#WITH YOUR FACE AND THE BEAUTIFUL EYES AND CONVERSATION WITH THE LITTLE WHITE LIES

[anonymityisfunwriter]

The Twin Flame - Chapter 19: "The Other Side of The Door"

"And I'll scream out the window, I can't even look at you, I don't need you but I do, I do, I do…"

"I heard what became of Sokovia," Zemo states, breaking the silence that had weighed on your group since the plane. "Cannibalized by its neighbors before the land was cleared of rubble. Erased from the map. But I don't suppose any of you bothered visiting the memorial?"

"I did," you correct. 

Sam cranes his neck to try to get you to look at him. "What? When?"

You ignore Sam's question, instead pointing to your remark to answer Zemo's question, "I went with Wanda, she's Sokovian. Her brother died during the battle."

Zemo smiles at you, "You continue to surprise me."

"I'll take that as a compliment," you half-heartedly quip, the mental and emotional exhaustion weighing down each and every step you take.

"We are here," Zemo states, gesturing to the building on the other side of the cobblestone road. 

"Great," you sigh with a semi-relieved smile, glad to be able to get at least some semblance of separation from both Sam and Bucky. 

You climb up the first step leading to the building when Bucky unexpectedly says, "I'm gonna go on a walk."

"You okay?" Sam asks from right behind you.

"Yeah," Bucky assures him. "See you guys in a bit. Try not to kill each other."

Zemo clutches his chest, responding with an indignant scoff, "I wouldn't dream of it."

"Yeah, surprisingly, I wasn't talking about you," Bucky amends, pointedly looking at you and Sam.

You roll your eyes, turning back toward the entrance. Faced away from Bucky, you grumble under your breath, "Well, I make no promises."

"I heard that," Bucky calls back to you.

"Still make no promises," you mumble, dropping your voice even lower. 

"Still heard that," Bucky calls again. 

"Bye, Bucky!" you shout over your shoulder, pushing the door open before he can respond again. 

As the first through the door, you drop your bag near the armrest of the couch leaving only enough room for you to sit between your bag and the armrest. You flop down on the couch with a frustrated huff.  

"Hey," Sam tries. You deeply sigh, looking up at the tiled ceiling as something else to focus on other than Sam's incessant attempts at getting you to talk to him. "Come on. You're really not going to say anything?"

Sam's question goes without a response. This time you shut your eyes, resting your uninjured arm over your face.

"Seriously?"

You lift your head, creaking one eye open to look at where Zemo is currently sitting on the other side of the couch watching this entire argument play out. "I'm sorry, Zemo, did you say something?" 

"Real mature," Sam scoffs, striding over to where you sit on the couch. "I would just like to remind you that you lied first."

You furrow your face as you do a quick scan of the room, pretending like you can't see Sam standing in front of you. With a soft hum, you shrug, "Must be the wind."

"You're really going to do this in front of Zemo?"

"Please," Zemo assures, raising his hand to brush Sam's concern off. "Even I can understand a familial fight."

"I don't know what you're talking about, Zemo. There's no one that I'm fighting with," you sharply remark, glaring at Sam. 

"Fine," Sam huffs. "Two can play at this game."

For the shortest second, you remain confused about what Sam's talking about and why he stands towering over you while you sit on the couch. But just as you're about to move, Sam's hand stops less than an inch from your face, 

You scoff, moving your chin back away from his hand. 

When you move back, he moves his hand so it remains hovering in front of your face. 

You sharply exhale, glaring up at him. He looks down at you with a triumphant, smug grin. "Not touching you, can't get mad."

You quickly move again, but Sam's hand tracks each and every movement you make. Every time you try to skirt around his hand, he moves it with you. Until you've finally had enough, you slap his hand away. "Seriously, Sam, how old are you?"

"Ow." He jolts his hand back, finally out of your face. "But at least you're acknowledging my presence."

You give him a bitter thumbs up. "Good for you. You're here. Now, leave me alone!" 

"No, we can't just pretend like our problems don't exist. In case you haven't noticed, we're in deep shit right now. We have to be a team!"

"Maybe you should've thought about that before you lied to me!" you retort.

"I lied to protect you!"

"Because you think I can't take care of myself!" you accuse.

"Yes- I mean, no - It's - Well, because-"

"I am not your problem anymore, Sam!" you seethe, cutting off his stammering. You're so angry that you don't even feel the control slipping through your grasp. You don't hear the quiet creaks slowly increasing from the marble column beside Sam. "Why can't you get that?"

"Oh my God, you're so stubborn!" he bellows in unbridled frustration.

"If I might suggest-" Zemo tries interjecting.

"No!" you both shout. 

From the other side of the door, Bucky stands, sighing to himself as he hears the loud voices echo through the heavy wooden door. It's only been a few seconds of steeling himself when he decides that if he doesn't break this up, this fight is not going to end any time soon. 

"Guys!" Bucky tries to call over the bickering. "Guys!" 

"I don't need protecting!" you shout, barely even noticing as Bucky strides in from outside. You certainly don't hear the quiet creaking of the marble pillar standing beside Sam. Just as the words leave your mouth, the quiet groaning turns into a large, frightening cracking noise. Sam flinches away from the marble column, looking more than a little freaked out by the sight of the large split in the column. You jolt, clearly startled. "I'm - I'm sorry."

Bucky sucks in a breath, though the column still looks structurally sound, the massive fracture in the middle of the column is severe. The atmosphere in the room shifts. A suffocating silence fills the room.

Sam takes a single, cautious step toward you. Not because he's scared you're going to hurt him, but because he can see the self-loathing already brewing in your eyes. The anger and frustration melts from his voice, he reaches out to console you, "It's fine. Just take a breath. Okay?"

Before Sam can make contact, you stumble backward, further away from him. Always just out of reach. You sharply shake your head once, an angry expression covering your fearful reaction. "Just leave me alone."

Sam sighs in defeat as you bristle past him to the corridor that leads to the guest bedroom doors. They all hear the sharp slam of one of the doors slamming shut. "That's great."

Bucky still stands there shellshocked. It takes him a moment to process everything that just happened. On the plane he could rationalize it with you getting blindsided with a massive revelation. This only solidifies his suspicions that there was so much more going on with you. He has half a mind to chase after you, at least that's what he desperately wants to do. But then he remembers that he has another urgent development to share with the group, "I hate to make things worse, but the Wakandans are here. They want Zemo. I bought us some more time."

"Were you followed?" Zemo asks.

"No."

"How can you be so sure?" Zemo continues. 

"'Cause I know when I'm being followed," Bucky sharply retorts. 

"It was sweet of you to defend me at least," Zemo offers with a polite smile. 

"Hey, you shut it," Sam orders, fed up with the events of today. "No one's defending you, you killed Nagel."

"Do we really have to litigate what may or may not have happened?" Zemo implores, meekly shrugging his shoulders. 

Bucky feels the vibration of his phone in his back pocket. He pulls it out, looking down at the phone. His screen is lit up with pictures from an explosion from the night before. And it's like he gets another insight into the magnitude of people with abilities like yours. And it's another piece falling into place when it comes to figuring you out.

Mostly, why you just uncharacteristically stormed off.

He knows that you'd never risk hurting the people closest to you, even if that meant you were hurting yourself in the process.

"There's nothing to litigate!" Sam exclaims in disbelief. "You straight shot the man." 

"Sam," Bucky interrupts.

"What?"

"Karli bombed a GRC supply depot."

"What?" Sam quietly gasps. "What's the damage?"

"Eleven injured. Three dead. They have a list of demands and are promising more attacks if those demands aren't met."

"She's getting worse," Zemo comments. And though Sam knows Zemo is talking about Karli, he can't help but make that connection to you himself. Since the Blip, he'd watched you struggle. From everything to coming back without a single possession to your name. From finding out your identity was completely erased. And General Ross letting you know you weren't off the hook from the Accords. And everything else in between. For months, you forced a smile on your face, doing everything in your power to convince him and everyone else you were happy, all while you were withering away inside. "I have the will to complete this mission. Do the two of you? Does she?"

"Karli is just a kid," Sam defends.

"You're seeing something in her that isn't there," Zemo calmly states. "You're clouded by it. She's a supremacist. The very concept of an enhanced individual will always trouble people. It's that warped aspiration that led to Nazis, to Ultron, to the Avengers."

"Those are our friends you're talking about," Sam warns. 

"The Avengers, not the Nazis," Bucky clarifies.

"So Karli is radicalized," Sam concedes. "But there has to be a peaceful way to stop her."

"The desire to become superhuman cannot be separated from supremacist ideals. Anyone with that serum, anyone with those powers, is inherently on that path. She will not stop. She will escalate until you kill her. Or until she kills you."

"You're wrong," Sam forcefully states, feeling the overwhelming urge to defend you against Zemo's beliefs. But for a moment, it's not like he's debating Zemo against Zemo's beliefs. He's arguing with you against your own. The ones that were so deeply embedded within you that it was a constant silent battle you fought day in and out. The ideas that were shoved down your throat from the day you were born that truly had you convinced that you were a monster that needed to be contained. "They're people. People with lives just like you and me. And maybe she's a little misguided, but that doesn't mean that you can just give up on her. Just because she can do shit other people can't doesn't mean she should be treated like any less of a person. She deserves that, after everything, she deserves that much. And it doesn't mean she's not worth fighting for. After everything, she deserves to have at least one person fighting for her."

Zemo pauses for a moment after Sam finishes speaking. A smile pulls at the corner of Zemo's mouth before he speaks, "Are you still referring to Karli?"

"Maybe we should just give him to the Wakandans right now," Bucky offers, no longer wanting to listen to Zemo goading Sam for defending you as he takes a seat on the edge of the couch. 

"And you'll give up your tour guide?" Zemo challenges.

"Yes," Bucky easily replies. 

Sam takes a large breath of concession, because whether any of you like it, Zemo is still very much needed. "Let's just focus on Donya, alright? From what we know, Donya's like a pillar of the community, right? So, when I was a kid, my Titi passed away-"

"Your Titi?" Bucky interjects with a raised eyebrow. 

"Yes, my Titi."

"Who is your Titi?"

"Fine." Sam rolls his eyes, starting over, "When I was a kid myauntpassed away, and the entire neighborhood got together for a ceremony. It was like a week long. Maybe they're doing the same thing for Donya."

Bucky shrugs, standing up off of the couch. "Worth a shot."

"Your Titi would be proud of you. Turkish delight?" Zemo offers, tossing a piece of the wrapped candy to Sam. Sam catches the piece of candy, looking strangely at Zemo as he dumps the rest of the bag on the counter with a smirk, "It's irresistible."

Sam rolls his eyes. "Let's just go."

Bucky falters in front of Sam. He furrows his eyebrows, nudging his head down the hallway you stormed down minutes ago. "Uh, Sam? Aren't you forgetting something? Someone, maybe?"

Sam shakes his head, still trying to calm himself down from his earlier tangent. "She's not coming out of there any time soon."

"So just walk in there and talk to her? Have one of your little pep talks or something!" Bucky states like it should be obvious to Sam.

"Bucky, I'd be lucky if I even got the door open. She's not going to hear a word I say right now, I pushed too hard." Sam looks back to Bucky who still wears a hesitant expression. "It's for the best. Give her some time to cool off."

Bucky looks back to the guest bedroom door, feeling so utterly helpless to do or say anything that could to get you back to a place where either of them could reach you.

Or at least to get you out from the other side of the door. 

