more than a reassurance one time to overcome what you assumed was years of struggles. But you hoped that, maybe someday, he could look back on your relationship–wherever it ended up going–fondly.

#btsbingo2022 #yoongi #min yoongi #yoongi x reader #min yoongi x reader #yoongi fluff #suga #suga x reader #bts yoongi #bts yoongi x reader #bts x reader #bts suga #bts suga x reader #bts

185 notes · View notes

queenxxxsupreme · 3 years

Text

Beneath a Willow I Fall (netflix!Eskel x witch!reader)

A/N: Hi babes! I know updates for this are dragging but hopefully that won’t continue! As always, I’ll link the previous parts below if you have yet to read them or if you want to reread them :)

Warnings: nothing outside of canon, very fluffy, some adult joking

Word Count: 3.5k

Summary: Eskel takes you away from Kaer Morhen in hopes of lifting your spirits.

As Eskel neared your room, the sound of music and the laughter of multiple people grew louder and louder. He furrowed his brow, unsure of what exactly he was about to find.

He– as well as everyone else in the keep –could hear some sort of racket coming from elsewhere in the keep. Triss insisted that it wasn’t harmful noise, that you were just messing around. But Eskel was curious and wanted to know exactly what it was you were doing that was so noisy.

The door to your room was cracked open and a bright golden light seemed to be coming from inside. He slipped into the room, lips parting at what he saw.

Your room had been transformed into a large banquet hall. Dozens and dozens of people in lavish dresses and outfits filled the room, their clothes costing more than any amount of money the witcher had ever had.

The bards in the corner of the room played a cheerful song, encouraging the mass to dance and laugh and carry on.

You stood off to the side.

You were sipping on a sweet wine from the golden chalice in your hand, listening to the lively bards and watching the room full of people dance and enjoy the evening.

But your gaze was more specifically set on a pair of people dancing– a couple.

The man was dressed in stunning dark blues and grays, his dark hair slicked back. And the woman, who Eskel quickly realized was you, was dressed in a dark forest green dress with silver embellishments around the waist and the bust.

You were dancing with the man, laughing and smiling unlike anything Eskel had ever seen.

The witcher took a few steps towards the version of you that stood off to the side of the room, clasping his hands together behind his back as he continued to watch the you that danced with the man.

It wasn’t until one of the party-goers walked right through him that he realized this was an illusion. The whole party was just an illusion you had summoned.

You hadn’t noticed Eskel until he stopped next to you. You turned your head to him, taking in a soft breath as you met his gaze.

“Who is it you are dancing with?”

Your eyes flickered back to the illusion, finding the you that was dancing. The man had just dipped you and still held you close, whispering something incoherent into your ear.

Eskel couldn’t even make out the words, but you remember vividly what was said. It had been the first time Maksym Voric ever told you that he loved you.

The illusion began to fade just as the man leaned down to kiss you.

Within the blink of an eye, the elegant banquet hall was gone and your room at Kaer Morhen returned.

Your eyes flickered around the decrepit room. Sure, you had spruced it up in your time at the keep, but a centuries old room could only be fixed so much.

“Just an old memory.” You told the witcher.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so happy.”

You nodded your head softly. You couldn’t remember a time when you had been as happy as you were then.

“Banquets thrown by lords and kings, feasts so grand and full of all the food you could ever think of…. Sometimes it’s hard to think about how much I’ve lost.”

Eskel didn’t like to see the sadness in your eyes. Ever since your return from Toussaint, since Maksym Voric had passed away, something in you had changed. You had longed more and more for anything and everything beyond Kaer Morhen. And it had only been three weeks.

The witcher feared that Voric’s death would lead to your departure from Kaer Morhen, whether it was safe for you or not.

“Do you remember how we spoke of taking a day trip somewhere warm, witch?”

“Yes, I remember.” You nodded your head softly.

“What do you say we do that today?”

“Today? Haven’t you got plans with your brothers to clean up one of the towers?”

“They can wait or do it themselves.” He waved a hand dismissively.

You watched him for a few moments.

“Where did you have in mind, witcher?”

***

You looked over your shoulder to make sure Eskel had followed you through the portal on his horse, a liver chestnut stallion named Scorpion.

His eyes met yours, giving you just a little smile.

“Lead the way, witcher.” You slowed your horse, a gray mare named Cypress, down enough so Eskel could get in front of you. But instead of taking the lead in a leisurely fashion like you assumed he would, he nudged Scorpion into a gallop.

