#words and stories and voices and hands. how they serve as a path to a grander world beyond

[skbeaumont]

"Make Me Wanna" | Jackson!Joel x Reader oneshot

Song: Make Me Wanna - Thomas Rhett Summary: Joel fucks you in the back of a truck. That's literally it. Tags/Warnings: MDNI, 18+, porn with a smattering of plot, smut, PIV, dirty talk, pets names (baby, darling), kind of dom!Joel, established relationship, Jackson era Word Count: 3.2k A/N: As always, the lyrics have been worked into the story, so if you can listen please do!

There are two working vehicles in Jackson. The school bus – a large van that serves as transport for the kids in the winter, when the paths freeze over and the snow falls too thick to walk through – and a ’75 Chevy Cheyenne. It’s the keys to this that Tommy hands Joel one early morning, the dry Wyoming summer heat already pushing the mercury up into the eighties.

The rest of the town are still asleep, but you, Joel, and Tommy are outside in the square, your conversation chorused by the call of the town’s raggedy old rooster. Joel’s having trouble concentrating on his brother’s instructions, his eyes flicking like the hands on a clock to the way the dress you pulled on this morning clings to your ass and hips, the thin cotton leaving very little to his imagination.

He’s sure you’ve done it on purpose; there can be no other reason to wear such an impractical outfit when you’re heading out beyond the wall. Sure, it’s an easy run – up to the dam, check everything’s in order, head back – but Joel’s not sure how he’s even going to make it there with you in that ridiculous damn dress, curves calling out to him. It makes him wanna-

“Joel, are even you listening?” Tommy’s voice cuts through his reverie, has him shaking his head like he’s trying to clear it of flies.

“Yeah, yeah.”

“What was the last thing I just said?”

“Uh,”

Tommy rolls his eyes and Joel looks at you for help, but you just smile at him innocently with dimples in your cheeks, batting your eyelashes like you don’t know exactly what you’re doing.

“Jesus Joel, can’t you concentrate for two minutes?”

Tommy relaunches into his lecture about the dam and the route, and Joel tries to pay attention to the words, tries to ignore the way you’re gliding a single finger across the small of his back, hand dipping under his shirt to reach the hot skin there. It’s such an innocent gesture, the pad of your finger caressing him gently, without urgency, but it sends electricity coiling up his spine.

For your part, it’s all you can do not to jump him here and now. Tommy’s early morning wakeup call disturbed what was shaping up to be a very pleasant morning in bed with Joel, and there’s an insistent warmth in your belly at the memory of his rough stubble on the back of your neck as you lay together in bed not an hour ago. You’re wondering how far you can push him, how riled up he’ll have to be before he sacks in this run and takes you back to bed.

Finally convinced that Joel’s taken on board at least some of what he’s said, or perhaps fed up of trying to talk to him while he’s clearly so distracted, Tommy leads you both to an old barn where the vehicles are kept. The chevvy is a faded, sun-bleached red: a worn leather front bench up front, large enough for three or four people to sit in a line, with an open bed in the back. You climb into the cab next to Joel, shuffle yourself over so that you’re almost in his lap where he sits at the wheel.

“Wanna explain what this is about?” He asks as he starts the engine, gesturing to the dress with his free hand.

“I’ve got no idea what you’re talking about.” You reply, and you can hear him rolling his eyes, hear the tight, whispered Jesus Christ as he shifts the truck into gear.

It’s a slow drive through Jackson; the narrow streets aren’t built for vehicles. Joel steers the truck around the chicken coops and picnic benches, taking you to the front of town where the gates are. Here, the watchers on the duty lever open the corrugated metal wall that separates Jackson from the wilderness outside, and Joel guides the truck through.

You haven’t had much of a chance to spend time outside the walls since your arrived in Jackson some four months ago, but even so, you find it hard to take in the countryside and wide, rolling hills with Joel sat next to you, his warm hand on your thigh. You trace patterns across the back of his hand, follow the lines of old scars and new scratches, let your fingertips trail higher, up to his bare wrist, over the prominent veins that sit just beneath his tan skin.

“I know what you’re doin’” He says, voice dark as he squeezes your thigh in his grip, a warning you’re bound to ignore.

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.” You repeat, letting go of his wrist to lean across in your seat, reaching for the glove box. You pull it open.

“Aha!” A cassette tape falls out into your hand, writing blurred with age but still legible. “County Sound FM.”

You slide it into the old cassette player set in the dash, hold your breath as it cracks and pops and then starts playing.

“Is this…” Joel turns his head slightly, angling so that the gentle rhythm and rolling melody can reach his good ear. “R.E.M.?”

“Man on the Moon,” You confirm, looking at the track listing on the cassette.

“Jesus.” He says, shaking his head.

He takes a right at the end of the main track up to Jackson, down a dirt road that’s overhung with dense trees. You let your eyes trace over his profile; the strong, curved line of his nose, dark stubble that’s flecked with grey. His jaw is set, but he’s nodding along with the music. He catches you watching him out of the corner of his eye and squeezes your thigh again, kneading the flesh there.

“You gotta stop looking at me that way, baby,” He says, shifting the fabric of your dress so that he can drag his hand further up your leg, the heat of his palm almost feverish against you.

You shift in the seat, open your legs wider, encouraging him to move higher still and then turn into him, press you lips against the juncture of his throat, inching your own hand over the front of his jeans where he’s already half hard.

“You know there’s only so much I can take,” His voice is gruff against the lightness of the country song. “You make me wanna…”

He trails off and you huff a laugh against his collarbone, move your mouth to his ear so that you can say, “make you wanna what, Joel?” into it.

“Pull this truck to the side of the road, for a start.” He says, turning his head to look at you.

His eyes are dark, expression serious, a frown creasing his brow. The hand he’s got on the steering wheel is gripping it tight, knuckles white against the dark leather of the grip. You can see the tension in his shoulders, his thighs when he shifts as you run the flat of your hand against his cock.

“If you don’t stop,” He says, voice catching in his throat, “I’m gonna- fuck, darlin’, Jesus Christ.”

He breaks off as you slip your hand suddenly under the waistband of his jeans, wrist barely squeezing between the buckle of his belt and his stomach. His cock jerks against your hand, smearing precum across your knuckles as you fight against the tight denim. “Gonna what?” You ask again, wrapping your fist around his cock, letting your thumb run over the silky tip of him. “Pull the truck over? Go on then.”

The truck veers to one side, brakes squealing out as Joel brings it to a stop at the side of the road, tree branches scratching against the windows.

“Slide on over, then,” He says, turning into you, leaning back and opening his legs so that you can climb into his lap.

His gaze is hot and hard and animalistic as you settle against him. You reach between your heaving chests to paw at the button to his jeans but he grabs your wrists, grins at you, eyes glinting.

“I’ll tell you what I’m thinking,” He says, wrapping two solid arms around and pulling you flush to his chest, mouth resting at the shell of your ear. “I’ll tell you everything I’m thinking.”

He buries his mouth at your throat, licks and sucks and nips at the tender flesh there, kneads your ass with his hands.

“I think you’re an impatient little thing who needs to learn some manners,” He says, his voice thick, “and I think I’m gonna take you to the back of this track and fuck you on the tailgate. How does that sound?”

He barely gives you a chance to answer, just tucks your dress out of the way so that he can reach down between your ass cheeks to the wet line of your panties, following the crotch round over your cunt to the hard nub of your clit, already swollen and throbbing under his ministrations.

“Joel, please,” You whine, as he teases you with two of his fingers, circling your entrance but not breaching it.

“You know better than to wear that dress, baby,” he says into your throat, “Oughta be against the law,”

He pulls back, fists a hand in your hair and drags your mouth to his. The kiss is heated and ferocious from the start; Joel pulls your lower lip into his mouth with his teeth, draws out your keening moans with a clever flick of his tongue.

“I need you, Joel, please,” You say, trying again to undo the button on his jeans.

“Ain’t room in here,” He says, reaching over the pop open his door, “in the back, like I said. C’mon.”

You follow him out and round to the back of the truck. He lets the tailgate fall with a soft clunk, takes his jacket off and spreads it out on the dusty metal of the truck bed.

“Hop on up,” He says, shooting you a grin that’s laced with mirth and heat, his eyes crinkling mischievously.

You do as he says, sitting up on the open tailgate. He steps between your thighs, presses them open with two large hands so that he can fit there. Running one hand up your chest to your breast, he presses his clothed cock against the wet line of your panties, circles his hips so that the rough denim catches against your clit and makes you moan.

When he pulls back he takes your panties off, dragging them down your legs with two fingers before pushing them into the pocket of his jeans. It makes your stomach clench, the sight of them peeking out, the pink lace a stark contrast to the worn dark denim, marking you as his. With them out of the way, Joel wastes no time in pressing two fingers into your soaking cunt, grinning down at you as you yelp at the sudden intrusion. It turns into a whimper as he bends them just so, the calloused pads of his fingertips searching out that tender spot inside that has you curling your toes and clawing at his shoulders.

“There she is,” He says, chuckling darkly, pressing the pad of his thumb to your clit and applying a steady, gentle pressure.

It’s intoxicating – the firm pressure of his fingers inside you, the sure, confident thrum of his thumb over your clit. It’s like being drunk on no alcohol, just Joel, his breathy sighs and warm scent enveloping you, wrapping you up in a haze of heady desire.

“Gonna come for me, darlin’?” He asks as he feels you start to tense around him.

He trails his free hand along the side of your jaw, drawing your face back to his so that he can kiss you again, swallow down your moans as you jolt and shake against him, the orgasm rising up suddenly in your belly, sending spikes of ecstasy through your quivering cunt.

“Good girl,” He whispers, drawing his fingers out.

He pulls them up to his mouth, places his fingertips against his lush bottom lip and slides his tongue over them, groaning at the taste of you.

“You wear this dress jus’ for me, baby?” He asks, fisting the fabric between his knuckles as he unbuckles his belt, “Know just how to turn me on, don’t you?”

You nod, watching him pull his cock out of the confines of his jeans. He drags the swollen, weeping head against your folds, drawing air in through his teeth as he does, hissing the breath back out.

“Good girl,” He keens, using the fist that’s clutching your dress to drag you forward in the truck bed so that he can line himself up. “Feel how hard I am for you, hmm, baby? Get me so goddamn worked up I can’t think straight.”

He presses the thick length of himself against you, covering his shaft with your slick. He pulls back slightly, places the fat head of his cock at the entrance of your cunt, curses through his teeth as he inches inside, a drawn out, breathy “fuck, baby”, that has desire coiling up your spine. A muscle jumps in his jaw as you watch his face, watch his eyebrows pull up as he sinks into you, the slight tilt to his mouth, a steady slow breath pouring out of him with the effort of not slamming into you in one hard thrust.

“Okay?” He asks, holding himself still when he bottoms out, waiting for your confirmation that he can keep going.

“Move, Joel, please, God.”

A chuckle echoes deep in his chest at this, and then he wraps his arms under your thighs, pulls you firmly into him and drags himself out before slamming back inside. He sets a punishing pace. It’s all you can do to grip onto his shoulders, dig your fingernails into the firm muscles of his back and let him fuck you, his cock kissing your cervix with each thrust. You watch the beads of perspiration rise on his forehead and cheeks, trace them as they roll down his face to his neck, the tendons there straining as he continues to pound into you. He’s quiet, mostly, grunting and cursing in a rasping voice, fuck, that’s it and Jesus Christ, baby.

“Got the softest pussy I’ve ever felt, darlin’.” He praises you, pressing kisses to your forehead, the side of your neck, groaning as he drags his teeth against your jaw, “gripping me so fucking tight.”

A familiar heat is coiling up inside you again, making your stomach clench and your toes curl in the boots you’re still wearing. Joel knows, can tell by the way you squeeze your eyes tight shut, hands gripping his forearms where they hold your thighs up. He changes the angle, shifts his hips so that his cock hits that spot inside you that has you seeing stars, spikes of pleasure sparking in your cunt right through to the tips of your fingers. You come around his cock, fingernails digging into the hard muscles of his arms, no doubt leaving indents that will mark him as yours when you return to town later.

“That’s it, baby, comin’ all over my cock like a good fuckin’ girl.” He presses his lips to yours, licks his tongue into your mouth, teeth biting into your bottom lip, pain blossoming into pleasure.

He slows his thrusts as you come down from your high, dragging his cock against the roof of your cunt and running a hand up your side, over the curve of your hips up to your breast. He pinches your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, soothes your moans with his mouth on yours, swallowing them as they fall from your lips.

“I know, baby, I know.” He says, picking up the pace again, snapping his hips to yours, fisting his hand into your hair. “Can you give me one more? One more and I’ll come in this perfect cunt, hmm?”

He reaches between your writhing bodies, presses his fingers to the bundle of nerves above where he’s thrusting into you and draws circles over your clit. The pressure is firm and fucking perfect, Joel’s fingers confident and sure in what they’re doing. He knows your body like the back of his hand, has spent hours learning how to make you come. It only takes a few minutes before you feel yourself tightening around his cock again, eyes squeezing shut, but this time he lets go of your thigh with his free hand and grabs your chin.

“Eyes open, baby, I want you to look at me while I make you come.”

And you do, locking your eyes onto his. His pupils are blown wide, eating into the chocolate brown of his irises. His brow is furrowed with the effort of fucking you, making the lines that paint his face stand out. There’s a bead of sweat sliding down one cheek, and he bites his lip between his teeth as you come, cunt clenching around him.

“Fuck, that’s it baby, good girl” He keeps circling his fingers as you come, drawing out your orgasm, his voice vibrating in your chest. “Jesus Christ, I’m gonna come. Shit.”

He groans, holding himself still as he spurts inside you, ropes of come painting your cunt as you contract around him. You’re both breathless then, panting and holding each other, your fingers pinching his skin, his hand tangled in your hair.

“I can’t believe we did that.” You say, suddenly laughing as you realise how reckless you’ve been, out here in the middle of nowhere, Joel’s gun long since forgotten on the back seat of the truck.

“Well, you know better than to wear that dress,” Joel says, pressing his lips to your cheek, the corner of your mouth, the side of your neck. “You make me wanna…”

[novaursa]

Hour of the Wolf

- Summary: Cregan keeps his promise to you, and delivers Northern justice to the South.

- Paring: velaryon!reader/Cregan Stark

- Note: These events happen right after The Wolf's Flame. To read all parts of this story, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top. This is the last part (conclusion) for this series.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Word count: 5 000+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @daeryna @melsunshine @21-princess

The cold wind that blows down from the North seems to follow him even here, into the heart of the South, where the air is usually filled with the warmth of the sun. Yet today, the skies over King’s Landing are heavy with a gray pallor, as if the gods themselves know that justice is at hand. You are not here to witness this, but you are the reason for it. Every step Cregan Stark takes is one of duty, but also of love—love for you, his Y/N, his beloved wife, and the mother of his children.

The streets of King’s Landing tremble under the march of Northern boots, the sight of direwolf banners casting long shadows against the red stone walls. Cregan’s expression is as hard and unyielding as the land he comes from, his gray eyes focused on the path ahead. He is the Lord of Winterfell, the Wolf in the South, and today, the Hour of the Wolf has come. 

Outside the Red Keep, the air is tense, the men around him anxious. They know what he is capable of; they know the purpose behind his presence. Justice. It is the promise he made to you, and the promise he will fulfill. Waiting at the gates, he finds two figures—one is the boy king, Aegon, the youngest of your mother’s children, and the other is Corlys Velaryon, the Sea Snake, your grandfather. 

Aegon stands tall, but there is a shadow in his violet eyes, a weight that he has carried since he took his place as the King of the Seven Kingdoms. Corlys, too, has the look of a man who has seen too much, but still, there is a fire in him, one that refuses to die despite the years of war and loss.

As Cregan approaches, it is Aegon who speaks first, his voice steady despite the turmoil that surrounds him. “Lord Stark, we have been expecting you.”

Cregan nods, his gaze unwavering. “And I have come as promised. The South will know the meaning of Northern justice.”

Corlys steps forward, his eyes sharp as they search Cregan’s face. “The traitor Aegon II is dead, found poisoned in his chambers,” he announces, his tone devoid of satisfaction, yet also lacking in sorrow. “The throne is now secure, but the realm is not yet at peace.”

For a moment, the air is still, as if even the city itself is holding its breath. Cregan’s expression does not change, but there is a flicker in his eyes—a glimmer of something darker. “The death of Aegon II was too swift,” he says, his voice low and filled with the cold of the North. “He deserved more for what he did to your family, for what he did to my wife.”

Aegon shifts uncomfortably, but Corlys holds Cregan’s gaze, understanding the weight behind those words. “Justice has been served, in one way or another,” the Sea Snake says, his voice carrying the wisdom of his years. “But what of your children, my grandchildren? How are they?”

The question brings a softness to Cregan’s hard exterior, a flicker of warmth that only thoughts of you and your children can invoke. “They are well,” he answers, a hint of pride in his tone. “Safe in their mother’s embrace, in the heart of Winterfell. And Killian, our eldest, has had a dragon hatch from Thraxata’s clutch. A fine beast, worthy of a Stark and a Velaryon.”

Corlys’s eyes widen at the news, and even Aegon’s lips twitch in something that almost resembles a smile. The thought of a new dragon, born of your bonded dragon, Thraxata, the Midnight Fury, a creature of polished obsidian and violet fire, is enough to stir the blood of even the most hardened man. It is a symbol of your strength, your legacy, and the legacy of the children you have borne with Cregan.

The Sea Snake nods, his gaze distant as he considers the future. “A new dragon, a new beginning,” he murmurs. “Perhaps there is hope yet for this broken realm.”

Cregan does not reply immediately. Instead, he turns his gaze toward the towering walls of the Red Keep, a place that has seen too much bloodshed, too many betrayals. He thinks of you, of the letters you exchanged before he rode South, the promises made between you. He is here to fulfill those promises, to ensure that your family, your children, will inherit a world where they can grow without the shadow of war looming over them.

Finally, he speaks, his voice as unyielding as the North. “Hope is something that must be earned,” he says. “And I will see to it that this realm is worthy of the children it will one day belong to.”

With that, Cregan Stark, the Wolf in the South, turns his back on the Red Keep, his mind already turning to the tasks ahead. There is still much to be done, and he will not rest until justice, true justice, has been delivered. For you, Y/N, for your children, and for the memory of your family.

As he walks away, the wind picks up, carrying with it the chill of the North—a reminder that Winterfell, and all that it holds dear, is never far from his thoughts.

The throne room of the Red Keep is a place of power, but also of shadows—of secrets whispered in the dark and blood spilled on the cold stone floor. Today, however, it is a place of judgment. Cregan Stark, the Wolf of the North, stands before the Iron Throne, his presence imposing, his expression as cold as the winter winds that sweep across his homeland. The crown has been secured, the usurper dead by poison, but the realm still bleeds, and it falls to him to stitch its wounds.

He takes his position as Hand of the King with a heavy heart, but with unshakable resolve. Justice must be done, and he is here to see it through, not for his own glory, but for you, his beloved Y/N, and for the future you share. He remembers the words he once whispered to you in the quiet of your chambers, promises made in the stillness of Winterfell: to protect, to avenge, to make the world safer for your children. Today, he begins to fulfill those promises.

Before him stand nineteen men, the accused, each bearing the weight of their sins. Traitors, conspirators, men who played their parts in the bloodshed that tore the realm apart. They are the remnants of a conflict that has claimed too many lives, the final vestiges of a regime that crumbled beneath the weight of its own ambition.

Cregan’s voice rings out in the hall, deep and unwavering, as he addresses them. “You stand accused of treason, of betrayal to the crown, and of crimes that have brought the realm to the brink of ruin. Justice is what I seek, and justice is what you will receive.”

The room is silent, the tension thick as his words hang in the air. There is no mercy in his tone, no room for doubt or leniency. The eyes of those before him are filled with a mixture of fear and resignation. They know what is coming, and they know there is no escape.

Cregan’s gaze moves across them, his expression unreadable as he delivers the sentence. “Those of you who have been found guilty, you will take the black. You will live out the remainder of your days on the Wall, defending the realm you have betrayed. Your lives are forfeit, but the Watch will have your service.”

There is a murmur among the accused, some relief, some despair. The Wall is a harsh fate, but it is life, of a sort. But not all will receive such a sentence, and they know it.

Cregan turns his gaze to the two men who stand apart from the others, Lord Larys Strong and Ser Gyles. They do not flinch under his scrutiny, though they know what fate awaits them. They are men who have accepted their end, men who understand that the blood they have spilled cannot be washed away by mere words.

“For you,” Cregan continues, his voice colder now, “there will be no such mercy. Lord Larys Strong, Ser Gyles Belgrave, you have been judged, and your sentence is death.”

The room is silent again, the weight of his words settling over all who are present. Cregan steps forward, the greatsword Ice in his hand, the Valyrian steel gleaming in the dim light of the throne room. It is a blade that has seen many executions, a blade that carries the history of House Stark in every inch of its steel.

Without hesitation, Cregan raises Ice, his muscles rippling beneath his furs as he prepares to deliver the final justice. The men before him kneel, heads bowed, accepting their fate. It is a grim task, but one that must be done. For you, for your children, for the future of the realm.

The blade comes down, swift and sure, and in a single stroke, both men fall. Their heads roll across the cold stone floor, the blood pooling at Cregan’s feet. The sound echoes in the chamber, a final, resounding note of justice delivered.

Cregan stands over the fallen men, Ice still in his hand, his breath steady. He feels the weight of his duty, the coldness of the act, but also the warmth of satisfaction. It is done. The traitors have paid for their crimes, and the realm can begin to heal. 

As he steps back, wiping the blood from Ice with a cloth handed to him by one of his bannermen, a raven arrives. The black bird flutters through the open windows of the throne room, a small scroll tied to its leg, the wax seal of Winterfell visible even from a distance.

Cregan’s heart skips a beat as he takes the scroll, recognizing the seal immediately. It is from Maester Kennet, and he knows what news it carries. He breaks the seal with a steady hand, though inside, his emotions swirl. The paper crinkles as he unrolls it, and he reads the words written in the familiar script.

"Lord Cregan,

It is with great joy that I inform you that Lady Y/N has given birth to a healthy son. Both mother and child are well. The boy has been named Rickon, after your noble father. Winterfell rejoices at the birth of its heir, and we await your return.

Maester Kennet"

Cregan’s heart swells with a warmth that almost overcomes him. Rickon. Another son, another piece of the future you will build together. He closes his eyes for a moment, allowing himself to picture you in the great hall of Winterfell, holding your newborn son in your arms, surrounded by Killian and Alysane. He can see their smiles, hear the laughter that will fill the halls once more.

He tucks the letter away, the coldness of the throne room fading as he turns to leave. His duty here is nearly done, and soon, he will return to you, to your children, to Winterfell. He will hold his son, he will see your face, and he will feel the warmth of home once more.

But for now, he is still the Wolf in the South, the Hand of the King, and there are still tasks that must be completed before he can return to you. He steels himself, knowing that with every step he takes, he is one step closer to home, one step closer to you and the life you have built together.

The fire crackles softly in the hearth, its warmth chasing away the chill of the Northern winds that rattle the ancient stones of Winterfell. The room is quiet, filled with a peaceful stillness that you savor, holding your newborn son close to your chest. Little Rickon, barely a few days old, sleeps soundly in your arms, his tiny breaths warm against your skin. His dark lashes rest against his pale cheeks, so much like his father’s, and you can already see the strength in his small features, a promise of the man he will one day become.

You sit in a chair by the fire, wrapped in furs that keep you warm and comfortable. The weight of your son is a soothing comfort, grounding you in this moment, despite the swirling thoughts that sometimes pull your mind southward, toward King’s Landing, where your husband, Cregan, now walks paths that you wished you could have shared with him.

It was a hard decision, staying behind. You wanted to be there at Cregan’s side, to see justice served for what was done to your family. But the weight of your pregnancy had kept you here, in the North, far from the seat of power and the vengeance that now unfolds. You had argued, begged even, but Cregan, in his stern but loving way, had insisted. His duty was there, and yours, he said with a gentle hand on your belly, was here, with the child you were carrying and the children who needed their mother.

You sigh softly, glancing across the room where your other children play. Killian, your eldest, is sprawled on the floor, his dark hair a wild tangle as he wrestles with a small dragon, a hatchling from Thraxata’s clutch. Vexion, as Killian named him, is a striking creature, barely larger than a hunting hound, with scales of deep midnight blue that shimmer like sapphires in the firelight. His wings, though small, are strong and powerful, the membranes tinted in the same shades of violet as Thraxata’s, and his eyes, bright and alert, match the deep purple of her own.