The Twin Flame Chapter List AnonymityIsFun Masterlist

Reblogs and comments are always appreciated 💛

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#WITH YOUR FACE AND THE BEAUTIFUL EYES AND THE CONVERSATION WITH THE LITTLE WHITE LIES #anonymityisfunwriter #anonymityisfun #grumpy sunshine trope #grumpy x sunshine #grumpy sunshine #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #sam wilson #reader insert #tfatws #x reader #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky angst #bucky x female reader #james buchanan barnes #bucky fic #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #bucky x you #bucky fanfic #marvel fanfiction #bucky fluff #james bucky barnes #the falcon and the winter soldier

[cruelsummer-ficfest]

hi babes ~~~~~ can I please have a song for wolfstar :D ;D

the mods are DELIGHTED, beside themselves to see you here.

Your Ship: Wolfstar

Your Song: The Other Side of the Door

#asks #grey and andie answer! #cruel summer fic fest #song assignments #fearless/reputation #era number four #this is SUCH a good one #your face with the beautiful eyes and the conversation and the LITTLE WHITE LIES #good luck friend

[saw3amanda]

why did no one tell me about the end to the other side of the door

#like the song is generally ok #the premise makes me bonkers #but the ending!!! #with your face and and your beautiful eyes!!! #and the conversation with your little white lies!!!

[yourgothiccqueen]

LN4 - “Formula One Sucks” Part 2

Summary: Y/N and Lando go on their first date.

Pairings: Lando Norris x Female Reader

Warnings: Swearing, hints of sexual tension etc

PART 1 PART 2 PART 3

Masterlist

*Ping*

Y/N glanced down at her phone, a small smile forming at her lips. There would only be one person messaging her so late at night.

lightning mcqueen: Soooo, what did you think of the race today? :)

The last thing she expected to happen after her begrudging trip to Silverstone was to end up texting a certain McLaren driver.

Well, it was more than texting really. There were calls too, every other day. Lando was a busy (understatement of the year) guy, but they’d found themselves falling into a comfortable routine of late night conversations.

y/n: didn’t watch it, was too busy washing my dog :,)

A lie, of course. Y/N had recently found herself infatuated with F1. She hadn’t missed a race. But she wasn’t going to let Lando feel smug about that.

lightning mcqueen: u little shit, you don’t have a dog!

y/n: says who?!

lightning mcqueen: you, on the phone last week!

y/n: 🤷‍♀️ maybe I was washing my friends dog?

lightning mcqueen: its okay, no need for lies - i know ur an f1 super fan now thanks to yours truly :D

Y/N felt a smile tug at her lips. Okay, he was smug. But it was kinda cute.

y/n: okayyyy, perhaps I did watch. And perhaps I thought you were rather impressive. happy now?

lightning mcqueen: very :) goodnight grumpy girl x

y/n: goodnight u smug bastard x

————————————————————-

It didn’t take long for him to ask her on a date. It caught her by surprise, despite the ease at which they’d been chatting over the past month.

“What do you even wear on a date with an F1 driver?” Y/N groaned, flopping back on to her bed.

Piles of clothes were scattered around the room, deemed totally unacceptable for a date with Lando Norris.

“Not this.” Her friend Annie, grimaced, picking up a bright pink Oodie off of the floor.

“Yeah no shit!”

“Look, you must have something in here.” Annie rummaged through the wardrobe. “Where’s he taking you anyway?”

“Someplace in central. It’s not too fancy, but it’s definitely fancier than the pink Oodie.” Y/N pointed.

“Oooo. This could work!” Annie pulled out a relatively new, seemingly unworn black dress. “Can’t go wrong with a little black dress.”

Y/N’s eyes widen - “I can’t wear that!”

“Why the hell not?”

“It’s too…showy. I bought it on a whim. For a nice occasion.”

Annie rolled her eyes “if you’re not going to wear it on a date with a super hot formula one driver, then when the hell are you gonna wear it?!”

Fair point.

———————————————————

Stood outside the restaurant, Y/N felt her nerves begin to grow. What the hell was she doing? She didn’t do this sort of thing! If she’d had told herself a month ago that she’d be going on a date with Lando, she’d have laughed in her own face. This was wild. This was ridiculous. This was positively insane in fact!

“Y/N?”

Suddenly whipped out of her own thoughts, Y/N turned around.

Oh god, he looked bloody gorgeous.

He smiled at her, his eyes twinkling as he did. His white shirt was a stark contrast against his tan skin. His curly hair was slightly more tamed than usual - he’d clearly made an effort, which made Y/N’s heart race even faster.

“Hey!” She managed to stutter out, sounding far more confident than she felt inside.

“Hi! God I’m so sorry I’m late, were you waiting long?” Lando queried.

Y/N had failed to notice that he was late in the first place, having been so in her own head.

“No just got here.” She smiled. “You look really nice.” She paused, a fleeting moment of confidence. “For a smug bastard, of course.”

A quick laugh left Lando’s mouth.

“Ha! You look lovely too, despite being the world's grumpiest woman, of course.”

“Oh of course.” Y/N giggled, as they made their way inside.

He’d chosen well - it was beautiful inside the restaurant, but not fancy enough to make Y/N feel uncomfortable.

Y/N placed her phone down on the table as she sat, and Lando couldn’t help but catch a glimpse.

“Wait, why am I called Lightning McQueen in your phone?” He laughed.

“Because you’re fast - duh!”

“Lightning McQueen is red.” Lando retorted, a look of exasperation written across his face, as he made himself comfortable in his chair.

“So?”

Lando rolled his eyes, jokingly.

"There's nothing wrong with red cars!" Y/N exclaimed.

“Well, I prefer orange myself. Gimme your phone, I’ve got a better name.”

“If I must”

Y/N passed her phone across the table and into Lando's hand. His fingers brushed hers as she did so. Despite their playful bickering, she couldn't help but wish she could leave her hand on his a moment longer.

God, she was fully gone and she'd only been sat in his presence for less than five minutes. He was going to be the death of her.

Lando typed into Y/N’s phone momentarily, before passing it back, a small smirk on his face.

“Lando ‘The Hunk’ Norris?” She laughed, eyebrows raising. “Really?”

“Well, it’s much more accurate, don’t you think?”

He folded his arms across his chest. Y/N felt herself begin to blush, so decided the sane response was to hide herself behind the menu.

"Well?" Lando quipped.

"Well what, Lando 'The Hunk' Norris?" Y/N spoke, glancing up at the curly haired man. His eyes bore into hers, a slight mischievous glint to them.

"Aren't you going to agree?"

"You want me to tell you that you are in fact, a 'hunk'?" She retorted.

Lando leaned back in his chair. "I suppose I don't need you to. The fact that you've gone bright red says it all."

Y/N felt her blush deepen.

"You're a cocky bastard. you know that?"

"I haven't had any complaints yet."

---------------------------------------------------

The rest of the date passed in a blur of midly flirtatious comments and an abundance of sexual innuendos. Y/N wasn't sure what she had been expecting when she'd agreed to a date with Lando. She'd presumed he'd be polite, and sincere and kind - which he was. But what she hadn't anticipated was his quick wit and his ability to call her out. She liked it. She liked it very much indeed.

Perhaps she'd finally met her match.

By the time they left the restaurant the sun had long set, and a light drizzle had set in.

Y/N felt the breath leave her lungs as Lando took his hand in hers.

"Thank you." He smiled, softly.

"What for, exactly?" She questioned, half unable to focus on anything except the feeling of his warm hand in hers.

"For...this. It's not often I get to meet someone who... makes me feel so normal. Someone who isn't afraid to say what's on their mind. It's nice."

Once again, a blush crept up Y/N's neck and towards her cheeks.

"Well, I am pretty incredible." She winked.

"Oh, shut up!"

"Make me."

Lando stepped forward, and in one breathe his lips crashed into her own. It was messy at first, filled with passion and unresolved sexual tension, before they found their rhythm. She closed her eyes, feeling his strong hands wrapped around her waist. His mouth molded against hers, warmth spilling throughout her body. He was perfect. His mouth moved in perfect timing against hers, as she entwined her hands at the base of his hair, letting her fingers run through his curls. She could stand her forever, she thought, with her body pressed against his, his mouth against hers.

Eventually, Y/N pulled away first, gazing up into Lando's darkened eyes. His lips were swollen and wet - she already wanted to kiss him again.

"Want to continue this date at mine?" She whispered, unable to leave his gaze.

"Say no more."

#lando Norris x reader #lando norris one shot #lando norris x you #f1 #formula 1 #formula one #lando Norris x female reader #Lando #Lando Norris imagine #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #fluff #FYP #lando Norris #McLaren

[cordeliawhohung]

As You Wish

knight!Price x fem!princess!Reader - part of @glitterypirateduck 's october writing challenge!

In order to save your people from a long lasting and brutal war, you are sent to the neighboring kingdom of Draewen to marry their prince. Sir John Price is tasked with ensuring you get there safely, but the forest of the mountain is wild and unpredictable. In a terrible twist of events, you learn the exact difference between the brutality of nature, and the brutality of men.

challenge story elements: Alternative Universe | forest/wooded area | bodyguard/protector | "Look at me."

masterlist

warnings: canon typical violence (brief descriptions of violence/blood), Price only calls reader Princess, attempted kidnapping, non-sexual nudity, a little too much world building, a little cuddling, a dash of hurt/comfort, a drizzle of very slight mutual pining

wc: 8.9k (sorry)

In two months, you would reach the kingdom of Draewen where you would spend the rest of your life as a trophy. It was a land said to be cloaked in vibrant green valleys and rich, winding rivers. When the Draewish messenger arrived in the great kingdom of Venaca to talk with your father, The King, about your marriage to their prince, he had arrived with pressed flowers that grew in the valley that laid right at the mouth of their kingdom. They were beautiful, and perfectly preserved, and it gave you a little hope for the scenery you knew you would be stuck staring at for the rest of your life. 

As the Princess of Venaca, your father bestowed upon you one duty: marry the Draewish Prince so that they would lend their strongest soldiers in the fight against the Neshevian Army. You loved your kingdom. You loved the fresh fruits that grew in the orchards around the basin, and you loved the fresh spring water that ran off from the towering mountains that scared off most intruders. You didn’t want to leave. But if you wanted to save that scenery, save your people, then you would marry that prince. 

You left at the end of spring when the white tips of the mountains that enveloped the basin melted away and the soil was rich with water and greenery. The crisp air of the mountains filled your lungs with a chill, even in the enclosure of your carriage. Golden rays of sun bled through the thick foliage overhead, and you had never heard the birds chirp so loudly in your entire life. 

When night fell, and your caravan would stop to make camp for the night, the height of the mountains brought you so close to the stars you swore you could reach out to kiss them. Your lady-in-waiting, Eilra, would look at the stars with you, and point out vague ideas and shapes of what she could remember of the names of constellations. 

“Zekral,” she said, moving her pointed finger in a circular motion. “God of War. His shield lies here.”

Though she pointed it out so clearly, you could hardly make out the shape, but you nodded anyway. “I wish I could look at the stars all night. I would name every single one of them,” you claimed. 

“You would run out of stars,” Eilra laughed. 

“I would sooner run out of names,” you retorted with a grin. 

“Illasi,” someone interrupted.

Both you and Eilra turned to the new voice that spoke up beside you. The orange blaze of the campfire illuminated the features of a tall man with a sword strapped to his side. His arms were crossed lazily over his broad chest, and his eyes stared up at the sparkling sky just like yours had been. Faint scars littered his arms, but his bearded face remained completely intact despite the ruggedness that was evident throughout his body. 

Sir John Price. He had been The King’s personal guard and military advisor ever since the previous man had been ousted as a traitor five years prior. Your conversations with him back in the kingdom had been short and quick, but you remembered him at the head of the table in the War Room. Stoic, leading, dangerous. Your father trusted him enough to put you in his care as you traveled to Draewen. Every single soldier and servant in the caravan answered to him. 

“Is that a recommendation for a name?” you asked as your eyes carefully studied the man. 

