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yandere-wishes · 17 days

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｡⸝❀Desert Rose ❀⸜｡

𐙚 Yandere! Paul Muad'Dib Atreides x Reader x Yandere! Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Plot: You miss the desert. Miss the sun and the sand and the place where they buried your heart. So you run and pray that they won't catch you.

⁀➷Warnings: Yandere behavior, obsessive tendencies blood and gore, bloodplay, knifeplay, injuries, Feyd being Feyd. Paul is high on spice for 60% of the story. Part two will be much more fluffy.

The thing they don't tell you about the desert is that it's alive. A breathing creature with feelings and a beating heart.~💜

There's blood on the Sietch floor, red and thick and sacrilegious.

You thought you had run far enough, fast enough. You thought you had escaped.

How terrifying it is to be betrayed by that which you love most. How terrifying it is when you've forgotten how to harmonize with that which love most.

That applies to the desert.

That applies to people too.

There's something about the sun that's never been more poetic. It's harsh in its lashes, a cruel master, reminding you of what you'd been born into. It beats down something terrible and you can't help but suppress the frantic giggle that escapes your dry lips."You're so mean" you mumble, the glimmers muddle your focus. You see silhouettes of blue-eyed warlords and tar-painted gladiators. Feel phantom kisses rummage across the hollow of your bones.

All of this is too familiar.

It makes you sick.

Back then your father had reveled in Muad'Dib's coming. Proud to meet a warrior such as he. He'd spent hours refining his war plans, polishing his battle tactics. It's always such a strange site to see excitement in such a strict man.

He introduced himself as destiny's child when he arrived. Dissolved and dehydrated with curls coated in sand. He was the desert's golden boy sent to fulfill every prophecy you'd ever been told.

And yet, to you, he'd simply looked like just another heartthrob.

Just another boy's name to whisper to your friends during blasphemous games under the starry night sky. He had been no different than any tribal leader or warrior's son. That was truly such a miraculous time, back when such an atrocious thing had been merely a girlhood toy.

Your father hadn't proposed marriage or alliances. That's not the Freman way, not during war. That doesn't stop the renegade gaze you've felt since he arrived. There's something stalking the desert, something too powerful to contain. You feel its chill, like the space between breaths before the breaching of the shai hulud.

"You can call me Paul..."

Lisan Al Gaib

The desert is a cacophony of dreams and nightmares. Deadly once the blood-deep navigation atrophies from constant complacency. You try to remember the prom of each foot. When to straighten, when to bend. Each step feels like treading through a mirage, murky and viscous. Too thick, too loose, you think you might sink. Fall through a false bottom into something great and endless.

There is no bottom, no end.

Only darkness, vast and perpetual.

You wonder if that's what it feels like to be swallowed by a sandworm. If there is security in its infinite stomach. If it's better than the Arrakeen Palace. Daunting, soulless structure, home to monsters and killers.

The sand grows thin.

It's always the thinnest nearest a Sietch.

You made it...

You wonder why it had all felt so gruesome, so unholy. Paul's cacoon of naivety was breached, its remnants nesting underneath his feet, their spines snapping with each ground-quaking step he took. Arrakis had given birth to something monstrous, something ravenous. Yet all you had seen was a youthful face that tells not of horrors or suffering. It only promises freedom.

Freedom was supposed to taste sweet, satisfying. The first sip from a childhood oasis. And you guess it had, for a little while. Before the realizations set in. Anyone who so openly grants freedom can take it away too.

Paul inhales the reverence of the crowd. Savors the saccharine taste of victory on his tongue, before he spits out the essence of his hatred. Watching the blood scorch away under the desert sun.

He swears he sees the sand dunes bow from the corner of his eye, they're towering magnificently bestowing something lethal onto him. Something they've yearned for, something fragile, something ancient. He deems it responsibility, duty, divinity and spins it into an enamelware crown.

Paul had become king. Not emperor, not sovereign, not overlord. Not yet at least. He's not the boy-prince from a distant planet anymore either. There no longer exists a boyhood carved of temperamental weathers and jagged salt-covered rocks. No more fairy tales of great dukes fighting bulls by the seaside and young princes running off on fighter jets to save mystical witches. There is only the sand and the giants underneath it, only a prophecy cracked whose ichor covers him in gold and stardust.

He is Muad'Dib, savoir of Dune.

Paul's eyes rummage through the crowd. Hungry, desperate

seeking out something, someone whose devotion does not show.

He memorizes the scowl on your face, the dip of your lips. How he longs to feel them under his thumb.

Duels concluded in death. When the ground has been fed its blood depts. When Jannah and Jahannam are granted another soul. That is when the victor arises. Duels end in death, in a chipped knife and a broken body on the floor.

This one did not...

The memory still haunts you.

Not in its breach of rite.

Nor its contradictions to morality.

But in what comes after.

The fear of the thing that was allowed to live...

Paul hadn't killed Feyd. Beaten, mauled, tamed. But not killed.

There is a rostrum made of sand and burnt bones. It was meant to serve as a victory throne, a symbol of a war and a revolt. You aren't so sure about that anymore. Not when it's being desecrated, by a survivor of the very thing it vowed to eradicate. Atop the dias, Paul stands, fingers swathed tightly around a pale, maimed wrist. The crowd stares, speechless as the prophetic son appoints a battered and bleeding Harkonnen Na-baron as his aid, his duke.

Feyd-Rautha is all jet blacks and blood reds. His eyes hold daggers, impaling anyone who dares to look into them. You can not fathom why Paul, the one who promised a paradise and an end to the Harkonnen oppression would do such a thing. You never thought him holy, you didn't consider him cruel either.

Paul hands over the spice trade to Feyd. He speaks of concentrated zones away from life. Somewhere deep and forgotten. He says "virtuous" as if it's a sermon only he can comprehend. "We need the funds, we need to rebuild, to fight. The spice is valuable and it will not hinder the awakening of Dune. My cousin will oversee its harvest and trade. The finances will be brought back to Arrakis, back to the Freman."

Maybe it's sorrow, a slithering nuance that won't leave. Maybe it's guilt twice folded and misplaced. Desperation for a kinsmanship

with a family, he had thought all lost. The way he looks at Feyd speaks of hope and trust and everything else a little boy feels when he's dragging his friend by the hand through a forest made of splendor and ideation. But Paul isn't a little boy anymore and Feyd has never been naught save a killer. And you, you can't help but notice how the Muad'dib begins to lose his golden hue.

The Sietch is cavernous, domed ceiling that expands into the rocks and sandy tiles that stretch as far as the eye can see. Unaltered spice particles dance in the gentle filtered rays of the sun. It feels like home. Like freedom and paradise and everything else those two men had stripped you of. Your body slumps by one of the etched walls. Awaiting your fellow Freman to find you.

There is a stiffness in the Freman, an elegance that must be mastered. You'd once thought it inherited, a mere bone structure passed on from mother to child. You're not so sure anymore. The stiffness reverberates off the Sietch walls, it's obvious now that it's never been about straight spines and high-held heads. It's the ideals, the loyalties that Fremen carve into their souls. Sooner or later someone will inform the king of where his darling hides.

All of Arrakis knows who you belong to.

One of the older women tunnels water down your throat, she cradles your head and shushes you when you try to speak. She spills advice, motherly advice, into your veins. Telling you of how blessed you are to be chosen by the Lisan Al Gaib and his blood. Her embrace is a vice, coddling suffocating and not at all unpleasant. There is a sleek comfort between the witherd silk of her chador. It heartens fatigue residing stubbornly between your bones. It causes your eyes to fade and your mind to race. You forgot the terrors that lay outside, the advancing menace carrying crystalknifes and a voice that shakes worlds. Darkness beckons, a welcomed change. For the first time in months, you feel safe...

You are still a Freman, born of sand and spice. There is a future somewhere with palm trees and rosa persica. You intend to find it, to hold it between your hands running tired fingers over soft cloud-light edges. Arrakis has stood for longer than most planets have existed. You refuse to abandon its fate to a spice addict and a manic.

It's obvious, isn't it?

Maybe it always was...

Arrakeen palace is shaped like a heart, something eternal ungraved. It was young when you first marched through its grand gates. It had felt no less threatening than the sandworms beneath your feet. The spice that flew through the halls was suffocating, a distant, permutated relative of the elixir that had raised you.

Paul's chancery is something empty, a cut out of Kaahgel masquerading as a citadel of dominance and perspicuity. It, much like the rest of the palace is novice and new. Paul sits in an awkwardly placed plush parlor chair, one retrieved from Caladan no doubt. He squirms in his seat as if his body has too many angles to fit properly in the rounded chair. He's far too accustomed to soft sands and jagged boulders. To sitting cross-legged on something loose and malleable. This luxury is unwelcomed, uncomfortable. You only notice Feyd when his demonic eyes suddenly land on you. He's languidly draped on the carpeted floor. His back half propped up by a quarter-painted wall. He's feeding slices of fruit into his mouth, savering the nick of the knife along his tongue.

They look so innocent. Sinless, carless little boys playing in a sanctuary fort. Hiding from life and its crushing expectations.

Paul follows his cousin's gaze, he's out of his seat and across the room before you have time to knock. You note the blackness under Paul's eyes, how the synthetic blue feels distant and sunken. Almost as if they're looking at you from meters inside a cave. He's wandering through the twilight of exhaustion. Paradying awakeness like a lost bat caught in the afternoon sun. He's only surviving on artificial energy from the spice he so readily consumes.

There is an exhilarating lilt in the timber of his voice. A galvanization in the way your name spills from between his lips. "What brings you here?" Paul's fingers dance across your shoulders, gripping them as one does their favorite toy. His eyes hold a fragile reverence, something unstable, denating with the slightest breath. "Lord Usul..." you begin, eyes bouncing between the sandy beiges of the walls. "You don't need to be so formal. Just say my name, like the first time we met." His nails start to dig into your arms, a jovian strength only a divine may possess. You don't remember leaving a deep impression.

"Paul, I-I need to talk to you about..." Your vision cuts to Feyd, a hidden flare penetrates his legs, you don't dare look the Harkonnen in the eyes. He's far too feral for such raw exhibitions of hate. Yet you want him to feel your abhorrence, your detest. Paul understands, he knows what you're going to say before you've even finished rehearsing in your head. "Feyd doesn't mind, you can talk freely in his presence, I promise you, he won't bite." You swallow the need to argue, to protest, he bites, he definitely bites, and lacerates and kills...

It's easy to fall between the crevices of his voice, to allow the gentle nudges to sway your decisions for you. You wonder if the words coming from your mouth are even truly your own. They had sounded so absolute in your head. So firm. Now they sound dented, feeble, like a child begging to remain awake. You tell the king of how you disapprove of the spice trade, that it should be ceased. Its termination can only benefit the war, hindering the galactical navigation of your enemies. Paul listens with a distracted sort of attendance. His eyes melt into you, tracing your features with a delicate precision. You feel like a map, laid bare, feeding him information. Information he ignores, opting to busy himself with tracing continents and oceans. "Paul please listen" you beg. "Please". You notice an ignited flicker in his eyes, snapping him out of his lucid trance. "You know, since you feel so strongly about...everything. Maybe, maybe you should stay here. With us. Be the queen or duchess or whatever. You can help us rebuild. You can-"

"What?" Your body jerks back, his fingers don't leave your forearms, pulling you back, closer. "Lord Usual...Paul...what are-" Something slithers between your bones, your skin, your muscles. Pushing past the cracks and sliding inside you. His mind grasps yours, echoing his desire, mapping out its constellation between your crux.

Paul feels in blues, blues that make up the nuance between worlds.

The ocean behind the largest dune

The lake beneath the greatest mountain.

The lamination of spice over one's eyes.

It somehow ends with you. Covered in a color that mimics ambitions and dreams and something practically attainable.

You feel him reach out, pushing you back into the physical world. Away from the luminous tints and flickering landscapes.

"I'm saying that everything I do reminds me of you. It's hard not to dedicate every single breath to your memory." Paul's eyes are blown wide, there's a lament carved into his voice. He's pleading, desperate, like trying to chisel rock with a pebble. You don't like where this is going, don't like the mania, the love that's painted so vividly on his face. Your stomach churns, false ecstasy pumping in agonizing doses. This is wrong, you shouldn't feel flattered, gleeful. This isn't a miracle or a blessing. It's a curse, you know this, you have to run to escape. But something in you freezes, a sickly silver of devotion, of habit, a tradition force-fed into your soul keeps your legs stiff and still.

Devotion is such a slippery thing. Always so close to suffocating. Sometimes all it's good for is a knife that kills. Just a grain of salt in a pulsing wound.

Your eyes flicker across the room, trying to look at something, anything but him, anything but the Muad'dib who could make you grovel at his feet like a doll without even opening his mouth. It's only in your frantic search for an affix point, that you notice the beast is missing. His dominion left empty. You feel a chill in the room. Something stalking closer, something lethal and rogue. You scream shriveling into Paul's arms as someone grips your waist from behind, encaging you. "You were right cousin, she's as beautiful as you described...and as brave." Your breath hitches, he's touching you. Your body twitches as a cold sweat breaks. "Paul" you plead looking up into his electric blue eyes. He only smiles, contorting his features into something they're not, something soft and arrogant. You see triumph shimmer through his mind. He's won a game you didn't know you were playing. Crowned victor by fate and circumstance and...

and prophecy.

Paul cradles your cheek in his hand, tilting your head up to look at you.

"The first time I set eyes upon you, I knew you were the girl in my dreams. The desert rose beckoning me to Arrakis, to Dune. Don't you see, we've been bound by fate?"

No.

Feyd slowly licks the shell of your ear, he hums in satisfaction, an action you didn't know could be laced with so much malice. He murmurs something into your jugular, something too violent to decode.

No.

Please no.

It's easier to love than to be loved.

There's a jolt that rings you awake, something violent crawling under your skin. You feel it before you witness it, witness the cold and loneliness not viable in the desert temples.

The halls scream in silence,

Hollow, employed out.

"Hello?" The eerie reverberation of your words leaves you shivering. Scraping along the walls, tumbling into doorless rooms trying to find someone, anyone. You can't remember the last time you'd been alone.

Utterly alone.

You didn't notice it at first. Didn't notice the unnatural stillness and the deafening silence. there is no life here, but it takes a practically mangled corpse for you to look down at the floor.

There's blood on the Sietch floor, red and thick and sacrilegious.

You thought you had run far enough, fast enough. You thought you had escaped. You turn and you run, back from that which you came, feet thundering across the sand-dusted floor. You don't know where you're going, why even run? Helplessness swells inside you, coiling in intricate knots. Only to snap violently when you cross the third threshold.

The corpses lie at his feet. your frenzied brain tries to count them, only going up to eight before it forgets what comes after. There is more, more bodies, more blood...more bones? But you can't focus on anything else except the glabrous man standing over them, knife pointed downwards, dripping into an endless sea of red.

Your father used to tell you tales of rivers made of blood. Of mad men claiming divine crusades as they fed bodies into the endless stream.

You never thought you'd witness it.

It shouldn't feel as conflicting as it does.

"Darling..." Feyd's voice is gravel on gravel. Rough and coursed. It grinds against your skin reawakening every half-healed scar.

"no, dear maker, please no" Feyd's gaze rakes over you, lingering on every detail. Toying and probing, much like a predator sizing up its frightened prey. "I missed you" his voice is purely threatening, mocking, he wants you back, needs you back. You can't be forgiven for this deliberate offense.

You try to bolt passed him, it's like a gallon of adrenaline has been shot straight into your chest. There's a scream in the air, you're not sure who it belongs to. you make it to the hallway leading to the contraction arena. Where the bearers of the water of life are nursed. You can see the stone-carved stairs and someone sitting there...

The ground slips beneath your feet, the red liquid having leaked under your soles. In the next breath, you're plunging into redness, shrouded and engulfed and bathed in the blood of your own kind. It feels warm and safe and disgusting. Like watching the stars of your favorite constellation collapse within themselves. It's a destructive kind of comfort, one that only ends in pain and bruises and fractured bones in places you can never wholly identify.

You're drowning,

the more you thrash the harder it gets to stand.

You feel the blood entangling you, weaving around your body like a net.

and then like a shadow, he's over you.

Looming with the promise of pain, of the misery of the savagery only he can offer.

"Feyd..." his name is razorblades upon your tongue. Your eyes catch his, distant voids colliding. Since when did you start looking into his eyes? When did the torture become worth it? His fingers ensnare your jaw, pushing cheeks and bones together. Feyd straddles your body, knees splashing into the blood. He tugs your head forward violently, before pounding it onto the floor. You moan out in pain a mangled, distorted noise. He only chuckles. Before repeating the motion. "You ran from us, you left us. I should kill you here and now. Bleed you out with the rest of these traitors!" it's hard not to notice the pain his voice harbors, odd how even a monster like Feyd can have his feelings hurt. He lifts his knife, wrapping both hands around the handle before plunging it into your abdomen. You choke, on a shriveled scream or a throat filled with blood you do not know. The colors are dulling and pulsating, somehow too dark and too bright at the same time. Everything feels like it's made of flowing water. Precious streaming water. You can feel the throbbing at the back of your skull, you feel the giddy patter of your heart, and the nervous ticks of your hips under Feyd.

Feyd...

Has he always been so beautiful?

Your body feels so hot and your mind feels so distant.

Everything feeds into his endless beauty.

Why are your lips pulsing?

your teeth sink in, trying to still the need to kiss.

"What's wrong princess, trying to play innocent? I know your tricks."

Feyd traces your lips with his. Fingers snake into your hair, pulling at odd intervals. "my sweet stupid little girl" he whispers, a curse and a blessing. He sucks on your bottom lip biting it harshly. Slipping his tongue between your teeth. His kiss is possessive, and swallowing. You feel yourself sinking deeper, wanting him to consume you whole. When he pulls back you feel like you can't breathe, you only existed within his kiss. It's the last thing binding you to this world.

But then his head dips down. Leaving open-mouthed kisses upon the gushing injury. Feyd drinks deeply from your open wound, ravaging the blood and pushing in silver of a forgotten moonlight. The way his tongue laps at the gaping hole and torn ligament sends a shutter up your spin. When he lifts his head again you watch mesmerized by the way your essence drips from his lips. He kisses you again ferocious and deep and all conusiming.

You feel so lost and so found.

Grounded and afloat.

It's only when a scream, a familiar one, in a distance distorted sort of way, rings across the hall that you start to pull away. You push yourself up, palms slipping on the liquid life. From behind Feyd, you notice a man and a women. Young, scared. There is revulse in their blue eyes, yet you can't navigate its direction. You're sure if you weren't bleeding out you could identify them, you're sure you knew them in this lifetime. You hear the blood gushing, hear the crisp whistle of the blade as it slices through flesh.