Killian laughs as Vexion snaps playfully at his fingers, his little teeth harmless for now, though you know that one day, they will grow sharp enough to rend flesh and bone. But for now, the dragon is just a playful companion, a symbol of your legacy and the bond your family shares with these magnificent beasts.

Alysane, your daughter, sits beside her brother, her pale hair cascading over her shoulders as she carefully arranges a set of wooden figures. She’s creating a scene, you realize, a miniature version of Winterfell with figures of wolves and dragons placed carefully around the perimeter. Her little brow is furrowed in concentration, but she smiles when she hears Killian’s laughter, her violet eyes sparkling with the same mischievous light that often shines in Cregan’s when he is teasing you.

Watching them, your heart swells with love and pride. These are your children, your future. They are the reason you stayed behind, the reason you now feel a deep sense of contentment despite the ache of being apart from your husband. Here, in this room, surrounded by the warmth of the fire and the presence of your children, you find peace.

Rickon stirs in your arms, making a soft, contented noise, and you gently rock him, brushing a kiss against his tiny forehead. “Hush now, little one,” you murmur softly, your voice filled with a tenderness that surprises even you. “Your father will be home soon, and then we’ll all be together again.”

The thought of Cregan’s return brings a soft smile to your lips. You imagine him walking through the doors of the great hall, his face breaking into a rare, warm smile as he sees you and the children waiting for him. You imagine the feel of his arms around you, the strength and warmth that have always been your greatest comfort. You imagine introducing him to Rickon, watching as he takes his newborn son in his arms for the first time, the pride and love shining in his gray eyes.

But for now, you are content. Content to be here, with your children, safe in the heart of Winterfell. You have known loss, grief, and the cold touch of betrayal, but you have also known love, fierce and unyielding, and that love has given you these three beautiful children, each one a piece of your heart walking around outside your body.

“Look, Mother!” Killian’s excited voice pulls you from your thoughts, and you look up to see him holding Vexion aloft, the little dragon’s wings flapping furiously as he tries to stay airborne. “Vexion’s learning to fly!”

You laugh softly, a sound full of warmth and joy. “He’s doing wonderfully, my love. Just like you.”

Killian beams at your praise, setting Vexion down gently on the floor. The dragon immediately scampers over to Alysane’s miniature Winterfell, sniffing curiously at the wooden figures. Alysane giggles, gently guiding him away from her carefully arranged scene.

You watch them with a full heart, feeling the warmth of the fire, the weight of your newborn son, and the love that fills this room. Yes, you wish you could be with Cregan, standing beside him as he delivers justice, but you also know that this—being here, with your children, holding Rickon close—is where you are meant to be. 

You lean back in your chair, closing your eyes for just a moment, allowing the peacefulness of the moment to wash over you. Soon, Cregan will return, and your family will be whole again. Until then, you have this—this quiet, this warmth, this love. And that is more than enough.

The air in Winterfell is crisp with the first touch of spring as you stand at the gates, your heart pounding with anticipation. The sun is low in the sky, casting long shadows across the courtyard where you wait with your children. The news of Cregan’s return reached you only this morning, and ever since, you’ve been unable to keep the smile from your face. You’ve missed him with a deep, aching intensity, and the thought of having him home again fills you with a joy that’s almost overwhelming.

Killian and Alysane stand beside you, both of them practically bouncing with excitement. Killian’s hand is clutching Vexion’s leash, the little dragon sitting obediently at his feet, though his violet eyes are alert, as if he too can sense the importance of this moment. Alysane’s hand is in yours, her small fingers squeezing tightly as she peers down the road, searching for the first sign of her father.

The minutes feel like hours, but then, finally, you see them: the first of the riders cresting the hill, the Stark banners flapping in the wind, and your heart skips a beat. Cregan is home. 

As the riders draw closer, you spot him at the front of the group, his dark hair falling loose around his shoulders, his broad frame unmistakable even from a distance. The sight of him stirs something deep inside you, a rush of warmth and love that makes your eyes burn with unshed tears.

“Father!” Killian’s voice breaks through your reverie, and before you can stop him, he’s running across the courtyard, Vexion darting after him with a playful roar. Alysane releases your hand and follows suit, her laughter ringing out as she races to meet her father.

Cregan dismounts with ease, dropping to one knee just in time to catch Killian in his arms. Alysane is close behind, and he sweeps her up as well, holding both of them tightly against his chest. His deep laugh rumbles through the air, the sound of it filling your heart with a warmth that melts away the last remnants of the cold that had settled there in his absence.

You watch them, your vision blurring slightly with tears. This is what you’ve been waiting for, what you’ve dreamed of during the long nights alone—this moment, when your family is together again. 

Finally, Cregan looks up, his gray eyes meeting yours across the distance. For a moment, the world seems to stop, and it’s just the two of you, connected by the unspoken love that has always been the foundation of your bond. He rises to his feet, one arm still wrapped around each of your children, and as he walks toward you, you feel your breath catch in your throat.

When he’s close enough, you close the distance between you, your hands reaching up to cup his face. His skin is cool from the journey, but beneath it, you can feel the warmth that has always drawn you to him, the steady, reassuring presence that you’ve missed so much.

“Cregan,” you whisper, your voice trembling with emotion.

He smiles, that rare, genuine smile that’s reserved only for you and your children. “Y/N,” he murmurs, his voice deep and rough with emotion. “I’ve missed you.”

And then his lips are on yours, gentle at first, but quickly deepening as the months of longing and separation melt away. His kiss is everything you’ve needed, everything you’ve craved—warmth, love, passion, and the undeniable connection that has always bound you together. You lose yourself in him, in the taste of him, the feel of him, the way his arms wrap around you, pulling you closer as if he can’t bear to let you go.

For a moment, the world fades away, and it’s just the two of you, lost in each other. You can feel the beat of his heart against your chest, strong and steady, a reminder that he’s here, he’s home, and you’re safe in his arms.

When you finally pull back, your forehead rests against his, and you take a moment to just breathe him in, to savor the feel of him against you. “I’m so glad you’re home,” you whisper, your voice thick with emotion.

Cregan’s hand comes up to brush a strand of silver hair away from your face, his touch tender and filled with love. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be,” he replies, his eyes soft as they gaze into yours.

Killian and Alysane, sensing that they’re witnessing something special, are unusually quiet as they cling to their father’s legs. But you can see the joy in their eyes, the way they look up at him with adoration and love. 

Cregan glances down at them, and then back at you, his smile widening as he takes in the sight of his family. “I’ve missed so much,” he says, his voice tinged with regret.

You shake your head, squeezing his hand. “You did what you had to do. And now, you’re home. That’s all that matters.”

He nods, his eyes shining with the same love and pride that you feel swelling in your chest. “I’m home,” he repeats, as if savoring the words. Then, he looks at you, his expression turning more serious. “How is Rickon?”

Your heart swells at the mention of your youngest, and you can’t help but smile. “He’s perfect, Cregan. Just like his father.”

Cregan’s smile softens, and there’s a tenderness in his eyes that makes your heart flutter. “I can’t wait to meet him,” he says, his voice thick with emotion.

You nod, taking his hand and leading him toward the keep. “He’s waiting for you,” you say softly. “We all were.”

The walk to the great hall is short, but it feels like a journey, each step bringing you closer to the home you’ve longed for, the completeness you’ve missed. When you enter the hall, the warmth of the fire greets you, along with the familiar scents of Winterfell. But it’s the sight of the small cradle by the hearth that draws your eyes.

Cregan steps forward, his movements careful and reverent as he approaches the cradle. Rickon is awake, his tiny fists waving in the air, and when Cregan leans down to look at him, you see the wonder and awe in his eyes.

“He’s beautiful,” Cregan whispers, reaching out to gently touch his son’s cheek. Rickon’s eyes, a soft gray like his father’s, blink up at him, and a small, contented smile spreads across his tiny face.

“He looks just like you,” you say softly, stepping beside Cregan and slipping your hand into his.

Cregan shakes his head, his eyes never leaving Rickon’s. “No,” he says quietly, “he looks like us.”

The words bring a lump to your throat, and you lean into Cregan’s side, feeling the warmth of his body against yours. This is your family—whole, safe, and together. 

You stay like that for a long moment, just watching Cregan with Rickon, feeling the love and contentment that fills the room. Then, slowly, Cregan straightens, his eyes still filled with that soft, tender light as he looks at you.

“Thank you,” he says quietly, his voice full of meaning.

You smile up at him, your heart full to bursting. “For what?”

“For giving me this,” he replies, his hand gently squeezing yours. “For our children, our home… for everything.”

You reach up to cup his cheek, your thumb brushing against the rough stubble that you’ve missed so much. “We built this together,” you say softly. “And now, we’ll enjoy it together.”

Cregan’s eyes darken with emotion, and he leans down to capture your lips in another kiss, this one slow and full of promise. When he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, and you can feel his breath mingling with yours.

“I love you, Y/N,” he whispers, the words a vow, a promise, and a declaration all at once.

“I love you too, Cregan,” you reply, your voice filled with all the love and devotion you feel for him.

The world outside may be cold and harsh, but here, in this moment, in this place, you are warm, safe, and complete. Cregan is home, your children are safe, and your family is whole. And that is all you need.

Excerpt from Fire and Blood by Archmaester Glyndwyr, Chapter: "The Hour of the Wolf and the Dawn of the Dragon"

The Dragon That Followed the Wolf

In the aftermath of the Dance of the Dragons, the realm lay in ruin, its people exhausted from years of bloodshed and treachery. The Iron Throne, once a symbol of absolute power, had become a seat of sorrow and conflict. Aegon III, the Dragonbane, who had ascended to the throne at a young age after the fall of his mother, Rhaenyra, found himself ill-suited to the demands of kingship. His reign, though marked by attempts at restoration, was overshadowed by the lingering shadow of the civil war and his own deep-seated melancholy.

It was in this time of uncertainty and discontent that voices began to rise among the lords of Westeros, calling for a new ruler—one who could unite the fractured realm and bring about a new era of prosperity. These voices soon coalesced around a single name: Killian Stark, son of Cregan Stark and Y/N Velaryon, a boy of strong bloodlines and even stronger will, who had already shown promise as a dragonrider, bonded to Vexion, a dragon of Thraxata’s clutch.

Killian's lineage was beyond question. As the great-grandson of Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen and Laenor Velaryon, his claim combined the noble blood of House Targaryen and House Velaryon with the unyielding strength of House Stark. With his mother Y/N, the only daughter of Rhaenyra, and his father, Cregan Stark, the Warden of the North and Lord of Winterfell, Killian embodied the unity of the North and the Targaryen bloodline.

It was Corlys Velaryon, the Sea Snake, who first championed Killian’s cause. The aged and wise Lord of the Tides, having outlived nearly all of his contemporaries, saw in his great-grandson the potential to restore what had been lost. The Sea Snake's influence and respect among the lords of Westeros were unmatched, and his advocacy for Killian as the rightful heir to the throne was taken with the utmost seriousness.

Corlys's argument was simple yet compelling: the realm needed a king who was not only of noble blood but also one who could command the loyalty of the dragonlords and the great houses alike. Killian, with his Stark resolve and Targaryen fire, was that king. He was a boy with the blood of the dragon in his veins, and unlike his predecessors, he had a dragon at his side—a symbol of the power that once ruled the skies of Westeros. Vexion, though young, was already growing into a fearsome beast, his deep midnight blue scales and violet eyes a reminder of the might of House Targaryen.

The Great Council of 138 AC was convened at Harrenhal, a place chosen for its neutrality, to decide the fate of the realm. The lords of Westeros, weary of war and eager for stability, gathered to debate the future. Among those who spoke for Killian was not only Corlys Velaryon but also his father, Cregan Stark, who had already proven his dedication to justice during the Hour of the Wolf when he served as Hand of the King and dispensed justice to those who had betrayed the realm.

Cregan Stark was a man of honor and few words, but his presence at the council carried weight. It was said that when Cregan rose to speak, the hall fell silent, and every lord in attendance felt the weight of his words. He did not advocate for his son out of ambition but out of duty—to his family, to the realm, and to the memory of those who had suffered and died during the Dance of the Dragons. He spoke of the need for a ruler who could command both respect and fear, a king who could rebuild what had been broken, and a dragonlord who could ensure that the skies of Westeros would never again be darkened by treachery and betrayal.

The lords of Westeros, many of whom had fought in the Dance or had seen their lands ravaged by it, were moved by the arguments presented. They saw in Killian Stark the hope of a new beginning, a ruler who could bridge the divides that had torn the realm apart. The fact that he was a dragonrider only strengthened his claim, for the memory of dragonfire was still fresh in the minds of many, and the power of the dragon was seen as essential to maintaining order in a realm as vast and diverse as the Seven Kingdoms.

Thus, it was decided by the Great Council that Aegon III, whose reign had been marred by personal tragedy and political strife, would abdicate the throne in favor of Killian Stark. Aegon, who had always been more comfortable away from the throne than upon it, accepted the decision with grace, retiring to Dragonstone, where he would live out the remainder of his days in relative peace.

On the first day of the new year, in 139 AC, Killian Stark was crowned as King Killian I of House Stark and Targaryen, the Dragon-Wolf, first of his name. His coronation was a grand affair, attended by lords and ladies from across the realm, each of whom pledged their loyalty to the new king. As the crown of Aegon the Conqueror was placed upon his brow, Vexion let out a mighty roar, his wings unfurling as he took to the skies above the Red Keep, a symbol of the new age that had dawned in Westeros.

The reign of King Killian I was marked by a period of reconstruction and renewal. With his parents by his side—Cregan Stark as his most trusted advisor, and Y/N Velaryon as the queen mother—he worked to restore the realm to its former glory. The North and South were united as never before, and under his rule, the great houses of Westeros found a new sense of purpose and loyalty to the crown.

During their marriage, Cregan and Y/N had more children, each of whom played a role in the continued stability of the realm. Their eldest daughter, Alysane Stark, was married to the heir of the Vale, further strengthening the bonds between the North and the South. Their younger sons, Rickon and Jory, were given lordships and served as key figures in the court, ensuring that the realm remained united and strong.

King Killian I’s reign saw the rebuilding of many of the great castles and cities that had been destroyed during the Dance. The Targaryen bloodline was secured through alliances with the other dragonlord houses, and the power of the Iron Throne was restored. The scars of the past were not forgotten, but they were healed, and the realm once again prospered under the rule of a strong, just, and wise king.

In the end, the Dragon-Wolf proved to be the ruler that Westeros needed—a king who could command both the loyalty of his subjects and the respect of his enemies. His reign ushered in a new era of peace and prosperity, and his legacy would be remembered for generations to come as the king who brought the broken realm back to life.

Thus ends the account of King Killian I, the Dragon-Wolf, and the legacy of House Stark and Targaryen.

[astrxq]

hey hey! i was wondering if i could request a jace x reader! it could be a modern au! along the lines of childhood friends to lovers?! and jace gets jealous of reader going on a date with someone else and he tries to like convince her to stay in for the night and he just ends up confessing abt him liking her and then maybe a bit of smut! only if ur comfortable of course :)

Dates and Apple Pie

modern!jacaerys x fem!reader

words: 4.4k

notes: not sure if i like this or hate it 😭 but i hope you enjoy!!

The gentle autumn breeze rustled through your hair as you made your way down the familiar street. You had walked this path countless times before, but that day felt different. Your heart beat a little faster, your palms were slightly clammy as you approached the cozy two-story house at the end of the block.

You had known Jace for as long as you could remember. Childhood friends turned inseparable companions, you had shared countless memories within those walls.

Before you could knock, the door swung open, revealing Jace's familiar grin. His hazel eyes lit up at the sight of you, and for a moment, you forgot how to breathe.

"There you are," he said, his voice warm and inviting. "I was starting to think you had gotten lost on the way to a house you've been coming to for, oh, I don't know, the past fifteen years?"

You rolled your eyes, but couldn't help the smile that tugged at your lips. "Ha ha, very funny. Are you going to let me in, or should I make myself comfortable on the porch?"

Jace stepped aside with an exaggerated bow. "Mi casa es su casa, as always."

As you stepped inside, the scent of cinnamon and apples enveloped you. The house felt like a second home, filled with memories and the promise of more to come. You followed Jace into the kitchen, where a freshly baked apple pie sat cooling on the counter.

"Did you... bake?" you asked, raising an eyebrow in amused disbelief.

Jace clutched his chest in mock offense. "Your lack of faith wounds me deeply. I'll have you know I am a man of many talents."

"Uh-huh," you teased, "and how many YouTube tutorials did it take?"

His laughter filled the room, a sound that never failed to make your heart skip a beat. "Only three, thank you very much."

As Jace's laughter faded, a comfortable silence settled between you. You had always appreciated these moments, where words weren't necessary to fill the space. Your eyes met, and for a split second, you swore you saw something flicker in his gaze—something more than just friendship. But before you could dwell on it, he cleared his throat and turned to the pie.

"So, shall we test my culinary masterpiece?" Jace asked, reaching for plates. "I promise I won't be offended if you spit it out. Much."

You chuckled, leaning against the counter. "I think I can manage to choke down a slice for the sake of our friendship."

As Jace served the pie, you couldn't help but notice the careful precision in his movements, the way his brow furrowed slightly in concentration. It was endearing, really, how much effort he had put into this.

"Here you go," he said, presenting you with a generous slice. "Prepare to have your taste buds dazzled.”

He sat in silence, his plate still untouched as he waited for your approval. Hands under his chin, and a funny look on his face. With a smile, you take a small, careful bite, letting the flavors unfold on your tongue. It's surprisingly good—sweet, with just the right hint of cinnamon and a flaky crust that melts in your mouth.

"It’s actually really good, Jace," you murmur appreciatively, nodding in approval as you meet his eyes. His face lit up, and once you were two spoonfuls in, he ate his own. 

“I told you. Man of many talents,” he pointed to himself.

You couldn't help but laugh at Jace's playful boastfulness, the warmth of the moment sinking deeper into your bones. His confidence was infectious, and you found yourself enjoying not just the pie, but the simple pleasure of being together.

"You should consider making this a regular thing," you suggested, teasingly nudging his shoulder. "I could get used to having homemade apple pie on demand."

Jace grinned, a twinkle in his eye. "If that's what it takes to keep you coming back, I might just have to brush up on my baking skills."

There's something in his tone that makes your chest tighten, but before you can dwell on it, he's already moving on, pulling the plates from the table and moving them to the sink.

"So," he says, his back to you as he serves generous slices of pie, "any exciting plans for the weekend?"

You hesitate, suddenly feeling inexplicably nervous. "Actually, yeah. I, uh... I have a date."

Jace's movements pause for a moment at your words, though he tries to maintain his casual demeanor. He sets the plates down carefully, his back still turned to you, but you catch a subtle shift in his posture – an almost imperceptible tension.

"Oh? You didn’t say," he replies, his voice carefully neutral. "Anyone I know?"

You shook your head, “Uh, no one you know,” you finally replied, forcing a casual tone that you didn’t quite feel right. “Just someone I met recently. A friend of a friend.”

He didn’t say anything, nodding his head, his back still turned to you. “His name’s Alex.” you started again, needing to hear him say something, anything, about your date. 

When Alex asked you out, your mind immediately rushed to thoughts of Jace. There were moments with Jace where you wondered if there could be something more between you two, but you had always brushed those thoughts aside, convinced that your friendship with Jace was too precious to risk. Yet, as you stood in his kitchen, the comfortable silence between you suddenly felt charged with unspoken questions and possibilities.

So, you had waited a few days, hoping for clarity. Hoping to see any sign that Jace felt the same way as you did, wishing for it to go further than just two friends who see each other all the time. But days passed without a clear sign from Jace, leaving you grappling with conflicting emotions. Each time you saw him, you found yourself searching his expressions, analyzing every word, hoping for a hint of reciprocation. 

Yet, Jace remained his usual self, kindhearted and flirty, like he’d always been. Finally, you agreed to the date, mainly because of your mutual friend insisting that you’d be an amazing fit together, and partly because you needed to clear your head from Jace – the seemingly unrequited feelings choking you every time Jace held your hand or made a flirty joke.

A pang of jealousy crept into Jace’s heart when you uttered those words, catching him off guard. He had always cherished your companionship, relishing the moments spent together baking pies or simply sharing comfortable silences. However, the idea of someone else vying for your attention stirred unfamiliar emotions within him.

As he turned to face you, Jace struggled to maintain his usual easy demeanor. His hazel eyes, normally warm and inviting, now flickered with a hint of vulnerability masked by a forced smile. Inside, his thoughts raced, conflicting emotions swirling like a storm.

Alex… The name echoed in his mind, an unwelcome intruder in the sanctuary of your longstanding friendship. Jace couldn’t deny the sting of jealousy gnawing at him, mixed with a tinge of regret for not voicing his feelings sooner. He had grown so accustomed to your presence, your laughter, your quirks that made every day brighter. Now, the thought of someone else potentially claiming a piece of your heart unsettled him more than he cared to admit.

The intensity of these conflicting emotions tightened his chest, making it hard to breathe as he struggled to find the right words.

"Alex," he repeats, his voice softer than before. He hummed, "That's... that's nice."

Deep down, Jace knew he had missed his chance to tell you how much you meant to him, fearing it would jeopardize the precious friendship you shared. Now, faced with the reality of potentially losing you to someone else, he couldn’t help but wonder what could have been if he had spoken up sooner.

All of the hopes he’d built up ever since he’d started to notice his feelings had immediately crumbled because of Saturday’s dinner. Well, and Alex.

Jace cleared his throat, trying to regain his composure. "Well, Alex better not disappoint. I won't have you trading apple pie for subpar desserts," he quipped, a hint of his usual playful tone returning to ease the tension in the room.

You chuckled softly, grateful for the familiar banter that lightened the mood. "Don't worry, I'll keep you posted on the dessert quality. It's a crucial aspect of any potential relationship, after all."

Jace nodded, managing a small smile. "Absolutely. Can't have you settling for anything less than the best."

As Jace finished rinsing the plates, he turned to face you, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed. "So, where are you and Alex going?"

You shrugged, trying to sound nonchalant. "Just dinner and a movie, nothing too fancy."

Jace nodded, the tightness in his chest easing just a little at the mention of the simple plan. He knew he should be happy for you, encouraging you to explore new connections, but the idea of you with someone else gnawed at him. He had grown so used to having you by his side, the thought of change was unsettling.

"You'll have to tell me all about it," He said, taking the seat next to you, like before. "And don't worry, I’ll be here with more pie if the date doesn't go as planned."

You laughed, feeling the warmth from Jace’s body next to yours creep up to your chest, heaving as your heartbeat sped up. Deep inside, you knew the date was just an attempt to escape from your feelings, but, as you sat there, watching the play of emotions across Jace's face, you couldn't help but wonder if there was more to his reaction than he was letting on. The usual warmth in his eyes had been replaced by a flicker of something else – something you couldn't quite place.

You had always been attuned to Jace's moods, able to read him like an open book, but in this moment, he seemed to be guarding his thoughts, carefully constructing a facade of nonchalance.

You had convinced yourself that the occasional flutters in your chest were nothing more than your own imagination, a product of your own hopeful desires.

Yet, as you sat there, watching the subtle play of emotions on his face, a glimmer of hope began to stir within you. Could it be possible that Jace had harbored feelings for you as well? 

You quickly shook that thought away from your brain. It was dangerous to let yourself hope, especially now when you were about to go on a date with someone else. But as you sat there, so close to Jace that you could feel the warmth radiating from his body, you couldn't help but wonder.

"Hey," Jace's voice broke through your reverie, soft and tinged with an emotion you couldn't quite place. "You okay?"

You blinked, realizing you had been staring at him. "Oh, yeah, I'm fine. Just... thinking about the date, I guess."

Jace nodded, his eyes searching yours. "Nervous?"

"A little," you admitted, surprised by your own honesty. "It's been a while since I've been on a proper date."

Jace's expression softened, and he reached out, placing his hand on yours. The gesture was familiar, comforting, but this time it sent a jolt of electricity through your body. "You'll be great," he said, his voice low and sincere. "Anyone would be lucky to go on a date with you."

For a moment, you could have sworn you saw a flicker of regret in his eyes, but it was gone so quickly you wondered if you had imagined it. You swallowed hard, your throat suddenly dry. 

A charged silence fell between you, heavy with unspoken words and possibilities. Jace's hand lingered on yours, his thumb absently tracing circles on your skin. The simple touch sent shivers down your spine, and you found yourself wishing you could freeze this moment in time.

But reality intruded, as it always did. Your phone buzzed in your pocket, breaking the spell. Reluctantly, you pulled your hand away to check it. "It's Alex," you said, your voice sounding strange to your own ears. "Confirming plans for tomorrow."