Looking away from the sky, John took a few slow and careful steps towards you. Though his height may have been intimidating to anyone else, you had only ever known the man as an ally. So when he crouched next to you, nearly joining both you and your lady-in-waiting on the log you found yourselves seated on, you weren’t scared. 

“Illasi is the Goddess of Harvest and Blood,” he explained as his eyes looked back up to the stars. After a moment of searching, his hand raised into the air, fingers outstretched towards the vastness that swallowed the sky. “You can see her knife here.” 

You did your best in attempting to follow his guiding hand, but the stars were too thick for you to really make out any solid shape. Really, you weren’t sure how anyone could look up at that void of stars and attempt to wrangle them into silly constellations. John seemed to notice your blank gaze, and he let out something that sounded like a breathy laugh as his hand fell away from the sky. 

“Higher, Princess,” he said. 

His fingers carefully brushed against the underside of your chin as he tilted your head up. Despite the chilly air that swaddled the mountain and her forest, his skin radiated heat. 

“Do you see it? A single sided blade, one used for cutting meat?” he asked.

Suddenly, it all fell into place. You could see the stars lining perfectly to create a knife truly fit for a goddess. A strong point, a deep belly for the blade, and a strong and sturdy handle. This knife was one meant to draw flesh from bone. 

“Looks like a hunting knife,” you noticed while John’s fingers withdrew from your chin. You hummed slightly as you broke your gaze from the sky and turned to him. “I didn’t take you for a stargazer, John.” 

He looked down at you for a split moment before pushing himself back to his feet. For a man who was strong and dangerous enough to protect The King, he had such kind, almost soft, eyes. 

“The earth, seas, and skies are the only thing that unites every human, Your Highness. Their stars included,” he responded simply. He then gave a curt and polite bow of his head while his hand lazily rested on the hilt of his sword. “Goodnight, Princess.” 

You smiled. “Goodnight, John.” 

The crackling of the fire only grew louder as he wandered off into the darkness of the woods, certainly to scout the perimeter or something military-like. You brought your gaze back up to the stars, and you found it odd how your eyes seemed drawn to Illasi’s Knife, like you couldn’t look anywhere else. 

“Princess,” Eilra spoke up. She said the title softly, yet with an odd tone. It was the questioning tone she used with you whenever you confused her. “Why do you call Sir Price by his first name?” 

A grin pulled at the corner of your lips as you looked at your lady. “Because Sir Price sounds a bit too much like surprise. A fitting name for a knight, perhaps, but not for any man. I believe everyone is human first before their title.”

Eilra repeated his name and title slowly as if she was feeling the exact way her tongue moved, and she grinned. “Is it not rude to ignore his title?” 

“Titles mean nothing,” you defended. “And neither do names, really. I would respect him all the same even if he were called by any other name.” 

It was always difficult for Eilra to hide her disapproval of your ideologies. She was a proper lady through and through, bound to the rules of The Royal Family ever since she became your lady-in-waiting. But she also knew better than to speak too far out of turn; not in fear of your non-existent wrath but in fear of not upholding any lady-like values. 

That night, you fell asleep under the stars next to Eilra, and awoke early the next morning to pack up camp and return along your journey. The days were long as you sat inside your carriage, and attempting to rest as you traversed the uneven trail was impossible. Conversation could only cure your boredom for so long, and you had already finished the two books you had allowed yourself to bring. 

But things only got worse as a second winter hit. 

Not even a full two weeks into traveling, a bitter wind tore through the caravan around midday, and snow followed shortly after. The soldiers and servants muttered amongst themselves when the first flakes hit the soil. Some said they ought to turn back for Venaca while they still could. Others claimed the snow would vanish as quickly as it appeared. 

You tried not to concern yourself too much with the new events. Fighting against nature was a futile battle, and you knew that you would just have to take things in stride. But when the caravan stopped, you couldn’t deny that sinking feeling that settled deep within the darkness of your stomach. 

“Perhaps we are making camp,” Eilra rationalized. “It would be unwise to push forward in these conditions. If we wait out the storm, we can continue when better weather comes.” 

You moved the maroon curtains that obscured the small window on the door and peered outside as best as you could. The warmth of your bodies and breath had fogged the window, and you took the sleeve of your dress to wipe the moisture away. Only an expanse of trees was there to meet your vision, their fresh green branches turned pale with powdery snow. 

It came as sudden as the flapping of a bird's wing and as violent and unstoppable as the water of a raging river. First was the sound of a dull thud, and then a shriek from one of the servants. You tried your best to peer out the window, to press your ear firmly against the wood of the door to make sense of the commotion as it grew louder. Metal clanking together, barking shouts and gurgling yelps, a cacophony of pain that you had never been subjected to previously. 

It wasn’t until a streak of red as rich and dark as the very color of your curtains stained the thin window of your carriage that you fully understood the danger of the situation. Nature wasn’t the only threat in the wilds. Man could kill just as quick and as violent as the earth could, and with a hatred that even the God of Death himself would look away from. 

You didn’t even have time to cower away from the gore or scream in fear before the door opened with such force it nearly broke off its hinges. A strange man in leather armor and a dark blue cloak peered into the carriage with wild eyes, glancing back and forth between you and Eilra. The three of you were frozen as if the mountains had sapped you of all your warmth already. This man - this wild animal of a man - was trying to make a decision. 

Cold, gloved fingers wrapped around your wrist with a grip so stern you couldn’t help but cry out as the man yanked you out of the carriage. Your knees hit the frozen ground with a harsh pop, and your shoulder screamed as the man attempted to force you to your feet by pulling on your arm.

Eilra’s voice was raw when she called your name. Your true name, the name your mother or father would mutter to you in private when they held you in their arms. The name they used before sending you to some distant land. She called you by your name and it was the last word that passed her lips before it was cut off with a sickening gurgle. 

Even if you wanted to, you weren’t able to look back at the carriage before another pair of hands grabbed you. Both men worked together in securing you with harsh rope that dug into your skin and a ragged cloth that obscured your eyes. Your knees sunk further into the fresh snow as you struggled pitifully against those barbarians, but your cries and pleas were drowned out by the chaos that raged around you. 

“Are you sure she’s the princess?” one of the men asked. 

“Who cares. She’s a girl, isn’t she?” the other barked. 

They spoke your tongue but their tone was wrong. There was a certain lilt to their speech, and their words sounded too detached from one another. Neshevian you thought. They were from the very kingdom your people had been warring against since before you were brought into that world. The whole reason you were traveling to Draewen was to unite armies to fight against them, and they had come along to slaughter your caravan in retaliation. 

“So was that one!” one barked. “Yet you ran her through like a pig.”

“This one has a nicer dress,” another retorted.

“If she is not the princess, then we lose our advantage over the Venacians you bastard!” 

They continued their bickering while they bound rope around your wrists and ankles. The harsh wind tore at the skirt of your dress, exposing your stockings which did little to ward off the cold. A violent hand shoved you down, and without the proper use of your hands, your shoulder broke the fall. Snow flung into the neck of your blouse, and your skin tensed as it soaked into the fabric of your dress. 

The men had stopped their arguing and instead began to shout at someone. What they were saying was lost on you. Blood gushed through your body and it felt as cold as riverwater, and was just as deafening. You heard what sounded like more shouting, a single roaring yell, and then nothing but nature. The wind whispering in the woods, a bird calling to a lover, the huff of horses. 

Then there was the sound of footsteps. Thick, heavy footsteps that were accompanied by a metallic clink. You willed your heart to still, your breath to slow, because you refused to show fear in the face of the enemy despite the fact that it coursed through your veins with the warmth and raging fire of the sun. 

Large hands held onto your wrists, still bound behind your back, but they were more gentle than before. You felt the cold metal of a sword or knife brush against your skin, and you cursed yourself for the way you jumped. Not a single drop of blood left your skin as the blade sliced through the rope and the rope alone. 

Though you had free use of your hands, you stayed there on the ground, lying on your side as the ropes around your ankles were cut free. The blindfold remained around your eyes for a painfully long time as someone got on their knees in front of you. Gloved hands gripped your shoulders, urging you to sit up, and you obeyed so quickly you felt your own head spinning. 

“Princess?” It was John. His voice was hushed as if he were trying to hide, but you knew from the overwhelming crescendo of nature that there were no men left alive; friend nor foe. 

With a trembling lip you brought your hands up to your face and slipped your thumbs underneath the blindfold. You pried the cloth away from your eyes only to be blinded by the brightness of the dazzling white snow around you. Those hands remained on your shoulders even as you blinked away the light around you. 

“Look at me,” John spoke. 

His face was the very first thing your eyes were able to focus on. With eyes as rich as the deepest waters of the ocean, and as soft as the grass you used to play on as a child, you almost didn’t notice the blood smeared on his cheekbone. You saw the splatter on his skin, and the way it soaked into the cotton of his shirt. In his travels, he hadn’t worn his armor and yet he was still unharmed. But your eyes began to wander further. Away from him and to the gore that laid behind him.

“Look at me,” John said again with a small shake of his head. His hands moved from your shoulders and came to cup your cheeks, forcing you to look at him. It was a gesture you should have reprimanded him for, something a knight should have never done to someone of your status, yet you said nothing. “Look at me, and only me. Don’t look anywhere else.” 

You swallowed hard, and it felt like there were riverstones stuck in your throat. You didn’t want to look anywhere other than him, but you felt that you needed to; you needed to see the violence. How vibrant blood looked upon freshly fallen snow, what eyes looked like when they lost their light, or what a body looked like slumped on the floor of a carriage. Nature demanded that you looked upon the mess that came with the burden of being a princess. 

Instead, you nodded your head as you kept your eyes on John and nowhere else. His hands fell from your face and took your hands instead as he pulled you to your feet. He led you away from the main road and towards the forest. The path he took was odd and not at all straight, and you pushed the idea out of your mind that he walked so strangely to avoid tripping over bodies. 

John brought you to a towering pine tree only a handful of paces from the road where he told you to stay. He left you briefly to scrounge up as much food and clothing as he could before returning back to you with a loaded horse. He swaddled you in a thick fur cloak like a mother would wrap her child in a blanket before aiding you in sitting on the horse. He settled in behind you, pulling your back snug against his chest before taking off deep into the forest. 

You weren’t sure what he had planned, but you were too defeated to even ask. There was no turning back or pushing forward in weather like that. Perhaps he was trying to find a good place to put the two of you to rest. 

While John’s eyes meticulously scanned the forest for any further sign of danger, yours welled with tears. You wanted to go back for them. For every single soldier and servant that laid slaughtered on the road. At least dig them a grave, no matter how shallow. You’d bury them all and then bury yourself with them. 

“Neshevian,” you finally spoke. It felt like you had been traveling for days, though the sun remained as high in the sky as ever, despite how muted it was with the clouds. “Why were they in our lands?” 

“You already know the answer,” John replied. He didn’t say his answer outright, as if he refused to even entertain the thought of your death or capture. But he was right. Those men had made it all too clear why they were there. 

“They killed Eilra,” you said, voice on the verge between whisper and sob. You wanted to cry, or at least, you felt like you should have. It felt wrong to sit on that horse and wander off into the frosty woods while their bodies turned to frozen statues behind you. But you couldn’t. You drew breath, and they couldn’t, and you still couldn’t cry. “Are we really the only two left?” 

For the first time since you had met the man, John hesitated. “I’m sorry, Princess.” 

You didn’t need him to explain any further. 

As night grew closer and the forest became more dense, the wind and snow picked up with a vengeful fury. It howled from between the tree branches above your head as if letting out the anguish your body refused to let you feel. Flakes of snow nipped at the skin of your nose and cheeks, and you pulled the fur lined cloak over your mouth in an attempt to protect yourself. 