Once

Twice.

Only then does the alluring migraine sober. The metallic tang of blood wafting through the air makes you sick. It's odd how the repugnant scent had alluded you until now. Even if you'd been lying right in it. You wonder if such a scent would bother them. You doubt it, they tend to revel in the red glory and its hypnotizing associations.

"Took you long enough, cousin" Feyd's head is turned watching as Paul steps past the corpses. His eyes are vibrant, a sapphire blue that cuts through time and space. He kneels next to you, gaze devouring you in your pitiful state. "why did you run?" he is cold, hurt. His blue eyes betray a degree of relief hidden by a defrauding glower. "I-we love you, you mean everything to us." You look away too exhausted to put up an argument. "I missed being home." You mumble. You swore for a minute something akin to comprehension ripples through the air. You're too delusional to believe in anything solid anymore. But maybe Paul understands, maybe he yearns for the desert too. Maybe he'll go easy on you...

Paul's fingers glide across your stomach, scattering the dust particles that have landed on your still form. The light from the high windows glimmers off the three of you painting something holy, something right, in another world, in another lifetime. When he sees the wound Feyd created he chuckles. " Stars Feyd, at least try to keep her alive." Paul's nails gently rack across the torn ligament, idly playing with the loose skin. Feyd laughs deep and psychotic -is it wrong to say you missed it?- "I couldn't help myself, you should have seen her. Eyes blown wide covered in blood. Stars I just want-" you interrupt him with a low moan. Paul rubs his calloused thumb over your wound, soothing the cut before he presses down. Hard.

when he hears the moan he presses harder. Making you wither and hiss. "This is a punishment, (y/n), you're not supposed to be enjoying it." His fingers slither into the open wound, stretching out the ligament " You jolt and holler and cry, begging him to stop. "You're my oasis, the only thing I love in this world. But you ran. YOU LEFT US." His words glitch and crack, the voice shining through penetrating you with a knife seeped in guilt. "I'm sorry." you choke out, only to be rewarded by another harsh cut from Feyd's knife. "I'm the daughter of the desert..." you protest, tears slipping past your hooded eyes. "You're our lover" Feyd barks defensively, aggravated. When the tears begin to leak the pain stops. "Don't waste your water" Paul mutters, wiping away a tear and sucking it between his lips savoring your delicate taste.

Paul cradles your bleeding head in his lap, lowering his to kiss your crimson-soaked lips, "I love you" he mumbles against you, trying to press the core of his words into you. Making you feel him, making you believe. Feyd tucks your hair out of your face. Slowly pulling you up by your shoulders. The thin smile he offers is such a rare sight it makes your heart explode.

Why did you run away?

Why did you leave the ones you love most?

Your heart is laying on a bed of nails.

Somehow that feels fitting.

Feyd pulls off the top of his stillsuit, discarding the armor-like pieces. Slowly he lays in the gore, he pulls you over him. His motions slow, mesmeric. You follow just another wave trapped in the current. You're so torn and hurt, broken in ways that can never properly heal. You let it happen, it's easier this way. Slowly he licks his blade clean of your blood, he grabs your wrist places the hilt in your hands, and tucks your fingers over it. "Hold on tight," he advises as he draws your hand back and brings the knife down between his defined muscles. The moan he lets out is profane, it makes you feel euphoric, filled to the brim with the merriment of guilt. Feyd kisses you again, his tongue pushes past your teeth, his conquest of you feels Harkonnen in every way. His tongue down your throat feels like a heavenly bliss. From behind Paul breaks the back of your stillsuit, he licks a strip up and down your spine. You moan into the kiss with Feyd. Slowly Paul starts to whisper firefly kisses into each vertebrae. Sucking melodies into the frail bones. His teeth snick between the cartilage, all scorpion stings, and cobra bites. It feels so right.

Feyd is a cannibalistic star, relishing in the way your wounds bleed into his. He feeds off your pain, feeds off the pain you grant. He's delusional with a cosmic kind of lust. Pulling celestials from their homes to burn into his own body. He loves you, loves how you penetrate him with a knife clad in anathema and adherence too turbulent to understand.

Paul is, in many ways Feyd's opposite and in many others his equal. The quintessence of the path to hell being paved with good intentions. His kisses are the desert's curse and it's love. He's an entire solar system revolving around the only two people he has left to love.

Slowly the world grows dark. You feel it hard to remain awake. "Sweet dreams princess" you hear Paul whisper as Feyd shuffles under you. You fall into his expecting arms. Safe and strong. The day has been so long and bootless. so tiring. so vexing.

Yet somehow, in the endlessness of the moment, it matters all so little. Paul is here and he can hang the stars upon the night sky. Feyd is here and he can slaughter the universe and call it entertainment. You are safe with them, safe and happy and satisfied.

ngl this is the longest tag list I've ever gotten. THANK YOU GUYS SO MUCH!!💜💜 Let me know if you want to be added to future taglists

@deertaur , @fragileheartbeats , @yandere-romanticaa , @galaxyquirks , @feedmestraycats , @peachysunrize , @slytherinholland , @missbeeentertainment , @moonchild-artemisdaughter , @shiranai-atsune , @therealoutereffect , @frenchgirlinlondon , @purplefrogella , @yzuposts , @whiteoakoak , @abundance-of-fic-reblogs , @pomtherine , @goldenatreides , @sorianis , @howibecameabadassbitch , @sansaorgana

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tarlosislove · 2 months

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For those who are new to the 911verse because of Buck, hello! This is just another post I'm making to show that there's been Queer characters here all along! 🏳️‍🌈

I'm so glad because of Buck being canonically Bi new people have started watching the show, maybe you didn't know there's been Queer characters the whole time, maybe you don't know that there's a spinoff that is also v queer.

Both 9-1-1 and 9-1-1: Lone Star have been Queer from the very beginning.

9-1-1: Hen and Karen are Lesbians, they're married and have a son together. The first season is.. rough with them but we as a fandom have basically agreed to ignore that storyline because they are incredible now and have been for a long time, just push through that storyline and it's all good from there. Shipname: Henren

You'll see Michael and David for a few seasons, they're really sweet and I love them, they're said to still be together but they're not on the show anymore. (That is completely the fault of the actor for Michael)

Josh is a recurring character, he's gay and Maddie's friend and co-worker at the dispatch center.

Buck has had so many moments throughout the show that just makes complete sense that he is now discovering his Bisexuality. So don't worry you're not gonna have to wait 7 seasons to see Buck have Queer moments.

There's also several times we see Queer characters that are just there for an episode because they were part of the rescue.

•

9-1-1: Lone Star: Carlos and T.K are gay and get together at the beginning of the show and are still together as we're going into season 5. Shipname: Tarlos

Paul is a Trans man firefighter. As a Trans person Paul means so fucking much to me.

Nancy is Bisexual, while there has only been one comment in the show both the writers and the actress for Nancy have confirmed she's Bi.

Again there are times when you see Queer characters that are there for an episode or for a rescue. I love when shows do this because it just normalizes Queerness throughout and it's not just main characters that are Queer.

These are both gay firefighter shows and I truly hope you love them! ❤🧡💛💚💙💜💖

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pilfappreciator · 6 months

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Been seeing lots of Bruce x Reader content which is fine! Great even! But I've seen absolutely NOBODY acknowledged the existence of his fine ass muppet wife so I went ahead and DID IT MYSELF 😤😤😤

Bruce/Brandi x Reader

Includes: GN! Reader, polyamory, lots of MILF/DILF appreciation (as there should be), Vacay Lovers

🧡 Chances are you first met them while visiting Vacay Island. Bruce welcomed you with open arms and that charming attitude of his, got you nice and situated for your stay. Eventually he introduced you to his lovely wife Brandi and the kids

💜 The couple warm up to you pretty quick. You've got a great personality, you never hesitate to help them out around the island, their kids adore you (not to mention you're pretty cute)

🧡 These two are honestly couple goals. Literally soulmates. They're super devoted to one another and its pretty obvious to everyone around that they're meant to be. I mean they literally have a gaggle of kids so yknow they're in it for the long run

💜 THAT BEING SAID!! It'd probably be a while before you three actually got together

🧡 Bruce and Brandi only have eyes for each other (at least at first). Introducing someone new into the relationship probably wouldn't even occur to them unless they got to know that person really well, and even then there'd still be long discussions between the two about whether they're really ready for that kind of change. What it would mean for the relationship, how it might affect them, their family and business, ect.

💜 These two never half-ass things. Both are the type to pour their entire souls into what they deem important so if you're gonna be with them, then you bet your ass that it's gonna be for the long haul. The three of you WILL retire and grow old together okay they will PERSONALLY see to it

🧡 But eventually, after you've known them for a year or two and once they've both come to terms with how they feel about you?

💜 BABES PREPARE TO GET SWEPT OFF YOUR FEET

🧡 These two are the perfect team (comes with co-owning a business and running a family ig)

💜 After years of being the heartthrob of BroZone, Bruce is an expert at putting his natural charm and good looks to use. This man is constantly making time to come over and strike up a conversation. And I think it's universally agreed that the guy is not shy or subtle once so ever, so expect a lot of compliments/winks/charming smirks thrown your way. This man is fully leaning up against the wall beside you, giving you that signature Casanova Smoulder(tm), all while telling you how he and Brandy are planning to add french fries to the bar menu

🧡 "But it's supposed to be a surpise until then so let's just keep this between the three of us. Okay, beautiful?" He says with a wink, raising a finger and briefly pressing it against your lips

💜 You probably shouldn't get so flustered over French fries... unfortunately Bruce is sexy and knows it 😔

🧡 Brandi isn't as on-the-nose as her husband but that doesn't mean she's any less effective. She managed to snag someone like Bruce afterall so you KNOW she's got game

💜 Definitely gives you just as many compliments and praise but she's very like... very nonchalant about it?? Like the two of you will be mid convo and she'll just randomly go "wow you are literally so gorgeous haha. Are you sure you're single?"

🧡 You have about five seconds to respond before she's moving on and telling you all about how one of her sons keeps getting stuck in ketchup bottles

💜 It's kinda hard to tell if she's actually flirting with you. She's pretty laid back compared to her husband and at certain times she seems like a bit of an airhead, so whenever she says something nice, it tends to come off as a casual compliment...

🧡 But then there are times where she'll like? Brush a strand of hair outta your face, or wipe some food from the corner of mouth unprompted, or point out a piece of jewelry you have on by running her fingers over it?? Her skin grazing your own just the barest amount??? All while she's giving you that look??????

💜 This woman is sneaky as fuck ngl

🧡 Expect to hear these two gush about each other on the daily. They are CONSTANTLY hyping each other up whenever they're apart (they're in love what do you expect?), but when you've got the BOTH OF THEM in front of you??

💜 They are a well-oiled machine. You are absolutely getting tag teamed by this duo. By the time you leave their company expect to be red in the face and your heart skipping a few beats

🧡 You get invited to a LOT of family meals. Mostly dinners, but sometimes lunch and even breakfast too. And believe me, there is no such thing as a quite meal with this family. They have 13 chaotic kids who are always getting into shit so expect to come outta the whole ordeal with a few food stains on your clothes

💜 look out for Bruce Jr. cuz that kid will for sure try to start a food fight

🧡 Bruce and Brandi are always super apologetic about any messes that occur (they know first hand how exhausting their gaggle of kids can be), but then you just smile and seem genuinely unbothered? Maybe even amused by it all??

💜 "Babe what's their ring size?"

"Brandi, honey, pretty sure we have to at least take them on a date first."

"I'm just asking for a friend!"

"...Am I the friend?"

"You know you are, babe."

🧡 Yeah if these two catch you hitting it off with their kids and showing a genuine interest in their hobbies/interest/lives?? They are SWOONING, vows are being MADE, rings are being CHOSEN—

💜 If at any point you recognize Bruce from BroZone, or if Brandi brings it up in conversation in an attempt to boost her man's rep, then prepare yourself because Bruce will most definitely start putting on a show

🧡 Under normal circumstances he'd be wayyyy more hesitant. Performing anything from his past doesn't bring up the best memories... but he's willing to bust out a good bop if it earns him brownie points in your book (and it better considering that his wife is always telling him how hot he looks whenever he's doing his "boy band thing" lol)

💜 OUTINGS WITH BRANDi!! This woman is taking you shopping or out to the nearest cafe/restaurant that just so happens to serve your favorite, what do you know! Sometimes she brings you along to meet her friends, all of whom are well aware of your existence wink wonk

🧡 Will swoon and fan herself whenever you offer to pay for things, but like as a joke!

💜 (not)

🧡 Chances are the kids already know what's up with the three of you. Maybe it doesn't click immediately but Bruce Jr. notices that how his parents treat and act around you is the same as they treat and act around each other, he goes blabbing to his siblings and soon enough they're all in on it. They don't entirely understand the complexity of the situation... but they're aware that one extra parent potentially means more presents for christmas sooooo

💜 These little shits are mischievous as hell. They are asking you what your favorite color is just to subtly drop the answer while Brandi is out shopping for trinkets. You mention what kind of music you're into and suddenly Bruce is looking up playlists

🧡 You better believe all 13 of them have started a betting pool going about who will confess first, you or their parents.

💜 Brandi's friends might be in on this betting pool. The other vacationers too

🧡 Eventually (after lots of pining and a fuck ton of patiently biding their time), Bruce and Brandi decide to take the leap and invite you into the relationship

💜 They invite you to dinner. It is a WHOLE ordeal and they've been planning months in advance. The kids are off being babysat by one of Brandi's friends (both parties were suspiciously cool with this sudden course of action). Their business is put on pause with little complaint from their customers (again, suspicious)

🧡 You're immediately drowned in compliments the second you show up at the door. You could legit just be dressed in your pj's and they're like "wow those sweatpants really make your eyes pop 😀" sjsjskakaka

💜 You are being waited on hand and foot the whole time. Bruce is manifesting every ounce of romanticism he can— flower petals everywhere, candles are lit, he's got a ukulele tuned and ready for when he eventually serenades you. Meanwhile Brandi has cooked you a feast made entirely of all your favorites and is tucking little flowers into your hair every now and then. At some point she hands you a cute piece of jewelry she saw while out shopping the other day. Just a little somethin somethin that immediately made her think of you <33

🧡 Overall, dinner is going great! The three of you are having a blast in each other's company and it's refreshing to be able to have a conversation without worrying about rambunctious kids or another pink eye outbreak. The atmosphere is quite yet intimate. Their hard work is not going to waste. You are thoroughly wooed

💜 And just when dessert is about to be served—

🧡 "We think you're really hot."

"Wha— BRANDi! My song!"

"Hmm? OH, was I supposed to wait till after—?"

💜 Yeahhh they kinda fumble the confession ngl. You'd think they'd be smoother but they are both: 1) very excited, and 2) very nervous

🧡 Nevertheless, their point gets across. For a moment they kinda panic because of how quite you are afterwards, but really you're just? Absolutely flabbergasted?? These two hotties wanna date YOU??? FR??????

💜 Of course once you manage to form a coherent response (hopefully a positive one), the couple is literally over the moon

🧡 Brandi's flapping her lil muppet hands all excited like "OMIGOSH THEY SAID YES?!"

💜 And Bruce is just smirking and all like "of course they did, honey, did you seriously think they'd say no to the two of us?" all while simultaneously releasing the death grip he had on his ukulele (this man is a fraud)

🧡 Victory dessert follows shortly after. Your hands become absolutely useless for the next few minutes because these two are DEFINITELY TAKING TURNS SPOON-FEEDING YOU AJSHAKAKAKA

💜 The night ends with the three of you hanging out on the couch, either with Bruce serenading you and Brandi or the three of you just cuddling in a pile (probably both ngl)

🧡 Cue the next morning. The kids come back just to find you all fast asleep in the living room, you in the middle with their parents on either side

💜 Pictures are 100% being taken

I love these two a lot, could you tell?

Thinkin about doing a PART TWO!! Lemme know what you guys think 👀

#ppl love bruce and thats valid but like??#they ignore his gorgeous muppet wife???#LIKE YOU GUYS SHES RIGHT THERE HELLO #livin up to my username #trolls #trolls band together #bruce trolls #spruce trolls #brandi trolls #x reader #headcanon #Vacay Lovers #<-shipname? anyone??#trolls x reader #brozone #brozone x reader

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bippiti · 3 months

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catalyst clc16 x rockstar! reader

after the release of your new album, life has been hectic as you've been running around doing shows. only problem is you seem to have only one person on your mind. little do you know he's having the same issue

an part two! any feedback is appreciated and please like + rb!

if you want a visual guide for the band .

part one next part

tags @bloodyymaryyy @guiseppetsunoda @maxverstappendefender @charizznorizz

yourig

liked by king, charles_leclerc and 42,836,364 others

yourig thanks for coming out london! nyc see you soon x

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user ughh i wish i couldve come :((

yourig next time lovee💜

user sounded so good

user anyone else gonna talk about the album afterparty???

user who cares bro😭 theyre adults and tbh they would be a power couple

user right?! ive been thinking the same thing, shes not a good influence on him

user im sorry do yk y/n??? how would u know that lmfao

king looking good!

liked by yourig

user where is the fit from???

user i think vivienne westwood!

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you sighed, scrolling through your comments. it had been almost a month after your albums release, and some people still were bringing up the hug with charles. i mean, seriously it was just a hug. it wasn't like you guys had made out or anything.

both your label and ferrari were sponsored by celsius, and your management had met with one of ferraris pr heads. they had agreed to work together to promote the new album, and had picked charles because he was a fan of your music.

you clicked instantly on the first day of set, but it also helped that you spoke fluent french (you had an obsession with indila when you were younger and forced yourself to learn it) the lack of a language barrier, coupled with the fact that you guys had similar interests made it inevitable that you both would become friends.

after the album launch party, you were exhausted. you had woken up at 4am for promo shoots, and had been running around all day before singing your whole album (which was around an hour long) to the attendees. it was fun, and you wouldnt trade your career for the whole world, but man you were tired.

as you were heading out, you spotted charles and you both stopped to talk

"tu as bien fait là-dedans" he said, smiling as he pushed his hands into his pockets (you did good in there)

"merci! les heures de pratique m’ont aidé. je pense que je pourrais oublier les paroles si j’essayais" you smile as he laughed (thanks! the hours of practice helped. i dont think i could forget the lyrics if i tried)

"en pratiquant son art on devient artisan" (practice makes perfect)

you nod, turning as you hear your bandmate siobahn call for you

you look back to him, saying your goodbyes and quickly hugging him before running after her.

that was it. just a friendly hug. it's not like he liked you, and if he knew you liked him, you doubt he would still be friends with you.

charles_leclerc

liked by yourig, pierregasly and 305,387 others

charles_leclerc i won. maybe next time @/pierregasly 😘

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user just realized pierre had a chance to fork the king and the rook in

user not y/n liking this...

user so cute😍

pierregasly i almost had it

charles_leclerc of course you did

user my fav french men

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after having checkmate charles sat back, smiling smugly as he looked at pierre try and fail to make a move. giving up, he raised his hands in defeat.