Jace nodded, his hand falling back to his side. "Right, of course." He stood up abruptly, moving to the sink to rinse out your empty glasses.

You watched his back, noting the tension in his shoulders. A beat of silence passed.

Jace turned back from the sink, his usual easy smile not quite reaching his eyes. "So, uh, want to watch a movie or something? Unless you need to head out soon..."

You glanced at your phone, then back at Jace. The thought of leaving now, with this strange tension between you, felt wrong. "No, I don't have to go yet. A movie sounds great."

Relief flickered across Jace's face. "Cool. You pick.”

As you made your way to the living room, Jace grabbed a blanket from the back of the couch. "Here," he said, draping it over your shoulders. "You always get cold during movies."

The gesture was so thoughtful, so typically Jace, that it made your heart ache a little. You settled onto the couch, and after a moment's hesitation, Jace sat down next to you, closer than usual but still maintaining a small gap.

You scrolled through the movie options, finally settling on one you both enjoyed. As the opening credits rolled, you found yourself hyper-aware of Jace's presence beside you. The warmth of his body, the faint scent of his cologne, the way his arm brushed against yours when he shifted position – it all felt amplified somehow.

About halfway through the movie, you noticed Jace stifling a yawn. Without thinking, you lifted the edge of the blanket. "There's plenty of room to share."

Jace hesitated for a moment before scooting closer, allowing you to drape the blanket over both of you. Now your sides were pressed together, and you could feel the rise and fall of his chest with each breath.

As the movie played on, you found it harder and harder to focus on the plot. Your mind kept drifting to the man beside you, to the what-ifs and maybes that had been swirling in your head all day.

Your chest felt heavy as you felt Jace turn his face to look at you, a small frown creeping to his lips, quickly changed to a grin once you turned to him. Jace's eyes flicked down to your lips, then back up to your eyes. He leaned in slightly, then seemed to catch himself, pulling back and clearing his throat.

"We, uh, we should probably finish the movie," he said, his voice slightly husky.

You nodded, humming, not trusting yourself to speak. 

The rest of the movie passed in a blur, your mind replaying that moment over and over. When the credits finally rolled, neither of you moved to turn off the TV, both seemingly reluctant for the evening to end.

Finally, Jace broke the silence. "So, um, good movie, right?"

You nodded, turning to face him. "Yeah, it was fun."

"It was," Jace replied, his eyes meeting yours. He’d simply agreed, not having paid a single ounce of attention to the screen the whole time. There was so much left unsaid in that gaze, so many words hovering on the tip of your tongue.

But the moment passed, and you knew it was time to leave. As you stood up, gathering your things, Jace walked you to the door.

At the threshold, you turned back to him. "Jace, I..."

He looked at you expectantly, a mixture of hope and apprehension in his eyes. But the words wouldn't come. “Nevermind,”

Jace placed a hang on your arm, fingers lightly gracing it, lingering, as if he was scared to break you. "Text me when you get home safe, okay?"

You nodded, offering him a small smile. "I will. Goodnight, Jace."

"Goodnight," he replied softly.

You stepped out into the cool night air, the door clicking shut behind you. The familiar street stretched out before you, bathed in the soft glow of streetlights. As you began your walk home, your mind swirled with thoughts and emotions, each step amplifying the confusion that had settled over your heart. Eventually, sleep eluded you.

The next evening, you found yourself standing on Jace's porch once again, your hand hovering over the doorbell. You were dressed for your date with Alex, but something had compelled you to come here first. Maybe it was nerves, or maybe it was the lingering tension from yesterday that you couldn't shake.

Taking a deep breath, you pressed the bell. A few moments later, Jace opened the door, surprise evident on his face.

"Hey," he said, his eyes taking in your outfit. "Wow, you look... amazing."

You felt a blush creep up your cheeks. "Thanks. I, um, I'm not really sure why I'm here. I guess I'm just nervous about the date and... I don't know, I wanted to see you first."

Jace's expression softened, and he stepped aside to let you in. "Come on in. We've got some time to calm those nerves before your big night."

As you followed him into the living room, you couldn't help but notice the way his eyes kept darting to you, a mix of admiration and something else you couldn't quite place in his gaze.

"So," Jace said, settling onto the couch and patting the spot next to him, "what's got you so nervous? It's just dinner and a movie, right?"

You sat down, careful not to wrinkle your dress. "I know, it's silly. I just... it's been a while since I've done this whole dating thing. And Alex seems nice, but..."

"But?" Jace prompted gently when you trailed off. His heart jumped at his throat, bubbling with hopes.

You sighed, struggling to find the right words. "I don't know. I guess I'm worried that I'm not giving him a fair chance. That I'm comparing him to... to someone else before I've even given him a shot."

Jace's breath caught, and for a moment, the air between you felt charged with unspoken possibilities. "Someone else?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

You turned to face him, your heart pounding. This was it – the moment of truth. "Jace…" you started.

But before you could finish, your phone buzzed loudly, making you both turn to it. It was a text from Alex, saying he was on his way to pick you up.

The spell broke, you stood up abruptly. "I should go. Alex will be here soon, and I don't want to keep him waiting."

Jace nodded, standing as well. "Right, of course." He walked you to the door, his hand hovering near the small of your back but not quite touching. 

At the threshold, you turned to face Jace once more. The words you'd been about to say moments ago still hung in the air between you, unspoken but nearly tangible. Jace's hazel eyes searched yours, a mix of hope and resignation swirling in their depths. 

He furrowed his brows, and you really focused on his face. He looked worried, a sad look to his eyes that you’d seen very few times before. Jace’s breathing seemed to get caught in his throat, “Don’t go,” he mumbled.

You stood frozen at the threshold, Jace's soft plea echoing in your ears. "Don't go." The words hung in the air between you, heavy with meaning and possibility. Your heart raced as you looked into Jace's hazel eyes, seeing a mix of vulnerability and hope that you'd never witnessed before.

For a moment, time seemed to stand still. All the unspoken feelings, the lingering touches, the stolen glances – everything came rushing to the surface. You realized that this was the moment you'd been waiting for, the clarity you'd been seeking.

“What?”

Jace took a deep breath, his expression a mixture of determination and apprehension. "I mean, don't go on the date. Stay here. With me."

Your heart pounded in your chest as his words sank in. It felt like a dream, one you'd dared not hope for, and now here it was, laid bare before you.

Jace stood before you, his hazel eyes searching yours with a mixture of determination and vulnerability. His words hung in the air, urging you to make a choice. Stay here, with him, and confront the unspoken feelings that had lingered between you for so long – or leave, and go on a date with Alex, a safe choice but one that wouldn't resolve the tension that had built up between you and Jace.

For a moment, you felt torn. Your mind raced with questions – what if things didn't work out with Jace? What if risking your friendship ruined everything? – But as you looked into his eyes, you saw a depth of emotion that mirrored your own. The years of unspoken words, the shared moments that had bound you together, all seemed to converge in this pivotal moment.

Taking a deep breath, you made your decision. You reached out, gently placing your hand on Jace's. "I... I want to stay," you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. "With you."

Relief washed over Jace's face, a smile breaking through the tension that had gripped him moments before. Without a word, he pulled you into a warm embrace, holding you close as if afraid you might disappear. You closed your eyes, feeling the warmth of his touch, the steady beat of his heart against yours.

Before another word could be spoken, your phone buzzed again, this time more insistently. It was another message from Alex, likely wondering where you were.

With a sigh, you glanced at the message, then back at Jace. "I should probably let him know."

Jace nodded, his jaw tightening briefly. "Yeah, you should."

As you hit send, you felt a wave of relief wash over you, knowing that you were finally free to explore what had been silently growing between you and Jace for so long.

Turning back to Jace, you found him watching you with a mix of anticipation and affection. “I feel bad,” you admitted, “He was probably already waiting on me.”

He shrugged, “Don’t worry about it. He didn't wait long.”

“I’m practically standing him up,”

He frowned, “Do you still want to go?”

“No.”

“Then don’t stress yourself out about it.” He took a small strand of your hair into his hand, twisting it around in his fingers. 

You hesitated for a moment before you nodded, "Yeah. No stress."

You brushed your phone away, focusing on him. His warm fingertips brushed against your lips, cutting short your thoughts. He gaze locked onto Jace's. Feelings of uncertainty mingled with excitement as you stood on Jace's porch, his touch sending a shiver down your spine. His eyes held yours with an intensity that spoke volumes, words unnecessary between you now.

"I'm glad you're staying," Jace murmured, his voice barely audible over the soft evening breeze.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, feeling the weight of the moment. "Me too," you managed to reply, your voice trembling slightly.

Without breaking eye contact, Jace gently cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly against your bottom lip. “Come inside,” he almost whispered, his tone dropping lower. 

As Jace's fingers brushed against your lips, a surge of electricity shot through you, sending your heart into a frantic rhythm. His touch was tender, filled with unspoken desire and a longing that mirrored your own. You gazed into his eyes, seeing the depths of emotion swirling within them.

With a shared understanding, you nodded softly, “Okay.”

The anticipation was palpable, your breaths mingling in the cool air. Slowly, almost hesitantly, Jace closed the distance between you, his lips brushing against yours in a tender kiss.

It was soft yet intense, a fusion of years of unspoken feelings finally breaking free. Your hands found their way to his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as you pulled him closer. Jace responded eagerly, deepening the kiss with a hunger that matched your own, his arms wrapping around you protectively.

The warmth of Jace's body against yours, the taste of his lips against yours, it all felt so right, so natural.

When you finally pulled back, your foreheads resting against each other, you both were breathless. Jace's hands remained on your cheeks, his thumbs softly caressing your skin as he gazed at you with adoration.

He took a step back, the arm around your waist pulling you inside the house with him. Once the door was closed, his mouth moved to your neck.

Your mind raced, overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment. Jace's touch ignited a fire within you, his lips trailing along your neck as he led you inside. The warmth of his embrace enveloped you, every sensation heightened by the realization that this was no longer just friendship – iit was something deeper, something you had both yearned for but never dared to voice until now.

In the dim light of his living room, Jace's eyes met yours, filled with a mixture of desire and tenderness. His fingers brushed against your skin, sending shivers down your spine. You leaned into his touch, your heart pounding as you felt his warmth seep into you, filling the spaces you never knew were empty.

Without a word, Jace captured your lips in another kiss, his movements gentle yet urgent, a silent plea for everything you both had kept hidden for so long. Your hands found their way into his hair, fingers threading through the soft strands as you pulled him closer, deepening the kiss with a passion born from years of unspoken longing.

Time seemed to stand still as you explored each other's lips, each touch a revelation, each breath shared between kisses, a lingering of the unspoken bond that had always been between you. The weight of uncertainty and missed opportunities lifted off your shoulders, replaced by the certainty that this was where you were meant to be right at that instant.

When you finally parted, both breathless and dazed, Jace rested his forehead against yours, his arms still wrapped around you protectively. His gaze searched for yours, a silent question lingering between you, answered by the shared understanding in your eyes.

"I've wanted this for so long," Jace murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, his breath mingling with yours.

You nodded, unable to find words but conveying everything through the touch of your lips against his, the warmth of your embrace, and the unspoken promise of what was to come.

[moonydustx]

giving them a hickey headcanon (Law,Zoro,Luffy and Mihawk)

Hi Hi! All good? I'll start with a small warning: I know it should have been hc but I think I got mixed up in the format (each story actually came out differently). And each one looked a little NSFW, but I swear there's nothing explicit or very detailed. I hope you enjoy!

Some came out with more dialogue, others with much less. Yeah, I really got lost in the format.

requests here | rules and guides | masterlist

Luffy

warnings: Luffy isn't so innocent in this one. Pre-established relationship. Amor is the equivalent of love in Portuguese-BR.

Not that Luffy was innocent, but he had never paid attention to the fact that hickeys existed and how carnal they could be. And regarding your relationship, things used to be lighter and calmer between the two of you.

The first time he saw it wasn't in you. He was walking around the Sunny's deck and saw Zoro sleeping, as usual. He approached slowly and saw the stain on his neck.

"Who did you fight with that hurt you like that?"

"Don't bother me Luffy." Zoro grumbled, pushing the captain away with his hand.

"Did Zoro get hurt?" Usopp leaned into Luffy's side, as did Chopper. "That's not a bruise."

"It's a bruise, but it's light." Chopper concluded.

"You idiots, have you never seen a hickey in your life?" Nami grumbled.

"I already knew! The great captain Usopp already won one..."

"A hickey?" Luffy asked himself more than the others.

The matter remained forgotten in his mind, until you appeared in front of him later that day. The sun was already setting when you found him sitting on top of the Sunny's bow. With little effort and using his help and elasticity, you soon found yourself sitting between your boyfriend's legs, both of you facing the sea in front of you.

"Amor?" his voice pulled you out of the comfortable silence between you.

"Yes Lu?"

"Can you give me a hickey?" he asked, forcing you to turn over your shoulder and face him. "I don't think you've ever given me a hickey."

“That’s not exactly how it works, but…” you let the words trail off in the air.

Your lips placed a small kiss on his cheek, then on his jaw and finally, a chaste kiss just below his ear. At the same point, you placed another wet kiss and finally gave a strong hickey. As soon as the pressure on your lips was released, you placed another quick kiss.

"Well, you're made of rubber, I don't think you'll get marked." You explained and snuggled back against his chest.

"But it felt good." you felt his hand fix your hair and create a space for him on the back of your neck.

Soon after, one of his hands slid down your thigh while his lips repeated almost the same path you had taken and unlike him, you were sure it would be at least painful to the touch, let alone marked.

"Did you like it?" he asked, still leaning against your shoulder.

"Yes." your slightly shaky voice said more than he could ask. It was supposed to be a simple hickey, but Luffy knew how to mess with you.

"Can I have another one?"

"Later, when everyone is asleep."

That meant that in some hidden corner of the ship, you took part of the night to explore each other. It also meant that the next morning, you had hickeys all over your body.

--

Law

warnings: pre-established relationship, jealous Law in this one.

He truly believes in that thesis that a strong hickey in the wrong place can be the cause of death, so he will always use small bites, the kind that only serve to make every part of your body shiver - and generate some other reactions too. Except when someone makes him jealous.

Don't misunderstand, Law is a reserved guy, not very interested in public displays of affection, but when you are alone, he is a clingy and extremely affectionate person - after time and time of you trying to win him over to transform the relationship into something more.

He had already shared the fighting field with Kid, victory with Kid, he would never share you, but the pirate seemed insistent on discussing things with you and your laughter echoed anything Kid said. Law already saw red at that moment.

After that, you ended the night in the arms of a version of Law that wasn't so common: jealous, unstoppable and delicious. You were just supposed to take some time and talk in his room. You ended up with all the things from the table on the floor, your panties lost - and probably torn, a trail of hickeys going down to your breasts.

"Trafalgar D. Law..." your voice came out like a scolding as you looked at yourself in the mirror already in his room. "What is that?"

"Just a few marks." he hugged you from behind, kissing one of the purple spots. "Sorry babe, I think I got carried away."

"Don't apologize, other than that, your jealous version brings good results."

"I hope that doesn't mean you're going to let that idiot bother you." he grumbled, placing another kiss on one of the hickeys. "Stay here, I'll get some ointment to ease this."

As soon as he returned, he carefully applied the medicine to each point you pointed out, but with a cynical smile on his lips. He knew the hickeys wouldn't go away fast enough until his next date that day with Kid.

Zoro

warnings: pre-established relationship, some broader mentions of NSFW content, but nothing explicit. Two uncontrollable drunks.

He liked to see the effect he had on you, whether it was the slurred speech when he pinned you against the wall, trying not to get lost between the way he looked at you and the proximity of the two of you, or you getting up with the wobbly legs of his bed and spending the next few hours grumbling about being sore - and you always whispered to him that that wasn't a complaint or when he saw you wearing scarves on hot days, or some accessory that disguised the mark on your skin.

Despite this, he didn't like it or used to leave marks on purpose. Even though he enjoyed seeing his love for you embedded in your skin, he knew that hickeys would only attract more questions about what that was, who did that and lots of jokes about the two of you.

However, on the nights lost between shots of sake, hidden in a dark corner and with the two of you numb from the alcohol in your blood, Zoro didn't worry about it. Or with almost nothing.

"Zo, control yourself, this is going to be marked." you lost it in a moan when you felt him capture your skin between his lips.

"Don't tell me you don't like it." he whispered, his lips running down your neck and leaving another mark. "You're mine, aren't you? Let me make that clear to everyone."

The next morning, in addition to the hangover that took over you, you could see the hickeys on your skin. However, this time, you could see the same hickeys in Zoro's.

Mihawk

warnings: brief mentions of NSFW here, this time F!Reader is the "jealous" one in the relationship. In my hc, Mihawk continues to speak Spanish/being Latino.

He could see your sullen face from meters away and couldn't contain a brief laugh. He knew you hated it when he had to be away to take care of his responsibilities as a shichibukai, but it was a necessary. Knowing it was just a small tantrum from you, he approached slowly, stopping at the edge of the bed and looking at you.

"Still mad that I have to go?"

"Of course! You barely stayed home for two weeks before you had to leave again. They really can't pick another guy?" you grumbled, seeing him shake his head. "I'm sorry I seem frustrated about this."

"Please don't apologize for this." he asked, seeing you drop your sullen expression and crawl over the bed, to where he was standing. "However, it seems my dear wife has some plan."

"Is that pretty girl going to be there?" you asked referring to Boa Hancock and he nodded. "I know there's nothing to be jealous of, but lately you've been spending more time with her than with me."

"And you're right not to be jealous." As soon as you knelt in front of him, your arms hung on his shoulder, sliding through the lined fabric of his white shirt. "No other woman interests me other than you, cariña."

"I know, like I said, I'm just letting my frustrations get louder." your lips began to distribute kisses along his jaw, going down to the back of his neck with white skin. Almost automatically, you sucked, seeing a small hickey appear. "I'm sorry." You pulled away, a cynical smile on your lips.

"If you plan to leave me marked with your love..."

Mihawk began to slowly unbutton his shirt, knowing how much it would excite you. Your hands soon helped him finish the job and your nails slid down his defined abdomen, stopping near the waistband of his pants.

"Make a mess, leave your hickeys on me and I will use them as a reminder of the incredible woman waiting for me at home." He bent down, finding the sensitive spot on your neck and placing a kiss. Soon, his mouth stopped immediately next to your ear, whispering in an almost tasteful way. "And when I come back, it will be my turn to mark you."

--

a/n: that's it, now my mind will be stuck on Mihawk walking around with his clothes open and hitting everyone's vision with scratches and hickeys.

[oofthwoods]

THE BRAWN GP GARAGE GRAND PRIX! ── ˙ ̟ the echo !!

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 :: jenson button had always been a great commentator, especially when it came to narrating the wild world of imaginary races, where the only challenger was none other than the daughter of his teammate.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 :: part of the "it takes a paddock" miniseries, that explores moments of echo!reader's childhood in the paddock.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 :: 1.2k (just a sweet little story)

The Brawn garage buzzed with activity as the team prepared for another day of testing at the Circuit de Catalunya. Mechanics hurried back and forth, checking and double-checking every detail of the sleek white cars that lined the garage. The air was thick with the smell of rubber and gasoline, and the sound of engines revving filled the space, creating an atmosphere of anticipation and excitement.

Amidst the chaos, a quieter corner of the garage served as a sanctuary from the frenzy. There, sitting on a stack of tires, was Rubens Barrichello's daughter, her hair falling in loose curls around her shoulders as she concentrated intently on her coloring book. Her small fingers gripped a crayon with determination, carefully filling in the lines of a picture with vibrant colors.

Suddenly, a familiar voice broke through her concentration, and she looked up to see Jenson Button, her father's teammate, approaching with a warm smile. Her face lit up with excitement at the sight of the man, and she jumped off the tires to greet him with a hug.

"Uncle Jen!" she exclaimed, her voice bubbling with enthusiasm. "Are you here to race today too?"

Jenson chuckled, his blue eyes twinkling with amusement as he ruffled her hair affectionately. "Not today, sweetheart," he replied. "Your dad's the one doing the racing. But I'm here to keep you company while he's busy out on track."

The girl's eyes sparkled with delight as she listened to Jenson's words. She admired him greatly, not just because of his talent, but because he always took the time to interact with her whenever they crossed paths in the garage.

"Can we do something fun?" she asked eagerly, bouncing on the balls of her feet with excitement.

Jenson nodded enthusiastically, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. "Of course! How about we have a little race of our own? I'll be the commentator, and you can be the driver."

The girl's face lit up with excitement as she eagerly agreed to the idea. Jenson wasted no time, quickly scurrying around the garage to gather up cones and spare parts to create a makeshift race track. With deft hands, he arranged the obstacles into a winding course that snaked its way around the various tools and equipment scattered about.

"Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to the inaugural Brawn Garage Grand Prix!" Jenson announced with theatrical flair, holding up a makeshift microphone fashioned out of an old wrench. "On pole position, we have the one and only… Y/N Barrichello! And alongside her, it's me, Jenson Button, your trusty commentator for today's race."

The girl giggled with delight as she took her position at the starting line, her tiny hands gripping the imaginary steering wheel with determination. Jenson, playing his part to perfection, took up his position as the announcer, adopting a dramatic tone befitting the occasion.

"Get ready, folks! The tension is palpable as our fearless competitors prepare to battle it out on the treacherous Brawn Garage circuit!" Jenson proclaimed, his voice echoing off the walls of the garage.

With a flourish, he counted down from three, his arm slicing through the air like a conductor leading an orchestra. As his hand dropped, signaling the start of the race, the girl stomped on the imaginary accelerator, her make-believe engine roaring to life as she shot off the line in a blur of excitement.

The garage was transformed into a miniature racetrack, the sound of imaginary engines filling the air as the girl and Jenson darted and weaved their way through the makeshift obstacles. Cones became chicane markers, and toolboxes served as hairpin bends, each turn and straightaway presenting a new challenge for the intrepid racers.

Jenson, ever the entertainer, provided colorful commentary as they raced, his voice rising and falling with the ebb and flow of the action. He cheered the girl on with infectious enthusiasm, his words spurring her on to greater feats of daring as she navigated the course with the skill and precision of a seasoned pro (if there ever was a pro of fake racing).

As they crossed the makeshift finish line, Jenson scooped up the girl in one swift motion, lifting her onto his shoulders. Her laughter filled the garage, bubbling over with unrestrained joy as she clung to him, her tiny hands gripping his shoulder.

"Congratulations, champ!" Jenson announced, his voice booming with theatrical flair. "You've just won the first-ever Brawn Garage Grand Prix!"

The mechanics, who had been watching the impromptu race with amused smiles, erupted into cheers and applause. They clapped their hands enthusiastically, their cheers mingling with the sound of engines revving in the distance.

"Way to go, kiddo!" one of the mechanics shouted, giving the girl a thumbs-up.

Some of the mechanics rushed forward to offer high-fives to the victorious little girl, their faces alight with excitement. Others pulled out their phones, eager to capture the moment for posterity. Flashbulbs popped as they snapped photos of Jenson and the young girl, their bond evident for all to see in the warmth of their smiles.

Jenson, his own grin infectious, basked in the attention, reveling in the joy of the moment. "Looks like we've got ourselves a world champion in the making!" he declared, beaming down at the girl perched on his shoulders.

The girl giggled, her cheeks flushed with happiness. "Thanks, Uncle Jen! That was so much fun!"

Rubens, returning to the garage after his stint on track, couldn't help but smile at the heartwarming scene unfolding before him. His daughter, flushed with excitement and clinging tightly to Jenson's shoulders, looked happier than he had seen her in weeks. And Jenson, with his infectious grin and easy charm, seemed to have cast a spell over the entire garage, filling it with an atmosphere of camaraderie and joy.

Walking over to join the celebration, Rubens wrapped an arm around his daughter's shoulders, pulling her into a warm embrace. "Looks like you had quite the race, huh?" he teased, ruffling her hair affectionately.

The girl nodded enthusiastically, her eyes shining with pride. "It was the best race ever, Dad! Uncle Jen said I was the fastest driver in the whole garage!"

Rubens chuckled, shooting a grateful smile in Jenson's direction. "Well, I have no doubt about that. You've got quite the talent behind the wheel, just like your old man."

Jenson grinned, giving Rubens a playful punch on the arm. "Hey now, don't go giving her all the credit. She may have won the race, but I was the one providing the commentary! And let me tell you, it was a masterpiece of sports broadcasting."