If John was cold, he didn’t show it, but the harsh breaths of the horse proved its exhaustion. There was no caravan, no carriage or bonfire to warm up next to. There was only you, John, a horse, and the wild woods of the mountain. 

“Can we make camp?” you asked, unable to hide the slight chattering of your teeth. 

“We’ll die if we rest here,” John retorted. 

“We’ll die if we continue,” you whined. 

He didn’t bother with an answer, and you didn’t bother with another complaint. A thin layer of snow covered the both of you, clinging to clothing and hair alike, and your legs felt frozen in place on either side of the horse. Perhaps you weren’t far off from sharing a grave with Eilra. 

“There,” John suddenly pointed out. 

You squinted in an attempt to peer through the relentless bombardment of snowflakes. Off in the distance not too far away was a small hut or cottage of sorts. It appeared to be built by the very same wood that covered the area and was hardly any larger than your bedroom back in Venaca. Snow sat in heaps on top of the thatched roof, and it nearly blocked the windows in full. 

“We’ll rest there,” John said, kicking the horse into a gallop. 

Dust and dirt settled heavily over every item inside of that cottage; the small, worn table, the mantle on the fireplace, even the blankets that covered the bed. Whoever the home belonged to had long since abandoned the building. It was warmer in there, but perhaps it only felt that way because you were no longer being ravaged by the stabbing wind. There were no rooms, only one large living area, and the only thing that offered even a slight bit of privacy was a large, wooden divider that stood near the foot of the bed. 

Darkness swallowed the room when John shut the door, and you felt around the room blindly until you found the fireplace. You got on your knees and continued feeling around until you found a pile of old, dry wood that laid in a small heap next to the hearth. 

“There’s wood here,” you breathed as you struggled to grab a log. “Perhaps we can start a fire, lest we freeze to death.” 

“No. No fires tonight,” John said as he gently tossed a small pack onto the floor next to you. “The smoke might attract someone.” 

You ceased your attempt at pulling the logs from their stack and slumped forward with a heavy sigh. Every muscle in your body was tense and numb with cold, and he was denying you a fire? 

“Who would travel through a storm like this over a fire?” you asked, a bit more bite to your words than you intended for there to be. 

The shuffling next to you paused, but only for a short moment before John continued with his blind pursuit of whatever items he attempted to retrieve. “Desperate men hunting down a very important woman.” 

Of course. 

John’s hand brushed against your shoulder, and you jumped at the touch. His hand didn’t retract from you, in fact, it began to trail down your arm until it reached your hand. Even in the stark cold that bound itself to your body you could feel your skin heat up. 

“What are you-?” 

Your question was cut off when you felt his other hand push something into your palm. Once he was sure you had a good grasp of the item, he let go of you as if he had never even touched you in the first place. 

“Dinner,” he said simply along with something that sounded like a chuckle gone sour.

Huffing, you brought the item up to your nose to give it a quick sniff. It was rugged, and smelt of pepper and herbs. Jerky; your people had been packed with plenty of it for your journey. Delicious, yet the thought of eating after everything you endured that day made your stomach turn. 

“I’m not hungry,” you said softly as you lowered the dried meat. 

Even through the darkness you could feel John’s searing stare, and you had never felt so ungrateful in your entire life. This man had saved your life and dragged you through half the mountainside just to protect you. He tried to nurture you, and you denied him all because the guilt was eating too heavily at your stomach for you to fill it. 

“I’ll feed you by my own hand, if I must,” he said, and it sounded dangerously close to a promise. 

You didn’t respond, but the sound of your teeth ripping off a chunk of the meat seemed to satisfy him enough. He continued to dig through the pack before pulling out another item. It was a blanket, you found out, as he wrapped it around your shoulders. The fabric was cold, but between the cloak and the blanket, you would be warm enough for the night. 

John rose to his feet and carefully slid along the wall of the cottage where you heard the faint sound of wood scratching on wood. A chair, you realized. He was dragging a chair from that small dining table you had caught a glimpse of earlier. He placed it not too far away from where you sat on the floor, and it slightly creaked underneath his weight as he sat and finally allowed his body to rest. 

“Get some rest, Princess,” he said softly. “It’s been a long day.” 

At that point, you knew better than to tell him that you couldn’t, so instead you pulled the blanket tighter around your body before laying on the stiff wooden floor. That night, there was no laughter beside a hearty campfire, or Eilra’s giggles. There were no stars to blanket you, or a moon to whisper a lullaby. There was just the steady sound of John’s quiet breathing and the whistling howl of the wind. 

Morning dawned before you knew it, and it felt like you hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep. Your body screamed at you as you pushed yourself off the floor, knees and arms still sore from being dragged around. You looked around the cottage. Small streams of cold light cut through the air, giving the dull and dusty room an ethereal glow. 

John still sat in that chair next to you, his eyes lazily focused on you as you stirred awake. He wore his cloak and he had folded a blanket to rest over his lap. Even with the cold his hands rested on top of the blanket for what you assumed was to keep easy access to the sword that rested against his thigh. 

“It’s still early if you’d like to sleep longer,” he said. There was a certain deepness to his voice, one that you remembered feeling in your own throat when you were tired. 

“I’ve slept long enough,” you answered. 

Keeping the blanket wrapped tightly around your shoulders, you stood to your feet before walking to one of the windows. Snow had piled up on the windowsill, but if you stepped on the tips of your toes you could peer out over it. The wind had stopped, and the cottage felt warmer, but flurries of thick snowflakes continued to smother the once green forest around you. 

“Have you slept?” you asked while turning back around to face him. 

John stayed silent for a moment too long before saying; “I’ve gone longer without sleep.” 

“So, no,” you concluded. You took a few steps closer to him before gesturing to the spot on the floor you had spent the night on. “Sleep. You won’t be any good with that sword if you’re hallucinating shadows from exhaustion.” 

Like a curious dog, John tilted his head at you as his hand slowly, almost absentmindedly, reached for the hilt of his sword. Not in a threatening manner, but almost as if it was his only comfort. Out there in the wilderness, with no one but you to watch his back, it probably was his only comfort. 

“I appreciate your concern, Princess, but I’m fine. Truly,” he assured. 

That wasn’t good enough for you, and you knew it was the furthest thing from the truth he had ever told you. Two weeks worth of travel was already bad enough, but fighting off those men, killing them, was no easy feat. Skipping sleep was unacceptable, and it would catch up to him before long. 

So in one last attempt, you pointed towards the ground as you kept your eyes locked onto that stubborn knight. “Sleep. That’s an order.” 

Despite your words, there was a heavy lack of authority in your tone, and it came off as another request rather than a demand. Being embraced by a thick blanket and fluffy cloak didn’t give you the aura of a leader, either. Nothing but Venaca’s darling little princess, too kind and soft-hearted for her own good. 

You didn’t realize how close you stood to John until he rose from his seat. Despite the proximity, you refused to move, even when you swore you could feel his breath fan across your face. With sword in hand, and blanket tucked under his arm, he gave you a slow nod, the dark azure color of his eyes didn’t leave you for a moment. He gave you a small, tired, and perhaps half forced smile. 

“As you wish.” 

The snow didn’t stop falling until it covered your knees. Three days worth of winter left the vast forest feeling small as you and John were mostly confined to the tight space of the cottage. He still refused to make a fire, which meant the two of you spent most of your days sitting on the floor together huddling for warmth as best as you could. 

After a week of being trapped in the cottage, John ventured out to hunt. Apparently he was just as good, if not better, with a bow as he was with a sword, and he returned back with a rabbit and a tail feather from a capercaillie. That was the first time John allowed a fire, but he built it small with nothing but bark shavings. You enjoyed the warmth while it lasted before he snuffed it out once the rabbit cooked, and though it wasn’t seasoned, you were just happy to have something other than chewy dried meat. 

John still refused to sleep at night, and would sit in that old, creaking chair with his sword across his lap, and would sleep for a few hours during the day only after you woke. On the nights that you couldn’t sleep, either from the anxiety or the cold, he would tell you stories. Ones that he would make up, or tales from his childhood. The dark baritone of his voice was comforting, and you found yourself sleeping better on those nights. 

In the daytime, he would take his hunting knife and carve gentle lines in the wood of the floor to mimic constellations he knew. Everything from fruit, to swords, he stuck those crude drawings into the cottage as a permanent reminder that despite Neshevia’s attempts, you were still alive and well. 

“Onme’s Necklace,” he said softly after carving what appeared to be a simple circle with a bump at the bottom. “The Goddess of Love and Fertility.” 

You reached out a hand and used the pads of your fingers to trace along the wood. It felt faint and hardly there, yet it made your heart race all the same. 

“Do you think the Prince of Draewen will gift me a necklace for marriage like our people do?” you asked, eyes still trained on the floor. 

John shuffled as he sheathed his knife and placed it on the floor next to him. Though your eyes were focused elsewhere, his were only on you. 

“Difficult to say. I’m not familiar with Draewish courting customs. But you would deserve nothing less, Princess,” he said, voice still soft and low. 

All you could do was hum as you pulled your knees to your chest. With the wind gone, the cottage grew warmer, though you were still ages away from being able to continue your journey through the mountains with the snow settling so heavily along the lands. Or maybe it felt warmer because John, against his better judgment, allowed himself to be closer to you physically. 

“I hope he is kind,” you said suddenly. 

“And if he’s not?” asked John.

“Then I will marry him anyway. It is what is required of me to join our armies, to end this blasted war,” you answered without much thought. But then, you did. You paused to think, and every single thought spewed from your mouth in an unstoppable wave. “I will marry him, even if he isn’t kind, and I will bear his children, and I will be his queen. I’ll spend my days looking out over the green valleys and rivers they say cover their lands, and I’ll think of the orchards that I used to roam as a child as I do. I think that might be my last thought before I either die an untimely death due to his boredom with me, or of old age after being overshadowed by his mistress for the second half of my life.” 

Not even the gods themselves would have thought about breaking that suffocating silence that followed your words. There was still so much you wanted to say, rotting feelings that infected your chest, but they were ideas that you pushed aside because you could not afford to depress yourself with those thoughts. 

“You are a princess,” John spoke, daring to break that quietness, “you deserve better.” 

“I deserve nothing more than anyone else,” you quickly retorted, your eyes glued to the carving of the necklace on the floor. “Besides, no one gets married because of love. The oath is just to make the necessity seem sweeter, but it’s poison all the same.” 

“Don’t speak of yourself in such a way,” John said. It was the closest thing to an order you had ever heard him speak, and you weren’t sure of what to think about the fluttering in your chest that followed his words. “You hold a power that makes nations tremble; one that has men scrounging the mountainside for you. Thimme would look upon you and weep until the oceans flooded the earth.” 

Thimme. Had he dared to compare you to the Goddess of Beauty Herself? You tore your eyes away from Onme’s Necklace and planted them on John instead. It was then that you realized he himself wore no necklace. You didn’t like the way your heart hummed at that realization. Something started to grow inside of you and you wanted nothing more than to smother it. 

Cabin fever. That’s all it was. 

You should have said something, should have reprimanded him for saying such a thing. Instead, you found your heart reveling in his words as your throat grew tight with the thought of asking him for more. You laughed in disbelief as you looked away from him, unable to say anything that wouldn’t incriminate you. 

Whatever words that were unsaid between the two of you were silenced by the sound of creaking hinges and a blast of cold air. Your eyes were drawn to the door where three shrouded figures slithered inside with snow covered boots and frosted cloaks. John rose to his feet with the quickness of a wolf, his sword already unsheathed and at the ready before you could even comprehend the danger. 

“Our quarrel is not with you,” one of the men barked. His accent was strange. It wasn’t ugly like the Neshevian accent was. It was more flowing, and gentler in a way, but you couldn’t quite place where it was from. But he was a threat all the same. “Hand us the Venacian blight and we’ll be on our way.” 