"quand vais-je jamais te battre?" he said sighing as he chuckled (when will i ever beat you)

"peut-être dans une autre vie" (maybe in another life)

scoffing, pierre changed the subject.

"so i heard you're with some rockstar these days"

"i most definitley am not"

"sure, sure. you might not be dating her but i can tell you like her"

charles paused, having a mini crisis. ok. so maybe he did like you. he couldn't help it, honestly. throughout filming ,and even after he had grown to really admire you. not only just as an artist, but as a person as well. he honestly hoped you'd be able to meet up afterwards, but he hasnt been able to see you since. between his preseason training and your concerts, you both are rarely free, let alone in the same country.

he told all of this to pierre, who listened quietly, nodding along before telling him his masterplan. he was gonna help him out, what kindve friend would he be if he didnt?

hearing the notification sound go off on your phone, you picked it up. your eyebrows raised as you read it

part 3??

#charles leclerc #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc prompt #charles leclerc blurb #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc fanfic #scudia ferrari #charles leclerc x yn #f1 x reader #f1 smau #charles leclerc smau #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 fic

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specialagentlokitty · 1 year

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Buck x reader - my shield

A Buck (911) shy reader please? His friends thinks Buck is making things up that he has a girlfriend or shy reader picked her best friend to be they godfather of their newborn son who’s a mama boi. Then Buck thought it’s a good idea bringing his friend to the hospital to see his family - Anon💜

Buck smiled down at his phone as he saw the message notification from you, and he opened the text.

“What’s got you so happy?” Eddie asked.

Everyone looked up from where they were sat over to the young firefighter.

“My girlfriend messaged me.” Buck beamed.

“We’re still going on about that? Really?” Chim laughed.

Buck furrowed his brows a little bit.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, we know you, you’ve probably slept with more women then everyone here combined. No offence.” Hen said.

Buck put his phone into his pocket.

“I’m capable of having a girlfriend!”

“We’re not saying that! We’re just saying it’s not likely.” Chin snickered.

Buck stormed away, and when his shift ended he immediately went to your apartment and knocked on the door.

It didn’t take long for you to answer, and one looked at him and you had your arms around him.

Buck hugged you tightly, burying his face into your shoulder as he let out a deep sigh.

You placed your hand on the back of his head and just held him for a few minutes in silence, standing out in the hallway of the apartment complex.

“What’s wrong…?” You whispered.

You pulled away and slowly dragged him into your apartment and closed the door, leading him over to the couch.

Sitting him down, you sat cross legged next to him, taking his hands in yours as you gazed at him.

“I’m.. im so fed up of everyone saying I don’t have a girlfriend!” He exclaimed.

You furrowed your brows a little bit.

“They think because I was a dick when I first joined I still am. But I’ve been trying to tell them for months I’m not like that anymore…” he mumbled.

You gave Bucks hands a small squeeze and smiled softly at him.

“I know you’re not Evan.”

He sighed softly.

“It’s just frustrating you know… I want them to believe me…”

You nodded your head in understanding.

“Well, they’re doing that BBQ tomorrow… right?”

Buck nodded his head and looked up at you.

“I’ll come with you.”

“You don’t like things like that.”

“No. But you do, and then they can see you’re telling the truth.”

You smiled sweetly up at him, and Buck smiled back, leaning down to capture you in a soft kiss before he pulled away.

“You’re amazing…”

He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you into him, cuddling you while you guys just watched some crappy films.

When the next day rolled around, you both got ready to go to the station for the BBQ.

It was his day off, but he said he’d go anyways, and since he was going you wanted to go with him to show everyone he wasn’t lying and you were real.

But as you guys drove there, you were nervous. You couldn’t stop fidgeting and when Buck pulled his car into a spot, he stopped and reached over, taking your hand in his.

“You don’t have to do this you know that right?”

He looked at you in concern and you smiled at him, nodding your head.

“I know. But I.. I want to.”

Buck smiled and nodded his head and you both got out of the car, and he took your hand in his, letting you hide yourself behind him slightly.

He smiled down at you.

“When you’re ready to go we’ll go.” He said softly.

“Thank you…”

He led you around the front of the building and you saw a group of people all laughing and talking.

“And he finally shows up!”

“Shut it Chim.” Buck snapped.

You squeeze his hand and he sighed, giving you an apologetic look.

“And he’s brought company, who’s this?” Bobby smiled.

“Guys, this is (Y/N). My girlfriend.”

You gave them a shy wave and all they could do was stare in shock as they looked at you.

You were so different from Buck, shy, quiet, but they could only smile warmly at the sight of you using him as your shield

#911 fox x you #911 fanfic #911 x reader #911 fic #911 fox x reader #911 fox imagine #911 fandom #evan buckley x reader #evan buck buckely #evan buckley x y/n #evan buckley #evan buckley x you #buck #buck x reader #buck x you #Buck imagine

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corroded-hellfire · 4 months

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Red Hot - Eddie Munson x Reader

An As You Wish Story

Collaboration with the woman who makes this series possible @munson-blurbs 💚

Summary: It’s been one year since you and Eddie discovered your feelings for one another—and so much more. Now, it’s your anniversary and a romantic evening is planned. Unfortunately, life with two little boys around tends to throw some wrenches in your life—even on special nights like this.

Note: I cannot believe it’s been a year since I posted the first part of As You Wish. It was only intended to be this spicy one shot but so many people asked for a part 2 and…here we are! I can’t thank all of you enough for reading. It means more to me than you know 💜

Warnings: smut, p in v, unprotected (wrap it up), breeding kink, oral, m and f receiving, vomit, implied medical issues, age gap, older!eddie

Words: 5.3k

[As You Wish masterlist]

One whole year has passed of you being with Eddie. One year since the night he’d come home sullen after what was supposed to be a nice evening out, only to find that his deepest desire was right there waiting for him on the worn blue couch in his living room.

Honestly, it was the night both of your wishes came true. Such dark secrets you each harbored, never thinking that the other could possibly return the feelings. You, thinking he wouldn’t see you as anything more than a babysitter for his two kids. Him, thinking you’d never be interested in a man over a decade older than you. The spark finally lit the flame though, leading to the best year of your lives. The best year of the boys’ lives as well. Neither you nor Eddie had ever seen the kids in all around better moods than this past year—and that’s even with the divorce and custody proceedings.

A romantic date night was planned for the one year anniversary, a date that came with some discussion at first. You had brought up that you weren’t a fan of having your anniversary with Eddie on the same day that was his wedding anniversary with Brittany. Eddie was quick to assure you that this had just been the night he and Brittany were able to get out and celebrate their anniversary—not the actual day itself.

“Pretty sure the fun you and I had that night went past midnight, into the next day anyway,” Eddie added with a smirk.

So, the evening was planned. An intimate dinner out together while Ryan has a sleepover at his friend Charlie’s house and Luke spends the night with Wayne.

Even though you didn’t officially live with the Munson men yet, you did spend more time than not at their apartment. A drawer in Eddie’s dresser contained a stash of your clothes, a toothbrush sat right next to Eddie’s by the sink, and if you weren’t spending the night, the boys would call up at bedtime to say goodnight to you anyway. So, it made perfect sense for you to get ready at the apartment so you and Eddie could just go together to drop Luke off and Wayne’s and then be on your way to the restaurant.

You’re in Eddie’s room, leaning over his dresser to get a better look at your face in the mirror as you apply eyeliner. Eddie is wearing black dress pants with a gray shirt that make you want to rip them right off. He’s currently securing his hair in a low bun as you do your best not to stab yourself in the eye with the stubby little black pencil.

Just as you finish applying mascara, you hear the soft pitter-patter of Luke’s feet headed towards the master bedroom.

“I frew up.”

“Oh, Christ,” Eddie mumbles under his breath, swiveling on one heel. “What happened?”

Luke shrugs. “My tummy hurt and then I frew up. But I got most of it in the toilet; wanna see?”

Eddie just looks at you, twisting the mascara wand back into the tube, then back at his son.

“Most of it?” Eddie asks.

“Mhm.” Luke scampers back to the bathroom, and you and Eddie follow reluctantly.

Both you and your boyfriend were expecting the smell to be worse as you step into the bathroom. Your eyes are on the ground, making sure not to step in anything Luke wasn’t able to get in the toilet.

The sick mess in the toilet—and around it—is bright red.

“Shit.” Eddie scoops up Luke, not caring that there’s now vomit on his dress shirt. “Luke, did you have any fruit snacks today at lunch? Gushers or Fruit Roll-Ups or something like that?”

The little boy shakes his head. “Just a chocolate chip cookie.”

Eddie looks at you, horrified. It’s the first time you’ve ever seen true fear in Eddie’s eyes, and it curdles your own stomach.

“We have to get him to the hospital,” Eddie says. His tone is urgent, but not panicked. The last thing you need is for Luke to start freaking out.

You nod in reply, already heading out into the hall, grabbing all three of your coats from the closet and tucking them under your arm.

Luke is clearly confused. He keeps looking back and forth between you and his father, his little brow pinching together.

“Why are we going to the hopsital?” he asks. “I feel good!”

Famous last words, Eddie thinks. He needs both hands and feet to count the number of times his kids have claimed that they weren’t sick just moments before they inevitably crashed.

Neither you nor your boyfriend know how to respond to Luke, so you silently help him into his coat while Eddie shrugs on his own. The keys clang as Eddie takes them off a peg by the front door and tosses them your way. Then he picks up a still-confused Luke and heads out the door.

You drive while Eddie sits in the backseat with Luke. It’s quite obvious you two adults are more stressed out than the six-year-old is. Both of you keep checking in on him but there’s no deviation from the usual Luke-ness that you know and love.

“How do you feel?” you ask, glancing at Luke in the rear view mirror.

“I’m hungry; can we get McDonalds?”

When you arrive at the emergency room, you pick up Luke to carry so Eddie can go ahead and alert the employees at the intake desk of what’s going on.

The biting February wind stings your nose and cheeks as you cross the parking lot, but Luke keeps chatting away as though it’s just a regular evening.

“Did you know that birds feed their babies by frowing up in their beaks?”

“Wow, you know so many things,” you manage, trying to tamper your nausea and nerves.

“That’s like if you chewed up my chicken nuggets and spit them into my mouth.”

“Yup, I’ve got the visual.”

Secretly, your insides warm up, flattered that he considers you the “mommy bird.”

“My teacher got pooped on by a bird today, but she didn’t even notice.”

He continues talking through the whole process: waiting, triage, until he’s assigned a room and asked to wear a hospital gown. The moment you step out of the room to give him some privacy, it feels as if the world outside the small room has gone silent, save for the occasional beep from medical instruments. Now it’s too quiet without Luke’s chattering. Needing to do something besides just standing there, full of nervous energy, you walk down the hall to find a payphone and call Wayne to let him know what’s going on.

Back in the room, Eddie is trying to get his nerves under control. Nothing’s wrong, he tries to assure himself. And even if there was—which there isn’t—he’s in the best possible place he could be and surrounded by professionals who probably see all sorts of things far worse than whatever this might be.

“Where are the pants?” Luke asks, looking like a dog chasing its tail as he tries to get a look at the back of the gown.

“No pants,” Eddie tells him as he ties the strings together in the back for him. There’s a soft knock on the door and Eddie tugs it open.

You step back into the room and Luke grins and holds his arms out at his sides.

“Look! I’m wearing a dress just like you!”

Despite the seriousness of the visit, you can’t help but smile. Though your purple A-line dress looks nothing like the white gown covered in blue dots that he’s wearing.

“Now you’re my twin instead of Daddy’s,” you tease.

That makes Luke giggle, and he sits down on the bed, dangling his short legs over the side. It isn’t long before Luke is taken back for tests, most of which Eddie is allowed to accompany him for. You know that’s probably bringing far more comfort to Eddie than Luke at the moment.

You wait back in the room, anxious thoughts getting the better of you now that you’re alone and have time for your brain to wander. There are a bunch of brochures spread out on a table, so you decide to flip through some of them, keep your mind busy. None of them seem relevant to any medical issue you’ll ever have; then again, you never pictured yourself rushing a kid to the hospital for bloody puke, so you plunk down with a booklet on goiters. It mentions scurvy, which reminds you of Luke, and you have to stifle your amusement before you become known as the Woman Who Laughs at Goiters.

The nurse brings Luke and Eddie back to the room, along with an old coloring book and some crayons. Artist that he is, Luke is already eyeing the different colors to see which one he’ll want to use first.

“It’ll be another hour until we have all the results,” the nurse announces somewhat apologetically.

Eddie manages a weak smile as he plops into his chair. You reach over and slide your hand into his. A gentle squeeze greets your touch, and you give him one back in reassurance.

Finally making his decision, Luke plucks a red crayon out of the box.

“Did you know that these don’t taste like cherry?”

Everyone—including this poor nurse—stares at him.

“Luke,” Eddie starts, “why would you think it tastes like cherry?”

“Evan Holloway said it did,” Luke replies absentmindedly as he starts to color a fire truck, “but I think he was just kidding, because it tasted gross.”

Eddie bites back a comment about how the kid didn’t stand a chance at being nice with parents like Heather Holloway and Billy Hargrove. It’s not the time or place though.

“When did you eat the crayon?” You investigate further.

“Today during arts and crafts,” he says, tongue poking out of his lips as he concentrates on the drawing at hand.

You and Eddie both look at the nurse apologetically.

“When I asked you about what you ate today that was red, why didn’t you mention the crayon?” Eddie’s teeth are gritted as he tries to maintain his composure.

“You asked about fruit snacks, not crayons.” He pauses and looks up from his coloring book. “But don’t worry; I took the paper off first.”

“Oh, good.” Eddie rolls his eyes, and you put your hand on his shoulder.

Luke’s confession—and subsequent perfect test results—allow him to be discharged. He falls asleep in the car almost as soon as Eddie puts it in drive and leaves the parking lot.

The ride home is draped in comfortable, relaxing silence. After hours of machines incessantly beeping, doctors checking in, and Luke whining about his boredom, the quiet is certainly welcome. At least now there’s a massive weight off of your and Eddie’s shoulders.

The little boy doesn’t even stir when you arrive at home, so Eddie carries him into the apartment and to his room, gently tucking him into bed.

“G’night, crazy kid,” he says with a soft laugh. He kisses his forehead, and you do the same before you both head to your own bedroom.

“Baby, I’m so tired—” Eddie starts, the two of you practically collapsing onto the queen-sized mattress.

You muster up a nod. “Me, too, Eds.”

“Raincheck on me rocking your world?” he smirks, leaning in and kissing your nose.

“Sounds like a plan.”

“I’m home!”

Ryan’s excited voice jolts you awake; when you glance at the clock, it’s only a bit after 7 AM. Charlie’s mom must’ve been eager to end the sleepover.

Eddie pushes himself up on an elbow and cracks one eye open. “Wait, Ry; how did you get in the house?” He didn’t have a spare key, and Eddie always made sure the doors were locked at night.

Ryan shrugs. “I rang the buzzer and Luke let me in.”

Eddie groans and lets out a yawn. He’ll have to remind his youngest son about making sure an adult knows someone’s coming into the house, but he doesn’t have the energy now. Instead, he focuses on Ryan. “Ya have fun at Charlie’s?”

“Yeah!” he chirps. “We had—”

You slowly sit up, trying to keep your temper at being woken up. “Can we hear this story over breakfast, Ry?”

He agrees and bounds into the kitchen, you and Eddie sleepily trailing behind.

Luke is already halfway through a bowl of Frosted Flakes when the three of you walk out to the kitchen.

“Ryan!” he shouts, way too loud for this early in the morning. Cereal sprays everywhere, and he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “I went to the hospital last night!”

Ryan’s eyes nearly pop out of his head. “What?!”

“Yeah! I just told Grandpa about it.”

Eddie frowns in confusion. “When did you talk to Grandpa?” He grabs a bowl from the pantry and pours himself some cereal. Nothing sugary like the boys eat; those days are behind him.

“I just called him before when I woke up,” Luke says with a shrug.

You throw some Eggos in the toaster for Ryan while the boys both regale you with their respective tales. Luke manages to make it sound much more fun than it actually was last night, tapping into his father’s knack for storytelling. Part of you is surprised there’s no supernatural elements to this tale.

A little later in the day there’s a knock on the door. Eddie turns the knob and is surprised to see Wayne on the other side. He raises his eyebrows as he regards the older man.

“What are you doing here?” he asks before realizing how that sounded. “I mean, hi.”

“I told Luke I was coming over,” Wayne says, nodding to the younger boy coming up behind his father.

Eddie looks at the boy as he closes the door behind Wayne.

“Luke, you never told me that.”

“You didn’t ask.”

Even though he already told him on the phone, Luke once again laments the events of last night to his grandfather. Once he’s done, Ryan tells Wayne all about his sleepover at Charlie’s last night.

When he finally gets a moment to talk to you and Eddie without the rugrats around, Wayne offers to take the boys for the rest of the day and overnight so the two of you can have a do over on your anniversary date.

“You sure, Old Man?” Eddie asks.

“Positive. I’ll just keep ‘em away from crayons.”

The moment the three of them leave, Eddie locks the door behind them and grabs your hand to drag you into the bedroom.

“Eds!”

“Oh, right; where are my manners?” Eddie admonishes himself. “I should take you out to eat first.” He heads into the kitchen and fishes the brochure for your go-to Chinese restaurant. Not even needing to ask you, he orders your favorites before hanging up and turning back to you. “Now, time for my meal.” There’s a mischievous glimmer in his eyes. “If you don’t cum in thirty minutes, your next orgasm is free.”

The moment your back lands on the bed, he tugs off your pants and panties and buries himself between your legs. There’s time for slow and romantic later, you both need each other now.

“This pussy is perfect, goddamn.”

Any response is futile as words have left your brain the second Eddie’s tongue flicks over your clit. He does it over and over again, causing your abdomen muscles to tighten and your fists grip the blanket below you.