The three of them laughed, the sound echoing off the walls of the garage, mingling with the hum of activity as the team prepared for the next session. For a brief moment, all the stresses and pressures of life in the fast lane melted away.

With Jenson by her side, Rubens knew that his daughter was in good hands – and that was a comforting thought indeed.

taglist (tell me if you want to be added or removed <3) :: @studioreader, @fanficweasley , @stinkyjax , @namgification , @judespoision , @cha-hot , @disneyprincemuke , @itsjustkhaos , @trouble-sistar , @ihateyougunthersteiner , @treehouse-mouse , @cherry-piee , @fangirl125reader , @cassie0sstuff, @be-your-coffee-pot , @elijahslover , @flannelforthetoads , @m0cha-bunny , @ironmaiden1313 , @glitterquadricorn , @spideybv28 , @celesteblack08 , @thatgirlthatreadswattpad , @itscrzy, @canihavemyhoodieback , @eugene-emt-roe, @weirdshinji, @woozarts, @marshmummy, @80sloverry

[xozombiee]

“AFTER HOURS!” | W. BONNEY

✫| synopsis: bartending in the west gets boring at times, especially when the same old cowboys and outlaws come through those saloon doors everyday. you’d thought this was it..that’s the end of your story. then a certain outlaw, who’s name was getting around, walked through the doors.

warnings: porn with little plot, mentions of death, riding, little praise..it’s always gonna be there, female bodied reader, lowk psy rubbing??, hair pulling me thinks, idk what else

note: am i doing this instead of my homework?…yes. also do i know wtf women wore in the 1800s? err no. i tried tho! this is not proofread btw

In a dusty, sun-kissed town nestled amidst the rugged landscape of the west, there stood a saloon that echoed with tales of grit and resilience. behind the polished mahogany bar, you stood tall with a fiery spirit that matched the flickering glow of the oil lamps that illuminated the room.

you weren’t any ordinary bartender; you were a force to be reckoned with. with glimmering eyes that held mystery, and a rough demeanor that you used to command respect from every patron who dared to enter the establishment. your hands, calloused from years of hard work, moved with grace and precision as you served up drinks that could raise spirits or drown sorrows.

though the town was dominated by rough cowboys and outlaws, you had carved out your own place in their rugged hearts. they sought solace in your presence, and you became a confidante, offering a sympathetic ear to the broken souls who stumbled through the doors.

as the sun began its descent, casting an orange hue over the town, your saloon transformed into a sanctuary of camaraderie and laughter. the clinking of glasses and the lively banter of patrons mixed with the soulful melodies of a lone pianist, creating a symphony that echoed through the wooden walls.

but behind the facade of joviality, you carried your own secrets and dreams. you arrived in this town not long ago, escaping a past that haunted your every step. determined to leave a mark on the world, you had chosen the life of a bartending, finding comfort in the stories and journeys of those who crossed paths with you.

with swift movements back and forth behind your bar, you served drinks to the men celebrating..whatever it was this time. they sang along with others, their words jumbled and lazy, but undoubtedly filled with passion. you laughed as one of them sung to you, his eyes droopy and a crooked smile at his lips.

cleaning a few glasses, you watch as they all chat amongst themselves, if they weren’t still singing that is. a part of you yearned to have a life like theirs. to be free to do whatever you please, and not be told otherwise. you’d liked the idea of running from place to place and meeting new people. though, that’d never happen for you.

your back turns as you gather the clean glasses together, putting them neatly side by side. the sound of the saloon doors open, a sound you were used to by now. with your back still turned, you notice how most of the attendees in the saloon had gone quiet, watching as the person and their footsteps approached the bar.

turning back around, you come face to face with a taller man. he wore a shabby black hat, a maroon corduroy jacket that sat along his shoulders, and a gun at his waist. two actually, you noted as the jacket moved when he sat at the bar.

with a polite smile, you come closer, holding his gaze with yours. “evening, sir. what can i get you?”

he gives you a tight lipped smile, “whiskey, please.”

you hold his gaze for a second longer before glancing back at the people in the saloon. they stared with either fear, or curiosity in their faces. a scowl grows on your lips, muttering a small ‘drunkards’ under your breath.

the man watches as you place a clean glass onto the bar, and grab a bottle filled with brown liquid. his gaze moves to the drink as it pours into the cup, almost filling to the brim.

“you look familiar,” your voice chimes in again. “have i seen you in here before?”

he shakes his head, gaze falling back to yours. “nah.” he replies. “just passing through.”

with a sigh falling from your nose, you try to read his expression; he looked tired. you weren’t an idiot, it was obvious he was on the run. you’d seen his face on the posters, but didn’t know what his name was or what he was wanted for.

your fingernail taps against the glossy wood of the bar. trying to hide your sympathetic expression, you glance around the room. “if you need anything else, let me know, yeah?”

he nods, watching as you walk away to tend to the other customers. the way you moved was calm despite working in such an intense environment. his eyes trailed up and down your figure before taking a sip from his glass.

it seemed like hours passed as you worked. going back and forth behind the counter was time consuming as it passed so quickly. more and more people were leaving the bar as the early hours of the next day were coming.

as you went to grab some glasses from tables, you notice as the man before was still at the bar. his head was hung low, eyes trained on his glass. he’d had about three glasses of whiskey by now, only taking sips from time to time.

you’d noticed through the night how people tried to approach him. he’d usually brush them off, or making small talk that ended in peaceful silence. he wasn’t someone that was easily approachable to the blind eye. he held a strong, cold demeanor.

after gathering all the dirty glasses, and kicking the last passed out drunkard, you slide back behind the bar. you take the bucket of dirty glasses to the small sink, placing it inside before turning the water on. as it fills, you stare at it as your mind falls else where.

before it overflows, you turn the faucet off. you pour a little soap into the mix before drying your hands off to let the glasses soak. with echoing footsteps, you turn back to the bar and are face to face with the man of the night.

“want another, or is three enough?” you ask, a slight smile at your lips.

he glances up at you, studying your expression for a moment. his eyes drop back to the wooden bar, fingers tapping his halfway-empty-glass.

“this is fine.” he answers.

your elbows come to rest at the cool wood, chin in your palm as you watch him. you’d debated for most of the night to ask him what exactly he was running from. it would probably sound stupid considering how everyone and their second cousin knew about it. all except for you, as you didn’t look much into news and such.

he stares back at you, giving you the same energy within his gaze. his blue eyes analyze every bit of you, and you almost shudder at the sight of it.

“so, how long you been on the run now?” you ask, voice interrupting each of your own thoughts.

he brings the glass to his lips, downing the rest before replying. “months.” he mutters, not even phased by your abrupt question.

you hum in reply, “alone?”

“mhm.”

with his short and simple response, you laugh. it wasn’t out of humor, but rather more of irritation. you’d think someone as well known as him would talk more. most outlaws never shut up about flaunting their reputations. it’s different.

“you’re not a man of many words.” you say, not really caring about how he’d take your tone.

he shrugs, sucking his teeth a bit. “i’ve got nothing to say.”

you raise a brow, “tell me a story or something. i hear the same shit every night from my regulars. give me something new.” you request.

pouring a little more whiskey into his glass, you watch as his eyes dart to yours. “it’s on me.” you assure, giving him a smile.

the man sighs, tilting his head a little at the thought. what could he tell you? that he killed a man? that he fought a man in a saloon just like yours right before shooting him in the stomach out of defense? no..you’d probably already heard it anyways.

“what do you already know about me?” he questions, taking another sip.

your eyes squint at him, “i know you’re an outlaw on the run, obviously..and that’s about it. i don’t even know what the hell they call you.” you reply.

he chuckles, a small smile at his lips. “you’re probably one of the first.” he says. “just call me billy.”

with another hum, you nod slowly and give him your name. “billy..yeah, i think i did hear that once or twice.”

“well, either way, i don’t have many stories to tell.”

your eyes roll, a huff coming from your nose. “tell me why you’re an outlaw. i’ve heard like three different stories, and it can’t be all of them.”

billy smiles again, eyes falling from yours and to your lips for a split second. you watch him debate in his head before taking his hat off. he sets it on the empty stool next to him, running his fingers through his hair. he had brown shaggy hair that was sprawled all over his head.

“i killed a man. it was self defense.” he says, almost as if he was pleading his case.

you deadpan at him, “that’s all i get? not even a backstory?”

“there’s not much to it. he was making accusations at me..which weren’t entirely false, then he came at me. we fought over my gun, and i shot.” he elaborates, glancing at you with disinterest as if it was a meaningless story.

you fall quiet for a moment, brows raised while processing his words. that story was heard, but you didn’t know if it was the truth until now. the other stories were about robbing a bank and killing a bunch of people. hearing the actual story now..you couldn’t understand all the fuss.

a laugh falls from your lips, hand moving to pinch the bridge of your nose. “so, all this talk is because you killed a man that was attacking you?”

“yes, ma’am.”

your smile remains for a bit, eyes watching billy. “so, what now? you just gonna keep running?”

he shrugs once more, eyes kept on his glass. “probably.”

“have you at least slept?”

billy shakes his head. you chew on the inside of your cheek, contemplating multiple things in your head. if you offered him a place to sleep in the loft above your saloon, he’d probably laugh in your face. but, a part of you didn’t want him out on the street sleeping defenseless.

as a other sigh falls from you, you move away from the bar and stand straight. “i’ve got an extra room where i stay. wanna take it for the night?”

his eyes find yours, expression vague, “are you sure? i mean, i don’t wanna—”

“it’s fine. i’d feel guilty if i opened up tomorrow and my regulars are telling me you got killed in your sleep.”

billy focuses on you for awhile before taking one last sip. he lightly places the glass on the counter before moving to grab some money from his pocket.

your hand finds his wrist as he places it on the counter. “keep it. just take your ass upstairs while i finish up.”

he grins a little, grabbing his hat and standing from the stool. billy slowly moves to the door at the back of the saloon, opening it and disappearing from sight. you roll up your sleeves as you move back to the sink, dipping your hands into the soapy water to clean the glasses.

after about ten minutes, you make way up to your loft in the building. your footsteps slightly echo as you move toward the light in the living room. when you reach the floor, you watch as billy sits on the couch with his head thrown back on the edge while his hat covered up his face.

slowly approaching in front of him, you lightly kick his shin. he snaps his head up, eyes wide as his hat falls to his lap. he lets out a small breath in relief, making you smile. you watch as he sits up on the couch.

“scared the shit out of me.” he mumbles, putting that ragged hat on again.

you move to sit next to him, bouncing lightly on the cushions. “must’ve been too tired to hear me coming up the steps.”

he leans into the couch once more, eyes trained on the ceiling. you watched his expression and how he studied the whiteness of the panels above.

“penny for your thoughts?” you whisper, watching his eyes shift over to you.

billy shakes his head, scoffing a little to himself. “it’s nothing. just thinking.”

“about?”

“everything.”

you let your gaze falter, moving to the floor. “everything that’s happened?” you ask.

he nods, fidgeting with his hands in his lap. billy wants nothing more than to go back and stop everything that’s happened. to change what got him to this point.

but if he did that, he would’ve never met you. you were one of the kindest people to him since the incident. the way you carried yourself, much like him, was with confidence. he respected you, and that aspect of your personality.

“i understand what it’s like..kind of.” you say, patting down the wrinkles in your outfit. “i was never wanted, but i’ve done things. things i wish i could take back.”

billy watches as you speak, the way your lips move and the expression you hold shifts with each emotion running through you. he almost doesn’t understand what you’re saying. the only thing keeping him to reality was the fact you sounded serious.

he adjusts himself on the furniture, “what have you done?” he asks, a part of him afraid to know the answer.

“i’ve killed.” you reply, the tone of your voice dropping lowly. “it was in defense, like you.”

billy watches the way you bounce your knee against the flooring of the loft. the dress you wear moves along with it, and your shoe lightly taps.

“when did it happen?” he asks as his pure curiosity gets the best of him.

you look up at him, smiling a little. “i was fourteen.”

billy looks at you, empathizing with your situation. though he wasn’t that young when it happened, he still felt some sort of connection with your experience.

“i don’t regret killing him honestly, but i regret hurting my family and his. they didn’t deserve to go through that. it wasn’t any of their faults.” you say as you breathe out slowly.

in an small moment, his hand is on yours. it’s a light touch, like he’s afraid to hurt you. billy moves his other hand to the space beneath your chin, and shifts your head to look at him in the eyes.

his voice is light, “you were defending yourself. it wasn’t your fault either.” billy whispers.

the words make your heart swell. after everything, hearing those words made it all feel better. almost all the guilt left your veins. he was right after all. it wasn’t your fault. what that man did..you just did what you had to.

as he holds your gaze, you slowly inch toward him. his blue irises bore into yours, watching as you shift them to his lips. they were slightly chapped and held a small frown on them.

billy leaned closer to you and your breaths mingled, like two lights finding each other in the darkness. he could feel your heart beating against your ribcage, as all of his senses were focused on you and you alone.

he closed the distance, and his lips met yours. billy felt himself melt into you like a magnet. everything muted itself, and his hands made way to your waist. he pulled you onto him, your knees caging around his thighs.

your hands found their way to his jaw, pulling him even closer. he tasted your soft lips and felt your warm skin against his. the room seemed to dissolve around you as the only thing in existence was this. this perfect union.

time stood still, and you both wanted more, but neither wanting it to initiate it. then, with what restraint he had left, he pulled away, his lips still grazing yours.

he looks up at you, his eyes filled with worry. “im sorry, i didn’t mean—”

“shut up.”

pressing your lips back to his, he lets out a grunt in reply before melting into you once more. the warmth of you, your lips, your being that sat in his lap—he felt lightheaded. billy moved his hands to your waist again, slowly trailing them up your back.

you feel the buttons of your dress being undone. he stops right before taking the sleeves off, prying himself away from you. billy’s eyes look into yours for confirmation, and you give him a quick, impatient nod in reply.

with that, he pulls the dress off slowly. your lips trail from his own to his neck, putting the flesh between your teeth. he groaned, trying to focus on untying your corset.

as he removed it, he wasted no time to discard it to the floor, hands making way to take off the chemise you wore.

“all those months on the run got you impatient now, cowboy?” you mutter, laughing as he would struggle from time to time.

billy looks up at you, his gaze slightly hidden by his hat, “no, just none of the women i’ve been with wore this much underneath. i’m also not a cowboy, sweetheart.”

rolling your eyes, you grab at his wrists to stop him. he looks up at you, big eyes and all, causing the built up pressure in your lower stomach to worsen. “just leave it. i’m not wearing anything under, so don’t fuss.”

you watch him nod slowly as he started to stare, making no move to take off his clothes. “do i have to do it for you?” you whisper, hands undoing the brown suspenders on his shoulders.

he shakes his head, moving to unbutton his pants he wore. you watch the way he fumbles with them, sliding them midway down his thighs. billy’s hands eventually move back to your waist, bunching up your chemise to your hips.

billy’s eyes watch as your pretty pussy comes into view, sitting in his lap with such a prepossessing aura. he has to restrain himself from taking you right then.

his dick was hard and twitching, the length had an angry tip with its slit profusely leaking pre-cum. it looked painful and it was because of you. you. you wondered if you had power over him now for a brief second but you shake your head clear of these thoughts.

instead, you catch his lips again, the kiss slower this time. you raise yourself a bit so he can align himself to your entrance. the cool touch of his hand meets your cunt, sliding a finger through the folds and collecting the juices flowing from you.

he uses your slick and spreads it across your sensitive pussy. you took a deep breath of air into your lungs. this feeling was new, since no man you’d been with ever did this, but it wasn’t unwelcome.

a small groan falls from billy’s lips as he uses it to prep himself, guiding his hand along his cock and pumping it slowly. he was on the girthy side with veins on the underside of his cock.

you knew you would stretch around him, that your walls would be a perfect fit around his length. you were too impatient for any sort of foreplay; you wanted the stretch. you wanted him to make you dizzy with his cock splitting you apart.

billy grabs your hips with his unoccupied hand, bringing you closer to him. you let out a whimper as you began to sink onto him, eyes flicking to his. those blue ones he held were zeroed down to the place you both were connected now.

his hands are on either side of your hip, guiding you down on his length. it was after his cock was fully stuffed in you, that his self-control allowed him to almost whine at the feeling of you.

your hands are on his shoulders to support yourself. your fingers weakly fist his shirt as you begin to ride him, raising yourself a few inches before slamming down on his cock with a loud moan escaping your lips. he reached the deepest spot inside of you somehow. no one had ever done that. not like this.

his cockhead grazes your spongy spot as you fuck yourself on him. arousal and his pre-cum are smeared all over your thighs. this sight made billy’s breath hitch, something you didn't notice as you were too busy with your eyes closed and taking him. you looked completely dissoluted like this.

your hair was a mess now, your lips glossy and swollen, hands digging into his shoulder. billy felt himself become enraptured by you and this sight. it was something he could get used to..if he wasn’t an outlaw that is.

he pulls you closer to him. one of his hands is on your back, pressing you to him. his hips raise upwards to fuck you as he now lets out more vocal sounds of enjoyment.

watching him with a hazy gaze, you remove the hat from his head. you place it onto your own, grinning at how he stares up at you like you were the creator of all living beings and creatures on this earth.

moving one of your hands from his shoulder, you bring it to his hair and give some strands a tug. he groans, the vibrations of his chest transferring to his dick, which transferred to you.

each thrust of his was made for his selfishness in your velvet walls. the drag of his cock was perfect, his speed was unbelievable. it was like heaven itself, but without the pearly gates and clouds.

while stuck in your own brain, the feeling of teeth bring you back to reality. you let a shuddered sigh fall as billy digs into the collarbone that peaked from your square-necked chemise. he slowly kisses up your neck, bringing a hand to the back of your head.

“fuck..’s too good,” he mutters, trying to keep his voice even.

you laugh, making him groan a little. he looks up, watching as you bounce with one hand held on his hat to keep it on. “too good? were all your other girls shit?”

he lets out short breaths, his blue eyes studying the way you moved as if he was in a trance. billy would answer if he wasn’t on another planet right now. a planet where you were taking him so deliciously, almost to the point where he could pass out.

“fuck,” he says under his breath as your pussy clenches around him. “where do you want it?” his voice was strained from trying to keep his composure.

you pant, “inside.”

billy doesn’t waste a second before obliging and quickening his pace, making the hat on your head fall lopsided. you could feel the pressure in you tightening, almost about to burst like a pipe.

he moves his thumb to rub at your clit, and the tip of his cock repeatedly nudges against that one spot that has you falling apart on top of him with a loud cry. your orgasm hits you hard and billy can’t hold it in any longer. he fucks into you for another minute, eyes squeezed shut as he groans out your name.

billy groans when you flutter around him as you cum. he’s thrusting his hips up into you with his newfound force. it requires you to tighten your grip on his shoulders to stay put as he empties his load deep inside you, his sweet moans echoing in the living room.

your cunt milks him dry, and he fills you up to the brim—to the point where you could feel him leak out of you. the both of you pause, your hands resting on his chest as you catch your breath.

he slowly eases his cock out of you. the both of you were breathing heavily as he pulls you closer, letting you rest your head on his shoulder. you wrap you arms around his chest, listening to his heart beat.

“wanna share my bed?” you whisper.

tags: @m0rphys

[darkdemeter]

LITTLE RED RIDING

◤✘WANDA MAXIMOFF SERIES/AU'S | CATALOGUE Wanda Maximoff x GN/Female/Male Werewolf!Reader ☾ PHASES COLLECTION FIRST EDITION 2024, ISSUE NO.#3/8

NOTES ↳ Just a red riding hood retelling. Kinda. A bit more kinky... WARNINGS❕ ↳ SMUT 18+ MINORS DNI — MxF version pairing — FxF version pairing — unprotected sex — P in V sex — profanity — pet names "Lamb", "Sweetheart", "Hon", "Baby", etc — (male) reader receiving — slight possessive reader — Hydra agent! reader — enemies/lovers — I think that's it? SUMMARY ↳ Wanda is sent on a mission to recover data about Hydra's next big operation. However, she'll meet the guard dog of the information she needs. Lucky for her, red happens to be a very eye-catching colour, and for the price of indulgence, you let her have her data.

✎ 4.6k

@alexawynters @alyciaddict @simpforlizzie @literaturedog @maladaptive-daydreamz

↳ WANDA MAXIMOFF TAGLISTS

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III.  Never seek to engage the attention of a wolf, be it in the calm amidst its frenzy or the horrors of its territorial obsession. For the lamb is incapable of warding off a hungry beast bound by its insatiable hunger and lust for violence. And wearing a tolling bell around one’s neck only attracts the monster. 

  Funny, how a golden bell is now adapted into a short, red dress.

  “Alright, Wanda. Just focus on your target, get the data and get out of there.” Natasha sounds urgent now, unlike before. She’d been calm before. Something’s changed in her tone, it’s beset by rising panic. 

  Wanda can’t help but be drawn into the whirlpool of fear herself. Her eyes dart around the lavish hall, eyeing each of the guests as if any one of them would engage her with a gun to her head or a knife to her gut. In reality, that possibility can very well happen. 

  “And whatever you do, stay away from—” Natasha’s cut out, the connection severed, a hand encircles around Wanda’s bare wrist. 

  “Care for a dance, little Lamb?” You spin her to face you. She’s dragged into the iron grip you possess, she’s powerless to the violent glow of amber. You watch her intently like a wolf on the hunt, lured in by the weakened state of your prey. A lone and lost lamb sent into the den of her enemy. A delightful treat. 

  Wanda stares upwards and right into the pressing stare you share, sharpened canines primed to tear into her, images of what someone - something - like you could do to her in the blink of an eye. And what she hates most of all is how complacent she is in your embrace, and how quickly she shrinks from escape, her bravery discouraged. 

  You lead her across the floor, entrapped in a dance, pinning her to you with no chance of running from you. Not that she’d get very far. The rhythm is paced stiffly, leaving her to rely on you to take the lead. 

  You twirl her, grasp firmly on her before you draw her back into you. “Quite the alluring dress. I’ve noticed quite a few eyes on you tonight,” you chuckle, “mine included.”

  “I hadn’t noticed,” she answers, voice soft and silken with her accent.

 You click your tongue, scoldingly. “It’s wise to always be aware of what’s happening around you, Lamb.” Your tone drifts further into a darker undertone, words alluding to sinister intentions. “Else you will never see the beast that stalks behind.”

  “I’ll take that into consideration.” She tries to move, to free herself, but you don’t loosen your hold of her. Your hand remains on the small of her back, lips pulled into a wolfish grin, eyes laced with lustful hunger. 

  “Why the rush? Scared of me?”

  “M-maybe,” she gulps in truth, “as you said, I should be wary of what goes on around me. I know this story very well.”

  You cock your head to the side a little, interest peaked by the risen curve of your brow. “Oh? Do regale me.”

  “Loved ones advise her to not engage with the wolf. To keep her head and path straight for her Grandmother’s home.”

  “Unless she was served to the wolf on a platter,” you interject sharply just as you dip her, her spine curves back into the support of your arm, her green eyes flash with a mixture of intrigue and terror. How the sight of her beneath you arouses you, your core stirring with the familiar tingle of desire. 

  “But that’s not how the story goes.” She reprimands you behind the daggered end of a glare, eyes scornful in your offset course as you both encircle one another, bodies practically melded together and hands locked and bound to each other.

  You spin her again, leading her forward from behind. “The story serves as a cautionary tale only. Many have disregarded the warning labels and found their way off the path. But I myself, as a wolf, don’t waste time about it. I want you, little Lamb, not the gut full of rocks in the end.” 

  “And I want the data.” She’s upfront about it and you’ll applaud her for that. The amber hue of your eyes strikes a cold, mysterious flame to dwindle in her core and she finds her heart rate quickening.

  “And you wouldn’t make it three feet into the office. Not without someone like me getting you there.” 

  “Why help me?” she huffs with a quizzical, narrowed gaze.

  “The better.”

  None had so much as batted an eye in the wake of your saunter, Wanda practically glued to your side the entire time, a few of the guards snickering and mumbling to themselves. Wanda tried to strain her ears to overhear their silent glimpses and hidden, murmuring smirks to no avail. Whatever it was, it sure made your chest puff out with pride. 

  Down the hall, Wanda sees the doors of the office open under the command of your whim, gesturing to her to venture inside the dimly lit room. 

  Her eyes find yours, gaze bearing the resemblance of her hesitance. 

  “Well?” you say with a raised brow. Humming softly and affirmatively, she steps a heeled foot and crosses the threshold and immediately, she feels the air shift. No longer haunted by the eerie, warm glow of the hallway, now her skin is caressed by the looming darkness and its shadowy presence that grazes over her shoulder and moves towards the desk. 