John strengthened the grip on his sword as he raised it higher. “I’ll have your head for that.” 

The three men seemed more like monsters than human; more akin to bears than any other earthly creature. They had broadswords for claws and thick woolly cloaks for fur. The only thing human about them was the way they looked at you as you huddled on the floor behind John; not with hunger, not with a need to survive, but with a malice only humans could comprehend. 

No other words were wasted from either side before swords started to clash together with sickening screeches. Flashes of silver iron moved in a blur as John kept up with each of the men. In a way, he had the advantage in that small cottage. The intruders couldn’t use their full range of motion without risking injuring their comrades, and John used that to his advantage as he slowly pushed them to the far side of the room. 

You had never seen him in action before, and you had prayed to the gods that you never would have had to. The only thing you could think of was impressive. There was no flourish to his movements, and there was no showing off. Just simple, precise, and deadly strikes and slashes that left superficial cuts along their skin. But no amount of skill could save someone from fighting three monstrous men; even a man as talented as John Price. 

If he wanted to even the playing field, he would have to incapacitate or slay one of the men. In order to do that, he would have to focus his blows on one man, or get lucky and hope one of his defensive moves would knock them away. But if he focused too much on one man, it left him open for the other two to attack. 

You had to draw one of them away. 

You grabbed the knife John had left on the floor and slid it out of its sheath. It was a well kept blade that glinted dangerously in the little light that bled through the cottage windows. With shaking knees, you pushed yourself to your feet and threw the leather sheath at the intruders, which caught one of them off guard, allowing John to land a fair slash against the man's ribs. He howled in pain as he backed up, body hitting the wall behind him. Hiding the knife underneath your cloak, you ensured your feet hit the floor as loudly as you could manage as you dashed out of the cottage. 

John’s horse huffed at you, certainly out of hunger, as you scurried through the snow as fast as your legs could carry you. It neared dinner time, and the sun slowly fell towards the horizon, casting an orange blaze across the sky in its wake. Had you been in Venaca, you would have enjoyed the view. But not then. Not with the frigid air lining your lungs with frost. Not when you ran for your life. 

“Zekral,” you prayed breathlessly. “Zekral, give him strength. Uvral, let him live.” 

Like you had expected, one of the men managed to break away from the fight with John. It was not the man that had been wounded, but you could hear his snarling gasps behind you while you fled. You didn’t dare glance behind you because you knew you would freeze if you caught sight of the monster that chased you. Instead, you kept your eyes straight ahead as you weaved between trees and slick thickets. 

A glittering stream snuck up on you so carefully you nearly tossed yourself into the water before you realized it was there. The orange hue in the sky reflected off of its crystal-like waters, almost making it seem warm and inviting. Despite it’s beauty, you realized it cut off your escape route. 

It forced you to hesitate. 

A hand grasped the hood of your cloak and the clasp caught your throat as you were yanked back into a chest so firm you could have sworn it was stone. Suffocating arms wrapped around your chest, and you found a scream escaping your throat as the air was squeezed from your lungs. 

“Vodrir smiles on me this day!” the man claimed triumphantly over your cries. 

You didn’t know why, but in that moment you thought of home. So far away, and yet you could feel the greenery on your feet, and taste the fresh apples from the orchards. You could smell the breeze as it drifted through your bedroom window, and feel Eilra’s hands as she braided your hair. 

Was this death? Was this Uvral comforting you before silencing you forever? 

With whatever strength you could muster and a shout that only a dying animal could make, you took the knife hidden underneath your cloak and blindly stabbed it over your shoulder. The man howled as the blade sunk into the flesh of his chest, but his arms only tightened around you as his muscles tensed from the pain. 

Just as quickly as the man's arms tensed, you felt a little slack as his arms fell off of you. A gasp filled your chest as you were able to take a proper breath, only for that breath to get pushed out of your lungs as the man shoved you away from him. 

You tried to catch yourself, tried to regain your balance as you stumbled forward, but it was too late. Every single muscle in your body seized as the icy water of the stream enveloped you in a soul snatching embrace. Any thought that had been in your mind before was erased as your body laid in the bed of the stream as if you were resting. It didn’t even feel cold anymore, it just hurt. Like every soldier in Neshevia had run their blade through you at once.

Maybe that was what you deserved. But you refused that fate. 

Thrashing in the water, you came to your senses and pushed yourself to your knees as your head broke the surface of the stream. Your gasp for air rang throughout the forest like a lone bell in an abandoned city. Sharp rocks dug into the flesh of your palms as you coughed and sputtered while you dragged yourself to the bank of the stream. 

A pair of hands landed on your shoulders, and it was like you had fallen into that stream all over again. You let out a pathetic excuse for a war cry as you attempted to push the man off of you. You would not be the enemy’s pawn. You refused to be the blood that fed and enriched the soil beneath your feet. 

“Princess, look at me,” a desperate voice pleaded. 

It was a voice you knew well. One that had comforted you with strange stories as you slept. One that taught you the constellations. It was a voice you wanted to drown yourself in. 

“It’s me, Princess. I’ve got you,” he said softly.

John held your face in his hands, forcing you to look at him. Fear flooded his eyes as he took in the sight of your chattering teeth and trembling body. Water soaked straight through your clothes and clung to your body with no intention of letting go. You tried to speak, tried to do anything, but your muscles shook and convulsed with such strength your body was rendered nearly useless. 

He wasted no time in relieving you of your cloak, which had grown heavy as it was weighed down from the water. Not even grunting with effort, John lifted you into his arms, holding you close to his chest as he marched back towards the cottage as fast as his feet would carry him. You closed your eyes when you caught sight of the man that had caught you, who now laid in the snow with a piercing wound through his stomach. Your arms curled in towards your chest, and it was then that you realized your hands and feet felt too light. As if they had floated away from your body long ago. 

In order to reach the entrance of the cottage, John had to step over two bodies. Their blood tainted the snow in a similar fashion to a child who had spilled paint over their bedroom floor. But even with the mess, it was like nothing was there, no gore or death or bodies, it was just you and him. 

John shoved the door open where the splashing of water falling from your clothes became obvious on the wooden floor. Inside didn’t feel any warmer than outside, but at that point you couldn’t even register temperature. All there was, was pain. Nothing but a numbness of pins and needles skewering your skin. 

He attempted to set you on your feet, but they felt so detached from your body you stumbled onto the floor instead. His hands caught your waist, preventing too much damage being done to your knees, but then you felt him roam. Your corset loosened, and you felt his fingers dip underneath your dress as he yanked the soggy fabric off your body. He didn’t stop there, either. Your slip, your stockings and undergarments, if there was a piece of fabric on you that was wet, he tore them off until you were completely exposed on the floor underneath him. 

You didn’t even have the energy to ask him what he was doing or to protest. The only thought that consumed your mind was to live as you drew breath after shuddering breath. It almost sounded like you were crying, and maybe you were.

John left your side for only a moment before he returned with the blanket the two of you had huddled under before those men had attacked. He wrapped it around your body before lifting you once again in order to set you closer to the hearth. You laid on your side and watched him with stinging eyes as he piled logs into the mouth of the fireplace along with kindling and other scraps. It was only then that you noticed his shirt had gotten wet too, most likely from carrying your soaking body back to safety. 

In minutes, John had built the largest fire you had seen since the night before the caravan had been slaughtered. Its flames reflected off of the stones of the hearth, slowly filling the cottage with a heat your body was almost too numb to feel. As you laid on your side, you watched as he slipped his own shirt off over his head, tossing that damp garment in the same heap your own clothes sat in. If you weren’t struggling with each breath you took, you might have gawked at the hair on his chest or the faint battle scars that decorated his skin. Instead, you stayed silent as he vanished somewhere behind you. 

Moments later, he returned with another blanket in hand. He settled on the floor behind you as he threw the blanket over both your bodies. The warmth of him soaked into your back as he pressed himself against you, trapping in any heat that attempted to escape. His hand settled on your arm as he quickly rubbed up and down, attempting to create any friction on your skin that he could. It sent a painful sensation ripping through your skin as your body finally started to regain feeling again. 

“Talk to me, Princess,” he spoke, his breath hot on your neck. 

You attempted to speak, but it came out as nothing but a whimper. Every muscle in your body twitched painfully, and it only got worse when you tried to stop shivering. 

“Fi-re,” you were eventually able to choke out. “Sm-o-ke…” 

John continued to rub his hands along your body as he did everything within his power to warm you. No one had ever touched you in such a way, and no man had ever gazed upon your bare body before. But in that moment, you didn’t care. 

“If it draws anyone in, they’ll fall before they lay another hand on you,” he swore. 

It was stupid, and you would have told him as much if you could have gotten your teeth to stop chattering. He had said it himself that smoke would attract those with ill intent towards you, which is why you had spent countless nights huddled alone on an unforgiving floor. But he risked it to save you. John was a strong fighter, that much you knew, but he couldn’t hold off an entire army. 

After a while, John’s hand stopped rubbing against your arm and instead settled around your stomach as he held you tightly against him. Despite his height and broad shoulders, he fit against you so perfectly. His knees settled against the back of yours, his chin rested softly on top of your head, and gods he was warm. The feeling in your body returned, and you felt your skin defrost as the fire melted the ice from your veins. It was like you were back in the basin, sitting on the soft grass and clovers as the spring sun warmed your skin. 

It was like you were back home, and not nearly dead in a cottage in the wild forest of the mountains. 

“John?” you spoke up. Your voice was more fluid, and less tense as the spamming of your muscles stopped. 

“Yes, Princess?” he responded. 

“Those men… they were not Neshevian,” you said, and though you hadn’t framed it in such a manner, it was certainly an unspoken question. 

“They were not,” he confirmed. 

You sniffed some as you felt the snot in your nose start to run. It felt like you had a head cold, and you wouldn’t be surprised if you had gotten sick after your quick dip in the wintery stream. 

“Where were they from?” you asked. 

John’s arm tightened around your center as if he was afraid you’d slip out of his grasp. “They were Draewish.” 

You swallowed the sinking feeling in your stomach. “Then they have betrayed us.” 

For the first time since the night before you left for Draewen, you wept. Your tears soaked the carved up wood of the floor, and your shoulders shook not with cold, but with sorrow. You cried for the loss of your people, for the death of Eilra, for the war you weren’t any closer to winning. And most of all, you cried for yourself. You cried for the stupidly optimistic Venacian Princess. 

Your tears ceased once the flames of the fire diminished to embers, and it was the first time John made even the slightest movement to leave you. He left his blanket covering your body as he knelt next to the fire, his bare back exposed to you. Two more logs were added to the fire, and he sat back on his haunches as he watched the flames devour the wood. 

“When the snow melts, we’ll set off for Venaca,” he said, voice tired. 

Nodding your head, you pulled your blanket tight under your chin as you curled forward. Night had fallen by that point, and you hadn’t even realized it since the fire had provided an unfamiliar light. It was the first night you had seen in weeks where you weren’t miserable. 

“The city will fall within months without Draewen’s help,” you said. “Sooner if they choose to aid Neshevia.” 

“Then let it fall,” John said gruffly. “They can burn it to the ground, but no one will lay a hand on you again, Honrul strike me.” 

The determination in his voice almost made you believe him. You shifted slightly, your bones crying out from the harsh floor that offered no padding for your body. 

“John?” you asked again. 

At the sound of your voice, he turned so that he no longer faced the fire, but instead looked to you. Even in the dark shadows that casted on his face you could still make out the softness in his eyes. 

You wondered if that softness was only there when his eyes were on you. 

“Yes, Princess?” he answered. 

“Lay with me.”