You let your eyes fall closed and lose yourself in the feeling of Eddie sucking on your clit. He knows the exact speeds and pressures to get you where he wants you, changing it up in the most pleasurable of ways. As your back arches off the bed at a particularly harsh suck, Eddie slips two fingers into your waiting hole, meeting no resistance. Being stretched by and filled with Eddie just has you that much closer to hitting your high.

Eddie pumps his fingers in time with his licks and it isn’t long before you feel that familiar heat building up in your body. Your boyfriend must be able to sense this as well, because he curls his fingers up against your walls as his tongue continues to flick over your sensitive bundle of nerves. It’s enough to have you seeing stars. Part of you wants it to last longer, but you know Eddie will do this again and again for you if you ask. The thought of him wanting to make you feel good and wanting your body so much is the push you need into oblivion.

“Fuck! Oh shit, Eddie,” you whine, a hand going down to grip his hair. “I’m—I’m coming.”

Eddie knows how to extract every last wave of pleasure from you as he works you through the orgasm. This he’ll take his time with, after being in such a haste to get you off. You feel boneless as you lay on the bed, utterly wrecked from your boyfriend’s thick fingers and sinful mouth.

You whine as Eddie slips his fingers from your pussy, but the whine turns into a moan when he pops them into his mouth. It’s suddenly given you a burst of energy.

“My turn,” you say, giving him a salacious grin.

Eddie flings his shirt into an abyss of laundry and rolls onto his back so you can trail kisses down his torso. He giggles when your fingers brush against his stomach as you unbuckle his belt and tug his pants off. His erection springs free, already leaking pre-cum from getting you off.

“Such a pretty cock, Eds,” you muse, your lips tenderly touching the head. “And it’s all mine, huh?”

“Y-Yup,” his breath hitches. “All yours; please, please suck it for me.”

You happily oblige—as if there was any doubt that you would—licking from base to tip with a flattened tongue. His thighs twitch at the contact, the movement punctuated with a low groan. You never knew how much you appreciated a vocal man until you’d slept with Eddie. Now it’s a goal of yours to get him to make as much noise as possible.

“Oh, princess,” he growls, fingers twisting in the sheets. “Baby girl.”

Your hand grasps the part of him that doesn’t fit in your mouth, leaving no square inch of his cock untouched in some way. You want—no, you need—to make him feel good. Thinking back to that first time together, fueled by lust, but also a desire for one another. A longing that had burned steady in both of you. Eddie could have waited up for Brittany and had lackluster sex; you could have hooked up with that guy from your anthropology class who’s always checking you out. But that wouldn’t have been satisfying; you craved Eddie and Eddie craved you. It was impossible to satisfy that urge any other way.

He bucks his hips gently now, his signal that he’s close. You pump him faster, grip him tighter, until he’s spilling into your mouth and down your chin.

Once you’re satisfied that you’ve milked everything you can from him, you pull off and swallow his load. Eddie manages just enough strength to lift his head up as he attempts to catch his breath. His eyes darken as he watches you lick your lips and wipe off the cum that drooled out onto your chin and pop it in your mouth.

“God damn,” Eddie breathes out.

You share in that sentiment. This fast and rough sex is exactly what the two of you needed after such a scary and stressful evening last night.

The doorbell rings and your boyfriend flops his head back down, his curls spilling around his pillow like a halo.

“Want me to get it?” you offer, pushing yourself off the bed.

“Uh uh,” Eddie tuts. He haphazardly reaches over the side of the bed to search for his boxers. “Only I get to see you looking this wrecked.” A playful wink is thrown your way as Eddie sits up. He hops off the bed and slips on his boxers, sweats, and an old Deep Purple t-shirt. “You get dressed, baby.”

“Don’t wanna,” you say with a pout.

It makes Eddie chuckle, and he presses a kiss to the side of your head before reaching for the knob on the bedroom door.

“Don’t worry, we can take them off again later.”

Eddie strolls out of the room, and you raid your drawer in his dresser. There’s an old pair of jeans shoved in the back that you pull out and hop into those while you scoop one of Eddie’s old Hellfire shirts that he let you cut and customize to your liking—a true sign of love right there—laying over the arm of a chair.

When you meet Eddie in the living room, he’s unpacking your food into the coffee table. There’s a pile of VHS tapes in the corner of the room, and though most of them are the kids’, you manage to find Benny & Joon and pop that into the player.

The moment you plop down on the couch next to Eddie, he wraps his arm around your hips and tugs your body up against his.

“It’s difficult to eat with one hand, you know,” you tell him when he doesn’t move his arm.

“I’ll deal.”

Somehow, he does—even if it causes a bit of a mess on the couch and coffee table.

Eddie swallows a mouth full of rice and turns to look at you. His eyes take in your profile, the expression on his face turning to adoring almost instantly.

“I’m really grateful that you were there with me last night,” he admits, voice softer and more serious than usual. “I don’t know if I would’ve been able to handle that without you.”

The way that you look at him from beneath your eyelashes takes his breath away. He gets just as stunned by your beauty now as he did when he opened the front door that first time he met you.

“Yes, you could’ve,” you assure him. “You’re stronger than you think, Eddie. But I’m glad you didn’t have to do it alone. There’s nowhere I’d rather have been at the moment than with you. Well…I’d have liked not to have had to go to the hospital at all, but you know.”

Eddie chuckles and shakes his head. “Turns out we didn’t need to anyway.” Your boyfriend sighs and runs a hand over his face. “God, Luke’s gonna kill me someday.”

“Kill you with his cuteness, you mean.”

“You mean because he looks just like me?” Eddie asks, a cocky smirk dancing on his lips.

“Of course,” you say with a chuckle. You lean in and press your lips to Eddie’s, resting your hand on his chest.

“You mean the world to me,” Eddie whispers against your lips. He knows he’s told you that many times, in many different ways. But it’s because he needs you to know how true it is. Having a partner who he can count on and trust with his life—with his son’s lives. It’s new to him, and even after a year, it surprises him every day how much you do for him and the boys. Your kindness and your heart are bottomless, he’s decided. And though he has no clue how he got so lucky, he’s not about to question it.

“I feel the same way about you,” you reply, also in a soft tone. Eddie always tells you the way that you make his life better, but he tends to brush you off when you try to do the same. He believes you deserve more than him, but he doesn’t realize there isn’t any more than him. He is everything.

“I can’t believe we’ve been together a year,” Eddie says. Sometimes it feels like it went by in the blink of an eye, but when he thinks about all the shit the two of you have had to overcome, he thinks that a year feels about right.

“Best year ever,” you say. “Even dealing with a certain psycho couldn’t ruin it.” You don’t want to mention Brittany by name, but you need to let him know that you’d do it all over time and time again despite her and all the bullshit.

“Aw, come on. Ryan’s not that bad,” Eddie jokes. You giggle and bury your face in his neck. Electricity sparks where your skin rests against his and Eddie wraps you up in his arms. “Happy anniversary, baby. I love you much.”

“I love you too,” you murmur against his skin. You go to wish him a happy anniversary as well, but Eddie’s loud growling stomach steals your thunder and sends you into another round of giggles. “Would you like some of my food?”

“God, you’re perfect.”

Not five minutes after the two of you finish your food, Eddie has you on your back, his body resting comfortably on top of yours as you makeout. The kisses are slow and passionate, taking your time to explore one another’s mouths. Hands roam each other’s bodies, some soft touches and some rough grabs—all of it possessive.

Needing air, Eddie pulls his mouth from yours and begins to trail hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck. Strong fingers dig into your hips as you lift your own hands to tangle in his soft curls.

“Bedroom?” Eddie growls against your skin.

“No,” you say, wrapping your legs around the man’s hips to keep him where he is. “Want you here.”

“Mm, whatever my princess wants,” Eddie mutters, punctuating it by grazing your jaw with his teeth. Slowly, he sits up, bringing you with him until you’re seated comfortably in his lap.

You shiver, his tongue warm against your neck and hands strong on your back and sides. It’s as though you can’t be close enough to him, your hips rolling to create a friction that has both of you aroused.

Eddie unbuttons your jeans disapprovingly. “Don’t know why you even bothered to put these back on,” he tuts, apparently forgetting that he was the one who told you to. “Now I gotta rip ‘em off again. Making this harder than it needs to be.”

“Tell me more about making things harder,” you tease, grinding against his stiff length with the intent of feeling him through your panties.

“You’re trouble,” he murmurs into your mouth, a smile twitching on his lips. “I fuckin’ love it.”

Your pants get shrugged down your legs, not even making it all the way off, and your lace thong gets pushed over slightly to expose your pussy. Eddie pulls himself out of his boxers and runs his cock along your soaked core before aligning himself with your entrance.

“Tha’s it,” he moans as you sink onto him, taking every inch within your walls. “Fuck, you know exactly what I want.”

You bite your lip and nod. It’s as though your brain clicks off when he first enters you, your head filled only with thoughts of Eddie Eddie Eddie.

Once you regain some semblance of sanity, you hold onto his biceps and bounce on his cock, the tip hitting your sweet spot over and over. “So big—so full,” you manage, eyes rolling back as he thrust up into you.

“That’s right; you’re fuckin’ full of me,” he grits out, fingers digging into the flesh of your ass. “And I’m gonna pump you full of my cum, too.”

You nod before gently biting down on his shoulder. “Please. Want your cum.”

“I know you do, princess. Because I’ve gotta fill you with my cum to knock you up, don’t I?”

You can only whimper in response, but that isn’t satisfactory for your boyfriend.

“Words, princess.”

“Want you to knock me up!” It comes out in one pathetic breath.

His thrusts become more frantic, needier. “Oh, I don’t think you want it,” he goads. “I think you need it. I think you need me to get you pregnant, so you can show off that you fuckin’ belong to me—and only me.”

Tears form along your lash line; your orgasm is so close, but you know he can withhold your pleasure if you don’t answer him. “Need your baby,” you whisper. “Need everyone to know I’m yours.”

“God fuckin’ damn.” The thought of you swollen with pregnancy has him unhinged, his thumb circling your clit as his own release nears. “Gonna fuck you so full.”

You clench around him, chanting his name while you cum. He follows, holding down your hips so he can slam into you and give you every last drop.

A string of breathy whines leaves your lips as you lower your head down to Eddie’s shoulder. His grip on you softens and slowly glides up your body until one hand trails up and down your back and the other cups the back of your head.

“How was that?” he murmurs.

“Fucking amazing and you know it,” you mumble against his shoulder.

Eddie chuckles and you pick your head up to press your lips against his.

“Don’t wanna move,” you say with a sigh.

“I know, sweetheart,” Eddie coos. “Just want to keep me inside of you forever, don’t you?”

As hard as he just made you cum, you shouldn’t get so instantly turned on by his words and teasing tone. And though he may be teasing, he is also absolutely correct.

You push against his chest playfully and reluctantly move yourself off of his lap. As gracefully as you can manage—which isn’t very—you lay back down on the couch. A trickle down the inside of your thigh tells you that Eddie’s cum is escaping. Your boyfriend seems to notice this just as you do.

“Absolutely not,” he says as uses two fingers to shove it back into you.

The feeling has your eyes fluttering closed as you let your muscles relax into the cushions.

“Ah, shit,” Eddie says.

“What?” you ask, forcing your eyes open. Eddie’s looking down and you follow his line of sight to see that some of his cum got away from both of you and landed on your jeans. “Oh, it’s okay. They’re—huh.”

A giggle begins to bubble up out of you and Eddie raises an eyebrow in question.

“Eds, these are the same jeans I was wearing that night,” you tell him.

“Our first night?”

“Yeah,” you say. “I couldn’t find them when I went to get dressed. Someone else did though and threw them in my face.” You chuckle at the memory. “I didn’t even remember I had these jeans stashed here at your place.”

“And as nice as they are,” Eddie drawls, crawling on top of your body, “I think you look far better without them on. Or any pants. Or any clothes.”

You smirk up at him and drape your arms around his neck. “What do you say we make some new stains, then?”

“As you wish, sweetheart.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #older!eddie #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #dad!eddie #AYW #AYWS

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anti-william-afton · 2 years

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#five nights at freddy’s #fnaf #my art #tw // blood #💜First Son #michael afton #fnaf fanart

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sprite-writes-fanfic · 3 months

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When the ‘03 Turtles are in love!

🐢💙❤️2003 TMNT x Reader💜🧡🐢

Word Count: 889

CW: Gender-neutral reader as always, referred to as ‘you’, my underrated beloveds ong, (especially Donnie 💜), nothing but fluff! Turtles realizing they’re in love with you and how they act around you!! (+ confessions because yes <3)

🐢💙Leonardo💙🐢

💙 With Leo, it takes him a good while to realize he’s in love with you. It just randomly hits him when he’s meditating, the comfort you bring, the way he can lean on you, the way he’s always seemingly drawn to you! It hits him like a bus.

💙 He gets a little shy and distant with you, but don’t give up! Continue coming to him and acting like yourself, he’ll feel a bit guilty for avoiding you, but you still coming to him makes his heart flips and he’s feeling those butterflies.

💙 That’s when Leo can’t take it anymore and finally confides in Master Splinter, (which we both know that man knows when his sons are in love). Splinter is pleasantly surprised! But he’s happy to help his son sort out his feelings and even devise ways to confess to you.

💙 Finally, Leo works up the courage and asks you to go to the training dojo with him alone, to train. You two do train and by the end of it, Leo finally spills it, confessing his love to you, but also expressing his understanding if you didn’t feel the same.

💙 Pleasantly surprised when you admit to feeling the same way! Man is fist-pumping the air mentally when you confess. After that, you two spent more time together in the dojo, just talking things out and making it official with a hug, (a kiss will come later, Leo’s not ready to make that quick of a step!)

🐢❤️Raphael❤️🐢

❤️ With this emotional turtle, Raph is quick to realize, unlike his brothers, and at first; he’s frustrated. He didn’t NEED feelings, especially not towards a family friend, a human… A very beautiful human at that—

❤️ Okay, he gives up and comes to terms with the fact, Raph, the tough guy with anger issues, has soft feelings for YOU. (Bro went through the 5 stages of grief because of this/j)

❤️ And after coming to that conclusion, man is always trying to impress you, he gets closer to you, wants you to depend on him because he wants to be that someone for you! It strokes his ego quite a bit too.

❤️ It’s when he finally realizes he wants to be with you he shoots his shot. What’s the worst they could say? No? So, one night when you join him on patrol and you two are chilling on a roof, he finally confesses. And he’s straight to the point like, “Look uh, this is gonna sound weird, but I have feelings for you.”

❤️ Dude is so hyped when you say you feel the same way too. Raph isn’t the type to wait around either like Leo, on that rooftop was where you two shared (his) your first kiss.

🐢💜Donatello💜🐢

💜 When Donnie realizes, he panics a little actually. YOU are his best friend, and he’s completely shocked when he realizes that his heart thunders in his chest and his palms get sweaty when YOU are around, (*slow fade-in of the demi-romantic flag*).

💜 He tries to shut down these feelings as best as he can by working on his technology more and being distant with everyone, and I mean EVERYONE.

💜 Even then he can’t stay away for too long, he’s back to ranting and rambling about his inventions to you, and his breath hitches whenever you smile at and tell him, “Go on”, whenever he pauses and apologizes for rambling again.

💜 Donnie has to tell you, if he gets rejected now, hopefully these feelings will go away, right? He didn’t even consider the fact that you could possibly like him back, according to his statistics, the likelihood of a mutant and a human together is low!

💜 Well, when he sat you down for a serious conversation, going on to admit his feelings and saying he wouldn’t be hurt if you said no— Wait what? You were quick to interrupt him and tell him you liked him back?? He had to process a moment before he would shyly ask if you wanted to go for a small ride in the Battle Shell around town. (You two held hands while he drove. <3)

🐢🧡Michelangelo🧡🐢

🧡 Woof, Mikey on the other hand is a bit of a wild card, at first he confuses platonic with romance, but when his brothers point out to him the obvious, he’s all for it!

🧡 Mikey is the type to start reading comics and watch movies that involve romance so he has an idea of what to do, (and yes, he kicks his feet all giddy-like when he’s doing this).

🧡 After he’s obtained his knowledge, he’s quick to try and impress you and reenact some moments from the movies he’s watched, always saying quotes you probably wouldn’t understand. And when you don’t get it at first, thinking he’s just being Mikey, he’s a little bummed…

🧡 Then Raph has to point it out to him why his advances aren’t working, because he’s not really acting any different, and just tells Mikey to grow a pair and to tell you honestly. And that’s when Mikey’s new plan is sent into action, operation confession is a go!

🧡 Still a little confusing because he’s still making references but he’s got the spirit. Eventually he ends up forgetting the movie references and out-right tells you. And it’s safe to say, you guys have a roof-top date coming up here soon.

Gaaah, I’ve been obsessing over TMNT good lord. I wanted to write about them, and I’ll probably write more about them too 😭💙 Love turtle pookies ong, hope you enjoyed, and yes I posted the same day, I am motivated to write. ✍️

#sprite writes #fanfic #tmnt #tmnt 2003 #tmnt x reader #tmnt 2003 x reader #leo x reader #raph x reader #donatello x reader #mikey x reader #tmnt leonardo #tmnt raphael #tmnt donatello #tmnt michelangelo #2003 leo #2003 raph #2003 donnie #2003 mikey

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arcielee · 5 months

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Zȳha lyks

Summary: You find an ally with the second son of King Viserys. Paring: Aemond Targaryen x Plus Size Reader Word Count: 2.4k+ Warnings: AFAB Reader, fat phobia, kissing, oral (f receiving), fingering, p in v, overstimulation, loss of virginity implied. Author's Note: This story is based on this request:

I definitely tweaked it a bit but I hope you enjoy it.💜 Thank you to my beloved beta reader @annikin-im-panicin for your insight with this peace and to @azperja for your emojis 💜 Valyrian translations: Zȳha lyks is his peace 💜 Dividers by @saradika-graphics 💜

It was your father’s ambition to weave himself in the inner circle of the crowned princess that pulled you away from Claw Isle, leaving your brother behind to step into the role vacant for House Celtigar. During your journey, your father would repeatedly impress the importance of absorbing the tutoring of the maesters, to learn of your ancestral history before it had been so diluted by the blood of Westeros…but he was also adamant that you were to take advantage of your social seating, to make worthwhile and lifelong allies while in King’s Landing.

You were quick to note the marionette strings that Prince Aegon held, allowing the Strong bastards to hold their heads high with their snide comments on how they found you, “pleasantly plump enough,” or so they supposed.

It cut through your skin and burrowed into your heart, but your face never betrayed your anger nor your hurt. Instead, you went to your father with your heartache but his response was almost flippant about your torment.