  She follows you and then stops, still caught in the reverie of her disbelief as you tap away at the locked case that opens to reveal a laptop. The encrypted data, kept under strict guard, now rests open for her. 

  There has to be a catch. Her stare says as much with scrutiny, only you lay your palms flat in surrender. 

  “The data is all there for you to collect. No tricks, none of that.” Is it wise to believe you? Wanda is caught between a rock and a hard place either way. 

  To entertain or obey, she steps forward, retrieving from the slip inside her dress between her breasts, she brings to light the usb drive. Your eyes roll between the action and device, whistling lowly to yourself. 

  Wanda has to ignore the way her skin grows hot and flushed under your eyes that watch her. Bending low, she inserts the drive in and begins to download the data and provides you with a more than satisfying view from behind. You hear her sighing quietly to herself when a red, transparent box indicating an error flashes onto the screen. Of course the security system would be triggered. 

  “No tricks, huh?” she chastises with a huff only to feel the heated scape of your front bend, stretching over her beck as you lean forward, long arms caging her below you. She watches silently, tongue darting out between her lips as she admires your fingers work nimbly and precisely against the keys, overriding the error and allowing the drive to continue downloading. 

  “Protection. I’m sure you understand.”

  FEMALE

  “Looks like that download will take a while,” you remark coolly. Wanda now lacks the pressure of your stature, breasts pushed firmly against her back she is left both disappointed and relieved. Her eyes remain trained on the laptop screen despite the sixth sense that your eyes watch her intently, or rather, the lovely view she provides from behind. 

  It’s hard to explain to her rational mind but there’s something about you that creeps Wanda with a prickling notion that no matter what, the trail of your gaze never seems to leave her; at least not for long. Your words circle back into her mind. The mention that many eyes had been on her tonight, yours included, she wonders if the wolf has become animalistically smitten with her. Bewitched by her little red dress. 

  Curious of where exactly you lingered, she turns her sights behind her, following the way you peer down at her, about a foot or so from her, she turns to face you. 

  “Something you like, Wolf?” She doesn’t grasp the identity of this newfound courage, incapable of finding its unknown source. All she does know is that her question has piqued your interest and engaged your merriment. 

  “Maybe,” you answer smoothly with a click of your tongue that runs the lap over your teeth. A temptress that you want to devour whole heartedly, to satiate your wolfish appetite. 

  Hands musing into the slit of your pant pockets, you bask silently at the sight of her, her form arching ever so slightly backwards and resting her weight in her arms. The familiar threading of tightness of your core is enough to alert you to your blooming desire. 

  You saunter towards her, almost stalking over to her, she watches you as her eyes travel up and down. 

  “You ever been with another girl before, Sweetheart?”

  Biting down into her lip, she shakes her head and her chin dips low, hiding her flustered visage. “You wanna try it?”

  A very bold move on your part. You’ve trapped her against the desk, arms caging her on either side she feels her breath become locked in her lungs. A very tempting offer you give her, but one she is unsure about, her lips part to form the words only to fall silent. 

  “Don’t worry, little Lamb. You’re in very good hands, I promise. Think about it like this: I'm all the better to please you...”

  Your lips blaze a flaming trail along her neck and collarbone, each planted seed of lust leaves a shivering breath in its wake. Wanda lets you slip onto your knees and sensing what exactly you’re getting at, she leans further back, practically sitting on the desk as you saddle between her legs. Your teeth nip and graze, lips caressing softly the soft tissue of her inner thighs until her hand strikes out, latching hold of any amount of your hair she can grab. 

  “Shh,” you usher with a whisper, “fuck, you smell delicious.” Your breath is hot, far too hot, it sears her wanting core, her thong already soaked beyond any reconciliation that it may dry shortly. 

  Your tongue laps at her through the dark fabric, suckling on it to taste her juices that stain them and you groan deeply, the sound that of a feral animal. 

  Her hand in your hair grips tighter and tugs at your roots. 

  She whimpers as you dance your tongue, teasing her folds through her tongue before using the very muscle to push aside the flimsy, damp fabric and trace the moist slit of her clenching pussy. Moaning softly, her hips thrust forward. 

  The ribbony tug of her core enlightens her, bringing about an airy flow to what she feels, her head leans back and her legs open wider for you, your hands snake around the seam of dress and skin and pull her in that little bit closer.

  “M-more! Please, more!” she exhales loudly, breathlessly. You slide your tongue between her folds, massaging her spongy walls that pulse around it, her mewls and voice growing weaker and more feral with each lashing you inflict in her cunt. Clearly, her first time is one she’ll remember. Nuzzling the upper flat of your tongue presses to her clit and soothes it, rolling and dragging, she all but lurches forward slightly at the brink of her orgasm. 

  “Fuck– fuck! I’m cumming!” 

  She mutters a thousand more curses that sound like wistful prayers to your ears, hungrily devouring her release with a guttural moan that shakes the foundation of her final resolve. She barely catches herself slipping further back across the desk, the case and laptop at this point a forgotten element. 

  Pulling your head away - after thoroughly cleaning her slick, satisfied pussy - you stand tall and straight, looming over her like a dark, stormy cloud. The brilliance of her green eyes is shrouded in the darkness of your shadow, but the same hunger for more ever resides presently. 

  Your hand soon replaces the loss of your mouth and she caves to your will, splayed out for your touch to sate her newfound desire. 

  “I want more… that was…”

  “Exquisite?” you chime with a hum and she nods. No other word can possibly describe it so perfectly. She feels your long, toned fingers rub her up and down, smearing what little juices you left behind and toying with her delicate pearl, arousal buzzes to life at the mere grazing of your thumb. 

  You’re closer to her now, the scent of your powerful cologne overpowers her senses, drowning her with fulfilling contentment. Hands grappling hold of your arms, she claws her way deeply that you’re quite impressed with the level of strength she possesses. 

  Slowly, you insert two fingers and curl and she buckles under the pressure. A scream is halfway tearing through her throat but she bites into her lip to keep the volume minimal. 

  “Going to keep quiet, huh?” you tease and unfurl your fingers before repeating the pattern over and over, each time, going deeper. “Don’t want the guards out there hearing what I’m doing to you?”

  She doesn’t answer, unsure if this is a trick question or not, but she can’t find it within herself to further embarrass herself. 

  You insert a third and watch her watch contort. She whimpers, the sound ringing in your ears like a humming whistle, she rolls her hips in great desperation whilst your thumb firmly circles her clit, feeling the sensitive heat from her core. 

  “Such a good girl for me, aren’t you?” The line of your lips caress the structure of her temple, her eyes scrunch closed. Her mouth falls agape. 

  “W-Wolf…” Her sigh is a breath of fresh air to the clarity of your insane mind. You thrust your fingers harder and faster, the squelch of her cunt and the filthy sounds of her voice fill the room’s void with something beautiful. A harmonic symphony you’re drawn to, committing it to memory for now. 

  “Yeah, Lamb?”

  “I– shit, oh my— I’m gonna…” 

  You hum in approval and with a few more powerful thrusts, the walls of her cunt shrink around your fingers in a fight to keep you. Letting her ride out her orgasm on your fingers, she moves erratically until she stops, panting heavily and her shoulders shoving down.

  “Good, little Lamb,” you praise gently, “Good girl.” 

  Lips hovering against each other, the gap is sealed with a heated kiss, tongues weaving in post-euphoria passion that can easily set the world ablaze. 

  Who knew that fucking your enemy could be so thrilling?

  “What about you?” she asks, voice still shaken. “The drive is almost done. Let’s just say… you’ll owe me a little something next time.”

  “How do you know if we’ll meet again?”

  You flash her a cheeky wink. “I have my ways, Lamb.”

  MALE

  “Looks like that download will take a while,” you remark coolly. Your chest leaves the warmed crest of her back, leaving Wanda unbearably cold and wanting. She almost shivers at the loss of contact. She hears you shuffle back and although she initially tries to ignore the way your eyes linger on her, coasting over the view she’s now conscious of giving you, she freezes. 

  It’s hard to explain to her rational mind but there’s something about you that creeps Wanda with a prickling notion that no matter what, the trail of your gaze never seems to leave her; at least not for long. Your words circle back into her mind. The mention that many eyes had been on her tonight, yours included, she wonders if the wolf has become animalistically smitten with her. Bewitched by her little red dress. 

  Her lips part with a silent, suppressed moan at the noise from behind, your groan deep and husky and laced with desire. She dares to take a peek over her shoulder, following the length of her still bent body until her eyes find yours, seeing you seated in one of the mahogany leather chairs opposing the desk. 

  Clearly, you were enjoying the curve of her arse and the lacy thong that’s now soaked with her arousal. She turns to face you now, arms pressed back and her hands grip the desk’s edge, crossing one ankle over the other, you take in the exposure of her shapely legs before the cut off of the dress that rides across the high of her thighs.

  For a moment that carries far too long to not be labelled as eternity, you both just stare at each other in silence, a thick air of tension traces the distance between you both, sharing looks of deep, dark-rooted wanton for the other. 

  You pat your thigh expectantly, legs spread with the uncaring nature of your growing bulge that’s restrained by the confines of your dress pants. It's a command. Not a request. Directed by the cause of that mystique, she’s drawn to you like a moth to the flame, she saunters towards you with a gentle slander of her heels that rap over the floorboards one at a time. 

  All the while, you scan her up and down until she stands between your legs. 

  “My, my, the little Lamb can’t help but be allured by the Wolf,” you chuckle darkly. Biting deep into the plump flesh of her lip, she shakes her head and her chin bows. 

  “No…”

  Despite your invitation, she lowers to her knees, resting back on her legs as her hands run up the length of black fabric and towards your belt. Your throat contorts with an amused hum, brow quirked with analysis to her next move, her eyes searching for your approval; which you give along with a nod. 

  “What a pretty mouth you have.” You grin, toothy and wide, canines sharp and pronounced. She unbuckles the leather strap and tugs loose the fly of your pants and you groan as she gently palms your erected cock through your boxers.

  “The better to take you with.” She blushes deeply, her indulgence inwards to the fantasy you play out together. 

  Releasing your cock from your boxers, you breathe a sigh of relief, tip oozing with beads of precum and your shaft stiffly standing. Her tongue languidly traces the definition of your cock, up and down as she prolongs her eye contact, moaning softly as her tongue and lips tease your sensitive, bulbous tip. Your hips buck instinctively towards where your pleasure derives from, chasing after that fix aggressively. 

  You hiss, jaw clenched to the brink that you may very well break it,and Wanda continues to drag her tongue up and down, over you tip again and again, lapping long, slow strips and gathering the beady droplets along the flat of her sinful muscle that works you; hot breath beating down on you. You swear you almost fucking whimper like a maturing juvenile, with little control over your body. 

 “The Big Bad Wolf,” she whispers and takes the first third of your member, hollowing her cheeks and forcing your length further and further down. She gags and her throat grips tightly, causing you to groan. Your claws bite into the expensive leather with little care for its maintenance. Not when you have the prettiest fucking lamb on her knees before you, sucking your dick. 

  “Fuck, Baby,” you sigh heavily, “Yeah… yeah, let me see that mouth work.” Your lungs are on fire, heart pounding a thousand beats per minute. Her tongue swirls around you and she moans deeply, whining in resistance when her own mouth tries to work against her, refusing to take anymore of you without a fight. 

  So you decide you’ll give her a helping hand. A little nudge. 

  You extend a hand forward and lace your fingers into the locks of her fiery, brown hair, curling well to the roots and scrunch harshly. She winces and her green eyes are glazed with a watery curtain, fresh with hot tears. Showing an ounce of mercy - and that is all you’re capable and willing to give - you start slow in guiding her head up and down, your cock sinking back and forth in her mouth, gags and muffled moans stifled by the cutoff of oxygen. 

  “F-fuck yeah—” you growl lowly. Your head tilts back for a moment and your hips snap hard, forcing her to take the entirety of your cock down her tight throat with a much louder moan, out of shocking resistance or eager obedience.

  “Shit, Lamb… m-mmm…” She’s graduated from needing your hand and it falls lax, letting her pace herself and she continues the rhythm you set prior, her saliva gathers down to the base of your groin and your balls swell with your impending orgasm.

  You grin at the thought of her drinking your seedy load, face and chest covered with you. Eyes finding the screen of the laptop, you cannot help the haughty chuckle. It looks like you’ll have more than enough time to fully indulge yourself in your new company. 

  You further encourage her, voice laced with your evident loss of composure, she knows you near the end of your leash. With a few more thrusts, you sink her head down and your hot load shoots down the tunnel of her throat, she groans in pleasure as she sucks you down, mouth drinking everything you’re giving her. 

  A poor loss that you wouldn’t get to see her painted with your cum, but with any luck, you’ll get a chance further down the line. Your other hand runs through your hair, rolling it back into its refined form and Wanda pulls off, her lips drenched with a mixture of fluids, the sight marks your face with a darkened smirk. 

  “C’mon, Red,” you say with a lulling drawl.  Her eyes are dazed in the land of pleasured confusion, she takes your hand as if taking the guiding hand of an angel, knowing little of her actual fate. She’s led to straddle you, her core soaking down the front of your vest and your much satisfied cock that stands at attention once again.

  “W-we… we shouldn’t…”

  “We should.” You peck her lips, tasting yourself on her and you delve your teeth to take your bottom lip between them. 

  “I’m gonna take you for a little ride.”

  One hand stabilises her at her hip, her hands finding purchase on either the curves of your shoulder and in the locks of your hair, threading them to grapple on, your other hand curls the thin fabric of her thong and drags it aside. 

  Your tip kisses her entrance and she mewls, head bowing into the crook of your neck. How she’d make the perfect little mate for you. 

  Her hips roll down and forward, her breath a quivering tempo as the sheer size of you between her legs and she gasps, feeling you stretch her walls wide out. For a second she believes you’ve split her in two and her whimpers are buried in the graveyard of your shoulder, nestled there while you sheathe yourself into her cunt, inch by inch until you finally bottom out with a pleased sigh. 

  ‘Fuck, you’re so big…’

  ‘All the better to fuck you hard.’

    Just as you promised, you deliver. Picking up into a more suited pace, you piston in and out, the sound of skin meeting skin, the squelching of your combined juices and fabric rustling against fabric; breaths colliding in each other’s orbit. 

  Soon enough, she garners her steadiness and bounces her hips, far more eager to ride you to her climax, she moans deeply and curses under her breath, breasts constricted by the tight bust of her dress. 

  As much as you'd like to rip it off her, you understand she has a mission to complete and you don’t favour anyone’s eyes lingering on her anymore, gauging to see if they have a single chance. 

  Wanda Maximoff is yours for the taking, and you’ll fuck that notion into her until she understands it.

  “I-I’m cum—” 

  “Give it to me, Baby. Come on– give it to me,” you pant, hissing blissfully. You’re lost in the haze of your lust, like you’re in the middle of a hunt, it excites you greatly and the flow of your blood is poisoned by the hit of your predatory drive. 

  Her walls squeeze your stiff, pulsing cock, eliciting from you both sounds you’d never imagine possible, almost pornographic, your lips trace the contour of her exposed shoulder and collarbone, the thought to leave a few marks here and there not going unnoticed by your conscience. 

  Her body arches back and you truly see the magnitude of her beauty, breasts though snug in their place, bounce erratically to the rapid pounding of your cock kissing her cervix, her nails scratch and dig at the seams of your jacket, and you know right then that you want this woman at your side. 

  You’ll kill all the Avengers if you must, you’ll take down Hydra from the inside if needs be. But you’ll be damned to walk this earth alone or with any other that isn’t her. 

  “Sh-shit! I’m cumming!” she cries out, voice high and pitchy. Her walls are a vice around you, pulling you in without mercy and giving no intent to make it easy to withdraw, her orgasm hitting you.

  “Yeah, yeah– that—” you pause, hips speeding up as the second dose of your own release rises, you seize hold of her hips with far more tenacity than before. 

  She spurs you in, muttering over and over, chanting to keep going. To not stop, to keep hitting her right there, and you oblige. With a deep grunt, followed by a low, long noted moan, you cum. Your seed paints her walls and the swell of your knot ties her to you. 

  When she tries to pull off, you hold her still. “You’re not going anywhere for a while, Hon,” you say. When she moves again, her eyes widen, green hues shining in the light from the window, and her delicious lips form into an understanding ‘o’ shape. 

  Slowly and out of small necessity, your hips brush back and forth against each other, mimicking the more desperate action you’d shared before. 

  “Your data awaits you,” you coo with a chuckle, knowing she has no choice but to wait it out.

  Glancing over her shoulder to see the completed task of the drive, she turns her eyes back to you. 

  “How long does…” Eyes drifting down to where you’re connected, you lean back, arms stretching to rest your hands behind your head with a smirk.

  “We’ve got about an hour.”

—

  Wanda walks down the cobblestone lane, her body still enduring the aftermath of your erotic coupling, the car waiting out front of her. She dreads to see the sceptical glares of whoever came to her rescue, she pulls her coat over herself more to hide the potential discovery of her quivering form as she then enters the car.

  But not before turning to gaze over the curve of her shoulder, skimming the bite dark, green eyes finding yours; amber cheekily flaunting the alluring power as you bid her a gesture of farewell.

  She sighs as the car begins to drive off into the night, Sam behind the wheel, he concentrates on the road, meanwhile, Natasha’s eyes find Wanda’s in the rearview. 

  “Did you get the data?”

  “Right here.” Wanda passes the drive over and Natasha takes it, looking it over in the palm of her hand. 

  That’s when Sam sighs heavily, nose wrinkling. “What smells like dog?”

[lethalchiralium]

Tonight, Tonight, Tonight | Simon “Ghost” Riley x Wife!F!Reader

a/n: hi. this is based off of the song “there goes my life” a little. THIS IS THE ALTERNATE ENDING TO SUNDAY MORNING. featuring a very special character that i love very very very much

warnings: AFAB!Reader, mention of babies, mentions of nicu, mentions of death

summary: It was a long deployment, Ghost wanted nothing more than to come home and be Simon again.

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The last time Ghost had arrived at the airport near his home, his wife was right there with a smile and a happy, “You’re home!”

But for the first time since he married her, the tarmac was empty and the drive home in his car was more than quiet - it was so painfully silent that it sucked out the excitement he had of coming home. His right hand was settled on the steering wheel, the warm streetlights passed quickly over the car - his eyes were heavy with sleep, but he needed to get home. He didn’t know how her not greeting him felt so alarming, it was 3 in the morning. It was hard for him to recognize that the immense excitement he had in finally kissing his wife after a long and difficult ten month deployment had now vaporized, and was replaced with intense words about her safety.

Ghost was always confident in his ability to perform his duty well - he was a perfect soldier, made for battle and to serve Her Majesty. But he was rarely confident in his ability to be a perfect husband - he was almost never home, almost never able to call his beautiful wife, but he was always certain in how much he loved her. The one who never complained about his career, was happy to see him even if they had fought the night before.

He was ten minutes from home now and he wished that his phone would begin to vibrate, her beautiful name appear on his screen and he would hear her voice again. It’s been months since he was able to even contact her, the guilt eating him alive but he had to get over it. He hasn’t heard her voice in months, haven’t been able to tell her more than that he loved her and that he’d be home soon. And by God, he felt like something was wrong.

The last ten minutes of his drive were silent. He had now turned off the radio playing some sort of jazz, his bare hands gripped the steering wheel up until his car pulled into the driveway of their home. It was a nice two story house with white shutters in a quiet suburb of Wyoming. The porch light was on, he could see the front room lamp on as well through the window. He put the car in park and his right hand pulled at the bottom of his balaclava. She knew why his mask was important, why it made him feel safe but she loved to see his face. He hadn’t taken this damn thing off for anything but a quick shower when he could, so he pulled it off. The lights of the car had turned off when he pulled the key from the ignition, opening the door and getting out. He closed his door quietly, opening the trunk and retrieving his dufflebag.

As soon as the trunk clicked shut, he felt Ghost begin to leave his body and Simon came to light. His boots were feather light against the sidewalk as he walked up the path, retrieving his keys from his pocket and looking for the one key he needed.

When Ghost pushed the front door open, he immediately smelled her perfume. It wasn’t overwhelming , no - it was subtle enough for him to know that she must have been awake recently. He quietly shut the door behind him, placing the dufflebag on the floor next to it and placing his balaclava on top of it. Hopefully, she wouldn’t mind the brand new gash on his face from a couple weeks ago - he almost knew she wouldn’t. He looked to the right into the front room, seeing the couch and coffee table have their usual decorations - the standing lamp having a warm glow in the room. He kneeled down and unlaced his boots, kicking them off quietly and setting them beside the door.

He headed forwards through the foyer towards the kitchen, where only the light above the island was on - showcasing what looked like a card, standing upwards on the island. It didn’t have anything except his name on the front, so he picked it up and opened it.

Welcome home, honey - come upstairs. I have a surprise for you.

“Daddy?”

Simon looked up from the card, seeing his four year old daughter wiping her eye with her hand - the bear that Price had given her was clutched in her arm. His hand dropped the card and the man behind the mask kneeled immediately, arms opened up as the little girl ran to him. Her face was full of tears as he pulled his little girl into his chest, his nose buried into her chestnut hair. She smelled of his wife’s perfume and of shampoo, he kissed her hair as she softly cried into his chest. His cheek rested at the crown of his daughter’s head, it was like all of the anger and despair in his head vanished as soon as he held her.

Simon loved his wife, he did. But the love for her was nothing compared to his love for his daughter, the one who had been in his life longer than his wife.

“You should be in bed, Winnie.” He whispered, she shook her head.

“Bad dreams, Daddy. I wanted to come and wait for you ‘cause I missed you.” His arm rested under her bottom before he stood, his other hand held her head as she leaned back to look at his face. Her open hand rested on his cheek, right on top of that deep red healing scar. “You’re hurt.”

“No, love. I’m not hurting anymore.” The hand holding his daughter’s head moved to wipe tears from her pink cheeks. Her brown eyes blinked away more tears, his hand rested on her tiny cheek. “Let’s go to bed.”

“Okay.” She patted his cheek, he kissed her forehead before she rested her head on his shoulder. “I missed you, Daddy.”

Simon began towards the stairs, patting her back gently. “I missed you so much, my little love.” He made sure to walk quietly up the stairs, missing every creaky step as he carried his daughter. “We’re gonna go to bed, and the bad dreams are gonna go away.”

“Are you gonna make them go away?” She mumbled as he gently pushed the door to her room open, he made sure he didn’t trip or step on any of her toys. He moved towards her small bed and leaned down to place his daughter upon it. He kneeled beside her bed, brushing her hair from her face as she still had tears fall down her face.

“They’ll go away because I said so,” He whispered, forcing himself to smile a little. He pet her head and wiped her tears again. “Go to sleep.”

“I love you.”

“Go to sleep.” He whispered, pinching her cheek before looking at the green bear tucked in her arm. “Tell your bear to go to sleep.”

Winnie looked down at the bear. “Go to sleep, Pricey.”

He internally grimaced at the name of the bear, but he wasn’t allowed to complain. Price was her godfather and hopefully her favorite uncle. He nodded before standing, turning away to walk out of the door.

“I looove you.” Winnie spoke a little louder, her father turned back to her.

Simon took two years to finally say those words to Winnie’s mother before she died. It took him three years to even figure out that he was in love with his wife, six months to propose, and another month to elope - it took him three years and seven months to say those words to the woman who cared for his child while he was away, the woman who kept his bed warm at night and carved a place for herself in his freezing cold heart.

It took two minutes for Simon to say those three words to Winnie when she lay in the NICU, swearing to her and himself that Winnie would be loved how his mother loved him. He said it to her because no one knew if she was going to live past the night. He got over the ban he made on that sentence in two minutes for a premature baby, even though he made himself a different person every time he walked out of his front door.

Simon Riley made a promise to his daughter that he will always love her.

“I love you too, Winter.” And with that, he turned and closed the door silently behind him. He looked to his left, seeing the hallway bathed in warm light from the lamp in his bedroom.

His footsteps were silent as he made his way towards it, he could feel the ten month deployment slip from his shoulders as soon as he nudged the door open with his knuckles. The room looked almost like it did when he left, except you were sat up against the headboard, covered up to your collarbone by a blanket with a wide smile on your face.

He was across the room in three strides, knee then driven into the bed as his hand slipped behind your neck and his lips smashed against yours. His other hand rested on your jaw, but your one hand pulled him away for air. He quickly pulled off his black t-shirt, almost panting.

“Hi.” Was your response before your fingers carded into his dirty blonde hair, he smirked.

“Hi.”