His eyes didn’t leave you for a moment, but you could feel the hesitation roll off his body. Maybe there was something unseemly about your request. Underneath your blanket, you were utterly naked and completely exposed. John had only laid with you before to warm you, and you were no longer in danger of freezing to death. It was improper, something both of you should have been reprimanded for. 

“Is that an order?” he asked, shifting slightly. 

“It’s a request.” 

He froze for a moment, and you thought he was going to deny your request. You wouldn’t have blamed him if he did. Maybe he should have. Instead, he crawled on his hands and knees along the floor as he shuffled behind you once more. With careful hands, he moved his blanket off of you, still letting yours stay wrapped securely around your naked body to keep your modesty. 

His chest pressed against your back and his legs bent with the curve of yours while he laid the blanket over both of you. A different and new bloom of warmth blossomed in your chest as his arm settled around your center again, holding you close. Never before had someone held you like that. Never before did you feel wanted for anything other than your status. 

“Thank you,” you managed to choke out. “Don’t… don’t go.”

At your words, he buried his face into the back of your neck. You could feel the slight tickle of his facial hair, and how cold the tip of his nose was. When he spoke, you swore you could feel his lips ghosting against your skin. 

“As you wish, Princess.”

ah!!! i was so excited to write this once i got the idea i finished it in three days (cringe) but i'm so happy to finally share it with you all! price is unfamiliar territory for me, but i tried to get the vibes of a tired dad down lmao knight!price is going to be rotting my brain for awhile, though.

thanks again gpd for doing this challenge! and everyone, make sure to check out the other entries!

#captain price x reader #john price x reader #price x reader #f!reader #141challenge

[1d1195]

Faking It

Sometimes while I'm listening to music, things just pop into my head about Harry and I have to write it out real fast before I forget. This is just a little random blurb that I’m posting for no reason.

best friend/roommate!reader x famous!Harry

Warnings: sexual tension, sexual wording

Not proofread (written in my drafts on my phone)

Harry is watching her dance her little heart out to whatever is playing in her ears while she aggressively folds the sheets and towels out of the dryer. He can hear the music playing from where he's standing in the kitchen getting a glass of water. They've been best friends for years and since Harry is often on tour, it's nice to have someone keep an eye on his place, water the flowers, and just...be there when he gets home or shoots home during one of his quick breaks.

She's funny and lovely. One of his favorite people. She doesn't mind acting silly around him and doesn't care if he never cleans up when he's home. "I just like when my best friend is here," she says.

"What are y'even listening to?" She turns down the music so she can hear him.

"It's called Little White Lies, it's by this great band. M'sure you've heard of them: One Direction?" She has the most impish smile on her lips.

He stares at her and blinks slowly. He hates when she does this. It's so annoying. But he finds her adorable anyway. It's been a while since he's been home and he likes seeing her in her element. As if he weren't here. He likes that she's comfortable with him. It feels...like home.

But then, since she's his best friend, she has to go and ruin it.

She shrugs. "Y'know, Harry. Bet you would get a nice girlfriend if they knew they didn't have to fake orgasms around you all the time," she winked at him pushing the laundry basket toward the hallway to the bedrooms before she starts in on the second load of clothing.

He doesn't want to know. If he asks, he'll regret it. "What are y'on 'bout?" He tilted his head back. It was one of those conversations he knew he was going to be exhausted by before it even started.

"When she's alone she goes home to a cactus. In a black dress, she's such an actress?" She quoted his own lyrics to him but phrased it as a question. "Such an actress?" She repeated. "Too bad Harry," she tisks. "You even gotta talk about a dildo being a cactus...like one of the rabbit ones,” she giggled.

Harry wonders if he strangles her if they'll question him first. He's a popstar after all. "M'gonna kill you," he says darting toward her around the half kitchen wall to tickle her. She squeals and takes off to the other side of the room, hiding behind the couch.

"Cause you've been telling me, all night with your little white lies."

"Nobody fakes orgasms with me," he grumbled. "Liam and Louis wrote that song."

She smirked. "Sensitive. I don't mean anything by it," she giggles. "Just think it's funny."

"I'll prove it," he says hopping on the couch and reaching over to grab her before she can escape. She squeals at his aggressive hold as he tosses her down (gently) onto the sofa. "Take y'pants off," he orders.

"Harry," she gasps, face blushing. The headphones fall from her ears, her phone drops to the floor.

"Take 'em off," he repeats. "You'll see."

"Harry," she whispers breathlessly. "I was just kidding."

But his eyes are hungry now. He's looking her over if he's just noticing that she's a girl. A beautiful, adorable, pain-in-the-butt, girl. His best friend that he adores with all his heart. "M'not," his voice is low. Her heart hammers erratically against her ribs.

She can't say she hasn't been dreaming of this. She wants this. She doesn't believe she'll have to fake it. But she doesn't want to force him to do it to prove a point. "Harry," she tries again, but her voice is weak. The protest is faint in her voice. "You don't have--"

"Bet y'have t'fake it all the time, hmm?" He's hovering above her. His legs straddling her hips, his arms pinning her shoulders down. She can't move her gaze from his. She's immobile. He drops his mouth to her ear. "Don't you?" He murmurs so lowly it vibrates all through her body. Right to the space between her thighs. “Bet y'dream about me when m'not here. When you're with someone else,” his lips brush the pulse along the side of her neck. He kisses the space at the bottom of her throat. "I dream about you when m’alone,” her brain is spinning to keep up. She was just joking him. He was too brave to admit that. She’s terrified she’s going to mess up. But he’s inhaling her skin like he’s sniffing out a weakness. Her whole body is one weak spot for him. “S'that why y'like it so much?" He mumbles. "S'that why y'like m'song. Because you're an actress for everyone else? You're not gonna be an actress for me, right? You're gonna be a good girl and not tell me any little white lies?" He asks it as a question, but she knows it's a statement.

"Harry," it was her last chance to protest.

“No, love. M’sure,” he promise sensing the question in just the way she uttered his name. Maybe the benefit to being her best friend he knew what she was thinking. Always. “Jus’ say the word, love,” his lips are a breath away. If she inhales too deeply or exhales at all she’ll be kissing Harry Styles. “Do y’want me t’prove it?”

His eyes are so green his skin smells so good. She can’t breathe or move.

“Yes.”

#harry #harry styles #harry styles fluff #harry styles smut #harry styles angst #harry styles blurbs #harry styles blurb #harry styles reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader #harry styles imagine #harry styles au #harry styles one shot #harry styles concept #hs #hs fic #hs writing #one direction #one direction writing #best friend!harry #roommate!harry #famous!harry #faking it

[bless-my-demons]

Redamancy: Chapter One

Jasper Hale x Reader

Series Summary: What happens when your soulmate is a vampire that struggles to maintain a diet of trying not to kill you? Common sense says run for the hills, nothing is worth your life - but my heart is whispering why not, what’s there to lose?

Warnings: Use of curse words

Notes: I was nervous to start writing from Jasper’s POV, but sometimes you just gotta send it and hope for the best. POV changes in italics at the beginning of their sections!

Word Count: 823

Series Masterlist

• January 24th, 2005 • Forks High School •

Jasper

Another boring day at this high school which means another tally added to the long list of days spent amongst hormonal teenagers for almost no reason.

Almost.

I understand the importance of learning to curb my hunger, to be able to assimilate into society as easily as my coven members. I crave the ability they possess to just exist in public without any hint of the monster that lies within. I’ll give it to Carlisle, not many places could I be immersed in an environment flush with humans, but also have the ability to blame my awkwardness with them on teenage hormones while I adjust. I’m not too keen on taking the risk with literal children, but the risk forces me to maintain a tighter grip on the bloodlust raging inside.

I still don’t like the experimentation of it all.

At least my adopted brothers and sisters are close by whenever I need. I hate that I’m not sure of myself yet, like I’m still in need of the crutch they provide should I need it. This is a never-ending war crawling under my skin. I should be strong enough to control this, I’m nearly 160 years old. I’ve commanded humans and vampires alike, why can I not command my own urges for blood?

I'm deep in my own mind walking alongside Emmett as he talks my ear off about his Jeep and the modifications he contemplates making tonight to kill time, and as we pass the front office to our high school, I nearly miss catching the door before it could crack me across the face.

Once I gain my bearings after the momentary shock of being caught in my thoughts, I let the door drift shut and look to the culprit-

Thoughts are foreign to me all of a sudden.

I immediately stop breathing in shock, my back goes rigid, and blinking becomes a thing of the past as my eyes connect with the most gorgeous girl I’ve ever seen.

I’ve never seen such a beautiful person, human or vampire, in my life. My eyes are greedy as I drink her in. From the white converse, worn overalls, the chunky sweater underneath to ward off the early morning chill, to her beautifully messy hair hastily clipped up in a twist at the base of her head - she’s a breath of fresh air and I’ve been submerged for over a century.

But what really catches me off guard is her scent. She smells like fresh lavender and something else so decadent I can’t quite put my finger on it. I can feel the beginnings of flames licking down my throat at just the microscopic inhale after releasing the door from my death-grip moments ago.

The scent of this bewitching girl had me in such a trance, enough that when Emmett delivers a clap to my shoulder to shake me from my thoughts, I didn’t even realize he was chuckling at my expense.

“Oh god I’m so sorry! I was so focused on my schedule that I didn’t even see you-“ she immediately began apologizing.

“No need to worry, doll. It’ll require a little more than a door to take me out.” I immediately interrupted her nervous rambling. Did I really just say that?

“Jasper Hale.” I stuck my hand out for her to shake, trying to start this introduction all over on the right foot.

I noticed her glance to my outstretched hand and back up to my face as her warm hand slid into mine.

“Y/n, Y/n Y/l/n.” She replied, still looking a little surprised. She squeezed my hand a little before allowing hers to slip from mine.

Just from the small amount of skin to skin contact with this beautiful girl, everything inside of me roars to life. I’m worried that if I glance at my hand, I’ll see the skin crawling from where the heat of her hand lingers.

Surprise, worry, anxiety, embarrassment, self-deprecation, awe - the emotions a rolodex scrolling in rapid succession in the forefront of my mind. The shock of meeting her momentarily throwing my supernatural ability for a loop. I haven’t had such shit control over the emotions surrounding me since I was a newborn vampire.

I’ve never had such an interesting reaction to something, or rather someone, before - it scares me slightly. I can only gape as Y/n turns and makes her way quickly to class.

Reader

Can someone die from stupidity?

I’m at my new high school for less than an hour and I’ve already made the biggest fool of myself. I almost just took out the most attractive human being at this school by complete accident.

After introducing myself to Jasper Hale, I hastily turned around and booked it for my first class in the hopes to avoid further insult to injury.

Smooth, Y/n. Real fucking smooth.

Next

#jasper hale x reader #jasper hale #jasper whitlock #jasper whitlock hale #jasper hale x female!reader #female reader insert #twilight #twilight fanfiction #romance #slow burn #redamancy series #bless-my-demons

[yawnderu]

I’m sorry for sending another request AKDHSJSHSJ u don’t have write this if u don’t want to

ok so it’s kinda similar to my last request but reader is the evil queen. Like the one from snow white. They ask their mirror who the fairest one of all is and instead of it being her, it’s Miguel. So she decides to journey to him and try to kill him but instead ends up fucking him

Snow White!Miguel O'Hara x Evil Queen!Reader

''Magic mirror on the wall, who is the fairest one of all?''

''Famed is thy beauty, Majesty. But hold, a manservant I see. Rags cannot hide his gentle grace. Alas, he is more fair than thee.'' The mirror on the wall spoke, much to your horror. There had never been anyone who could compete with your beauty, yet you knew the magic mirror could not lie to you.

''Alas for him! Reveal his name.'' You demand, curious to know who exactly took your place. You'd have no issues paying them a visit.