“Our blood stems from the veins of Old Valyria,” your father now spoke of this as a fact, as something without any room to argue against. “They are our kinfolk and we seem destined to intertwine our blood with the blood of the dragon.”

But on this day you pushed aside your father’s words the moment you saw Prince Aegon and his puppets shift their collective cruelty onto the second son of King Viserys, Prince Aemond Targaryen.

He was a quiet, sullen boy, who always seemed sunkissed and kept his large, lavender eyes downcast. You saw how his pain curved his posture, a hooded melancholy draped across his slouched shoulders. He blanched as the boys retrieved the Pink Dread, his freckles stark on his porcelain skin.

Their gibe laughter echoed within the Dragon Pit and it boiled your blood, urging your steps forward to push past the brunette pair of princes and towards the puppeteer. Aegon’s brow raised, amused with your flushed fury that was staining your features, quick to sneer his comment on how, “–perhaps this swine could be mounted in–” but it stopped once your balled fist cracked into his nose.

Your satisfaction trilled up and down your spine with the pop of cartilage, watching as he cupped his face and the crimson that poured between his fingers. His wounded howl called back the Dragonkeepers and the White Cloaks assigned to them, all horrified at the sight. You were in trouble, undoubtedly, feeling the large hand that curled around your wrist to drag you back to your father. You dared look at Aemond, catching the upturn quirk of his mouth, the glitter in his eyes that met with your own.

It began a bond with the foundation of a mutual disdain, a hatred that would be solidified with events at Driftmark.

The events that followed that fateful night were flurried: the crowned princess all but fled the capital with her new husband and children, while your father decided to uproot and follow after. This had been halted by the queen’s request, behest of her daughter Princess Helaena, asking if you would remain as one of her ladies and confidants.

It was something that could not be denied and you found yourself alone with Helaena, her first request was for you to bring a book to her brother, who had since been boarded up in his room to recover.

“Am I to read to him?” You peered up from the cover to Helaena. “What if he does not wish to see me?”

“I believe this book and its company would interest him,” she glowed with her sweet smile, “I believe he would enjoy the change in narration, as our maester is rather monotone,” was all that she offered.

At first, Aemond had been hesitant of your company, bashful of the bloodied bandages that required to be tended to, but you showed to be steadfast, unflinching, but with a sense of empathy without the effortful pity that came from everyone else. You saw how he warmed as your visitations turned habitual, with you joining with his lessons and remaining when the maesters left. Helaena would slyly dismiss you for the day and this allowed Aemond to help you practice your shared ancestral tongue, or listen to whatever tome caught your attention in the library, even delving into bits of gossip or updates that pertained to his dragon.

“Vhagar flies over once a day. I assume it is to check on you,” you informed him one afternoon, “and she rests on the outside of the city walls, overlooking the bay.”

His cheeks pinked with his shy admittance, “I can feel her.”

You could not help your smile in return. Whereas Helaena was always sweet and always kind to you, and even Aegon had a newfound respect in your regard, you found it was the second son of King Viserys that allowed you to find a sense of comfort that you thought had been left at home.

Aemond recovered, as you knew he would, and you still remained at his blindside as he reacclimated to his new depth perception. He began to wear an eyepatch over his scarred socket, its wrathful red line curling above and below, along with his apprehension to the whispers of the court about the marred Targaryen prince.

“You are the rider of Vhagar, with the blood of the dragon in your veins,” you reminded him, your own blood rising to the surface. “Pay them no mind.”

Aemond listened to you, as he always did, focusing his determination on relearning his world with his handicap. You watched as he grew tall, his sinewy frame becoming taut under his fitted tunic and slacks, a result of the countless hours he spent training with Ser Criston. He matured with a severity etched into the marble he seemed to be chiseled from, though you still would see a perpetual smirk that would play across his lips.

Your heart fluttered until it bruised against your breastbone when he shyly asked that you would walk on his right side. “I wish to be able to see you,” he murmured and you burned with his words. Aemond showed consideration to match his gait with your steps and you enjoyed the heat that seemed to permeate from him; his large palm would cover your own, tucking it into the crook of his arm to keep you close at his side.

Worthwhile and lifelong allies, your father’s mantra repeated in your mind, but on his eight and tenth nameday, you felt the thrum of an unknown emotion vibrating within you with his close proximity.

His mother had gifted him a sapphire stone that was carved to fit where his eye once been, and when he focused his bicolored gaze on you–how the blue was brought out in his lavender eye with the complement of the gemstone, its amber flecks in the shine from the candles lit–did you feel the air pull from your lungs.

You had never cared for the vicious tittering of the noblewomen and would find yourself arguing how Aemond was handsome still, as it seemed a quality trait that most Targaryen men possessed. But in that moment, as the warmth flooded your features from his steady stare that now bore through you, you began to grasp it to be so much more for you.

Aemond misread your reaction, flinching to pull on his eyepatch with his apology: “I would never want to offend you–”

Your hand reached with its own volition, touching his elbow to stop him. He paused and looked at you and you took a breath before you could manage to say, “Aemond, you are beautiful.”

You burned from your boldness that was spilling from your tongue, your realization of what began as a mutual hatred for his nephews was on the precipice of something you knew you could not ignore.

Aemond watched you, his eye flitting over, before he tucked his eyepatch into his pocket and then offered his elbow to you. “Come, Lady Celtigar, we should not keep them waiting,” his voice low, and only then did you notice the rose hue that touched his cheeks.

After his celebration, it would be romanticized how the prince disappeared, taking Vhagar to fly to Claw Isle and demand your hand in marriage, against the Lord Hand’s protest for a more strategic pairing. Aemond would not be deterred and he returned with the intention to have you as his wife, which you graciously accepted. The ceremony that followed was intimate, steeped in the tradition of Old Valyria and sealed with a kiss that tasted of iron.

It was then you felt a new shyness that swept through with your muted mortification of the intimacy that was now expected of you, that Aemond would see all of you. He always seemed to take pride with how you were dressed in your finery, gowns stitched to complement your buxom figure, but you soon learned that Aemond much preferred what was beneath the silk and lace.

That night he would show you. He relished to peel away your layers, his mouth ravenous to taste your skin, his tongue licking to follow the natural slopes of your breasts and to the valley between. Aemond was panting with his anticipation, placing hot, opened mouth kisses to cherish your every curve, with gentle nips of his teeth that left blooms of rose as he continued towards your soft stomach and lower. He savoured your taste and how your body responded, how you were breathless, flushed, writhing beneath him.

“Aemond,” you gasped as he nestled between your plush thighs.

He shushed you, his breath warm against your silken folds, and it tickled in a way that caused you to squeeze his head between. His pleasure spilled with a low, guttural groan that rattled your bones beneath, but he would never pull away, as you would learn.

Your fingers combed through his silver hair as he began to tease you, sparks licking the base of your spine as he drank your essence. His gentle touch fell in tandem with his tongue, a pacing that was harmonized with your sweet sighs, only quickening with the flutter of your walls. The sparks of pleasure flashed white with your peak shuddering throughout, pulsing around his digits that remained knuckle deep, coaxing you to completion.

When your breath finally returned, you felt him grinning against your cunt. You found the muscle strength to tilt your chin down and meet with his eye blown, the shine of you on his smug expression. “One more for me, pretty girl,” his tone was low, commanding, his lips feathering your now swollen bloom of nerves.

You were boneless and quivering from your second release and only then did Aemond shift to move on top of you, melting against the softness of your skin, fitting in a way that you never realized before was missing from you.

He captured your mouth, his gentle thrusts filled you, completed you, and he trembled with his own reserve until you finally begged, “Aemond, my love, please, I need you–” that he rolled his hips against you, burying to the hilt with a rhythm that grew desperate. The litany that spilled from your lips as you clung to his shoulders, the flashes returning but with color from this new pleasure rekindling deeper within you.

That night, Aemond showed you the dragon that you were always aware thrummed beneath his practiced poise, something insatiable and wanting. He played the perfect gentleman in court, though his large hands always reached to touch, to grab whenever eyes were turned. You were his peace personified, decorated with love bites of your passion shared, the lifeline to his sanity that balanced on the edge of the coin flipped by the gods.

And it was tested when the crowned princess returned to argue for the claimant of Driftmark.

That night, the dinner had a palpable tension that the minstrels tried to drown with their music. Aemond held his gaze, piercing, loathsome, waiting for a moment to lash out, and that moment came served on a platter: a suckling pig that crackled still from the flames it had been removed from.

You first noticed the crass snickering of Prince Lucerys that was followed by the swell of your husband’s anger, something you quickly abated with the gentle press of your hand to his forearm as you pushed to stand. The room halted, the attention trained to you as you made show to hold up your gilded cup. “Final tribute,” your sickly sweet tone began, “to the health of our nephews…”

You knew that Aemond was watching, his agitation holding him rigid in his seat, his curiosity browed as you continued your insincerity, stating all three of their names with emphasis, “...each of them handsome, wise,” and your lips, stained by the wine, curled upwards, “Strong.”

It was a rippled effect: the shock of the queen, the sharp eyes of the Lord Hand, the heated glare from the other end of the room, but it did not stop you. Instead you looked for the perpetual smirk that was now playing across your husband’s mouth.

“Come now,” you gestured again with your goblet and even Aegon, with a dark chuckle, raised his own, “let us drain our cups to these three Strong boys.”

“I dare you to say that again.”

Aemond pushed to stand, his ire returned with a force as he moved to wall you away from Jacaerys. “You dare raise your tone to my wife,” his wrath cut with each word, the fire in his blood pouring from him. “She only meant to compliment you… or do you not think yourself Strong?”

It ended as quick as it had begun with Jacaerys thrown across the floor and a throaty chuckle from the back of Aemond’s throat. The clash of dragons was split apart by the White Cloaks and you watched your husband with a pride blooming in your chest, knitting with the love you now realized you had always carried for him: he was truly beautiful, squared off and fearless, his severity now furrowed onto his features that showed golden from the candles lit.

You held your head high as you walked to grab his sleeve and his attention returned to you, to your touch, though his scowl remained splayed on the sharp edges of his face. You pulled him to leave, to return towards your bedchambers; Aemond brimmed with a passion that you knew needed a release and you would forever be willing to be that vessel for your husband.

Taglist (Tumblr kindred spirits): @aaaaaamond @annikin-im-panicin @watercolorskyy @black-dread @fan-goddess @httpsdoll @theromanticegoist @assortedseaglass @amiraisgoingthruit @theoneeyedprince @babyblue711 @itbmojojoejo @girlwith-thepearlearring @lauraneedstochill @theobjectofyourire @troublesomesnitch @hb8301 @snowprincesa1 @namelesslosers @darylandbethfanforever9 @helaelaemond

arcie's hotd masterlist

#aemond targaryen #aemond taragaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen fanfiction #hotd fanfic #hotd fanfiction #aemond targaryen x plus size reader #plus size reader #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond x reader #aemond x you #Zȳha lyks #his peace

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gucciwins · 16 days

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A Family of Three Grows

A/N: Thank you to the lovely Nonnie who brought back inspiration for this story I wrote in 2020 and last gave an update in 2022. Who knew 2024 would be the year I brought it back. This was fun to write and go back to this family's dynamics. Hope you enjoy, my sweet friends 💜

Word count: 3234

Adore You / Three Time / Leather and Lace / Family / Ask

Harry loved his family.

Y/N and Atticus were everything to him and when Y/N broke the news their family was going to be growing, he was over the moon. It’s something they talked about but never rushed because they had Atticus, their sweet angel who would not stop growing.

Atticus was the smartest boy. He was the top of his class and loved to read chapter books with Y/N. Each night, they would read a chapter and discuss their thoughts over breakfast in the morning. Harry’s input was asking questions so he could stay in the loop. Harry still remembered a summer day where he went to run errands, leaving them at home reading in bed and came to find them cuddled with ten books laid on their bed. He knew his son valued this time with the woman he called Mum.

Life had treated them well. Y/N was writing, going to the studio when Atticus was at school. Harry adhered to the schedule and was open to working extra hours. Y/N and Harry were the perfect team. She helped create the entirety of Harry’s house. It was an album he felt captured their life in their own way. The grammy’s that year were a pleasant bonus to round out the amazing year they had.

Y/N and Harry were in the studio today while Atticus was at school. Harry was in no rush to push out a fourth album. He enjoyed being in the studio with Y/N. It made him fall in love with her all over again. The ideas she brought were something he didn’t take for granted.

Y/N was sitting at the piano wearing her favorite oversized Ferrari sweater. The girl clung to her worn-out shirt, despite its tears. Not that he would ever make her. He had his fair share of tattered shirts in his closet.

She was beautiful. How lucky he was to have her as his partner for the past five years. Their family is everything he dreamed of when he was a young boy. Without looking, she called for him to sit beside her on the bench. He did so without a second thought.

“I wrote a song–well, it’s unfinished,” she tells him as she plays the soothing lullaby she wrote for Atticus when he was six years old and was having a hard time sleeping through the night. It’s something she played repeatedly until Atty would fall asleep.

“Can I hear it?”

Y/N shifts. She seemed reluctant to reveal it to him.

“Well, it might not be any good,” she defends, and she pulls her notebook.

Harry frowns. Y/N being insecure in the studio is unheard of unless it’s something she’s been holding in her chest for a long time and is finally letting it out. She passes him the notebook. There’s a picture holding the place she wants him to read. One look at her is all the encouragement he needs to open up the book and read the first words: For Atty.

He reads line by line and by the time he reaches the last words, there are tears fighting to fall from his eyes. Y/N wrote a song for their song. It’s a rough draft, and he knows she wants him to help her finish it.

“Atticus knows how much we love him–how much I love him. But I want him to hear this song and know that my love isn’t something that will ever go away. If anything, it’ll only get stronger.” She tells Harry.

It takes everything in him to not break down because he never expected to be loved this much in life. He expected to be content, but this was beyond anything he could ever dream of. “It’s fucking perfect.”

Y/N shakes her head. “No, it’s not even–”

Harry stops her, reaching for her hand. He brings it to his lips, placing a soft kiss on her hand. “It’s amazing. You wrote a song for our boy. Sure it’s not finished, but you wrote those lyrics calling our sun the light of our life. The reason the world turns. I have never been able to put into words how much he means to me, but you did it.”

“I love you,” Y/N reminds him.

“Love you, too. So fucking much.”

“Will you sing it?” Y/N asks. Those beautiful eyes are staring at him and there is no way he can tell her no.

After so many years together, Harry understands how Y/N writes songs. He can see the melody written out. It’s something that frustrates Tyler because he doesn’t pick up on her cues. Harry tells him not to sweat it, it’s something only they have. Something they have as the perfect pair.

Y/N plays the melody on the piano as Harry sings the lyrics. The longer he sings, the more he feels his throat close up and by the final lyrics, he’s got tears streaming down his face. “I don’t think I can sing it without crying.”

She laughs. “You’ll have to try. I want us to record it for Atty. Maybe get it on a record for him.”

Harry gives her a long kiss. “That sounds like the best idea.”

Y/N and Harry spent the rest of the day in the studio, knowing Atticus was with Anne for the day allowed them the extra time to be in the studio. By the time dinner rolled around, Harry had ordered them food from her favorite Chinese food restaurant. Y/N reminded him three times not to forget her spring rolls. Over dinner, they discussed the song and how they might want to surprise Atticus. Y/N made him promise not to tell him until they could have it produced by their good friend, Tyler. It would take some time, but it would be worth it.

Y/N had a last surprise for Harry. They were back to sitting side by side on the piano bench when she passed him her notebook again. “There is one last surprise,” Y/N tells him. She flips the notebook a few more pages. There is a paper. He thinks nothing of it until Y/N turns it around for him.

A sonogram.

It’s a black photo with a small gray blob in the center. Harry isn’t sure what to think. It can’t be true. Can it?

He squints, picking up the paper, and in the corner has Y/N’s hyphenated name.

“Baby, is this?” He gets out.

“What is it?”

“Are we–are you?” Harry lifts his head to meet her eyes that are brimming with tears. “Are you pregnant?”

Y/N lets out a joyous laugh, one that finds a place deep in his heart. “Yeah,” she confirms. “I’m pregnant. We’re going to have a baby.”

“Oh, my goodness.” Harry looks back down at the sonogram. He wants to know everything, but all he can do is cry. Y/N stands up from the bench to move closer to him. Harry turns his body, resting his head on her stomach, Y/N settles her hands on his shoulder. She lets one run through his hair as he takes in the news that they are going to be giving Atticus a sibling. Something he would ask for constantly. They were making a dream come true.

“Hi, little pea. I’m your Daddy.”

Harry pulls away from Y/N when he hears a loud sob. “I’m sorry,” Y/N apologies for startling him. “That was–I don’t even know how to explain it, but fuck, you’re so amazing.”

He drags Y/N to sit in his lap. Harry holds her close, rocking her back and forth, kissing her neck, whispering, I love you. This is something they talked about endlessly. Atticus was their boy. They had always said their family was perfect. Whether they added to their family or not, they are happy, but getting this addition into their life felt right.

Y/N isn’t sure how much time passes, but she is ready to go home and be with Atticus. As they’re packing up, Y/N steps towards Harry, knowing he might be upset with the only downside to the news of her pregnancy. “H, we can’t tell anyone. Not Atticus. Not even Anne.”

“But love, how do you expect me to resist?”

Y/N’s smile is sincere. She knows he wants to scream it from the rooftops. “It’s early,” she stresses. “I want us to make sure everything is okay. That we make it past this first trimester. I know that’s asking a lot for you.”

Harry shakes his head. “Not at all, Lovie. I understand. Your health and the babies are important. I respect that.”

She gives him a kiss. “Thank you.”

“Let’s get home to our sweet boy.”

They leave the studio with their hearts full.

It’s been three months and Y/N’s doctor gave them the all clear. Their sweet bub is growing at a good rate and Y/N is doing spectacular. No morning sickness, no weird food cravings (yet) and is glowing. Harry was excited because that meant it was time for them to share the news with their family, but most importantly, to Atticus.

Harry spent the day getting the surprise ready. The vinyl was in a special box ready to be opened and then played. They’d be doing that first, then give Atticus the news. While Harry ran around getting everything perfect, Y/N laid in the hammock in their backyard with Atticus. They each had a book in hand. Atticus at 9 was reading the Percy Jackson series, something Y/N was excited about because they were some of her favorite books when she was growing up. Now she got to see her son experience everything she did at his age. It helped that she could answer questions he had, without spoilers, of course.