“You’re going to wake up your surprise.” You leaned back up to his lips, he peppered kisses along your bottom lip before moving to your jaw.

“Winnie?” Kiss on your cheek while the hand holding your jaw was removed by his hand and his other knee now rested on the other side of you, trapping your legs. “No, she was awake. I already put her to bed.” Kiss to underneath your ear, then to your palm as he sat back and gazed at you. “What?”

The hand he held moved to settle on his cheek, petting it. “Simon.”

He knew it. Something was wrong. His smirk dropped as his voice went lower, “What’s wrong?”

Your eyes gazed into his hazel-green tint eyes and whispered, “Don’t be upset with me.”

The claw of uncertainty almost punctured his cold heart as its friends curled around it. His hand left yours and both of them moved to settle on your jaw. “Tell me.”

There was a soft mewl that came from your chest, but it wasn’t you. Your hand returned to the blanket now, and carefully pulled it down from your collarbone, revealing the surprise. Simon froze when he looked at the creature on your chest.

It was a baby. A small, slumbering baby whose head rested just below your collarbone, dressed in a green onesie.

The soft and rapid breaths felt comforting on your skin, your hands now rested on the back of your baby. His hands retracted and he sat back, eyes not ever leaving the figure bundled on your chest.

“She’s yours.” You mumbled as you leaned down to kiss the little girl on the top of her head. “Begged to get contact with you but it fell on deaf ears.”

Simon hovered over your knees by an inch or so, still towering over you. His hands sat like putty almost on your thighs, he didn’t even blink.

You looked to him, almost seeing the turmoil behind his eyes. Your hand went out and grabbed his, he didn’t pull away. “Simon, say something.”

Guilt had shot a hole through his heart. You were alone, this whole time? What if you died? This was one of the things he wanted to be there for, since he wasn’t there long for the pregnancy that was Winnie with his ‘friend’. All he could do was stare at the baby on your chest, watch her breathe.

He has another daughter, the one he thought would only be fictional.

He didn’t even know that his hand had reached out to rest on top of yours on the baby, the breath in his lungs felt like water, heavy. He had missed so much already.

“What…” He was almost speechless, wanting to go and curse God for not letting him be here, curse at the universe for making him feel like he has a purpose for his country and not his… His…

Family.

“Mellie.” You whispered, squeezing his hand. “Short for Melody. I wanted you to give her her middle name.”

His eyes moved from his baby to you again, swallowing his guilt and speaking, “Ivy.” He squeezed your hand back. His mom’s name.

“Melody Ivy Riley.” You whispered.

He nodded before leaning forwards and placing a much softer kiss to your lips, pulling away his hand to rest on your cheek. His lips separated from yours, he gazed at your beautiful face. “Thank you.”

The little baby began to whine a little, he moved his hand away from her as if he hurt her. You did as well, both of you looked down at the creature. You looked back at Simon, kissing his cheek.

His hands almost engulfed Mellie as he very gently pulled her from her mother’s chest, she began to whine again but became quiet when her head rested on his chest. He easily pivoted on his knee to now sit beside you, his head turned down to gaze at Mellie. She was warm, quiet - she was fast asleep again. Your head rested on his shoulder, your own hand settled on his.

“I love you.” You whispered as you kissed his skin.

“I love you.” He answered before leaning down and kissing the little one. And all he could think of was how not only would he watch Winnie grow, he would watch this one too. Hope that her first word is ‘Dada’, hope he can watch her first steps - hope to one day teach Winnie to teach Mellie to curse, to teach his girls to drive, to watch as they go off to university. He watched Winnie’s life fly by, and he wanted to enjoy this one, stay in this home and watch her grow.

And he thought, Good night, little love.

“I love you, Mellie.”

———

Copyright © 2022 lethalchiralium. All rights reserved.

[mavrintarou]

Lord Ushijima Wakatoshi [2 - end]

Thank you for all your patience with me. I hope you all are having a great start to the year, cheers to many more smut lol I have like two stories I didn't finish for the Daddies in December trope that I might still post them - I think there's still Itachi & Shisui (together) and Shikamaru.

Warning: angst, violence, fluff, smut, this is long because I didn't want to write a 3rd part

.

Y/n’s fingers tighten around the teacup as she brings it to her lips. Her favorite blend of tea she normally loved to drink on a rainy night tasted bitter yet bland to her tongue.

As she expected, there was nothing to sharpen on an already sharp sword. She set it along with the other swords for Maru’s father to deliver to the owner.

The rain poured heavily with thunder and lightning, the sky darker than usual.

Y/n’s intuition told her it was a sign.

She knew Captain, after serving several years beside him, she knew how he operated, how he hunted.

Dropping off his most prized possession, the sword, clearly indicated that he had tracked her down.

Why though?

Was he there to recruit her back into the Corps?

. .

The sword was sitting on the stand when she entered her sanctuary the following morning.

“Oh, you arrived early today,” Maru’s father greeted, “I forgot to tell you that the sword's owner requested you to deliver it to him. I hope you won’t be too busy this morning to do so.”

Y/n shook her head, “I can do that.” She approached the sword and reached for it, turning her heels to head towards the address scribbled on the note.

.

Y/n stared at the closed gates of the compound that had no listed clan name outside the wall.

She wonders if Wakatoshi is temporarily staying in this compound. It was much too large for one person.

Her knuckles come into contact with the gates, knocking softly.

“Coming,” a female voice calls from the other side.

The wooden door cracks open and an elderly woman smiles, “you must be Y/n-san?”

Y/n bowed, holding Wakatoshi’s sword outward, “I’ve come to return Lord Ushijima’s sword.”

“Oh, please come in, he is waiting for you.”

Y/n’s breath hitched, she knew she wouldn’t get away with just dropping his sword off without facing him. She followed quietly into the compound.

Her eyes bulge at the sight of the neat courtyard. The path they were walking on led them straight to the main house where she slid open a door, “my Lord will be with you shortly.” The door was slid closed after her.

In the middle of the room was a table with two cushions on each side. On the table were two tea cups and a tea kettle with freshly brewed tea.

Y/n took a seat on one side, setting the sword beside her, and waited patiently.

She zoned out before she heard a soft knock and the door slid open. She turned her head and her eyes widened as they connected with his.

Wakatoshi looked completely different. It was less than five times that she’d seen him wear something aside from his Corp uniform. In front of her stood a figure draped in a black kimono, with his bangs almost covering his eyes.

“Y/n,” he called softly. He entered the room and closed the door behind him, she watched as he took the spot across from her. His eyes never left hers.

Her heartbeat skipped but she kept her composure. “Captain.”

Wakatoshi shook his head, “I am no longer Captain.”

He explained everything that had happened after she left abruptly.

Y/n exhaled softly. She never thought he would ever resign, let alone leave the life he had known.

“What will you be doing now?” She asked, hand tightening on the sword in her hand. Her eyes widen, remembering it. Quickly, she lifts his sword to him, “here is your sword.”

He gently accepted it from her, setting it on the floor behind him. A soft smile graced his lips, “I have come a long way to find you..” He reached across the table, his thicker and longer fingers touching hers. “You left me without a word.”

Her fingers gently graze against his. Y/n remembers threading her fingers with his during their most intimate moments. She quickly withdrew her hand into her lap. “I don’t… I don’t understand why you would come this far to find me?”

Wakatoshi stared at her longingly before sighing, “I am here to take responsibility.” He raised his eyes to hers again, “I have wronged you and I want to make things right. All a person like me can offer you is owning up and taking responsibility for my actions.”

“Your actions?”

Wakatoshi frowned, not sure he understood the iciness in her tone. “Yes, my actions. I need to take responsibility for you, your body, and your dignity. Does that not please you?”

Y/n finally replied quietly after looking at a distance. “No, that does not please me. You owe me nothing, you do not need to take any responsibility. Please return.” She stood up and exited the room.

. .

Lord Ushijima did not return.

Y/n glared at him as he smiled politely as Maru’s father gave him a tour of the shop. “This is Y/n, you may have already met her as she is our sword sharpener. And over here is where you’ll be,” he continued to lead Wakatoshi down the corridors.

She would collaborate with Wakatoshi, who is tasked with crafting swords – a laborious and physically demanding responsibility.

Turning her heels, she shut the door to her sanctuary and began her day.

The shop closes for one hour at noon for lunch. Maru’s mother is in charge of making every day’s meal and everyone was to report to the dining room promptly.

Y/n glared with narrowed eyes as Wakatoshi occupied the seat to her right, a spot typically reserved for Maru. Maru, entering last, was surprised to find his usual seat taken. Nevertheless, he swiftly smiled and settled down on her left side.  

“Itadakimasu.” They all said in unison.

Y/n and Wakatoshi both reached for their chopsticks simultaneously, their elbows inadvertently colliding due to his left-handedness and her right-handedness.

“Oh!” Maru’s mother giggles, “Wakatoshi, why don’t you and Maru switch spots since you are a lefty?”

Maru was about to reach for his bowl and get up when Wakatoshi politely declined, “it is okay, I will eat with my right hand.”

They all watched him switch hands and began eating.

Y/n looked away, fixating on her bowl of rice, her thoughts drifting. Her mind remained preoccupied with the fact that Wakatoshi, her Captain, was in the same village and seated beside her.

She frowned when a piece of grilled salmon was placed on her rice, prompting her to turn and glance at the person to her right. Wakatoshi, however, continued eating as if it were not a significant matter.

.

Four weeks later, Wakatoshi proved to be an expert welder and demonstrated his mastery as a skilled welder. With his strength and knowledge, he has shaped a new distinctive style of swords that has attracted swordsmen from both nearby and distant villages, eager to explore and acquire blades crafted by Lord Ushijima, the famous Shiratorizawa Captain.  

It was more in demand that these blades were further perfected by the renowned artisan Y/n, known for her exceptional sharpening and refining skills.

One last one, she told herself, for the nth time. Each time, she would grab another sword without realizing it. She took pride in her work and products, and once she initiated the process, she was determined to persist, recognizing that halting would disrupt the momentum of sharpening a sword.  

It was one late evening when the shop had already closed down for the day, leaving her as the sole occupant. Typically, Maru would linger around to provide company, but after four failed attempts, he realized it was futile; as she was too engrossed in her work to engage in even a brief conversation with him.

Her hands came to a stop as her instincts were triggered, swiftly detecting the unfamiliar presence. The footsteps of at least six were too quiet and skilled.

Reaching underneath her table, she slowly pulled out the small knives she had hidden. As soon as she saw the shadow of one, with a flick of her wrists, aiming at the intruder.

In the blink of an eye, Y/n had another small katana at the throat of the intruder. “Move and I will slice your throat.” Pulling off the head covering, Y/n didn’t recognize the face. “Who are you and what business do you have breaking in?”

The man showed no fear except pain in his thigh which she had targeted.

She pressed the katana to his throat, breaking the skin. “Speak.” She looked at the others, there were six of them with covered faces. They all drew their swords, ready to attack.

Digging the knife in his thigh deeper, he cried out in anguish. She pushed the man forward, forcing the other men to retreat but kept their defense up.

They reached outside to the front of the shop where Y/n calculated how she would take them all down. “Are you their leader?” There was no response, and Y/n chuckled, “I’ll take your silence as a wish for your death.” She ripped the small knife out from his thigh, growling, “and guarantee that you shall never raise a sword again!” With swift and precise motion, the knife severed crucial ligaments.  

The five men charged at her as she kicked the man in her hold down but before she could draw the sword she had strapped behind her back she was surprised with the sudden appearance of seven other men she was familiar with.

Her old team.

With each of the five intruders apprehended by Reon, Satori, Eita, Tsutomu, and Yu. Kenjiro and Wakatoshi stepped out from the shadows.

The stern, icy expression on his face was the same one she remembered.

.

The intense silent gaze from Y/n unsettled all the men present, except for Wakatoshi, who remained completely unperturbed by her piercing stare.

They all sat before her in her small home after they apprehended the men who broke into the shop. Wakatoshi handed them off to the authorities who had been searching for these highly skilled bandits.

Maru and his family came on-site, devastated at the news their shop had been broken into. Thankfully it was minor interior damage and was something they could fix up easily within a few days.

“What are you all doing here?” Y/n finally asked.

Every face in the room turned to look at Wakatoshi, waiting for him to answer.

“They have also relocated as well.”

Y/n inhaled deeply, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I’m sure you guys are not stationed here?” They had no business in this town.

“We’ve all resigned as well,” Reon answered, “and followed Captain here to find you.” He smiles softly at her, “we missed you Y/n.”

Any frustration within her bones faded, Y/n couldn’t stay mad even if she pretended to. “I missed you all too.” She stepped forward and gave each of them a hug.

After all, this was her team for many years.

.

Everyone but Wakatoshi left, he remained, leaning against the wall.

Y/n glanced at him and then at the gates to her compound, she raised a brow at him. “It is late…”

It was past midnight, she had too much catching up with her teammate, losing track of time in the process.

“Can I have a word with you?” Wakatoshi approached her and stopped until he stood in front of her. He was always aware of their height difference, but he never realized how much smaller she was to him.

His breath hitched as his lower region tightened and memories reminded him how she felt when she came around his thick cock.

“Are you… okay?” She reached up to cup his suddenly flushed cheeks.

In an instant, she recognized her actions and pulled back her hand, but Wakatoshi was quicker. He caught her and held her hand, pressing her small palm against his cheek, feeling the stubble on his unshaven chin and cheeks from the past day.

He leaned into her touch and closed his eyes, a soft sigh escaped his lip as he felt recharged instantly.

“Y/n,” Wakatoshi groan in half pain and half frustration, “I’m – I’m no good at this…” He opened his eyes, they burned with dark desire, gazing deeply into hers. “I’m learning and I’m good with anything I put my heart and mind into but this, I’m no good with love. I’ve never loved before so I don’t know how to, or what to do. I don’t know – I don’t know how to make you love me like how I love you.”

“What?” it barely came out as a whisper.

“All my life, I had no trouble accomplishing anything I put my heart and mind to but showing you how I feel about you has been the one damn hardest thing I am struggling with.” He closed the remaining distance between them. He reached to cup her face with his large palm, “I don’t know how to express my love to you with words, I’ve never been good with words.” Wakatoshi’s eyes darkened, “I didn’t realize how pathetic I have been showing you with my body… with our bodies.” He looked away, embarrassed.

It did not dawn on him until he sought guidance from Reon and Satori. They scold him for his lack of knowledge with a woman.

“Do you think taking her to your chambers almost every time is going to show her that you care for her?” Satori gasped after hearing his Captain’s explain their history. “She probably thinks you were just using her for her body for your pleasure.”

Wakatoshi gasped lightly, the thought never crossed his mind. That was never his intention. He began seeing his actions from a different perspective and groaned painfully as he felt like a complete thoughtless being. Now he understood her reactions and words.

He kept digging himself into a deeper hole each time.

“Apologize to her, clarify to her what you truly meant because I’m pretty sure, she is thinking that you were only using her body all this time.” Satori had more experience with women than the others on the team. “She probably thinks you didn’t care about the baby either.”

“That’s not true!” Wakatoshi roared, “I may not have known but it didn’t mean I wasn’t devastated… when I wrapped my head around it… it was already too late.” His shoulders dropped, “Y/n lost our baby and I was losing her…” he paused, “and at this point, I lost her.”

“It took me losing you to recognize my feelings for you,” he swallows, “I have loved you for a long time, just never realized it. You had always been by my side for many years but when that changed, I am nothing without you when you are not beside me.” Wakatoshi pressed his lips to the crown of her head before gazing down at her with soft eyes once again, “please forgive me for my lack of knowledge and past actions. I want to do better, I want to be better for you.”

Y/n’s eyes filled with tears before she surprised him, throwing her arms around him and burying her face against his broad chest.

All the tension he felt expelled out of his body the moment her arms wrapped around his waist. He let out a soft sigh and wrapped his arms around her.

Y/n pulled away to look up at him, “I have been in love with you for many years too but I was too afraid of my feelings because I never felt them before and I didn’t want to risk ruining our friendship we had…” A tear slips from the corner of her eye, “I too want to do better, be better for you too.”

.

Y/n blinks away sleep, her eyes adjusting to the scene in front of her. A frown appears on her face before the memories resurface – a few hours ago, she reunited with Wakatoshi. She can’t recall the details of how they ended up in her chamber, but after a long and eventful day, they drifted off to sleep, embracing each other.

His facial features were relaxed and soft making him look younger.

While awake, Wakatoshi consistently wore a single expression. Only a select few, those close to him, had witnessed him smile or laugh. However, Y/n was the sole person who had glimpsed everything he had concealed within.

Y/n, typically unselfish, couldn’t suppress a sense of greed and delight at being the only one who had seen the handful of expressions displayed by Wakatoshi.

A lewd memory of Wakatoshi’s grimace expression came to mind when he came inside her. His mouth hung open, eyes tightly closed, and breath coming in pants.

As if he sensed her impure thoughts about him, Wakatoshi’s eyes opened, staring right into hers.

Y/n quickly turned her head, cheeks flushing in embarrassment.

His strong arms tightened around her, bringing her even closer to him. His nose pressed into her neck as he pressed a kiss against the skin. “Why are you shy now?”

Y/n squirms in his arms, turning her back towards him. “N – nothing…”

A low hum vibrates from his throat before he rolls above her, careful of his weight on her. He reached and gripped her chin gently, forcing her to look at him. With a better view of her face, he smiles warmly. “Morning, my love.” It was all still new to him, but expressing his love for her was all coming naturally to him. “I hope you slept as well as I did.” He leans down and presses his lips against hers in a gentle kiss.

She couldn’t recall the last time she experienced such blissful sleep, enveloped and protected by the embrace of the one she loved.

Y/n’s hands that were trapped between their bodies wiggled their way to cup his face, bringing him in for a deeper and more passionate kiss.

Y/n knew she was in love with him after their first night. She was in love with him prior but always kept her feelings at bay, thinking they were comrades and love would only ruin the bond they shared.

Now that she could kiss him with her whole heart…

“Y/n!”

Their kiss broke abruptly as they both stared at the closed chamber door.

“Y/n! Are you home?”

.

“Thank you,” Y/n smiles, closing the gate. She let out a sigh of relief, it was her neighbor coming to check on her after the incident.

“Are you hurt at all?” The elderly lady asked with worry.

Y/n confirmed she was fine, assuring her kind and sweet neighbor she was free of harm.

Y/n quickly hurried inside her home where she found Wakatoshi waiting, leaning against the door frame.

His yukata bunched at his waist leaving his upper body bare.

Y/n’s eyes followed southwards… to the tent at his crotch.

A few minutes ago she had quickly tried to shove him off but the attempt was futile as Wakatoshi refused to budge.

“It’s fine, she’ll get the idea you might not be home if you don’t respond,” he leaned down to kiss her again but she dodged it, his lips pressing against her jaw.

Y/n almost giggled at this new side of him.

Whoever was at her gates was persistent, shouting her name.

Y/n continue to squirm, now smacking his shoulder to get off of her. “It is my neighbor, she’s probably worried!”

Groaning, Wakatoshi rolled off and watched in annoyance as Y/n hurried off to greet the unwelcome guest.

She left him in a state of discomfort.

“Come here,” he ordered softly.

Y/n fought the urge to smile, staying in her current position with hands clasped over her stomach. She shook her head, biting down on her lower lip.

Wakatoshi’s lips curved into a smile as he launched for her.

But Y/n was faster, running in the opposite direction.

“Y/n!”

After five minutes of cat and mouse chasing, Wakatoshi wrapped his long arms around her, enveloping her in a tight bear hug.

“Got you,” he murmured lowly, inhaling her addicting scent. “No more,” he whispers, “no more running from me, please.”

Turning around in his arms, Y/n snaked her hand to the back of his head, bringing it close to hers. “No more, I won’t run from you anymore.”

The contrast of their height and physique was remarkable, yet Wakatoshi didn’t mind it one bit.

She is lifted off the wooden floors, her legs wrapping around his waist, ankles locking.

“Good,” he carries her to her chamber. His eyes remained connected to hers, “you’re the most beautiful woman in my world.”

Y/n tightens her legs around his waist pressing herself against his cock.

He winced, eyes shutting and inhaling sharply. “You…” he opens his eyes, his pupils dilated. “I don’t want to hurt you…”

Her lips near his as she whispers, “you won’t, I know you won’t hurt me.”

He adjusts her weight in his arms, shifting her higher so he can look up to her. “Kiss me.”

Smiling broadly, she leaned down and pressed her lips softly against his.

Wakatoshi maneuvered her in his arms and laid her gently on the futon. His mouth continued to move hungrily over hers. His fingers found the knot that held her yukata together and pulled it loose. His palms slipped inside, pushing away the materials that covered her beautiful body.

“Ahh,” Y/n moaned when his palm groped her bosom. Her nipples immediately harden, perfect for his fingers to tweak. She watched as he took a nipple into his hot mouth. Her fingers threaded through his dark thick hair as she moaned his name.

He glanced up, releasing her nipple.

Y/n softly strokes his face, “Wakatoshi, make love to me.”

His lips formed a gentle smile, turning to kiss her palm. “As you wish, my love.”

Wakatoshi straightens and pushes off the only remaining piece of clothing on him. His cock sprang against his abdomen, long and thick. He reaches for Y/n’s hands and pulls her up against him before wrapping his arm around her back.

He kept his hot gaze on her while pushing her yukata off, discarding it aside. He adjusts her, having her kneel over his lap. His fingers seek in between her thighs, grazing her moistened lips before dipping a finger past her folds.

Wakatoshi presses his lips against her clavicle and nips the skin, “you’re so wet.”

Y/n hums, unknowingly rocking against his finger. She gasped when he added not one, but two fingers inside her drenched pussy.

“Are you ready?”

“Yes,” she breathed, “I’m always ready for you.”

Wakatoshi chuckled, heart fluttering around her words. His fingers are quickly replaced with this cock as he brings her hips slowly down onto his cock.

Y/n wraps her arms around his neck, hugging him close. Her breath shook as she feels her body split trying to accommodate his cock. “You’re – you’re so big…”

He rubs her lower back, cooing soothing words. “Relax, my love, you just forgot but you’ve taken me before… many times before… remember?”

Her hips bounced lightly and little by little, she was able to take more of him until he was fully embedded inside her. Looking between their bodies, she gasped lightly as her belly bulged slightly.

Wakatoshi kissed her cheek, whispering, “I’ll make sure you won’t ever forget…” His hands slipped beneath her bottom and began bouncing her on his cock.

Slapping skin on skin echoed throughout the room with her moans and his grunts.

Wakatoshi groaned against her neck before he pushed her down on her back and shifted above her to continue pounding deeply. His massive sacks thump repeatedly against her bottom, sparking her near orgasm.

“Toshi…” Y/n moaned, tenderly staring into his eyes, “cum inside me… cum inside me, my love…”

Lost with words, Wakatoshi fasten his hips, hammering his thick cock until he was quivering in a release as he stuffed her pussy full of his cum.

“My love…” he whispered repeatedly. He towers over Y/n and presses his lips to her forehead, nose, and lips. “I love you… you are my world.” The heavenly smile she gave him was all he needed for the rest of his life.

“I love you too.”

He swallowed the lump in his throat, “I put my seed inside you…”

Y/n giggles, “I know…”

The corner of his lips itch to smile, “will you have my child again?” He sees the pain in her eyes and he chews on his lower lip before speaking again, “we will always remember the child we lost. This time, I will be there for you, every step of the way.”

.

Their shop resumed four days later. Wakatoshi and Y/n appeared at the shop hand in hand.

“Oh my,” Maru’s mother whispered, hands pressed together. Her shocked look immediately softened as she smiled, “we will still be a family, right?”

“If it will be all right with you all,” Y/n answers softly, looking at Maru’s mother and father and then lastly at Maru. His eyes were still staring at Y/n and Wakatoshi’s tightly intertwined fingers.

Maru sighed softly before smiling, yet his eyes revealed a sense of disappointment. “I knew you had someone else in your heart.” He looks up at Wakatoshi and with a firm tone, “promise me you will take good care of her.”

“I promise,” Wakatoshi replied, casting a warm look at Y/n.

. .

[Six months later]

Y/n wipes the sweat and dirt off her husband’s forehead as he finishes polishing the last sword of the day.

With the guidance and teaching of Y/n, he has learned the art and skill of sword sharpening. He has taken over her role for the time being.

After discovering she was with child, Y/n could not win against Wakatoshi, and Chigaya family members. She was forbidden to even sharpen a sword, let alone lift one.

“Well done,” Y/n murmurs sweetly, handing him the casing.

She was proud of her husband, who quickly became renowned as a sword sharpener.