''Eyes like darkened carmine resin, hair the brown of aged mahogany, skin like the mellow-brown light that bathed the forest.'' Was all the mirror replied, yet that was enough for you to know who exactly he was talking about.

''Miguel O'Hara.'' You spat out through clenched teeth, recognizing the features of the little rascal you haven't seen in over 20 years. His mother kept him hidden from the outside world, yet you'd never imagined that was to protect him from your wrath.

... Tough luck for the little bastard, as you now stand outside of a humble cottage disguised as a mere peasant, taking a deep breath before your knuckles make contact with the door. You hear a crash on the inside and a string of curses in Spanish before the door opens, a tall, tanned man opens the door with a small smile, sweat pooling on the middle of his thick eyebrows- it seemed he was in the middle of doing chores.

''Sí?'' He asked quietly, a small, nervous smile on his face as he looks down at you. He changed a lot ever since the last time you saw him- he's now much taller than you, dwarfing your frame with his behemoth 6'9 body, his features are way more defined and he carries himself with more confidence than when he was a scrawny kid.

''Oh, my. You've grown quite a lot, Miguel.'' You reply in your best fake tone, hiding the fact that you want to rip his heart out for having the audacity to take your place. He simply nods once, waiting for you to continue.

''I'm your mother's friend, she told me to wait for her inside.'' You don't even wait for him to reply before you walk past him, ignoring his confused stammering behind you. His mother never invites friends over, opting for completely alienating him from the outside world in fear he'd escape her controlling grasp. He was about to stop you, yet having company other than his family was nice enough for him to ignore all the red flags.

''Lo siento, I was cleaning before you-'' You dismiss him with a flick of the wrist, taking seat on a chair in the dining room before you motion for him to sit down next to you. As annoyed as you were, you were curious about him enough to ignore the urge to claw his heart out. For now. He nods his head, sitting down next to you, his red eyes looking curious as he waits for you to start the conversation.

''I've never seen you around, Miguel. Why is that?'' You ask curiously, tilting your head to the side as you wait for him to explain the lies his mother fed him for over 30 years.

''My mother says it's not safe outside, lots of hunters and wild animals.'' He replies politely, fully believing the lies carved into his brain from a young age, despite the small frown on his plump lips. ''Gabriel is allowed to go outside, though.'' His frown deepens as he thinks about how unfair the treatment is, yet his gaze focuses on you the moment your hand rests on his thigh. He raises an eyebrow, giving you a questioning look.

''Isn't that unfair?'' You ask with mock empathy, pretending to match his frown. ''You're so much bigger and braver than Gabriel is, yet Conchata doesn't let you go out... how odd and cruel.'' As if your plans for him aren't crueler. You resist the urge to smile as he nods his head in agreement, seemingly already used to your hand on his thigh. Hook, line, and fucking sinker.

''I could help you see the outside world, you know?'' You say gently, your hand starting to slowly run up and down his leg, yet he doesn't seem to protest yet.

''My mother wouldn't like that... I try my best to be respectful.'' He already spent his teenage years trying to escape and getting punished for it. He got it out of his system already.

''Ah, but you wouldn't like to see the huge castles? All the animals on the outside, tasting the best food the country has to offer...'' You trail off, your hand slowly cupping his groin. You hear him suck in a breath, his leg slowly starting to bounce, yet all he can do is nod his head in agreement with you. He'd love to see all those things, it's everything he ever wanted. Maybe he could even fall in love, like in those fairy tales he reads whenever he's not being burdened with chores.

''I'd love that.'' He said softly, his eyes closing when you started rubbing his groin softly, your fingers teasingly squeezing his hardening length as you continued to make conversation like nothing is happening. You just started touching him, yet his breathing was already growing heavier, his bulky chest rising up before falling as his head slightly tilted back.

''I could show you great pleasures, if you let me.'' This time, you're not talking about the outside world. Your hands fumble with the zipper of his pants once he nods his head, eyes still closed as he softly bites his plump lower lip.

There's no harm on playing with your prey, is what you tell yourself as you bring him in for a kiss, your hand gently rubbing up and down his thick shaft as he softly groans into your mouth, his inexperienced tongue wrapping around yours as you both battle for dominance. Of course, despite his best efforts, you win. He breaks away from the kiss, bending down until his forehead is leaning on your shoulder as you continue to jerk him off, fingers teasingly rubbing against the mushroom tip, pre-cum only serving as lube once you continue your movements.

''Good boy.'' You praise, and he can sense the arrogance in your tone, yet it feels too good for him to ask you to stop. He lets out deep moans and groans as you keep going, already feeling himself going to the edge before you suddenly stop. He looks up at you with an exasperated expression, though he doesn't protest once he sees you sit down on the table, gown folded on your stomach as you expose yourself to him. He doesn't need to think twice before getting on his knees, sloppily starting to lick your cunt with his inexperienced tongue. He's clumsy, yet his plump lips and big tongue feel too good for you to care.

''Keep going.'' You moan out and he obeys like a dog, eating your pussy out like a starved mad man who just found a home. His tongue seeks shelter inside your cunt, pushing itself in and out as he begins to rub his dick up and down, the same way he has been doing for so many years, thinking about this moment. He tries to go back to licking your cunt as you push him away, yet your glare is enough for him to stop, standing up when you instruct it.

''Put it in.'' You say bluntly, too impatient to wait for him to be inside you. It has been so long, and although you're still mad about him taking your place, you'll deal with him properly when the time comes. He nods his head, carefully lining up his dick to your hole, moaning when the sensitive skin makes contact with the mix of his saliva and your arousal. He starts to slowly go in, hissing as your tight cunt swallows him up, his forehead resting on your shoulder. You can feel the bared fangs against your neck, yet you know he's too good to do anything.

''Ay, Dios...'' He groaned once he bottomed out, his moaning mixing in with yours as he began to move, slowly building up a faster rhythm as his arms wrapped around your waist. He was now slamming into you, looking into your eyes a few times to bask in your expression, always making sure you're also feeling good. Your long nails scratched down his back, his low growls making you smirk.

''Just like that.'' You said between moans, already feeling yourself close to the edge as your hand came down to rub your hardened clit as Miguel went faster and deeper, fangs bared as he looked down at you. At this point, his behemoth frame was using your much smaller body as a fleshlight, too lost in experiencing pleasure for the first time to even bother being embarrassed.

''Voy a-'' He interrupted himself as he pulled out, jerking himself off while you were still too dazed from your orgasm, barely managing to feel the warm liquid landing on your wet, abused hole.

#miguel o'hara #miguel ohara #miguel spiderman #atsv miguel #across the spiderverse #miguel 2099 #miguel x reader #atsv #miguel atsv #spiderman atsv #miguel ohara x reader #miguel spiderverse #miguel smut #snow white au

[callsigndragon]

A little bit of courage | Bradley Bradshaw

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x female reader

word count: 1.7k

warnings: all the fluffs

if you want to be tagged on everything tgm or on everthing rooster related, let me know down below in the comments! (with some love, very much appreciated! ❤️)

“Can you say that again? I want to check that I didn’t hear you wrong,” you say, feeling a ton of butterflies in the pit of your stomach. And not the good ones.

Rooster chuckles, taking one hand from the wheel to grab yours. “I said,” he kisses your knuckles and keeps looking ahead, “that I want you to meet my family.” 

“Oh, yeah. I heard you right.” 

“Are you scared?” Rooster asks, stopping the car at a red light and looking at you. 

“Scared of meeting the people you work with, and not only that but also Maverick, who is not only your boss but also the closest thing to a father you have?” You look at him with wide eyes and a trembling smile, giving away your true feelings. “How could I be scared?” 

“Honey, you know Phoenix and Hangman already.” 

“But I haven’t met all of them at the same time!” You reply, covering your face. “Okay, just tell me when, so I can get mentally prepared for it.” 

Bradley doesn’t respond for a few seconds before turning to the right and parking the car in front of a two-story light blue house. There are a few other cars and some bikes parked in the front, and you can hear animated conversation in the backyard. “...now?”

“Bradley Bradshaw, you have the worst timing in the history of timings.” You groan, looking at your brand new dress that he bought for you. “So that’s why you bought me this? So I didn’t get angry?” 

Bradley pouts, looking like a child who has lost his favorite toy. “Are you angry?” 

“I should.” You reply with a stern tone. 

“But you aren’t, right?” He leans closer to you, pecking you on the cheek. “Right?” 

“Don’t think kisses will fix this.” You scoff, grabbing your bag. 

“Well, it depends on where I kiss you. I'll show you tonight."

You feel your face burn at the teasing tone on his voice, and the silent promise of fun activities that might take place tonight. “Let’s get inside before you start something here.” 

Bradley gets out of the car, adjusting his clothes. Yellow Hawaiian shirt over a white t-shirt, and jeans. “You’re way too loud for that, baby girl.” 

“Bradley!” 

"Come on, everybody is waiting." He says, placing his hand on your lower back and leading you to the backyard.  

Bradley's family is sitting under the brown cedar outdoor pergola, talking and laughing as the day fades and the San Diego sky darkens. Phoenix and Hangman, the only two faces you can recognize, are talking with a blonde man with glasses. They seem to be sharing something from the past with the other man, because she keeps shaking her head every time Jake speaks, as if he weren't telling the story as it really was. 

There are more men and two other women, one of them seems pretty young. The blonde girl turns in your direction when he sees Bradley walking towards them, and when her face lits up, you know that she must be Amelia. Bradley talks a lot about her. 

“Roos!” 

“You need to stop growing up, look at you!” He gets closer to her, hugging her tightly and messing with her hair. 

“Hey! Don’t do that.” She whines, fixing her hair with her fingers, before turning to you. “You’re y/n! Bradley talks a lot about you.” 

Bradley’s ears turn red, and he clears his throat. “I don’t talk a lot. Just the normal amount.” 

“Puh-lease, Bradshaw. You literally spent three hours talking about how marvelous she is, how beautiful she is, how she is the most-” 

Bradley covers her mouth with his hand before she can keep embarrassing him. “It’s all lies.” 

You nod, tightening your lips in a thin line to not smile. “Sure, all lies.” 

“Come on, I’ll introduce you to the rest.” He grabs your hand and walks you up to his family. “Hey, where’s Mav?” 

“He’s with Mickey at the BBQ.” A woman with long, dark hair says, getting up from her seat. She’s Amelia’s mom, Penny. “And you, my dear, you must be the girl that has Bradley wrapped up around her finger.”

You chuckle, looking at your boyfriend. “I think it’s the other way around, ma’am.” 

You spend the next few minutes getting introduced to the other aviators and learning their names, their call signs, and the stories behind them. It feels like you're part of the family already. 

Maverick walks out of the BBQ station, Mickey close behind him, and places large amounts of meat on the dinner table set under the patio lights suspended from the big porch's ceiling. You don’t know who is behind the decoration, but they know how to create a cozy, inviting ambience. 

“Hey, Mav! Want you to meet someone.” Bradley speaks when the whole group reunites around the dinner table. 

“Oh, you’re y/n? And here I am, all greasy and sweaty.” Mav chuckles, offering you his hand. 

“That’s like your everyday outfit.” Penny chimes in, making the rest laugh. 

“Ignore my wife, please. She’s on a crusade to make me look like an idiot.” Maverick explains, rolling his eyes. 

“You don’t need any help with that, honey!” 

“I’m Pete Mitchell, but everyone calls me Maverick. Or just Mav.” He shakes your hand, chuckling at the fit of giggles around the room after her last dig against him. 

“Nice to meet you, sir.” 