Y/N set her book down, running her hand through Atticus’ brown locks similar to Harry’s. She knew he’d made a great older brother. She also feared he’d think she’d loved him less with a baby around, which was far from the truth. Atticus was hers, he was her baby boy and nothing or no one could take that from her. Harry likes to joke and say Atticus is her twin instead of his because he takes after her. Atticus has all of Harry’s looks but is everything her child for he has her love of reading. He loves the ocean and could spend hours in there with them. Atty was charismatic and had everyone’s attention as soon as he walked into a room. He exuded confidence and skillfully commanded attention with his voice. Y/N liked to say he picked up on both of their traits, but Harry assured her Atticus was a piece of her. It never failed to make her cry.

“I love you Atticus.” Y/N told him, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

Atticus bookmarked the page he was on. “I love you too, Mum.”

Y/N wanted to blurt out the news to Atticus, but knew Harry would be upset she did it without him, so she held it in.

“Forever going to be my sweet boy?” Y/N asks.

“Course. Going to take care of you all my life,” Atticus promises.

Y/N smiles. A very Harry answer. “Much appreciated. I think your dad has got you covered.”

Atticus shrugs, “two of us looking out for you isn’t bad.”

“Glad I’m in safe hands.”

Atticus goes back to reading but Y/N stays lost in thought, waiting for Harry to announce his arrival. It isn’t much longer when Harry rushes through the backyard, box in hand. Y/N sits up, eager to give it to her son, but Atticus doesn’t seem concerned about his reading.

“Hi bud, got you something?” Harry shakes the box softly.

“Two pages left,” Atticus mumbles.

Harry frowns. “This is your fault.” He points at Y/N.

Y/N gasps. “Please, who bought him an entire library?”

“Again you,” he defends.

“Technically, your money.”

“Our money,” Harry corrects.

Atticus is entranced in his reading and Harry uses the time to steal a kiss from Y/N. They refrain from anything too much for Atticus’ sake, but he never minds seeing them give a bit of affection.

“Chapter done,” Atticus shouts. “Gimme. Gimmie.” He makes grabby hands, but Harry shakes his head, telling him they had to head inside.

Y/N holds onto Harry’s arm as Atticus rushes inside to the piano room. It’s his favorite room in their Malibu home. The view is perfect. You can see the tides rolling in, one landing on top of another. The sounds perfect to lull someone to sleep.

Harry sits next to Atticus while Y/N kneels in front of him, her hands pressed together under her chin as she watches him tear the paper. Y/N remembers doing that as a child and knows her mother was a saint for the patience she had. Y/N is close to ripping it herself, but when she sees the brown box, she settles down for a single moment.

Atticus pulls out the record. It’s in a sleeve with a beautiful print of Y/N, Harry and Atticus running through the sand a few months back. Anne had taken it and it became their favorite picture as a family. Harry

thought it would be the perfect fit, and it was. On the top of the cover it read “Atticus’ Song”. His small hands ran over the words as he sounded it out.

“Is this us?”

Y/N stroked his cheek. “Yeah, bubs. It’s for you.”

“Can you play it?” Atticus asks Y/N.

Harry knew Y/N was nervous. Hell, he was too. There was no worse critic than an honest nine-year-old. As Y/N placed the record on the player, Atticus fiddled with the string of the bracelet he made the other day with Harry. They all had a similar one on their wrist, Atticus having made Y/N’s matching them. Y/N walked back, squeezing next to Harry. Atticus closed his eyes to focus on the opening notes of the song. He was just like Harry, a true critic and admirer of all music. This time was no different.

The song was slow and had the melody of a lullaby. Harry’s voice welcomed them into the song, with Y/N’s joining him in the chorus. Y/N saw Atticus’ lip twitch during her solo and she couldn’t help but squeeze Harry’s arm. The song ran its course, and they waited patiently for his thoughts.

“Nice. It was really nice.”

Y/N let out a deep breath she was holding. Atticus cries, and Y/N panics as she swoops him into her lap before Harry can even move. She holds him tight to her chest as she meets Harry’s worried stare.

“Darling, my darling boy. I got you. I always have you.” Y/N whispers, brushing his hair back, trying her best to soothe him. Y/N rocks him back and forth, letting him get out all his emotions.

Atticus pulls back, his sniffles the only sound in the room. “Promise I like it.”

Harry laughs. “Tears would say otherwise, bud.”

“It–I–I” Atticus isn’t sure how to explain what he felt. “Can we play it every day?”

Y/N presses a kiss to his temple. “Anything for you.”

“You wrote it Mumma?”

Harry scoffs in defense. “What if I did? Huh?”

Atticus giggles. “Okay, Dad.”

Harry pouts. Y/N is the stronger song writer, there is no fighting it. “Fine, she wrote most of it.”

“We did it together,” Y/N answers.

“It’s my new favorite.” Atticus declares proudly.

“Good. That’s good. We do have one last surprise.” Harry is eager to share the news.

He stands up and goes for the frame they put the sonogram in for Atticus to keep in his room. While Harry steps out, Y/N settles Atticus in the middle of the sofa for Harry to sit next to him. Honestly, she wants to record this moment but decides it’s better to keep it private between them. Harry comes back with his dimples on display and Atticus is quick to be suspicious.

“Now close your eyes,” Harry orders.

Atticus looks weary but does as he’s told. Harry places the frame in his hands and when Atticus opens his eyes, he is looking at their most recent sonogram. It’s clear there is a baby in the middle with its head and body. Atticus would be quick to put it together, but even if he didn’t, the frame reading “Best Brother” would be a dead giveaway. Atticus’ jaw drops at the news. His eyes were not leaving Y/N’s as if he was waiting for them to say “just kidding” because he had waited a long time for this moment. There was a baby in his mum’s stomach. He was going to be an older brother.

“Is that why you’re always snacking?” Is the first thing Atticus says.

“Atticus,” Harry shouts playfully. Harry spares a glance at Y/N, unsure how she will react. She’s been a weeping mess, even if she denies it’s the pregnancy hormones. Instead, she surprises him by laughing. It’s a full belly laugh that makes her tear up.

It is true Y/N had been snacking recently, always something in her hand from a mandarin to banana chips. Harry had stocked up on different snacks on his weekly run to Tesco. He was sure Y/N had almost finished them, but he didn’t mind making all the extra runs out. Anything for his wife.

“How long do I have to wait to meet them?” Atticus asks when Y/N’s laughter has died down.

Y/N places her hand over her stomach. She hasn’t popped yet, but her doctor told her it would happen soon. Harry had taken photos every day, so she had seen the difference. “About six months to go, Atty.”

His eyes widened. “Too long.”

Harry laughs, pushing back Atticus’ growing curls. “Trust me, I know. But we’ve got an important job during this time.”

Y/N smacks Harry’s shoulder. “You don’t have a job, baby. We want you to keep being you. You can talk to us about the baby, about anything.”

“Can they hear me?” Is his follow up question.

“Mmm, you can talk to them all you like. Your Daddy certainly likes to do so.”

“Hey,” Harry pouts. “Thought you liked it.”

Y/N gives Harry a kiss. “I love it. One of my favorite parts of the day.”

“Okay. Can I do it now?” Atticus asks.

Harry nods and gestures for him to settle on the couch with Y/N. He sits on Y/N’s lap while Harry is quick to try to move him, wanting him to be careful with her. Y/N simply pulls him closer, and it reminds him of how perfect of a mother Y/N already is.

He joins his family on the couch, all snuggled close, while they listen to Atticus talk to his sibling. It’s one of the best days of Harry’s life and he can’t wait to make more memories in a few months’ time. For now, he will enjoy these special moments.

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles fluff #harry styles dad #harry styles and Atticus #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fic rec #harry styles story #harry styles one shot #harry styles series #harry styles blurb #harry styles x you #harry styles fanfic #harry styles writing #harry styles fic

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rosepetalsinwinter · 8 months

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Five Years That Felt Like a Millenium — Bucky Barnes

Pairing: tfatws!bucky x reader

Word count: 9,554

Summary: It’s been five years since Thanos snapped his fingers. Five years spent all alone. Now Sam is back and he has a new friend. Will Bucky be the one to uncover the secrets behind the bruises lining her body?

Warnings: illusions and mention of violence, abuse, manipulation, and cheating. Nothing explicit. Protective!bucky.

Note: It's been a while since I've posted. Here's a little slice to get you going before I continue with "Meant to Be." Hope you enjoy! 💜

Ao3│Wattpad│Ko-fi

Main Masterlist │Part 1 — Part 2 — Part 3

Happy reading!!

"Sammy!" A figure barrelled into Sam Wilson, almost making the five-foot-ten man topple over.

The girl's arms wrapped tightly around his bulky frame, hanging on for dear life. Her tears soaked his shirt, and her nails dug into his biceps almost painfully, but he said nothing. He only hugged her back with as much vigour and passion, letting his salty tears mix with hers.

Although no time had passed for Sam, years had passed for the girl—five to be exact—and he could feel all her emotions pouring out of her like a dam broken loose.

"Sammy!" she sobbed while her body shook violently. "You're back!"

"I've been back." Sam stroked a hand over the girl's hair, offering her comfort. "I've been here. Where were you?"

The first thing Sam did after he was blipped back to life was to call his sister, Sarah. Only to be told that five years had come and gone. His nephews, who were babies when he left, were now little men. The second thing Sam did was ask about Baby Girl.

He remembered when he first met her. Her family moved to the bayou when she was just five; Sam was fifteen. When her parents died, Sam's family took her in as their own, giving her the same amount of love they gave their other two kids.

So he was surprised, then, to find that Sarah hadn't heard from her in almost two years. Sam, himself, had no luck in locating her until recently. It took him eight months, but he finally found her. She had moved to New York and cut all ties with previous friends and family.

Sam wanted to ask why. Why leave Sarah and the boys? Why leave the only home she ever knew? His questions could wait, though. Now that she was here, he wouldn't ever let her go.

"Hey, Baby Girl," Sam shushed her when she sobbed louder, "I'm here. I'm not leaving again. Promise."

So fascinated by how she had aged from an awkward teen on the precipice of adulthood into a beautiful young woman, Sam did not notice the bruises lining her sides and underneath her clothes—or the circles under her eyes—from almost two years of interrupted sleep. Or the absence of light in her usually glowing irises.

When she let her entire weight fall on Sam and sobbed as she had when her parents died, he did not question it, only held on tighter and carried her towards the house.

"I've got you now, Baby Girl. Everything is gonna be just fine."

While he did not explicitly say anything, Bucky Barnes found the Wilson Family Residence quite endearing. His house in the thirties had been small, and even his current apartment in Brooklyn was compact—which he liked—but there was something so serene about the land surrounding the Wilson residence, so very peaceful.

After ninety years of constant fights, one after the other, all Bucky really wanted was some peace and quiet. And now, he could easily find it after absolving himself of most of the guilt he was carrying.

It wasn't easy, but Bucky told Yori the truth about his son's death and since then, had managed to cross a few more names off his list of amends. A weight lifted off Bucky's shoulders as everything began to make sense.

The Flag Smasher's fiasco was over with, and while the Powerbroker was still at large, there was no immediate threat. Bucky Barnes could rest for now before trouble found him again—as trouble often did. Sam had asked Bucky to stay over for the long weekend, and Bucky had happily obliged.

"It'll be good for you. Get away from that city life."

Bucky agreed. If all went well, he might end up buying his own house. He had a little... calm in Wakanda, and he missed the solidarity.

The axe was steadfast in his hands as he brought it down towards his target, and the sturdy stump was no match for the combined strength of both, the sharp tool, and Bucky's enhanced strength. In one meagre swing, half the stump broke off and landed on the ground with a muffled thump.

Bucky wiped the sweat off his brow with his right arm. It was the middle of June, and while the days were sweltering hot and sticky, the nights could get cold in comparison. Sam had tasked Bucky to get the logs for the fire, seeing as he was the most efficient.

Bucky continued with his work until he got a steady rhythm, stopping periodically to sip his still cold beer. It was then that his enhanced hearing picked up on the strangest sound. He perched the axe on his left shoulder and looked towards the house where Sam Wilson seemed to be consoling a crying girl.

"Huh." Bucky didn't find the exchange as odd as he should have. Everyone around the bayou was always coming to Sam for something. Whether it was a favour, or a shoulder to cry on. Bucky thought she must be someone special if he was hugging her like that.

When Sam took the girl into the house, Bucky shook his head and finished the last of his beer. He continued chopping more wood until the sun began to set, which is when he deposited the axe back into the shed and made his way inside to crash on the couch. Tomorrow would be a long day, what with the bonfire Sam was hosting, and all. Bucky fell to a dreamless sleep the second his head touched the pillow.

He was a light sleeper. So Bucky immediately woke up when he heard someone coming down the stairs. It took him a second to become aware of his surroundings, as it always did. He was in Louisiana, crashing on Sam's couch for the weekend.

Bucky turned his head to the left to see who it was. Probably the boys; they were early risers and loved pestering Bucky about his metal arm—not that he minded. He found their interest refreshing and loved putting a smile on their faces. He was surprised, then, to find a girl instead. The same one from yesterday.

Huh. The girl looked a mess, with only half her hair pulled back into a makeshift ponytail and black makeup smudged under her eyes. Her pants were unbuttoned, hanging precariously from her hips, and her jacket was falling off her shoulders, a few sizes too big. She was holding a pair of shoes in one hand, her phone and shirt in the other. She was also balancing a purse in the crook of her elbow.

It was the shirt that did it. Because, while the girl's own blouse was in her hands, she was wearing Sam's grey-green T-shirt. Bucky knew because that's what Sam was wearing yesterday. She was someone special then if she was wearing his clothes.

Bucky smirked. He was very aware of what the girl had been doing. He, himself, had been on both ends of the situation before. Though it was very long ago, he still remembered the embarrassment of being caught leaving a girl's room in the early hours of the morning.

The girl screamed when she saw Bucky, not expecting anyone to be up, much less lying on the couch and watching her horrible attempt at sneaking out. "Oh, God!" Her phone slipped from her grasp and landed on the floor with a loud clatter.

There was a moment of silence where the two merely stared at each other. Bucky, with poorly concealed amusement, and the girl, with mild horror. She moved first, crouching down to pick up her cracked phone.

"Does it still work?" Bucky's voice was raspy from disuse. When tears gathered in the girl's eyes as a reply, Bucky immediately sat up, dropping his amusement in exchange for concern. He knew nothing about her, but it seemed like she cried a lot.

"No," she murmured, though Bucky heard her as if she were beside him. "Oh, God. No, no, no, no, no..."

"Hey, it's alright," Bucky told her as he crouched down to pick up the purse she had thrown in her haste. He hesitated when he saw a shiny ring peeking out from one of the compartments—too fancy and expensive-looking to be something ordinary. He quickly tucked the circle back and ignored it. Had Sam proposed to her? Bucky was offended he hadn't told him. Maybe it was recent. "Is it turning on?"

"Oh God! N-no," the girl stuttered through her tears.

Bucky was convinced that this girl—who cried a lot—only knew how to say "no" and "oh, God."

"I'm sure Sam can get you a new one, no big deal. What's your name?" Bucky offered the girl his right hand, which she promptly ignored.

She shot up on unsteady legs. "I have to go."

Bucky mimicked her. "Okay?" It was turning out to be a very unusual conversation.

"I have to go," she said again, more slowly this time, as if he were a little kid who couldn't understand a word of English.

Bucky cleared his throat awkwardly, shifting on his legs before giving the girl her purse back. "Right."

The tally was now up to "no," "oh, God," and "I have to go." At least she wasn't crying anymore. Bucky hastily stepped out of the girl's way when he realized he was blocking the hall that led to the front door.

She moved as if someone lit a fire under her. One second, she was there, and the next, she was out the door with her pants still unbuttoned, her jacket still falling off her shoulder, and her shoes still in her hand.

"Nice to meet you..." Bucky dropped his hand and trailed off when he realized she couldn't hear him anymore.

Huh. Either Bucky still didn't know how to talk to people, or that girl was on something. A lot of youngsters nowadays did drugs for fun. Bucky didn't understand it, nor did he want to. He could just ask Sam about it later.

Bucky stretched his arms above his head and cracked his neck. A couch was considerably comfier than the floor but still gave him a stiff back. No matter, a quick run could swiftly solve that problem. Bucky turned on the coffee machine and was biting into an apple when a shirtless Sam came barreling down the stairs.

"You sleep good, man?" Sam asked.

"Yeah," Bucky shrugged, wiping some juice from his chin, "I slept good. Well, as good as I can, considering..."

Sam hummed before opening the fridge and taking a swig of the orange juice. "Nightmare?"

Bucky shook his head. "I don't remember it—Listen, you didn't tell me you had a girl up there."

"A girl?"

"Messy hair, pretty face. Was crying yesterday?"

"Baby Girl? You saw that?" Sam stopped peeling the banana in his hand to look at Bucky.

Bucky merely shrugged and grabbed a mug from the cupboard.

"Sorry I didn't tell you she was over," said Sam, taking a bite of his now-peeled banana. "We were up talking real late. I guess I forgot."

"Yup. Talking," Bucky muttered with a smirk as he poured his coffee. "I bet."

"What?" Sam implored.

"Uh, nothing. Just, the girl seemed nice."

"She is nice," Sam retorted. "You met her?"

Bucky nodded and took a sip of his coffee. Black, just as he preferred it.

"Didn't think she'd be awake," Sam said with a yawn. "She barely slept."

Bucky had to try really hard to keep himself from laughing. "Well, she was."

"She was?" Sam asked suspiciously. "What do you mean she was? Did she go back to bed?"

Bucky shook his head. "She left."

"She left?" Sam scoffed, propping a hand on his hip. He had never looked more like Steve.

"That's what I said," Bucky confirmed, taking another sip. "She's gone."

"Gone?" Sam grumbled. "Bucky, what the hell are you talking about?"

Sam's accusing behaviour was really starting to irk Bucky, making him think the girl's sneaking out was not mutual. Shit.

He laughed uncomfortably and put his mug down on the counter. "Your girl came running down the stairs, half-dressed. She dropped her phone, cracked it, didn't let me help. Then she said she 'had to go' and practically ran out of here, I dunno."

"When?" A vein popped in Sam's forehead as he grabbed a random shirt from the pile of clean laundry near the stairs.

Bucky hastily checked the watch on his right arm. "Fifteen, maybe twenty minutes tops."

That made Sam utter a series of colourful swears as he finished his breakfast and found his wallet.

"Wait, Sam, what's going on?"

Sam didn't answer Bucky, too busy looking for his keys in the wrong place.

"Sam!" Bucky asked louder.

"We talked about this!" Sam scoffed. "I told her to at least stay for the weekend. I can't believe this! We sat down like adults and came to an understanding." He finally found his keys on the key hook.