You watched as the witcher left you at the center of the field, shaking your head.

“That man is trouble, Cypress.” You brushed your hand over one of her braids. She snorted as if she agreed.

***

You found him at the very end of the field. At the end of the field sat a massive weeping willow tree and at the base of the willow was a pond.

“You’re slow, witch.” Eskel approached you, offering his hand.

“I wasn’t aware we would be racing today.” You let him help you down from Cypress, placing your hand in his.

You found yourself struggling to look up at him as the sun shined directly into your eyes. A light laugh left your lips. You closed your eyes and let your head fall back a little. The warmth of the sun beaming down on your skin brought about a happiness you didn’t realize you were missing.

“If only Kaer Morhen’s sun could get this warm.”

Eskel smiled as he watched you, one of his hands still holding yours while the other held your hip.

“Perhaps it’s the cold and desolate temperatures that always have you in a fowl mood.”

“Or it could be the idiots that I am surrounded by.” You raised a brow. Eskel rolled his eyes.

“We aren’t that bad.”

“Just last winter you and Lambert tried to fight each other blindfolded, witcher.”

“We’ve done that since we were kids.”

“With actual swords?”

“.... On occasion.”

“Oh, to be a witcher with nothing more than a few brain cells.” You hummed, drawing yourself from his arms and moving towards the pond.

Eskel watched you walk away, admiring the thin dress you wore. It was deep emerald green with darker green stitching here and there. There were no sleeves and instead just two straps, one of which hung off of your shoulder.

You stopped at the edge of the pond, your eyes fixed on the weeping willow that overlooked the water. You took in a soft breath and let it out, goosebumps rising on your skin.

“My mother used to bring me and my sisters to a lake with a willow tree like this one.” Your voice was quiet but Eskel had no issue hearing every word you said.

The witcher moved towards you, wanting to stay near you.

“We’d go to the lake on days when our father was home long enough to sleep. He’d be so exhausted and mother wouldn’t want five rowdy girls to wake him, so she’d take us to the lake.” You smiled just a little.

“You had a big family.” Eskel spoke quietly. You turned your head to look at him, nodding softly. “How long has it been?”

You took your shoes off and lifted the bottom of your dress so you could step into the edge of the water.

“They died in a fire just before I went to Aretuza.”

“I’m sorry, witch.”

You shook your head gently, leaning over to brush your fingertips over the surface of the cool water.

“It’s been so long…. It almost feels like another life.”

Movement just behind you caught Eskel’s attention. Scorpion took a few steps away from the pond, finding a better section of grass to eat.

“It was just my mother and I when I was young.” He paused for a moment, clearing his throat. “I-I don’t know why I can remember so well. A lot of the other ones I’ve asked– other witchers –they can’t remember everything before the Trials. Geralt has bits and pieces. Lambert…. I suppose he remembers pieces as well, but he mostly remembers the feelings. It’s funny ‘cause feelings aren’t really his strong suit.”

Eskel chuckled a little in an attempt to alleviate some of the tension.

“But I…. I can remember my mother like it was just yesterday.”

You turned to face him, still holding your skirt up from the water.

“What happened?” Your voice was gentle as you tilted your head to the side just a bit.

He held your gaze for a few heartbeats, caught up in the tenderness of your gaze so much so that he almost forgot you asked a question.

“I– Um, I was just a boy. Vesemir says probably around five or six winters. He found me wandering in the woods. I was lost. Had been for quite some time.” Eskel paused, blue eyes fixating on nothing as he stared across the water. After a second or two, he took a deep breath and continued. “It wasn’t until I was older, after the Trials, that I went back to the village just to see if she was still there…. If my mother was…. I asked around. Um…. She died just a few months before I got there.”

“I’m so sorry.” You murmured. You wanted to reach out for him, to take his hand or to do something. But you weren’t close enough, nor did you know if it was proper.

Eskel shook his head, brushing a few loose curls back behind his ears.

“I thought for a long time that she abandoned me in the woods, you know. Left me out there to the elements. Vesemir always said he wasn’t sure how I could’ve gotten out there by myself…. But the villagers said she died with a broken heart. She never stopped holding out that I’d come back.” A little smile came to Eskel’s lips, pulling at the scarred corner. The smile was foreign on him, something you had never seen before. It was like he was genuinely at peace with something that had troubled him for such a long time.