With his focus off of work for the day, he turned his attention to his wife, pulling her into the space between his legs. He presses a kiss to her pregnant belly, “did you take your afternoon nap yet?”

“Yes, we did. I feel refreshed now.”

“My baby isn’t giving you a hard time, are they?” Wakatoshi has been nervous about this pregnancy, taking extra precautions. He even had Kenjiro moved next door for the time being to be closer in case of emergency.

Maru’s mother had reassured Wakatoshi that the minor issues Y/n was facing during pregnancy were entirely normal. However, when she mentioned that Y/n appeared quite significant, Wakatoshi couldn’t help but feel uneasy.

“It’s likely because you, my Lord, are substantial,” she reassured, with a laugh, “I believe your baby is inheriting their size from their father.”

That didn’t ease Wakatoshi’s concerns. He worried that if his wife was indeed carrying a large baby, it might pose challenges during childbirth, considering her petite stature.

“It is alright, my love,” Y/n consoles, “my body will adapt, and everything will be fine.”

Wakatoshi exhaled softly, “I love you too much, I don’t want you hurting.”

“It is worth it,” she smiles, rubbing her belly.

. . .

E/n: You all know... it's our baby boy Suna's bday coming up... stay tuned lol

>>> @queenelleee @mfreedomstuff @erintaro @callmeraider @chaotic-fangirl-blog @wolffmaiden @cloud-lyy @chrisrue15

[0blobthefish0]

Maria Hill with a fem! Reader where they're dating and when they're at work in front of people Maria has to stop everything in her from turning into a puddle.

Don't look at me like that (not here anyway)

maria hill masterlist | main masterlist

Maria Hill x Reader 1106 words

a/n - i should really start planning my stories 😔 thanks for the gorg request anon!

“Commander Hill,” Director Fury announced with a lifted arm in her general direction, “will give you more information” He gave a short nod before stepping off of the podium and Maria Hill soon took his place. 

You watched as she placed down her papers, flicked to the right page, and set her eyes onto the crowd. “This will be a two week long, data collection mission for those of you who are level six. It will be dangerous, so we are letting you volunteer. Five of you will be needed, three out on the field, two for backup. If there is a failure-” suddenly her blue eyes flick to yours and you find yourself letting out a small gasp. Maria quickly tears her gaze away from yours and clears her throat,”-regarding the number of volunteers, I will be forced to choose. Any questions, please find me in my office.”

As Maria steps off the podium she finds herself ever so slightly less stable in her heels and the image of your face burned into the back of her brain. Her heart beats faster in her chest and she finds her bottom lip between her teeth as she takes a deep breath. 

You, on the other hand, are very conscious of the not so discreet looks that are being sent your way after Commander Hill had cut her speech short. Your relationship with Maria Hill wasn’t necessarily a secret one, but a quiet one, the two of you knew what you were getting into and you both knew that you had to be smart about it. It wasn’t as if you were in a relationship with any other agent, you were in a relationship with the deputy director of the very organisation you worked for.

The beginning of your relationship was rocky, Maria took her position very seriously and after the first month the two of you had taken a break. It was only after Fury had taken Maria aside and spoken to her in riddles, that she found herself relaxing and reaching out for you once again.

A few hours later, you found yourself walking a familiar path toward her office, two hot cups in a holder in one hand and a brown paper lunch bag in the other. Having lunch together had become some kind of ritual between the two of you; especially after you had found out that Maria normally skipped lunch. Too wrapped up in her work to realise that her stomach was running low. You put the bag in the space between your arm and your body and gave a light knock on the door in front of you. 

“Come in,” you heard from behind the door in her Commander Hill voice and you pushed open the door. “Y/n,” Maria smiles, “is it lunch already?” She asks with a frown on her face as she peers through her glasses to read the time.

You hum in response as you set down the food and drinks, “They were serving your favourite today,” you announce handing her her cutlery. You watch as her eyes widen and a smile grow on her lips as she opens up the box.

“Thank god I have you, otherwise I would have missed this,” she grins.

“If you’d only look away from your work for a second, you would remember lunch,” you lightly reprimanded before taking a seat opposite her.

“How do you know I’m not doing it on purpose,” she countered, an eyebrow raised, “maybe I just want to see you.” You can’t help the heat that spreads to your face as you stare at her with a loving smile on your face.

“What’ve you been up to, something super secret?” You ask her and take a sip of your drink, taking in the way that her glasses rest on her nose; you’ve never told her how much you really, really like them.

Maria glances at her computer screen before returning to look back at you, you’re looking at her the same as you were earlier, and she swallows sharply.

“You need to stop looking at me like that,” Maria warns lightly with a raised brow.

“Like what?” You lean back in your chair, feigning innocence.

“You know what,” she states, seeing right through your little act. “It’s very.. distracting,” she continued, recalling her shortened speech.

“I can’t help it, you’re just too pretty,” you pouted, Maria only shook her head.

“How’s the lab treating you?”

“It hasn’t been in my favour the past week,” you confessed and took a bite of food, “we haven’t been able to figure out what infected that agent, we’ve ruled out just about everything, they seem to be creating new chemical weapons and using your agents like guinea pigs,” you warn with a frown. “Thankfully, he hasn’t been getting worse, he just isn’t getting any better.”

“What did the raid on the Hydra lab tell you?” Maria questioned with knitted brows.

“They’ve been experimenting with um,” you avoid her eyes as you tell her, “aphrodisiacs.” 

“Aphrodisiacs?” Maria repeats, shock evident in her voice, and you nod your head.

“We’ve been working hard to find an antidote as they can be quite.. immobilising.” Just as you finish your sentence, you feel the vibrating of your watch and quickly stand up. “I need to get back to the lab,” you apologize with a sheepish smile and move to press a small kiss to Maria’s head.

“I’ll see you at home?” Maria asks hopefully, her blue eyes looking up at you, and your dull mood is instantly brightened, the two of you hadn’t shared a bed in quite some time, work causing you both to spend more hours in the office.

“I’ll see you at home,” you confirmed and left the way you came in.

By some miracle, Maria had made it home before you. The sight you walked into caused your heart to squeeze; your beloved girlfriend was curled in amongst the duvet, dark hair tied in a messy bun and face pressed into the unusually flat pillow. It wouldn’t last though. It was dangerous to feel safe, especially in her line of work.

After having a quick shower and brushing your teeth, you finally climbed onto your side of the bed, and an arm instantly found your waist to pull you closer.

You heard her hum against the shell of your ear and a relaxed smile found its way onto your lips, “I’ve missed you,” Maria muttered, her voice not yet awake.

“Missed you too,” you responded softly and entangled your fingers with hers before, finally, allowing your eyes to close.

[rqbossman]

Hello Mr Bossman! (and possibly anyone else who reads this)

Its an honour to be here, I have a few questions. First i appologise for the long paragraph, you may dismiss it for the questions at the bottom. For context, i am here after finishing TMA and being up to date with TMAP, i then went over and listened to RQG, and have just finished listening to Epilogue 3 and might i just say, good sir I am grateful for your podcasts. I am currently just a few months away from my final exams of High School, and as someone who even just 1 year ago was very lost, struggling with school and being just overwhelmed. TMA isnt exactly comforting, but the characters and plot managed to serve as a good form of escapism while sorting myself out. I found my self engaging more in creative things that i had originally put aside in favour of maths and science (which i hated but thought i needed to do). I started drawing again, even if just fanart. and i found things going well. By finding podcasts, story telling and these communities have helped me in my own understanding of what i want in life. I got an ADHD diagnosis earlier this year, and almost directly after started RQG and as my first hyperfixation (that i was aware of as an hyperfixation) gosh dang it hit hard. (in a good way). Ive been able to do so much more creative writing and drawings, and got re-involved with a small dnd group with some friends who i played one game with almost 4 years ago now. So overall, inspirational sounds cringe, but it was. Im doing my best with the upcoming exams, but trying to get in to Medicine is not my only prority, and the fact ive been re-introduced to my first love (Literature and story telling), im planning to go do an Arts degree and i know i wouldnt have been able to confidently make this decision, or even have survived this long in the school system without the work you and your coworkers do. Now the sap is out of the way, Question time! (if you could answer even just one of these questions it would be so cool)(they go in order of RQ relevant to random stuff)(dont feel pressured to answer all/any. i know i wrote alot): 1. what would you say is the best way to draft out a long-form story. (with "Erasing the Line" as an example) Did you start at the end, with the links to the overarching plot.

2. When working with the players (in a form of TTRPG), what did you do to make sure you didnt miss relevant timing of plot points/ avoid creating spoilers while still giving enough detail?

3. What are good places to start with making a job out of storytelling/voice acting/audio etc. In the case of RQ, how is this a job and where do i sign up please! /j (what i mean is, how is best way/how did you find all the people involved and was there a common path that you were all on before getting to where you are now?) 4. Do you have recommendations for Terry Pratchett Books, i may be an literary-leaning student, but it seems i have never actually properly read any of his books. so where is best place to start?/What did you read first?

5. Similar authors or similar inspirations? Did you have a favourite podcast you listen to in your free time that you havnt had a hand in producing/directing/working on. 6. Favourite song/album/artist. And more specifically, what you like listening to in background when doing either writing or (for ttrpg) character research/game planing. 7. Since the olympics are on at the moment, what has been your favourite sport to watch, if you have been watching at all. Thank you for your time :)

Thankyou for all the kind words. Knowing our work is helping people really keeps our engines fired up. Let's see if I can't answer your questions: 1. I "sandbox" which is where I just shove everything I can think of into an unorganised bullet point list. Characters, setting, plot, all of it in one big mess. Then I decide what type of story you want to tell, copy and paste to a new document and then start to organise the thoughts (with the sandbox on standby if new stuff comes in I don't know what to do with). I think of it like scultping, you cut away bits and reshape until something comes out the other end that is story shaped. Only then do I attempt to build the sandcastle and put something coherant together like a synopsis or scratch draft etc.

2. Very tricky. I did a complete review and update of all notes after each recording session and don't forget the audio eas edited. I made lots of gaffs that you never heard as audience.

3. I contacted anyone I could convince to take part and just proved I was serious by overworking. I don't reccomend that route. Unfortunately it really is "who" you know. That doesn't mean chase established professionals as much as it means you need to get out there and associate with other up-and-comers who match your vibe. For me the route was long and windy and not a particularly good example. 4. I normally recommend people do not read his books in publication order. Don't get me wrong, its wonderful watching his craft grow from one title to the next but I would recommend new readers tip their toe into his later works to see if they like where he ended up before committing the time. I often recommend 'Monstrous Regiment' as people's first one. My favourite though is 'Thief of Time.'

5. I don't get much time to listen to podcasts in the last couple of years. I used to listen to a lot of non fiction. 'Stuff you Should Know' and that ilk. I also read a fair amount of classic YA fiction to unwind (Windinsger trilogy, Bartimeous, stuff like that.) 6. Paul Simon's Graceland but when working I assemble a playlist for each seperate project that is tonally appropriate. If I really need to focus I listen to Classical Minimalism. Or the Old School Runescape soundtrack. I'm allowed to be ecclectic. 7. I am actually in an incredibly busy work crunch at the moment so haven't seen any of it!

[soloroomies]

You, Across The Street | (a Suna Rintarou fic)

・❥・Chapter four; Year Ten (A Lesson About Life)

synopsis: At the age of five, you met the neighbor boy who lived just across the street, Suna Rintarou. As the years unfold, this story will chronicle the evolution of your friendship, year by year. But as life moves on and paths diverge, will it blossom into something more? Or will it remain a cherished bond between two childhood friends? “The lines between friendship and love often blur when you’ve known someone your entire life."

word count. 2.3k cw. childhood friends au, slow burn, middle school era, angst a/n. finally, I have time to update the story! I also have some ideas for other fics😀 Since this one is a slow burn, I'm thinking of making them too :)). Let's just see how it goes!

Masterlist

The promise you both made, though born of a fleeting moment and perhaps foolish in its spontaneity, remained sincere and heartfelt. Yet, its reliability was as fragile as glass, precariously held together by the shifting sands of circumstance. As hearts are swayed by life’s changes, what once felt certain can easily fracture and slip away.

With so many uncertainties awaiting you in the future, this might just be the beginning of how your paths will diverge.

You snapped your head towards the voice that called your name. It was Rintarou.

"Yeah?" you asked, momentarily disoriented.

You glanced around, taking in the familiar sight of Rintarou’s room. Lately, you hadn’t been able to hang out with him much because of your busy schedules. But today, thankfully, you both finally managed to find some time to chill together.

He shook his head, his eyes looking at you warily. "I said, what do you think about it? Should I just ask her out?" He leaned back against the headboard of his bed, fiddling with his hands. He was uncharacteristically nervous.

You were now at the end of eighth grade. Time had flown by so quickly, and before you knew it, middle school would be over next year. So many things had changed, yet so many things had stayed the same. Yumi and Mari were still your classmates, which made you happy, and the three of you had grown even closer. You and Rintarou also still didn’t share the same class, a constant reminder of what hadn't changed.

Some things had changed, though; biology was quickly becoming your favorite subject, you had joined the science club and were completely into it, and you’d become obsessed with snapping pics on the phone you got for your birthday—thanks to Rintarou, who definitely fueled that obsession. 

Speaking of him, he’d changed too; his voice had taken on a deep, amusing tone, he kept growing taller, and his volleyball play was getting even more serious. And guess what? He’d even developed a new interest in a girl.

What did he say about having a girlfriend just two years ago?

The girl was Misaki, a fellow eighth-grader and a star player in the girls' volleyball club, which frequently interacted with the boys' team. That’s how she and Rintarou got to know each other. You’d noticed her a few times—tall, with an athletic build, and long, silky black hair that always seemed to move gracefully with her every motion, usually tied back in a practical ponytail. Her name was often on the boys’ lips, and it was no surprise. Misaki was quite the looker, combined with her warm smile and friendly demeanor that made her incredibly popular. Honestly, you had no reason to dislike her. Really. You had no reason.

You gulped and looked at him, feeling a knot tighten in your stomach. “Well, do you like her?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He crossed his arms and furrowed his brow, contemplating your question. 

“Well, if liking the way she serves the ball and spikes it, is included in ‘liking’ her, then, yes, I like her.”

You raised an eyebrow, tilting your head slightly. “But what about her? Do you like her as a person?”

“She’s nice, I guess,” he replied, scratching his head. “She gave me chocolates and offered advice about my blocking technique.”

He paused, then added with a shrug, “She also has nice hair.”

You nodded slowly, agreeing to him.

You tried to justify the uncomfortable feeling in your chest as envy because your friend was about to get a girlfriend while you hadn’t. But even that justification felt off. So, you pushed the feeling to the back of your mind. This kind of emotion was new to you, and you wanted to be as supportive as possible to your friend who had always been there for you.

Forcing a smile, you nudged him playfully. “Then, what are you waiting for?”

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Rintarou had asked Misaki out on the last day of school, just before spring break, and Misaki, unsurprisingly, had accepted him with a radiant smile. She confessed that she had always liked him since the first year of middle school (something you’d suspected ever since Rintarou first mentioned her). She was over the moon, thrilled that he felt the same way.

The days that followed were anything but pleasant for you. Despite it being spring break, you found yourself watching from your window as Rintarou and Misaki went out every day. Hand in hand, they strolled through the blooming cherry blossoms, their laughter heard from your house. Rintarou had excused himself beforehand, explaining that Misaki had meticulously planned their break, so he couldn’t spend much time with you. He mentioned they wanted to explore new places and learn to play volleyball together with a few clubs. They even planned an out-of-prefecture trip with Misaki’s parents (who were very supportive of their relationship) to visit a renowned volleyball club.

How nice. How perfectly fitting for the both of them. They’re a match made in heaven, really. Both of them love volleyball and were popular. You should be happy he didn’t end up with someone like Ara (no offense to her, though). Yet, you found yourself far from happy. Instead, you spent your days cramped up in your room, re-reading your manga and novels, barely seeing the sun or the cherry blossoms blooming outside.

Your mother definitely noticed your mopey behavior and had the answer too about why you were acting this way. She wanted to plan a family vacation, but your father’s work was piling up, and he couldn’t take time off. So, she planned a one-day outing with you and Hana to visit your aunt who owns a flower shop.

You were pretty reluctant at first when your mother asked you to go out one morning. You’d much rather stay holed up in your room. But when she mentioned you’d be visiting your cool Obachan, your favorite aunt, you got interested. Plus, she had this beautiful flower garden and always gave you seeds to plant in your own garden. When you were younger, you used to go there more often, but these days, you rarely went. You only saw her occasionally at your grandparents' house.

So, here you were, at your aunt’s house. Nestled in the serene countryside of the prefecture, her house was a perfect mix of traditional Japanese architecture and vibrant natural beauty. On one side of the house, your aunt had set up a charming flower shop. The shop was a riot of colors and scents, with flowers neatly arranged in rustic wooden crates and ceramic pots. Roses, lilies, daisies, and chrysanthemums bloomed in profusion, creating a tapestry of nature’s finest art. Even though she lived alone, her house didn’t feel lonely. It was warm, welcoming, and full of life.

When you arrived, your aunt greeted you with a warm hug and a radiant smile that instantly brought back memories of your younger days visiting her. Her smile was a lot like your mother’s, only with a few more smile lines, reminding you she was your mother’s big sister. She served a pot of freshly brewed green tea and a plate of homemade mochi on the low wooden table as you sat on the mats covering the floor. Soon, your aunt started sharing stories about her daily life, talking about the seasons and how each one brought a new wave of beauty and tranquility.

—-

Your aunt had a bunch of flower seedlings and bulbs all set for planting. You both got to work, digging small holes in the rich soil and gently placing the seedlings into the pot.

“You’re doing great!” your aunt said with a warm smile, wiping a bit of dirt from her forehead.

You laughed, a little bashful, and shrugged. “Thanks.”

“So, how’s life been treating you lately?” she asked, glancing over while carefully patting the soil around a seedling.

“It’s fine, I guess,” you replied, your mind drifting to the past week and Rintarou with his new girlfriend. You sighed softly, trying to focus on the planting.

Your aunt paused, looking at you closely as she brushed her hands off on her apron. “I haven’t seen you in a while! You look more mature now, ___.” She gave you an earnest smile.

You smiled back, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes, and you kept your gaze down on the plants.

Your aunt set her tools aside gently and turned to face you, her brow furrowing in concern. “And even though we haven’t met for a while, I can tell something’s up.”

Your eyes widened. Was your somber mood that obvious? You bit your lip and glanced away.

“Wanna talk about it? You don’t have to, but sometimes it helps to share what’s on your mind.” She reached out and touched your hand lightly.

You hesitated, then whispered, “You won’t tell Mama?” You peeked at your mother and Hana, who were busy arranging flower buckets at another table, unaware of your conversation.

Your aunt nodded, making a zipping gesture across her lips and miming tossing away the key. “Promise.”

“It’s just... There’s someone in my life who’s changed, and it’s making me sad,” you said softly, your voice trembling a bit. “We used to go everywhere together, but now we haven’t spent a single day together this break.”

Your aunt nodded understandingly, her eyes softening with empathy. “I get it. Sometimes, as people grow and their lives change, the way they fit into ours changes too. It’s a part of life.” She gave your hand a reassuring squeeze.

“But why does it have to be like that? Why can’t things just stay the same?” you asked, frustration cracking your voice as you patted down the soil.

Your aunt gave a gentle smile. “Life is full of changes, honey. People grow, and so do their circumstances.”

“Well,” your aunt continued, “one day, when you’re older, you might find yourself in a different place, with different people. You might have your own family and responsibilities.”

You zoned out for a moment, then turned to look at your aunt, taking in the garden and her cozy house. How she was now living away from your mother. They used to spend time together when they were kids, didn’t they?

“Like you and Mama?” you asked tentatively.

“Exactly,” your aunt agreed, her voice soothing. “It's a natural part of growing up. Relationships change, but that doesn’t mean they’re any less important. They’re just different. And that’s okay.”

“So, are you saying I should just accept that things will change?” you asked, trying to wrap your mind around it.

Your aunt nodded. “Embrace the change and cherish the moments you have now. It’s important to be grateful for the time you share with people and to be open to new experiences and relationships that come your way.”

You took a deep breath, absorbing your aunt’s words. “I guess that makes sense. I just need to get used to the idea.”

Your aunt squeezed your hand reassuringly. “It takes time, and that’s perfectly normal. Remember, though, even if things change, the love and memories you’ve built with people stay with you. Those memories will always be a part of who you are.”

You processed her word for a moment then offered a small, grateful smile. “Thanks, Obachan. I feel better now.”

Your aunt smiled back warmly. “Anytime, sweetie.”

You continued planting together until the sun set on the horizon, casting a warm glow over the garden. After dinner, you bid goodbye to your aunt, who gave you some flower seedlings. Hana also proudly carried the flower arrangement she’d made earlier.

You were glad you decided to come out of your room today.

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Today was the last day of spring break, and you felt pretty relaxed since you’d finished prepping all your stuff for school yesterday. Tomorrow was the first day of ninth grade. You sighed internally, knowing it would be way busier with all the high school entrance exam prep. You just hoped you’d get into the school you wanted.

Needing a bit of chill time, you decided to water the plants in your small front garden this morning. The seedlings from your aunt had been planted, and you were eager to check their progress every day. You grabbed the hose, turned the water on low, and started watering each plant.

As you were distracted with the watering, you suddenly noticed a pair of feet on the footpath in your garden. You looked up and saw Rintarou, smiling a little. It felt like you hadn’t seen him in forever, even though it had only been a few days. You’d see him, but not really hang out—just a wave from him as he rode his bike away or when Misaki came over to his house.

Honestly, you kind of expected you wouldn’t hang out at all this break. But here he was now.

“Hey,” he greeted you, looking a bit sheepish.

“Hey, Rin,” you replied, barely glancing at him as you continued watering your plants.

“Um…” He scratched the back of his head. “Wanna hang out?”

In the back of your mind, you really wanted to scream at him. Say something like, ‘Where’s that new cute girlfriend of yours?’ Maybe three years ago, you would have. But now, you decided against it. You didn’t want to be petty. Your aunt's words rang in your mind: embrace the change and cherish the moments you have now.

You took a good look at him—he seemed more fidgety than usual. It looked like he felt guilty? Was it because of not spending the break with you? You sighed. It wasn’t fair to make him choose between you and his new girlfriend. You’re sure if the situation were reversed, he’d be cool about it and understanding.

“Sure,” you finally said with a small smile. “Just let me finish this. I’ll ring your bell when I’m done.”

“Okay,” he answered, smiling.

“I’ll wait for you.” He stepped back and went to his house.

You didn’t know what the future held, but at least you wanted to enjoy the time you had with him now, before life took any more turns, before the inevitable changes swept you both in different directions. 

taglist: @wolffmaiden, @gojoscumslut, @boogiemansbitch, @yunskook

[alwaysonf1]

another hamilton?

Pairing: Charles LeClerc x Hamilton!OC

Genre: Slice of Life; Fluff

Word Count: 2.2k

Warning: Changes in the timeline for the sake of the story.

Rating: PG-13

Author's Note: N/A

The van rolls to a stop in a packed parking lot. And despite the buffer of the vehicle and the music playing inside of it, the noise from the stadium is loud and clear. 

“Are we late?” Alex asks.

Lewis smiles, shaking his head.

“No. We’re a little early actually.”

There are clearly more questions everyone wants to ask, but before anyone can voice them a producer opens one of the doors and beckons them out. All six of them pile out of the vehicle quickly. Despite Lewis confirming they have some time there’s still some uncertainty with how loud it is in there if the game hasn’t started yet.

At least they think it’s a game. Like the last four episodes filmed they were told where they'd be going and not who they were seeing and what the first sighting would be. Some of the guys only have one sibling or only one really comfortable with the limelight so it was easy to guess. But with Lewis all of this was beyond confusing.

The seven time champion didn’t usually involve himself in something of this level, so when he walked into the planning meeting for this thing it threw everyone off. Once they got past that the assumption was that it would be Nicolas. While the world knew of Lewis’ other siblings, they didn’t seem the type to agree to this.

Then they were given the destination of Baton Rouge, Louisiana.

Daniel asked a million and one questions after that reveal and no one who had the information would give it to him. The man’s charm didn’t beat out their willingness to keep it all a secret so everyone could maintain some level of surprise. As if they didn’t have enough.

Charles is so in his own head about what the hell they’re walking into, that it takes a moment - and the shouting of his name - to notice that everyone is already several feet ahead of him. He jogs up to catch them and keeps his focus on what’s happening in the moment, there’s no need for him to anticipate too much of what could be coming next. 