"Where are you going, Sam?" Bucky countered.

"I'm going to get her," Sam snapped before sighing dramatically and letting his shoulders droop. "Shit, I do not have time for this, Baby Girl."

Bucky moved over the kitchen counter and stood in front of Sam. "What about that meeting you've got?"

"What meeting?" Sam asked.

"That meeting about that thing," supplied Bucky.

"What thing?" Sam grumbled.

"You know what thing," Bucky countered.

"Oh. That. I'm gonna have to reschedule—Man! Where are my shoes?!"

"Why?"

"Why?" Sam echoed. "What's with all the questions, Buck? Because I have to get Baby Girl before she skips town and disappears on me again."

"Sam."

"I haven't seen her in eight months, man, and she hasn't seen me in five years. I'm not about to let her leave—"

"Sam!" Bucky shouted loud enough for his friend to hear. He grabbed his wallet and his keys and put on his jacket. "You're going to that meeting, Sam."

"Like hell I am," Sam retorted passionately.

"I'll go pick up your Baby Girl," Bucky said after downing the rest of his coffee. "You, go to your meeting."

Sam stopped for a moment and seriously considered Bucky's proposal. It was an important meeting. "She'll probably be at the taxi stand," he finally relented. "You know the one?"

Bucky nodded, tying up his shoelaces. "Yeah, I know the one."

"Buck?" Sam called when Bucky was stepping out the door. "You better bring her back, or else I'm gonna light a fire under your ass."

Bucky chuckled, pushing his sunglasses up his nose. "Understood, Sam."

The taxi stand was abandoned. Really, what did the girl expect so early in the morning? It was a long weekend, and the residents of Delacroix rarely needed a commute into the city on an ordinary Friday. She was arguing with the lone taxi driver, pleading with him, really, to take her to the nearest airport. But the man kept denying her. He had been up all night and insisted on napping, telling her to wait another twenty minutes.

She didn't have twenty minutes, damn it. If anything, she needed more time. Time she didn't have.

Her phone could be blowing up right now, and she wouldn't know it. She wouldn't know the consequences of her actions until she bought a new phone. But maybe—just maybe, a voice inside her reasoned—Quentin would be too busy with his work retreat to notice her absence.

The girl tried getting the driver's attention again, who shot her the most hateful look she had ever received before starting his cab and driving away. "Hey! Wait!" she called out, but he had already turned the corner.

A laugh made her spin around. It was the man from this morning, the one on Sam's couch. He stood before her with his arms crossed, a big smile overtaking his face.

"You must not be from the city," he mused, "if you're that bad at hailing a cab."

Bucky had no trouble locating the girl, what with her being the only person in a one-mile radius demanding to be taken to the nearest airport. Her feeble attempts amused him, and frankly, Bucky was having trouble believing she was Sam's girl. He didn't think Sam would've gone for someone as... difficult as her. But hey, it was Sam wanting to spend the rest of his life with her, not Bucky.

Bucky surveyed the girl from head to toe. Her hair was settled, her pants buttoned, and most of her composure seemed to have returned. However, she had gone pale once he revealed himself, her eyes wide with guilt. She was caught red-handed; now, he would be the one to deliver her to Sam.

Bucky pointed at her with his left arm. "Sam wants you home."

He was surprised to see that when she looked down at the shiny metal, recognition flared through her eyes rather than shock or disgust. Good, he thought. She knows who I am.

"No, thank you," she managed to squeak out, and Bucky was pleased to know that the girl's vocabulary extended past the three phrases he had come to know her for.

"You seem smart," he told her when he saw her looking behind him, "but not that smart."

"Yeah?" she challenged, gaining a rare bit of courage. "What makes you say that?"

"You know who I am and what I'm capable of. Smart. You think you can run from me. Not smart."

"Is that right?" she asked. Bucky nodded, and the girl took a deep breath. "I must not be too smart then."

He raised a brow in challenge, wondering where she would go from there.

Suddenly, the girl threw her arms above her head and waved them with abandon. "Mr. Thurow!" she shouted, running past Bucky. "Mr. Thurow!"

Bucky slowly walked towards the girl, unhurried in his steps. He wanted to know what she would do.

"Mr. Thurow!" the girl panted. "I need your help."

"Jesus Christ!" Mr. Thurow bellowed. "As I live and breathe! Is that you, Baby Girl?" He was a stocky man with a kind smile and welcoming eyes.

"Yes, Mr. Thurow," the girl began confidently, "it is. I need your help, please. This man," she pointed behind her at Bucky, "is—"

"Carlos!" Bucky interjected with a smile. "How are you?"

"Sergeant Barnes! Back again already?" Carlos turned his attention away from the girl.

Bucky watched with amusement as the girl's face scrunched with confusion. Her lips parted slightly, and she blinked rapidly. "What can I say, Carlos? I was missing your potato salad."

"Hell yeah, you were," Carlos guffawed.

The girl stood there dumbfounded as the two men embraced each other.

"You know, it was my great nan's recipe?" Carlos asked. "Been in the family for generations."

"I didn't know that. You bringing it tonight?"

"For the bonfire?" Carlos confirmed. "You bet I am."

"Well," Bucky gestured to the girl, "I was just taking Baby Girl here back home. She got a little lost, and Sam was starting to worry." Bucky made sure to make himself sound condescending on purpose.

He heard her scoff. "I was not lost."

"Well, you get her home safe, then. Understood, Barnes? I want to see both of you tonight." Carlos mockingly glared at the girl and winked at Bucky before departing.

"See you, Carlos!" Bucky called out to his retreating figure. "Well?" he questioned, turning his attention to the girl after a moment of silence. "Are you gonna run and embarrass yourself again, or are you gonna come with me?"

"I am not going anywhere with you!" the girl scoffed.

"I will take you kicking and screaming if I have to," Bucky warned.

The girl took a step back hastily, believing his threat. "You're a heathen."

Well, Bucky shrugged. He had been called worse. "Sam threatened me with fire, and that's not how I'd like to leave this world if it's all the same to you."

The girl seemed to consider his words for a moment. "Fire is a painful way to go," she finally mused.

"It is," Bucky agreed.

"I don't like you," she told him bluntly.

"Okay." A lot of people didn't like Bucky. One more wouldn't hurt.

"But no one deserves to die like that."

It seemed the spawn of Satan had a heart.

"Does seem excessive," said Bucky.

The girl paused again. "If I run, you'll catch me." It wasn't a question.

"Always," Bucky promised, and the girl must have believed him because her shoulders deflated, and she hung her head in submission.

"Doesn't seem like I have a choice," she whispered, though Bucky heard her all the same.

"You don't."

"Okay," she relented.

"Okay. Let's go." Bucky led her toward where he parked, and the girl followed silently.

Good, she isn't being insufferable any longer, Bucky thought. Though, luck must not have been on his side that day because not a second later, once his bike came into view, the girl started complaining.

"No. I'm not sitting on that death trap."

Bucky turned to her with an annoyed groan. "Really?"

"I hate bikes!" she told him.

"What? You rather walk?" Bucky crossed his arms.

"Yes, please," the girl replied, mimicking his posture. "I walked all the way here, didn't I?"

"Well, too bad!" snapped Bucky. "We're taking the bike." He grabbed his helmet and handed it to her. He groaned again when she didn't take it and only looked at him like she'd never seen a helmet before. Maybe she hadn't. He wouldn't be surprised. Bucky rolled his eyes and placed the helmet on the girl's head, securing the straps and confirming it fit snugly.

"It's loose," she complained.

"Your head's a lot smaller than mine..." Bucky took his previous statement back. He could definitely see the girl and Sam together. Both of them were insufferable shitheads and obviously perfect for each other.

"Sit," he gestured to the bike. And when the girl turned to him with the same blank look in her eyes, Bucky merely huffed in annoyance. He picked her up and deposited her on the seat as if she weighed nothing. And she didn't. He ignored her shouts of protest and sat in front of her.

"Where's your helmet?" She sounded worried for him.

Bucky laughed. "I don't need one."

"Yes, you do," she chastised him. "You could die."

"I'm a super soldier," Bucky said as an answer.

"Even super soldiers die," the girl retorted.

"I won't die," Bucky responded blandly before revving the engine. "Hold on tight."

"I am not touching youuuu..." The girl ended her sentence with a sudden shriek when Bucky unexpectedly released the throttle and speedily drove away. Her arms wrapped around his torso in a vice-like grip, and she hid her face in his jacket. "Oh, God!" she screamed. "Oh, my God!"

She took her flailing legs and tried wrapping them around Bucky's hips, which made him laugh in surprise. She was holding onto him like a koala bear, all while screaming bloody murder in his ears. Her nails dug sharply into his chest, but he ignored the sting. He couldn't wait to see her face once they stopped.

And eventually, they did. Bucky parked his bike in the back and told the girl to get off, which, of course, she didn't do. He got up anyway, taking her with him, though she didn't let him go once he was standing.

Bucky tapped on the hand around his shoulder. "You can let go now. It's safe."

The girl obediently unwrapped herself from his body, falling indiligently to the ground.

"See?" Bucky smirked. "We didn't die."

"Oh my God," she groaned, shaking on the ground. "I can't feel my legs."

Bucky laughed, extending his metal arm towards her, which she took without complaint. "Let's try again," he suggested once she was steady on her feet. "I'm Bucky."

The girl told him her name, and he repeated it with a smile. "I still don't like you," she said.

"The feeling's mutual, doll." And if she blushed at the pet name? Well, Bucky simply chose to ignore it.

He was on his third beer, a shame, really, since he couldn't feel it. But Bucky had developed a liking for the taste. It reminded him of better times. Before the war, and before his life completely changed.

Sam plopped down on the chair next to Bucky, a happy but tired smile on his face. Bucky turned to Sam and took a s'more from his outstretched hand, biting into the gooey center with a groan. "Man, this is good. I can't remember the last time I had one of these."

"Probably before Christopher Columbus discovered America."

"That's not funny, Sam," Bucky frowned. "Besides, everyone knows the Clovis people got here first, twenty thousand years ago."

"I didn't know that!"

"Because you're stupid," Bucky retorted.

"Whatever," scoffed Sam. He slid down in his chair and muttered "nerd" under his breath.

Bucky was preparing a retort when something caught his eye. The girl was playing with AJ and Cass, trying to catch them as they ran around the fire. Bucky cracked his knuckles and prepared to confront Sam. "You're really mean, you know that?

"Why? Because I called you a nerd?" Sam scoffed. "Well, it's true."

Bucky shook his head and levelled Sam with a glare. "Because you didn't tell me you're getting married."

A long silence followed. "Who's getting married?"

"You are!" Bucky exclaimed. "I didn't even know you had a girl."

"Because I don't!" Sam straightened. "And I'm not getting married."

"But—" Bucky was at a loss for words, then a thought struck him. "Holy shit, Sam! Don't tell me you—" Bucky leaned forward, lowering his voice considerably. "You slept with a married woman!"

Sam's face screwed up. "What the fuck are you talking about? I didn't sleep with anyone!"

Bucky was stunned, realizing a moment too late that he had completely misread the situation.

"Start from the beginning," Sam urged. And so Bucky told him what happened that morning, how the girl came down half-dressed and wearing his shirt. Bucky thought she was a one-night stand until he saw the ring in her purse, and Sam brought her back to his house.

"So, she's not your fiancé?"

"No! She's like a sister."

"But you call her Baby Girl!"

Sam rubbed his temples. "Everyone calls her that. Listen," he sighed, "maybe I should've introduced the two of you before, but I was overwhelmed by seeing her after so long. Besides, I didn't think you would start jumping to conclusions!"

Bucky rubbed his neck in embarrassment. Perhaps he was too quick to assume the girl was Sam's significant other. But if she wasn't involved with Sam, then who exactly was she?

The girl was sitting across from Bucky and Sam on the other side of the fire pit, nibbling on a s'more. The two men watched her as they talked.

"Her family lived in the plot behind ours. They were good people."

"Were?" Bucky questioned, feeling like there was more to the story.

Sam seemed to dissociate for a moment as if he were somewhere else. "Eleven years ago, my dad woke me up in the middle of the night and told me to run to town and wake as many folks as possible. There was a fire down the street, and the trucks had broken down on the highway."

Bucky tensed, hating the direction the story was taking.

"The smoke was so thick I was choking on it from a block away. Over half the house was up in flames by the time I got back. Three men went in and came right out not a second later. Folks were throwing bucketfuls of water to try and contain it, but I remember thinking that was useless. It's like the flames had a mind of their own."

It was then that Bucky accidentally made eye contact with the girl. She frowned at the intense look on his face, jerking her head as if to ask, "What?"

"What happened next?" Bucky asked without removing his gaze.

"I went towards the back, where the fire wasn't as strong. The upstairs window was wide open, and I found Baby Girl lying on the ground with twisted legs and blood oozing from her head." Sam scoffed a laugh, though there was no humour behind it.

Bucky's jaw dropped. "She jumped?"

Sam shook his head. "We found out later that her brother pushed her. My entire family was at the hospital when we broke the news that she was the only survivor."

"Shit." Baby Girl was glaring daggers at Bucky now, though he couldn't take her seriously. Melted chocolate dripped down her chin, and her hair was mussed from the wind. Bucky imagined her eleven years younger, wide-eyed and trembling as her life crumbled around her. He recalled her comment from that morning. "Fire is a painful way to go." "No one deserves to die like that." He looked away.

"She's acting like you're keeping her hostage," Bucky remarked.

"I might as well be," Sam grumbled. "She's dying to go back to New York, and she won't give me a proper reason why."

When Bucky looked back at the girl, she was chatting with Carlos Thurow, seemingly pleading with him. She waved her broken phone, and Bucky could see the cracks on the screen glinting from where he sat. Baby Girl slumped her shoulders in defeat when Carlos took his own phone out to show it had died.

Bucky felt a jolt in his chest as he watched the girl run her hands through her hair in frustration. Something was wrong.

Sam whistled beside him, waving Baby Girl over. The effect was immediate. Baby girl plastered on a shoddy smile, exaggerating a laugh as she waved back and made her way to them.

"You seem happy," Sam observed as the girl took the empty chair beside Bucky.

Bucky looked at Sam to see if he was joking. Sam was no spy, but didn't one have to be blind to not see how miserable Baby Girl looked under her fake smile?

"The party's very fun," Baby Girl answered. "It's—" guilt flashed across her features. "It's nice to see everyone after so long."

"Could've been sooner," Sam muttered.

"I told you I was busy!" she exclaimed. "I didn't have time to leave the city."

"But you won't tell me why," Sam countered. The fight seemed to leave his body, and he sighed. "I didn't call you over to argue with you. I won't bring it up again."

Baby Girl turned her nose to the sky in a way that made Bucky laugh. "You better not." And the conversation flowed smoothly from there.

Bucky offered her a beer, which she accepted with a smile, and the three laughed and joked about until tears ran unbidden down their cheeks. However, despite the mirth dancing in the air, Bucky could not ignore the lingering sadness in her eyes.

"You won't believe what this man asked me before," Sam guffawed, pointing accusingly at Bucky. "He asked if we were engaged!"

Laughter burst forth from mirth-kissed lips. "That's disgusting!" she managed between giggles. "What made you think that?"

Bucky felt flushed under her attention. "You were wearing Sam's clothes that morning," he explained sheepishly. "And I saw a ring in your purse."

Her face made a radical transformation. One moment, she was smiling in a way that made Bucky's heart flutter—the next moment, all pleasure seemed to drain away from her body, leaving her looking gaunt and haggard. Sam was too busy laughing at his untied shoelaces to notice the change in atmosphere, but Bucky felt the full force of it slam against his chest.

"I don't have a ring."

"But I—"

"No!" Her words seemed laced with desperation. Her sober eyes flicked toward Sam. "There was no ring," she stressed.

Bucky could see the hopelessness in her eyes. "Right," he muttered. "I must have been mistaken."

Sam, who had overcome his slight scramble with his shoelaces, sat upright. Inebriation laced his every move. "Right. But that made me think."

"That's never a good thing," Bucky interjected, trying to ease the lingering tension.

"Are you dating anyone? Sarah said she didn't know, but you can always tell me. Huh?" Sam teased. "Tell me. Who's the unfortunate bastard?"

Baby Girl's lips were a thin line, and Bucky anticipated the lie before she could open her mouth. "It's nothing like that. I'm not dating anyone." She finished the rest of her drink and immediately grabbed another.

"You can't lie to me," Sam wiggled his finger. "Come on, fess up. Whoever he is, he can't be worse than Beck."

Baby Girl froze, and Bucky's curiosity was piqued too much to ignore. "Beck?"

"Quentin Beck. Biggest asshole on the planet," Sam explained. "Beck and Baby Girl dated on and off in college. I would catch the bastard every other week with a different woman."

Bucky scrutinized the girl for a reaction, but she seemed to be holding her breath.

Sam began to pout like a child. "He always managed to win her over. At least I can die easy knowing they broke up before half the world blipped."

"He's not like that anymore," Baby Girl whispered to herself. Sam was too far to hear her, but Bucky had no such problem. "He's changed." She wrapped her arms around her body. "He's not like that anymore."

Bucky took in her dark under-eyes and trembling frame, her body sickly from stress. He believed her. Beck wasn't like that anymore. Perhaps he had moved on from his days of serial cheating and picked up a different hobby. Beck probably wasn't like that anymore, but he wasn't any better either.

The former spy suspected that Baby Girl was still involved with Beck. He observed her closely. Her eyes swirled with guilt, and her shoulders drooped in alarm. There was more to the story, but before Bucky could voice a question, Baby Girl stumbled onto unsteady feet. She swayed back and forth, betraying her inebriation, and Bucky reached over to keep her from falling.

Baby Girl pushed his hands away. "I'm tired," she croaked. "I'm going to bed." And she staggered away, bumping into people as she disappeared into the house.

Bucky relaxed back in his seat with a tired sigh. On his left, Sam was passed out over the arm of his chair, mouth open in a loud snore. Bucky craned his neck back and stared openly at the night sky. Stars twinkled brighter here than they did in the city. Everything was more serene and calm. However, since Baby Girl arrived, Bucky couldn't help but sense a slight shift in the air, as if the wind knew her secrets and was trying to warn them. One thing was made clear. It wouldn't be pretty.

It felt oddly like déjà vu. A light clambering of feet roused Bucky from his half-sleep, and as always, it took a second for him to make sense of his surroundings. He was on Sam's couch.

The steps were hesitant and controlled—so not AJ and Cass. Excitement and a sugar overload had kept them up late, and they wouldn't wake until a few hours later. Bucky was proven right when a lone woman descended the steps instead of two boys.