“Where are you from?” You waded a little deeper into the water until it came up to your knees.

“The village doesn’t exist anymore, but it used to lie within Nazair.”

“Interesting.”

“Why is that interesting?” He furrowed his brow.

“Just because.” You shrugged your shoulders. “Never pictured you as a Nazairi. From your accent, I wouldn’t have guessed.”

“And you are of Lyria?”

“Yes. The pearl of the North.” You murmured, reaching down to brush your fingers over the top of the water.

“I hear it’s turned into quite the shithole in the last few decades.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t know. I haven’t been to Lyria in close to eighty years. Not since I left for Aretuza.”

“Little kingdoms didn’t suit you after Aretuza spruced you up?” He teased.

“Nothing little suits me, witcher.” You couldn’t help but smirk just a little.

“See, now I wouldn’t know anything about little.” Eskel kicked off his boots and began to roll the bottom of his trousers up just a little. “Nothing about me is little.”

“Except perhaps your brain.”

He rolled his eyes.

“Nothing important about me is little.” He began to wade into the water, caring no mind if he splashed you a little.

“Size isn’t important, witcher.” You held his gaze. “A stupid man with a big sword could be bested by a smart man with a small dagger. Both a big sword and a small dagger can serve the same purpose so long as that who is wielding it knows how to use it.”

“Oh, I know how to wield it.” A sideways smirk tugged at the scarred corner of his lips. “And I’m sure you know that, witch. You’ve been witness to me wielding my big sword a number of times.”

It was your turn to roll your eyes as you turned to move away from him.

Eskel splashed you as you were walking away, causing you to gasp at the chilly water hitting your back and arms.

“Witcher! We didn’t come here to play games!”

“Then what is it you would like to do, witch?” He cocked a brow up when you turned to face him.

You scowled and used your magic to splash him back, then you turned to run through the pond, holding your skirt now with one hand so you could move quicker.

Eskel quickly signed aard, sending a powerful blast into the water and causing a massive ripple to tear through the pond. You almost lost your balance and the splatter of water still managed to hit you even though you were further away.

You turned and let your dress go so you could use both hands to pick up a large amount of water with magic and dump it directly over Eskel’s head.

“That wasn’t fair, witch!”

“I never said I played fair, witcher.” You giggled. “Truce?”

“Truce.” He brushed his soaking wet hair out of his eyes.

You started to make your way towards him, your soaking wet dress now weighing heavy and threatening to fall down.

“You know, if you would have asked me at the beginning of the winter if I’d be here, I would have called you mad.” Eskel tilted his head to the side just a little as you took the final step that closed the space between you both. He took one of your hands, drawing you into his body.

“Here?” You repeated, curious to know just what he meant. You leaned into him, letting the material of your dress go so you could place your hand on his chest.

“Here.” He confirmed, nodding his head once. He let your hand go so that he could hold on to you instead. One large hand found your lower back while the other went to the back of your ribcage. “With the same hellbeast who tried to kill me when we first met.”

“I didn’t try to kill you.” You rolled your eyes.

“You were ready to kill me.”

You brushed your hands along his upper arms and then to his broad shoulders.

“You were going to capture me.”

“There would have been no need to capture you if you didn’t have such a massive reward out for your head.” He teased.

Your eyes finally met his, the glimmering blue in his gaze similar to that of the water you’d just been playing in moments ago like lovestruck adolescents.

“Without that reward, witcher, I wouldn’t have had a need to come to Kaer Morhen.” You hummed thoughtfully. Your eyes traveled downwards to his medallion. “I wouldn’t be here.”

“How tragic that would have been.” He murmured. There was no teasing tone in his voice, no sign that he was jesting.

“How so?” One of your hands traveled up the side of his neck, watching the way his eyes seemed to flutter shut when the pad of your thumb made contact with the scarred surface of his right cheek.

He didn’t answer immediately, instead choosing to relish in your touch. You cupped his jaw, traipsing over the rigid lines of scarring with your thumb. You’d never touched his cheek in such a manner before. You didn’t think he would like it, that he would allow such a thing. But perhaps that was a false narrative you painted based upon your own feelings towards the scar you had on your chest.

“I…. I don’t know that I can tell you.” His heart was beating rather quickly for a witcher. You listened carefully to it, to the fast pace.

“Why not?” You brought your hand back down to his shoulder. Perhaps you were making him uncomfortable, he just didn’t want to tell you.