They walk through the parking lot for a while and then turn down a path that puts them at what looks like the back of the venue. The area gives the weird sketchy vibes that you get from being late night at a track, even with all the sound going on.

At a door stands a Black woman who Charles imagines he’d be into if older women were his thing. When she smiles, he’s debating making an exception. She has curly dark hair tinged with gray and her shirt says Human Jukebox, which only serves to further confuse Charles and Carlos, who’s eyes meet his.

“Hello,” the woman says, her voice cheerful.

“Hey, Sherri,” Lewis says.

They both move forward and embrace each other, when they pull away, she places a gentle kiss to his cheek.

“Where are my manners? Hello, young men. I’m Sherri Jones. It's nice to meet y’all.”

There is a chorus of greetings from everyone, and they each take a turn trying to shake Sherri’s hand, only to end up being pulled into a hug. When she gets to Charles he simply goes for the hug, and it draws a laugh from her.

“Well, I’m glad y’all could make it here. We have a little time before things get started, but we should…”

Silence falls and trumpets fill the air, then drums. A flurry of other instruments join the mix and they do so seamlessly. The song isn’t one Charles can pinpoint, but it sounds good.

Sherri winces. “It seems the Jukebox is starting up. We better get in there before we have to fight for a spot to watch them play.”

It’s a marching band. 

Though this is not at all something that he’s especially familiar with, Charles has seen the wonders that are marching bands in the US. After watching Beyonce’s Coachella set, he even went through a small phase where he wanted so many of his unreleased songs to feature a similar vibe from it. But there’s a reason it’s unreleased.

Everyone files through the door and after a few twists and turns they walk through a shaded tunnel. At the end there’s a field clear as day

On the back of the shirt Charles catches a glimpse of the words ‘Mom of a Doll.’ And though he now has the answer to what the front means, he’s even more interested in finding out what the back entails.

When they emerge, the lights are a bit blinding, but he adjusts quickly. The sounds they’ve heard since arrival, become much clearer. And the packed parking lot feels not so packed when he sees the stands filled to the brim with people. 

He notes that the crowd is predominantly Black, which leads to the quick guess that this is an HBCU. Another thing he knows of, but not much about. 

What he does know is that the energy in the place is infectious and he finds his body moving along with the band. Who stands in the stands not far from where they enter. 

As they approach the benches and lawn chairs right in front of the band - put not in the stands - they seamlessly switch to a song that feels deeply familiar, but he can’t quite name.

Though he probably can’t name it because the moment they get in front of the bench, which has a reserved marker on it for them, he notices women draped in capes walking with an elegance he can’t comprehend and so in sync that all he can think about is when he watches a race back and sees them warming tires during a formation lap.

The women fill out the four rows that are unoccupied in front of the band in a staggered formation. Only one sits in the very front row, and it piques his interest.

Charles leans toward whoever is on his left and whispers yells, “What is going on?” 

“I have no idea, but I’m into it,” Daniel says.

Out of the corner of his eye he can see the other drivers - minus Lewis - nodding in agreement. Lewis is actually standing a bit further up, with a wide smile, and staring intently. Charles steps forward to stand directly next to him and Sherri.

Excitement brews within him as he watches as each row shrug off the cape and take a seat in a domino effect. Their sparkly light blue outfits remind him of the leotards gymnasts wear and it’s a brow raising moment. He knows they aren’t going to do anything of that danger level in a location they’re in, but he can’t imagine what. Until his brain yet again goes back to Beychella.

Again, the band transitions to another song, also familiar to him, but all his brain power is on taking in what’s happening with Lewis. He’s not so sure he’s ever seen the man this happy or at least not in this way. Though he would be lying if he said he didn’t notice some of the same emotion in him now as when he’s congratulating Charles for being up on the podium.

That gets the brain turning as he remembers why they’re there in the first place, but out of the corner of his eye he sees movement in front of them.

Who he assumes is the leader slowly stands up and all eyes move to her, including his. Her brown skin is glowing, her long hair moves with her, and Charles can’t help but see how tall and long she looks, as well as the curves of her body. She’s beautiful and he can only see two thirds of her face because of the way an overhead light flashes in his.

The beat drops and she makes a sharp movement that sends her upper half down low at an angle and as she comes up her hands glide up her long leg. Each move after is just as sharp, but also fluid. She body rolls once, then again, before the next row joins. In unison they go through the routine and once the second time is done, she stops and takes a seat, kicking her leg high before crossing it over the other.

Again, like the domino effect the other rows go. Each performing twice before taking their seat the same way she did.

She doesn’t even look back to ensure that the last person is down before she rises again, arms floating into the air as she dances. She gives a spin, and her hips move in a way that makes it clear she’s at ease with what she’s doing. That it’s almost a second nature for her. 

Each movement is sensual, but in that way that entrances you, not makes you feel like a pervert for staring too hard. Though Charles does feel a little bit like one.

Just like before she takes a seat and as the last person takes her seat, her leg lifts a little more dramatically than the others, the music changes and so does the energy in the stadium. Yelling gets louder and Lewis is bouncing on his toes.

A more intense expression takes hold, and she starts the routine just as she had before, but when she comes up the sequence is different. It’s longer. And Charles feels himself take in the hype and looks to the others to see the same. Even Lance, who tends to be more reserved in public and on camera, like they are now.

The domino starts, but they all keep going until everyone has done it twice and then without missing a beat she switches to another routine. Though Charles is still unsure of what this is, he can tell that these aren’t connected in any way other than she’s made the choice to do it and the others are following her lead.

Each new one maintains its beauty, but something about it feels like a battle.

“Ooo, they’re going to throw the new one. I saw a little of them practicing it last week,” someone behind him says.

The leader turns her back to them, the band somehow gets louder, and then in the most intense of the routines yet she begins and this one is longer than the others. The moves aren’t complicated per se, but they're definitely the kind that you mess up just by lacking the musicality and the level of aggression that’s just right for it.

She does her run through, and all the girls join in. They all give it the same energy as she did, in fact Charles in awe of how they all ramp it up. It’s something he can’t imagine articulating. 

“You better!”

“Come on, Kayla.”

“Show them how it’s done, Dolls!”

“That’s my girl. Show out, Kierra!”

“That’s my baby!” Sherri says, drawing Charles attention.

Lewis cups his hands around his mouth. “Let’s go, Iman!”

Reality hits Charles, he once again remembers their purpose. Who they’re there to see. And while there is no indication from Sherri or Lewis who they’re screaming for, the smile that graces the one up front makes it clear. He stares at her in a way he didn’t before, and he sees the mix of Sherri and Lewis in her face. She’s her own person, but she definitely looks like both of them.

It’s the type of thing that makes someone feel like they could be knocked off their feet by it, even if it’s a little dramatic.

Lewis Hamilton has a college age little sister. One that radiates a similar energy and passion that her older brother brings to the track. One whose smile has Charles feeling some type of way, though he refuses to dwell on it.

Shock still gripping him he turns to look at the others and they’re equally gob smacked by it. And their camera man is getting every second of it. 

“He has another sister?” Carlos asks.

“That’s his sister?” From Lance.

“She’s so good. Like I don’t fully know what you’d call this, but it’s fucking good,” says Daniel.

Alex nods in agreement.

“Yes, it is,” Charles whispers.

When Charles turns his head back, he sees the cocky smirk on Lewis’ face and the pride is still their clear as day.

“Y’all haven’t seen anything yet,” he says.

There is no way to know what he means by that, partially because he turns his attention back to Iman where he yells more words of encouragement and because so does Charles. The girls wind down, and the domino is going in the opposite direction. It gets to Iman, and she throws in more body rolls then the routine calls for, earning more yelling, and then she sits, throwing her leg up, and then lowering it slowly.

Screams fill the stadium like never before and a smirk forms on her lips as she throws her hair over her shoulder. She smiles at her mother and brother, then she looks to the other drivers and winks.

It’s something they talk about during the game in a spur of the moment group chat Daniel makes that doesn’t include Lewis, for reasons that include fear of the man - despite nothing out of line being said. And a few of them gather in Charles’ hotel room with Arthur, and a couple other drivers, on Facetime to talk about it.

They’re enthralled and it’s a miracle nothing leaks.

And just like the information the drivers got, the title of the episode will be vague, but after they play the routine and the men’s reactions it says something like: Introducing Iman Hamilton. Secret Sibling and Captain of Southern University’s Dancing Dolls.

[literaila]

ten minute walk 

tasm!peter x reader 

summary: 

“i’m going to punch you in the spleen.” 

“you don’t even know where my spleen is.” 

“only one way to find out.” 

warnings: my dearest fluff 

a/n: i’ve just become aware of how much my characters argue. i’ve no excuse except for arguings fun. 

*

"it's okay, peter." you smile at him, feeling something inside your chest yearning to escape. "really." 

he raises a brow at you, questioning your sanity. "you think that's going to change my mind? 'it's okay?'" 

you frown. "i'll be fine." 

"well, i won't." 

and he grabs your hand--without asking because this is normal now--pulling you with him as he begins to walk. he could be leading you anywhere. taking you down any path--foreign and unknown and completely fine as long as you're with peter. 

as long as he takes you with him, you're willing to go. as long as he keeps holding your hand. 

and even though you already know, you don't ask anyway. it doesn't much matter. 

"it's a ten-minute walk." 

you scrap your feet against the pavement, effectively getting him to stop even though he pulls at your arm. 

there are remnants of pleading in his eyes; a yearning of your heart to just let him lead you along. 

but you refuse to listen to your inhibitions. 

"ten minutes for anything to happen." 

"nothing's going to happen," you give an inkling of a smile, hoping to persuade him. 

peter does the same because he's not stupid. "it's ten more minutes that i get to spend with you." 

you snatch your hand away from him as if burned by his sickly sweet tone. 

you snort. "you get to walk home alone." 

"i'm not gonna walk." 

"peter, i'm trying to get you to bed on time." 

"sweetheart, i'm trying not to go crazy worrying about you." 

you raise a brow. cross your arms, making sure that he can't reach. "this is purely self-serving," you complain. 

"yup." 

and if you were to look at him, really--which you're not because you refuse to lose this game again--you might see the unspoken words in his eyes. you might just catch the tenderness. 

the push and pull of his lips, the falling apart, and daring to breathe. 

you might just catch his smile. 

"c'mon," peter says, taking a step forward and leaning his head down towards you. "it's getting late." 

"it's going to be later if you walk me home." 

he wraps an arm around your shoulder, effectively spinning you around so that he can begin pulling you along. dragging you across the pavement like you're a child. 

which, in hindsight, isn't too far off. 

"peter," you whine. 

"the more you argue the later it's going to be," peter chides softly, right in your ear. 

because he knows how to break you down. 

he's done it enough times, convinced you to follow him blindly with only a couple of pleas, kissed your skin until sensibility was a meek thing--not as potent as the way peter whispers in your ear. 

you shiver, trying to shake him off. 

and you can feel his breath when he laughs. 

still, there are the smallest parts of you that need him to let you go. that need a moment to remember what it's like to be normal, and thoughtful. 

and not broken at the idea of holding his hand. 

"i'm going to hit you in the spleen." 

resorting to violence is the only option. 

peter laughs louder, voice echoing in the air. "you don't even know where my spleen is." 

"only one way to find out." 

so peter removes his arm from around you, hand reaching out to grab your face and pull you towards him. 

your feet seem to go without an ounce of restraint; your eyes don't, because you look at the ground, wondering about germs. 

about how close you have to be to someone to melt into them. 

"hey," he says, softly, smiling--you can hear it. "look at me." 

you do, but only because you want to see him. 

you want to see the honeysuckle, the tight little lines on his skin that tell you more than just one story. 

"just let me walk you home," peter whispers to you, fingertips brushing over your ears and down your neck. "it'll make me feel better." 

"i just don't get why i can't--" 

"do you know how many people i see each night, walking by themselves?" 

you swallow, eyes meeting eyes. skin far too close to yours. 

"it's not worth it, baby," he says, a quirk of his lip. "even though i know you just want to argue with me." 

your brows furrow. "i don't argue." 

"yeah," peter laughs. "you do." 

"only when you're being stupid." 

you can feel his breath against your skin. his hands haven't left, and his eyes are permanently stuck on you, apparently. 

"peter," you say when he doesn't. 

"it's only ten minutes," he says, as an argument to himself. "please?" 

and it might just be the way he's looking at you--magic in his eyes, lighting up your face far more than any streetlight could--soft and smooth and so lovely. 

it might be his pleading smile. it might be because he knows you so well, knows just where to push and pull you. 

but eventually, when staring at more than just his eyes, you nod. 

peter chuckles, against your face. "good." 

you frown. 

"if you'd said no i was gonna have to follow you home." 

"objection." 

peter still hasn't moved. 

you still refuse to breathe. 

still got that annoying pulling of your chest. the want to be alone just so you can exhale. 

but peter is there because you're not going to tell him to leave. because you don't think you can. 

you smile at him, finally. maybe it's because he's smiling back. 

"let's go," he whispers to you. "it's getting late." 

but not before he kisses you, soft and relentless. 

*

my masterlist here.

tags: @moonlarking-blog​​​ @v1ci0us​​​ @preciousbabypeter​​​ @alexxavicry​​​ @directioner5life​​​ @inthegetawaycarwithtaylah​​​ @localrockstargf​​​  

[onceuponapuffin]

Fanatic Intervention Part 4!!

Someone mentioned a play on Divine Intervention, and I thought that would make for a short, sweet, tag-able title. So here it is - Fanatic Intervention!

This poll came really close. Gosh. Please share this around. I want anyone who would like a chance to play to have the chance to play. This isn't about followers or activity, this is about letting people know they are welcome and invited :)

Beginning || Previous || Next

*****************

The Metatron walked calmly through the halls of Heaven. Anyone who didn’t know any better would use a word more like “stalked” or “stomped.” Of course, no one in Heaven would ever use these words to describe the Metatron, even if his eyes were angry and his feet fell firmer than usual. No, the Metatron was the Voice of God – he merely walked with purpose, grace even.

At the end of a corridor that did not exist, he approached a door that opened at his touch and his touch alone, into a room that took up no space. It is in here that he stopped, the door closing behind him as it was right to do, and brought his hands together in Prayer.

“I beseech you,” he began, “Mother and Father both of All Creation, Commander of mine tongue, and through whose Grace I carry out Thine Will.” He paused, unsure exactly how to proceed with asking if someone new was supposed to be there. “In my best efforts to bring about the long-foretold Second Coming, I have come upon some trouble. A human was dropped into the path of my efforts* and has suggested that they are here at Your Will. If this is so, please instruct me so that I may step aside or aid them as appropriate. I wish only to serve You, Your Will, and Your Designs.” With this, the Metatron paused and waited. He waited for what felt like eternity, even though he kew all too well it wasn't. He was met with nothing but silence. With a sigh, he spoke now to himself (and if anyone had been around to hear, they might have – mistakenly, mind you – inferred his tone to be sad).

“I suppose I should have expected nothing less.”

He straightened himself. Well, clearly The Almighty trusted him to sort this trouble out for himself. Oh, how he adored the trust and love the Almighty had for him. Alright, so, given that he was sort out this trouble himself, he deigned to use all the knowledge and intelligence that the Almighty had granted him. He had other resources that he could consult.

Exiting the room, he walked once more (with purpose and trust in God – not with pride), to the Room of Records which held The Book of Life. If anyone saw him, they said nothing and let him pass. If he saw anyone, he paid them no mind. The Metatron approached The Book.

The Book of Life holds all the world’s stories, whether they are true or not. Every. Single. One.

He turned the pages to the one where he had seen the passage regarding The Second Coming, and the events leading up to it. His eyes widened in surprise (he was far too important to gawk). The lines that had carefully discussed Aziraphale returning to Heaven, and the Second Coming of Jesus, had all been painted over with what appeared to be a thin white tape. And overtop of this tape, new words were appearing, detailing the arrival of the strange human and their interference. The Metatron glared (not snarled) at the way in which their interaction was being recorded. After a moment, he experimentally scratched at the tape. Much to his relief, the white tape gave way, revealing the original words still lay underneath. Well now, that was good news. The original plan, writing, story, was still there – hidden just beneath the surface. No doubt, if he took the human out of the equation, so to speak, the Plan would continue as is had been written so many thousands of years ago. He smiled, closing his eyes, and thanking God for this insight. Now, all he had to do was find a way to get rid of that human.

Suddenly, the lights in Heaven started flashing red, and a siren began blaring. The Metatron rolled his eyes. WHAT, exactly, had happened now? He went to the room that contained the large rotating figure of Earth, and noticed a large red plume of smoke trailing from it. While all of the lesser angels were fussing with it, Metatron stayed near the door that didn’t exist. He had no need to inspect it closer. He knew precisely what it was.

*(not that kind)

It didn’t take you long to tell them about the Second Coming, and convince Aziraphale and Crowley to ward the bookshop. Well, there was some slight resistance, but you pointed out that if they did a Big Joint Miracle On Purpose, then there wasn’t likely to be anything that anyone could do about it, even when they did notice. And thus, it had gone without a hitch.

Now, Aziraphale was collecting stacks of Bibles that he felt would be helpful for research, Muriel was taking notes, and Crowley had gone to get some wine (something about needing a drink to deal with all this). You look to your phone, pointedly ignore the Lives Counter, and start toward Google to help with research.

BUT

Does your Good Omens playlist still work? You can’t help but wonder, and your curiosity has you distracted and opening the app. Oh, well, there it is. Honestly it’s impressive. But then again, you suppose, Good Omens exists in this world, and the songs in your playlist exist here too, it’s just the show (specifically the Final Fifteen) that doesn’t exist here. Not anymore anyway. Any songs related to the show are gone, but otherwise your playlist is still very much intact. You smirk, crank the volume up on your phone, and start blasting Mother Mother’s Problems.

Now, dear Reader, I will take you aside to reassure you that Hozier is on the list of music they must and will hear. I have merely chosen this one because I don’t know your playlists, but I know mine, and this song fits the mood I expect you must be feeling. You are on the other side of panic, having explained everything, and secured the bookshop, you are now feeling the glee of being in Aziraphale’s bookshop with your favourite characters. You need something upbeat to dance to, wouldn’t you say? And Take Me To Church, being the most upbeat Hozier song that I know of, doesn’t quite cut it.

Crowley enters the room with a bottle of wine and two glasses (only two? How dare he. Doesn’t he know you’re...well...not going to deny a demon the temptation of a glass of red?). Aziraphale sighs the word “Bebop,” and you begin an elaborate sort of bouncing while singing the lyrics and pointing at them in turn.

“So,” Crowley says quietly to Aziraphale, “Any idea what’s actually happening here?”

You, dear Reader, are lost in your dancing. You are having the time of your life making up dance moves and trying to convince Muriel to at least bob in time with the music. You notice none of this.

Aziraphale sighs. “Honestly,” he replies to Crowley, “I can’t say I do. But given what we have to work with, I rather think that trusting them is our best option. Besides,” Aziraphale glances at you, then back to Crowley, “They don’t feel like the bad sort. I may not always be the best judge of character when it comes to angels, but I’m certain that this human is, well, rather the good sort.”

“Mm,” Crowley replies. He pauses, watching for a moment as you try to convince Muriel to stand and take your hands. “And, what about...you know, the thing that Nina and Maggie erm...talked to us about?” He notices Aziraphale’s cheeks turn pink.

“I think that we had best leave that for when the world is safe,” but the angel sounds resigned when he says it. Crowley suspects that “the world,” is actually meant to mean “we and the humans.” He doesn’t mention this, he only nods. The demon pauses.

“Wait a minute, wait, is this song about…”

You had finally convinced Muriel to walk in a twirl under your arm when Crowley finally notices that you had been trying to make it clear as bloody daylight that the song’s lyrics fit them to a T. Now that you have their attention, your smirk grows into a full mischievous smile.

“If you think this is impressive, just wait,” You say. And NOW you turn on Hozier.

❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ 🖤

Beginning || Previous || Next

[tinytinyblogs]

Can you write something about Yandere Bang Chan?

Home

Home is supposed to be a place where you feel safe, but not when he is there with you.

⚠Yandere theme⚠

Stray kids masterlist here

💌Hi, thank you for your request. I'm sorry it took a while for me to respond. My brain hasn't been working very well lately, so I hope this story is okay. If it's not, I apologize.

Tears silently stream down your cheeks, your red face flushed from trying so hard to hold back your sobs. The cold floor beneath you and the night breeze wafting in from the nearby window seep into your body, making you shiver. "Home?" His deep voice breaks the silence, his words sending a chill down your spine. The huge room where you and Chan are trapped feels like a suffocating prison, the air thick and heavy. It's hard to breathe and move, as if you're chained in place. The clock ticks loudly in the otherwise silent room, adding to the sense of chaos and unease. Your life is in turmoil, and you feel completely out of control.

He rules everything, especially your life, and you have no choice but to submit. You've told him you hate him, you want to go home, and you don't love him like he does, but those words only serve to anger him further. Your body is covered in wounds, and his face is twisted with anger. "Don't be stupid, Y/N," he says. Is this really love? He keeps bombarding you with the word love but his love tastes like poison. To Chan, you're just too stupid to understand. He's delusional, to the point of insanity. In his own little world, you're the main character, and he's dedicated his life to you.

He believes what he wants to believe, and he believes that you will love him as much as he loves you. He thinks you're just too shy to admit the truth. How dare you want to leave him? Don't you see how hard he works to be with you, to possess you? Don't you know how many people he's eliminated, how he watches your every move? And yet you still say you hate him? No one in the world could love you as much as he does. He places his hand on your chin and lifts your face to meet his eyes, ensuring that you have no choice but to look at him. "This is your home, Y/N," he says. "Our home. You don't need to go anywhere."

You thought you were living your best life, but in a blink of an eye, everything changed. Now, all you can see is him and his sinister smile, greeting you like you're the perfect couple, even though you don't really know him at all. You cannot describe the feeling of fear that coursed through your veins at his touch. The flower path he had given you felt like a prison, and you felt like you were walking on broken glass. You knew you shouldn't give in to him, you shouldn't listen to whatever he had to say, but you had no choice.

His power was too much for you to resist, and you were forced to remain silent and listen to his every word. Chan hates the idea of hurting you, because you are his precious diamond. But he believes you need to learn the truth. He needs to show you who you need the most in the world—only him, and no one else. "You will love me," he says. Call him crazy or insane if you want, but who do you think made him this way? It was you, from the moment he first saw you. His heart screamed that he needed to be with you, no matter what. From day one, you have been his, even though you have made it difficult for him by not letting anyone else get close to you. "No," he says.

"You should love me as much as I love you." Your mind is blank, your mouth is too heavy to speak, and you are too weak to move away from him. "No one could love me as much as I do, Y/N," he says. The thought of being trapped with him for the rest of your life makes you want to scream. What kind of monster is he, and why do you have to face him? Why you? Chan sees you as different. No one else in the world is as interesting to him as you are, and you have captured his attention. He believes that you owe him something for this. "No one." You could hear the rain falling outside, its sound filling your ears.

You kept your whole attention on Chan, just as he wanted. "You don't need anybody else," he said. But how could his voice still be so clear to you, even though he didn't raise it above the sound of the rain, which was getting heavier and heavier? "No, I'll never let anyone steal you from me." Chan feels like he's on top of the world with you by his side. This moment is one he'll cherish forever. He's won the game he created, and you're the loser. He has all the power and has destroyed the wall of freedom you once had. Nothing could be better than knowing he'll have you by his side forever, to spend his life with you doing all the things lovers do.

"You're mine," he says. "Remember that." His heart pounded so loudly in his chest that he wondered if you could hear it. Your own heart raced as well, but not because of happiness. You hated this moment, and you were terrified of the man in front of you. he doesn't care what you feel right now. He touches you, he kisses you, he hugs you, whispering words of love in your ear. He doesn't care if you believe him because happiness hitting him like a truck and he flying like there is no gravity. "Got it right?" He smiled his anger melted away, replaced by a goofy smile as he thought about you and your future together, the kind of smile that made people think he was kind-hearted, sweet, and angelic. But he wasn't.

He was far from it. The real Chan was a devil in angel's clothing. "Give me a word, Y/N." Closing your eyes, you nodded your head aggressively, surrendering all that you should have had in life to him. Chan glares at your wounds, believing that they are enough to make you submit to his will. He is convinced that you will fall for him, even though you have told him that you hate him. You are on the edge of a cliff, and Chan is poised to push you off into the abyss, into his perfect life. He is determined to have you, no matter what the cost. You crawled to him, just as he had instructed. The headache pounded in your temples, but you didn't speak a word. Your nod was enough for him. He understood perfectly and was beyond satisfied with your response.