She looked a lot better than the last time he had seen her. Freshly showered and reasonably presentable in her own clothes this time—not Sam's. She hadn't seen him yet, so Bucky took the opportunity to observe her a moment longer. Her under-eye area was still dark, though not as sunken as before, and she carried an air of determination around her.

"Good morning," Bucky broke the silence.

Baby Girl shrieked, seemingly slipping over nothing. She tumbled backward, falling in an indelicate heap onto an armchair. "God above!"

Her vocabulary was steadily expanding.

Bucky sat up, regarding her with a guilty expression. "Sorry."

"I forgot you were still here," she mumbled sheepishly, straightening herself into a more respectable position.

There was a moment of awkward silence where neither acknowledged the other.

"I was wondering..." the girl started.

"Yeah?"

"Could I borrow some money? I didn't bring enough with me from New York."

"Uh, sure," Bucky replied, grabbing his wallet from between the couch cushions. "How much do you need?"

Baby Girl looked down at her hands, tracing lazy lines on her palm. "One grand?" she grimaced.

Bucky looked at her with wide eyes. "What do you need a thousand dollars for?"

"I can make do with less!" she rushed to explain. "I can try stretching an eight hundred," she murmured. "But a new phone would be too expensive, and I'm not sure I can find a cheap last-minute flight."

"Excuse me?" Bucky exclaimed. He was fully awake now, leaning forward to hear her better. "What was that about a phone and a flight?"

Her guilty eyes met his confused ones. "I broke my phone," she explained, "so I need a new one. I also need to get back home, so I need to buy a plane ticket."

Bucky eyed her skeptically. "I thought you were staying."

"I changed my mind," she dismissed with a shaky wave. "I already went over it with Sam."

Bucky knew for a fact she was lying. She wouldn't even meet her eyes. "Is that what he would say if I asked him?"

"Of course!" she proclaimed. But Bucky could hear the hesitance.

"Okay. I'll go ask Sam." Bucky made to get up, but as predicted, the girl stopped him.

"Wait! Don't!"

Bucky sat back down with a satisfied smirk. "You're a sneaky little thing."

"Don't tell Sam," Baby Girl pleaded. "I'm sorry I lied. I didn't have another choice. He locked my credit card. Otherwise, I wouldn't be asking you for this favour."

"Hmm," Bucky hummed, crossing his arms and getting comfortable. "I'd be willing to help you—Only..." Bucky stressed when she tried to interrupt. "If you answer a few questions first."

Baby Girl mimicked Bucky's posture with a frown. "That hardly seems fair."

"I can always call Sam."

"Fucking fine," Baby Girl grumbled.

Satisfied by the flow of things, Bucky started his interrogation. "Why are you in such a rush to go back home?" Bucky asked, deciding to start small. He could tell Baby Girl was thinking hard about her answer, trying not to give too much away. She squinted her eyes as if it were putting strain on her. He decided she would make a horrible spy.

"I left in a hurry. I only planned a day trip. I don't have any clothes or money on me."

Bucky shook his head. "That's not what I asked."

Baby Girl glared at him. "I don't understand the question."

"What's waiting for you in New York? Do you have a job? A prior commitment? A boyfriend?" Bucky stretched that last word, giving the girl a smirk.

"I don't have a boyfriend," she frowned.

"Fiancé, then," Bucky concluded. "I saw that ring in your purse." He suddenly leapt forward, grabbing Baby Girl's left hand and pulling it toward him to inspect.

She initially squeaked a protest but stayed still as he prodded her ring finger with his eyes. "Tan line," he observed, and she snatched her limb back, throwing the most menacing glare she could manage toward him.

"No fiancé," she hissed.

"I don't believe you," Bucky shrugged. "Job, then? What do you do?"

It took too long for her to answer, making it obvious she was concocting a lie in her head. "I work in the... customer field. Where I work with customers."

If Bucky wasn't on the verge of laughter, he might've cringed from the secondhand embarrassment.

"And... books." She was obviously lying. Even she didn't believe what was coming out of her mouth.

"I think my cat might be a better liar than you," He remarked drily.

The girl huffed but stayed silent.

Bucky decided to try a different tactic. "What year is it?"

The girl regarded him strangely. "2024."

"How many sides does an octagon have?"

"Eight."

"What's Sam's last name?"

"Wilson."

"Who was Iron Man?"

"Tony Stark."

"What colour is the sky?"

"Blue."

"Who locked your credit card?"

"Quentin Beck."

Bucky laughed. The girl stared at him, horrified. She gaped at him like a fish, only managing to make senseless sounds. "Y-you—w-what!"

Bucky laughed harder. "I told you that day. You seem smart, but not that smart."

"How dare you!"

"Last question. Does your boyfriend know you're here?" If looks could kill, Bucky would be dead. He raised his arms in surrender. "I won't judge. And I won't tell Sam. I'm just trying to understand the situation so I can help."

Her glare slowly softened to fatigue. "No. He doesn't know."

Bucky bobbed his head. "I figured as much." He grabbed his unlocked phone and tossed it to her, assuming she would catch it. She didn't. The device smacked her in the chest before falling on her lap, which she stared at dumbly.

"Call him," said Bucky, standing up to stretch. "Let him know you're safe. Tell him no one kidnapped you, and he can unlock your card."

She opened her mouth to reply, but Bucky beat her to it. "I can't get you a plane ticket out of here, so this is the next best thing. You want to leave? Tell Sam about Quentin Beck, and he'll let you. He isn't that big of an asshole to keep you hostage here. There's hope for him yet." Bucky stepped out of the living room but turned around and stopped to add one more thing. "Sam's been different since you arrived. He's happier. You're all he talks about to anyone. Do him one last favour; stay the weekend, and don't choose that Quentin Beck guy over him." With that, Bucky strode to the bathroom to freshen up, missing the first teardrop.

His phone was returned to him an hour or so later, accompanied by an uncomfortable smile and words of gratitude. "I told him I'm safe, and no one kidnapped me."

"Is he mad?" Bucky asked.

"He's a little upset," she confessed. "Promise you won't tell Sam?"

"Only if you promise not to run away." They stared at each other for a long moment, daring the other to disagree.

"Fine," the girl finally conceded. Bucky gave her a stiff nod and turned to leave. "Wait!" she exclaimed urgently. "He's still upset. Just ignore any other messages from him, okay? He should cool down after a while."

Bucky looked into her eyes. She was beautiful and unsuspecting looking. Fiery and transparent. He scrutinized her for deceit and instead found veiled resignation. He agreed and went to the backyard, leaving her in the kitchen.

It was an especially hot day, and there was much to do. Sarah wanted to landscape the back garden, and Bucky had volunteered. He didn't know the first thing about construction, but the boys had recently introduced him to YouTube, a magical place with the answers to all his questions. Bucky began to work, moving piles of dirt, levelling the uneven ground, and placing heavy slabs of concrete to form a pathway from the back porch to the lake.

Hours later, Bucky finished with the last slab of concrete, moving further away to admire his work. There was more to finish, but Sarah would be happy with his progress. Bucky wiped his brow, groaning at the sticky feeling of sweat dripping down his neck.

He grabbed his phone from the table on the porch to check the time, surprised at the number of notifications waiting for him. Bucky was by no means popular. The only person who contacted him somewhat regularly was Sam, but these notifications were all from the same unknown number. Bucky realized with a start that the barrage of missed calls and messages he was being attacked with were probably all from Quentin Beck.

Curiosity grabbed hold of him. He did promise the girl he would ignore any messages from him, but really, this was excessive. What if something was wrong and Beck urgently needed to contact her? He tapped on the message icon without another thought.

Bucky froze when he read the latest message.

You're dead when I find you.

He immediately scrolled to the top, reading the conversation from the beginning to try and gain some context to the threat. The thread started with a long paragraph from the girl detailing her situation, followed immediately with an exhausted apology.

I'm so sorry, please don't be mad. I'll be back as soon as I can.

Where the HELL are you?

Sam was asking questions. I tried to leave, but he got suspicious. I'll be back in a couple of days. I'm sorry.

You shouldn't have fucking seen him in the first place. I warned you.

Sam's career is in my hands. It'll only take one call to ruin him. I fucking warned you to never go near him.

He's trouble. He doesn't care about you like I do. He doesn't love you like I do.

The messages got progressively worse, teetering on the edge of insanity. Promising pain and broken bones, blaming it all on her.

Why do you make me do this?

Typical narcissist behaviour.

You're dead when I find you.

Baby Girl hadn't seen any of the messages after her rushed apology, but Bucky had a feeling she wouldn't be surprised by them either way. He clutched his phone tight, taking deep breaths to calm himself down.

What a bastard. What a self-entitled, psychotic prick. Everything came into clear focus, painting a detailed painting for Bucky to observe. Her behaviour started making sense. The bags under her eyes, the lack of light in her irises, the unworn ring... the secrets.

He decided then that he wouldn't tell her about the messages if she asked. Bucky would wait for the right time tonight to bring up the topic of Quentin Beck as innocently as he could, and offer her his help. She didn't need to know the extent of Beck's threats against her life.

Plan laid out, Bucky made his way inside for a well-deserved glass of cold water when the back door swung open. Baby Girl walked out with two lemonades and a plate of sandwiches balanced between the crook of her elbow. Some lemonade spilled over her hand when she abruptly stopped ahead of him. Bucky took the drinks from her and placed them on the small table.

Baby Girl put the plate of sandwiches next to the drinks and proceeded to lick the spilled lemonade from her hands. Bucky swallowed thickly, feeling flustered at such an innocent act. "You good?"

"Yeah," she replied. "I made us lunch and lemonade. Figured you could do with something cool."

"Yeah," Bucky was suddenly parched. "It's a hot day."

Baby Girl sat down at the table and took a large sip of her drink. "Sarah and Sam went to run some errands in the city. Said they'll be back late."

"What about the boys?" Bucky inquired, sitting down and taking a sip of his own. He groaned as the cool drink washed over him.

"They're having a sleepover at the neighbours." She handed him a sandwich, which he took with a smile.

"So it's just us today," he said, aware that the perfect opportunity for a less-than-pleasant conversation had just presented itself.

"Yup, just us."

An awkward silence fell over them, broken occasionally by the sound of chewing.

"The yard looks nice," Baby Girl blurted.

Bucky turned his neck to observe his handiwork. "Thanks. Still a lot to be done."

"You must be tired."

Bucky shrugged. "Not really. The heat is worse than anything else."

"Is that because of the serum?" she asked, immediately flushing with embarrassment. "Sorry! That's so insensitive of me. And it's none of my business."

"You're good," said Bucky. "I don't mind. Yeah, it's because of the serum. My stamina's through the roof."

"Wow," she admired.

"Could've been real handy with the ladies, back in the forties." Bucky flushed at the silence that followed. "During the war, I mean!" he corrected. "I could've used the stamina during the war."

The girl finished her lemonade in one long sip. "Right, of course."

"For battle. On the battlefield." Bucky finished his own drink, then stuffed another sandwich in his face to keep from further embarrassing himself.

Bucky's phone lit up with a notification, and the girl flicked her eyes toward the screen. "It's my neighbour," he told her. "He's looking after my cat."

Baby Girl visibly deflated. "That's nice," she smiled. "What's its name?"

"Alpine." Bucky decided this was as good a time as any to ask a few questions. "Listen, did you tell Quentin Beck where you are?" Bucky hated the scared look on her face.

"He knows I'm at Sam's," she started slowly.

Bucky took a deep breath and willed his expression to remain neutral. "Does he have an address?"

She shook her head in denial, and only then did Bucky find himself relaxing. He wouldn't need to worry about Beck showing up announced, which gave him more time to come up with a proper plan.

"I'm gonna take a dip," Bucky gestured to the lake. "Wanna join?"

"Maybe later."

Bucky stood up with a shrug. "Suit yourself." And he took his shirt off with one pull.

He felt Baby Girl's stare burning through his skin as he jogged toward the small lake, discarding his pants along the way. He entered the water in a running dive, letting gravity pull him to the bottom before kicking away and breaking the surface with a loud whoop. His body temperature slowly stabilized as he ran laps along the perimeter. He could still feel her stare as he stopped to tread.

"The water's amazing!" he yelled. "Join me!"

She threw her arms in the air. "I don't have a bathing suit."

Bucky floated on his back, arms crossed behind his head. "Who cares?"

After a moment's hesitation, Baby Girl laughed. "You're right. Who cares?" She grabbed the hem of her top and lifted it over her head, revealing a white camisole underneath. She stopped near the edge of the lake, fixing Bucky with a faux glare. "Well, turn around. You're crazy if you think I'm undressing in front of you."

Bucky smirked at her teasing nature and turned away, listening for a splash. After a moment, the water rippled, followed by a shrill scream. "Can I look?"

"Go ahead." Baby Girl laughed when Bucky whipped his head, sending a stream of water flying her way from his hair. "Damn, the water's cold."

"Feels good, though."

"Yeah."

They settled into a comfortable silence, floating on their backs and sneaking glances at each other. Her white camisole had turned see-through, giving Bucky a delicious glimpse of her skin and pale blue bra. He averted his gaze, trying to calm his racing heart.

"I'll miss this when I'm gone," said Baby Girl softly. "The peace and quiet."

"You don't have to leave," Bucky urged. "You could stay."

She turned to face him. "I can't," she replied sadly.

"You're scared for Sam," he observed, remembering the texts. "Why? He's the fucking Falcon. He helped defeat Thanos. Beck is nothing compared to that."

The girl's eyes widened in alarm. "How do you know that?"

Bucky didn't tell her he read the messages. He would've come to the same conclusion sooner or later. He ran his hand through his wet hair. "I used to be a spy." He fixed her with a pointed look. "And you're a horrible liar. Seriously, you are worse than my cat."

She huffed but didn't argue. After a moment of silent contemplation, she settled on her back and regarded him doubtfully. "Quentin has connections with the CIA, FBI, NSA, and Homeland Security. Any government official out there, he's probably on a first-name basis with them." Her face contorted in pain. "He could ruin Sam's life with a single phone call. I swore I would never give him a reason to."

Bucky's jaw clenched tightly. "What's the worst that bastard could do? Sam knows people too."

"Not enough. He could pin a drug charge. It wouldn't even have to stick. The bad press would be enough to ruin Sam's reputation."

"That's illegal," Bucky pointed out dangerously. Quentin Beck was turning out to be worse than Bucky imagined.

"He doesn't care about that when it comes to me," she dismissed. "Quentin can do no wrong when it comes to love."

"That's not love!" Bucky snapped, losing the last of his patience. They were floating dangerously close to one another, elbows brushing.

"Regardless. There's nothing to be done."

"You could stay," Bucky implored. "I'd keep you safe."

They were even closer now, both on their backs, faces turned toward the other, lips dangerously close. For a moment it looked like she might say yes. She opened her mouth to reply, but the sound of a car door slamming shut interrupted her.

"That must be Sam," she said, and the moment was broken.

Bucky moved first, swimming to the deck to grab his discarded pants. "I'll give you some privacy," he said, dragging the fabric up his legs. He left without another word.

Incessant knocking at the front door stopped Bucky in his tracks. Sam always carried a key. Bucky dropped his shirt and went around the house to the front. The car parked in the drive was unfamiliar and out of place. Sleek and shiny and black. Expensive. The man waiting impatiently at the door looked more out of place than the car. Dressed in a gray suit, brown loafers, and black shades, the man looked like he belonged on the cover of a real estate advertisement.

"Can I help you?" Bucky snapped, feeling on edge.

The man lifted his shades to regard Bucky with a look of contempt, eyeing his exposed chest and metal arm with barely concealed disgust. "Yeah, maybe you can. Is this the Wilson residence?"

"Depends on who's asking."

"A friend," the man replied.

"Funny. I didn't know Sam had any friends."

"That's because I'm not Sam's friend," he scorned. "I'm looking for a girl."

Bucky inched closer to him. "I know lots of girls," he quipped.

The man smiled dangerously. "I'm looking for a very specific one. Yay high, unchecked temper, tendency for trouble."

Bucky laughed without humour. "Doesn't narrow much down, buddy. I'm gonna have to ask you to leave."

"You must be the Winter Soldier," the man mused.

"I go by James Barnes," Bucky snapped. "You must be Quentin Beck." Bucky had recognized him right away.

Quentin Beck spread his arms in a wide gesture. "The one and only. I suppose she told you about me."

"She didn't have to. I can smell a bastard from a mile away."

Beck clenched his fists, face contorting nastily, and stepped forward. "You little—"

Despite the sweltering heat, Bucky felt a coldness wash over him. His advanced senses picked up on footsteps coming from around the back. His head whipped to the side just as the girl rounded the corner. She wore jeans and nothing else, her white camisole still wet and slightly see-through. Bucky watched with dread as she took in the sight in front of her, blinking confusedly. The colour slowly drained from her flushed cheeks, and she froze as her brain caught up with her eyes.

"Sweetheart?" Beck's demeanour rapidly changed, and he stalked forward with his hands raised non-threateningly. "I've been looking everywhere for you."

Bucky blocked his path with a glare.

When Beck noticed her state of undress, he became angry, clenching his fists at his side. He noted Bucky's bare chest, his low-hanging jeans, and the girl's see-through top. "What the fuck is going on here?" Beck demanded.

When he fixed his icy glare on her, she reanimated, staggering back with a loud gasp, Baby Girl tripped over a rock but continued scooting backwards as she fell over. The raw fear emanating from her was enough to undo Bucky. Bucky shoved Beck as hard as he could—without using his super strength—and slammed him against his car.

"Motherfucker," Beck hissed, clutching his side.

"I suggest you leave before you really piss me off," Bucky threatened, stalking closer.

Beck staggered away, putting his car between them. "Not without my fiancé," he seethed.

"Fiancé, huh?" Bucky turned toward the girl. She was still on the ground, carefully watching the scene with wide eyes. He waited until she looked at him, then gave her a soft smile, silently urging her to trust him. "Are you his fiancé, Baby Girl?"

She jerked her head in denial. "No."

"There you have it. You heard the lady." Bucky's voice lowered dangerously. "Now leave. Before I make you leave."

"She's lying!" Beck screamed. And Bucky got the impression he was used to getting his way. "I gave her a ring."

Bucky had cornered Beck against the hood of his car and was looming dangerously over his crouched figure. "I don't see any ring. Now leave!"

Beck unlocked the car, jerking open the driver's side and inelegantly lumbering in. "This isn't over yet, Winter Soldier," he spat, and with one last seething glare toward the girl, he sped off.

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