His eyes opened and almost immediately found yours. A little smile found its way to his lips.

One of the horses behind you whinnied. You didn’t recognize it as Cypress, so you assumed it to belong to that of Scorpion.

You looked over your shoulder momentarily, finding that stallion watching your mare. After a moment, he returned to grazing.

Your attention was brought back to the witcher before you.

You started to pull away from him, turning to make your way onto the shore. As much as he didn’t want to let you go, he did. He watched as you stepped out of the water, lifting the skirt to your dress as you moved into the grass.

You murmured a spell under your breath, causing a bright light to engulf you for a fraction of a second. When Eskel blinked, you were no longer soaking wet.

He got out of the water himself, shaking out his hair.

You performed the same spell on him, to which he muttered a small thank you.

You found a spot in the shade beneath the willow tree and decided to sit down there. Eskel joined you.

“All the time, I think about what things would have been like if I had made a different decision three years ago.” You watched Cypress as she took a few steps away from Scorpion. “If I wouldn’t have killed Branimor.”

“Would you change things if given the option to?” Eskel turned his head to look at you.

You took in a deep breath. A soft breeze rustled the dangling branches of the weeping willow. You looked up to watch the branches sway with the wind.

“I think…. I think that with as long as our lives are, there are always going to be things that we want to change, choices we wish we had gone about differently.”

“But sometimes the wrong choices lead us directly to where we need to be.” He said.

You turned your head to look at him, holding his icy blue gaze. A soft smile found its way to your lips.

“I suppose so.”

Eskel looked away first, watching a flock of geese cross in the sky above. After the geese passed, he brought his eyes down. A bundle of daisies next to him caught his attention.

“Have you ever been in love, witch?”

His question caught you off guard. You furrowed your brow for a moment, confused. But when he looked back up to you, the furrow disappeared and a more solemn look came to your face.

“I’m nearly a century old, witcher.”

“That isn’t an answer.”

“Yes, I have.”

“How many times?”

You let out a breath, turning your attention to the pond.

“Just once. In all my years, I’ve had my share of lusts and infatuations– if that’s what you’d like to call them…. But I’ve only fallen in love with one man.”

“Just one?”

Your hand came up to touch the emerald pendant that hung around your neck.

“There was only ever one man that could ever get me to think of leaving the Chapter– as much as I hate those bastards. Maksym Voric.” An automatic smile came to your lips when you said his name. “He could make me see sense in anything.”

Eskel looked down at the daisies.

“What about you?” You looked over to him, meeting his line of sight just as he looked up at you. “Have you ever been in love, witcher?”

He held your gaze, unable to say anything for a few moments.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been in love, witch.”

You tilted your head to the side a little.

“No special someone who’s stuck to your heart while you’re on the Path?”

He shook his head.

“I’ve never put time into it. Never had reason to. The Path is the only thing witchers need. Well, the Path and a warm set of legs to rest between now and again.”

You rolled your eyes, making a sound of disgust.

“You’re such a pig.”

He grinned, finding amusement in your reaction.

“Why would you stay with the Chapter if you hated them so much?”

You let out a breath and laid back in the grass.

“They gave me reason. Before them…. Before Aretuza…. I had no reason. I was just lost. You could think of it as the same reason you follow the Path each year after the snow and ice have thawed away.”

“I have no other use to the world.” Eskel’s eyes stayed on you. “I was practically created for this…. To be a witcher.”

You reached up to brush your fingers over the medallion that hung from around his neck.

“I think you could be more than that.”

“You think?” He raised a brow. “Like what?”

You thought about it for a moment, feeling the warm metal between your fingers.

“Well, I’m sure you would be paid well as a strumpet in Novigrad.”

Eskel barked out a laugh, shaking his head.

“You wouldn’t even have to change your clothing choices. When you do smile, it’s quite cute.”

He scoffed at ‘cute.’ He leaned back on one elbow so he was parallel to you.

“In Novigrad, you say?”

“Mhm.” You couldn’t stop the giggle from escaping your lips.

A comfortable silence fell between you both as he looked down at you.

Taglist will be reblogged because tumblr hates me :)

#eskel x reader #netflix!eskel x reader #netflix eskel x reader #netflix!eskel x witch!reader #eskel x witch!reader #eskel x witch #the witcher #the witcher netflix #eskel netflix #eskel witcher #basil eidenbenz #the witcher and the witch #mini series #queenxxxsupreme

152 notes · View notes