The night goes on smoothly. Small conversations over the most delicious food, laughs, jokes, happy memories, and sad ones are shared... When Rooster told you about his family and how none of them were blood related to him, you were a bit skeptical about it. But seeing the way they talk and share stories, how they always have each other’s backs, how they make plans for the near future and for the distant future, knowing that no matter what life has in store for them, they will be there, makes you realize that this found family is in no way inferior to any other one. 

If any, it puts many families to shame. 

“He loves you.” Maverick says, sitting next to you once dinner is over, and everyone is scattered around the backyard, some of them even playing a game called, dogfight football. You’ve never heard of that before. 

“You think?” You ask him, playing with the edge of your dress. You haven’t said that yet. Not because you don’t feel it. You love him, and you’re sure of that. 

But somehow... it never seemed the right moment. 

“I know. I’ve known him all his life. He has it written on his forehead.” He chuckles, watching Bob fall to the ground trying to catch the ball. 

“I don’t know, Mav… We’ve been together for a while now, but… Maybe he’s not ready for a-” 

Mav raises a hand, stopping your train of thought. “He has lost every single member of his real family over the years, and for a while, he was alone. I wasn’t the godfather he needed, and I almost destroyed his career.”

“What did you do?” 

“I pulled his application from the Naval Academy,” Maverick admits, feeling horrible. 

“Oh god… Why would you do that?” 

He sighs, weighing his options. “His mother asked me to. He doesn’t know.” 

The news come as a shock. Why would he tell you this? He just met you! And now, you have that feeling of knowing a secret that you shouldn’t. 

“Mav… why are you telling me this?” You ask, wanting to know why he is trusting you with such information. 

“Because I want you to know that the other important woman in his life, his own mother, didn’t think he was prepared for being a fighter pilot.” Mav explains, watching Rooster and Hangman run around the backyard. “People have been underestimating him all his life. They thought he wasn’t prepared for the Navy, they thought he wasn’t prepared for the uranium mission…” 

“Uranium mission?” 

“That’s classified.” He grabs your hands, squeezing them a bit. “What I’m trying to tell you is that you may think that he’s not ready for a serious relationship, but he brought you here, with his family. He is ready.” 

You stop for a second, thinking about the implications of his words. He really did that. 

“He has brought you here, wanting to show you the family he has. The family that he wants you to be part of.” He insists, turning his head to look at all the members of this small but lovely family. 

“I’m not an aviator, Mav. I don’t fit in” 

Mav shakes his head. “Nobody wants you to fit. You’re different, and different doesn’t mean bad. It means that you have other specialties, and that we can learn a lot from you.” 

“I don’t have a lot to teach y’all.” You chuckle, looking at your hands. 

“I think you do. Bradley says that you encouraged him a lot on this last mission.” 

You smile, remembering Bradley sitting down on the kitchen table, looking at the report in his hands, wondering if he was able to pull it off, or if he was going to burn in. “He can do whatever he wants. He’s more capable than he thinks.” 

Maverick nods, kissing your hands before getting up. “And that’s why you’re here, love. To remind him that he can do whatever he sets his mind on. Even when the rest of the world tells him he can’t.” 

When Maverick walks away, you stay there for a while, thinking of everything he has said. Maybe he really is prepared for that serious relationship you crave. Maybe he just needs a bit of encouragement. 

“Honey, are you okay?” Bradley’s voice startles you, making him snort when you jump on the bench you have been sitting for a while. “Sorry.” 

“Don’t worry. I was just… thinking.” 

Bradley sits with you, removing his shirt and putting it over your shoulders. “About what?” 

“About how much I love you, how proud I am of you, and how glad I am to finally have met your family. Nat and I are going shopping together next week.” 

Rooster smirks, liking his lips, while an airy laugh leaves his body. “You realized what you’ve just said?” 

You nod, kissing the corner of his lips. “Want me to say it again?” 

He shakes his head, grabs your chin between his thumb and index finger, and lifts your head so he can look you in the eyes. “I love you too, y/n.” 

He leans in, kissing you softly and lovingly, and he’s worried that you can hear his loud heartbeat. 

“So you only needed a bit of courage, huh?” You joke, placing your head on his shoulder. 

“What do you mean?” 

“Nevermind.” 

Taglist:

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[fluffysucker]

Say Something.

Bucky Barnes x Reader (Mob Au)

'You are the one that I love, and I'm saying goodby'

It is written in Third POV. No use of Y/N. However, the reader is referred to as a female.

A/N: I was writing a request that was so fluffy but couldn't shake this from my head. I had to let it out. Let me know if you want part two. Also, if any of you wanted to in a taglist, you are so welcome. Likes, comments, reblogs are VERY VERY highly appreciated. Opinions really matter to me

TW: Mentions of physical abuse. Mention of miscarriage.

Series Masterlist

Masterlist

Staring at your reflection in the mirror, you tried to focus on the good things. Your hair was combed to perfection. Not a single strand of hair falling from its place. The hairpieces made the hairstyle ravishing. The simple makeup look you asked for was excellently done. Highlighting your best features with colours that work best with your skin tone. However, the best thing yet was the dress. It was your dream dress. It hugged your body like it was made specially for me, which it was. From the material, the shade of the white, to its exact length in centimetres, the dress was dazzling. And the look was beautifully finished with the white flowers you were holding.

You looked stunning. The most gorgeous you have ever been. However, you didn't feel like it. You wanted to get out of here. You wanted to disappear. You wanted to hide from everyone. It was becoming too real. There was no escape. Before the panic could take over and make you break down on the floor, the door to your room knocked. You turned to see your father enter the room.

On this day, they said fathers get emotional. They would tear up or cry. You would be able to see the undying love they have for their little girls as they grow up. But you could only see one thing in your father's eyes. Victory. He was about to have the biggest deal of his life finalised today, no matter what it cost. You wondered if the signs had always been there. That your rocky relationship with your father would lead to this. The lies you used to tell yourself that your father loved you were never true. That your happiness mattered nothing in the face of his interests. At least he had the decency to tell you that you looked beautiful.

You locked your hand between his arms as he led you outside, where everyone was waiting. You tried to ease your nerves and draw the biggest smile your face could handle. You stood in front of the door as it opened. There was no going back now.

You tried to focus on the music playing and the bright blue sky instead of the people staring at you. You wanted the aisle to be longer. You didn't want to reach the end. Because for you, it was the end of everything. Your wishes weren't granted. Your father came to a stop. He pressed a kiss to your cheek as he handed you to your future husband.

It took a lot from you to keep a smile on your face. Standing in front of your husband-to-be, holding your hands between his foreign hands. You were trying to convince yourself that the smile on his face was genuine and that maybe it wasn't just an accord with him. Maybe there was still hope. Which is why you avoided his eyes so you wouldn't be disappointed.

But you should have known better. You should have known that it was not his eyes that you should have avoided. It was the ocean blue eyes that never left you. But the moment you noticed him, you couldn't turn away. His eyes spoke loudly. So loud. Pain and defeat are coated with anger and rage.

You remember vividly your last conversation together. Your crying and begging for him to understand. His accusations of not loving him enough. But you did. You loved him enough. You loved him too much. Which is why you refused to let him stand in the face of your father. You couldn't let him risk his life. You couldn't let this kind of danger fall on him. And most certainly not because of you. Your father was neither understanding nor loving. So if you had to live miserable lives, he could live his life. That is a sacrifice you were willing to make. And just like that, your three-year relationship was down the drain.

You couldn't help but stare at the man who meant everything to you. who your heart beats for. The love of your life. He was sitting close, yet so far. It should have been him standing here. It should have been the happiest day of your life. But fate was never on your side. Starting with making you fall in love with your father's rival

You thought about the days you spent together behind closed doors so nobody would see you. The lazy morning in bed with you cuddled up in his arms The movie nights that would always end with heated makeout sessions. The secret dates under nobody's eyes. The stolen getaways so you can finally be free and act like the so deeply in love couple that you were. The happiest days of your life. Now they were memories you kept so close to your heart.

You collected yourself quickly before your act would fall as your fiancé squeezed your hand. You heard him say the two words, and you wanted to cry. You wanted to shout and scream. You wanted to throw a tantrum like a child. That was how desperate you were. But you never did. The officiate turned to you to ask you the same question. You wanted to have the courage to say no. Stand your ground. Tell the truth. Run away with the man who has ever truly loved you. But you couldn't. There was too much to lose.

With one last look at the man who would always have a hold on your heart, you kept the tears inside, and with a heavy breath, you turned to the officiate and said, "I do".

"And now, I announce you as husband and wife." Waves of clapping and cheers filled the decorated garden while dreed filled you.

And just like this, you went from being a Pierce to being a Rumlow. And you lost Bucky Barnes.

Twirling the straw between your manicured fingers, you were standing at the bar. Taking a break from all the chatting and loud laughter. You were delaying rejoining the others. The act has been getting harder lately. You were trying to stay a little bit longer in the peaceful corner of the venue. Until you heard his voice. Your thoughts stopped. Your heartbeat went faster. You knew he was in here. Your circle of acquaintances would usually cross. You would meet on these occasions. But you never talked or acknowledged each other. Stolen glances were all you had ever done.

You gave in to the urge and turned to look at him. You couldn't help the smile that formed on your lips. You hadn't been that close since before the wedding. He looked so good. The expensive black suit. The huge frame. The low bun. The well-trimmed beard. The strong perfume. You felt the tears gather in your eyes. You missed him terribly. Beyond what you ever thought.

Your staring must have caught his attention, and he turned his sight in your direction. He didn't expect to find you here. He knew you went off to hide somewhere for a little bit. He didn't know it would be at the bar. You always tried to steal some time away from these events. He often kept an eye on you whenever he knew you were an attendee. It was a force of habit. A habit he couldn't break despite how hard he tried.

After the wedding, he hoped that every time he met you again, he wouldn't feel his heart move from its place. But this time, it never came. Every time, he was taken back by your beauty and grace. Your captivating eyes and sweet smile. You were always the most beautiful.

And there you were, sitting close to him. Yet so out of reach. How he wished he could take you away and escape this world. The bartender placing his order in front of him broke you both out of your trace. You regained control of yourself, pulling the drink to your lips to take a sip. That's when he saw it. The reason for the distance between you. The reason for your downfall. The wedding ring with a big diamond ornamenting your finger

"Mrs. Rumlow." He cleared his throat before he spoke his bitter word.

The last name was never music to your ears. However, for him, it was like a hit in the gut.

"Mr. Barnes." You understood why he would choose to be so formal. To the world, you were rivals acting civilised. Nobody knew what you both meant to each other.

God, he missed your sweet-like-honey voice. It soothed him and put his mind at ease. Now, it was a harsh reminder of a harsher reality.

"Congratulations on the new deal. I heard it was very successful." Despite the bar being less crowded, you were still surrounded by people. You couldn't let them know the truth or even sense something. You had to act normal. Like you never knew him outside of this room.

"Thank you." The shortness and stiffness delivered the message. And you heard it loud and clear. Your attempts were unwelcome. So you decided to leave. Your time hiding away was running out anyway.

However, as you were getting up, you miscounted your steps, making your long dress tangle with the stall. You expected to fall down and make an embarrassment out of yourself, but the pain never came. You only felt a familiar, strong metal arm wrapping around your waist, catching you. This time, you were so close. You could feel his hot breath on your face. His eyes stare so deeply into your soul. His arm tightened around you. You almost gave up. You prayed your eyes weren't showing it all. But they were. It would explain the confused expression on his face. Your eyes were screaming at him. Sadness wrapped in pleas for help. A complex look. He should have let you go now, but he couldn't. He missed having you in his arms. He missed everything about you.

The call for your name brought you both back. He steadied you to your feet before ripping his arm away. You straightened your posture, regaining your composure after this accidental slip. An immediate smile was drawn on your face as you saw your husband approaching. He came to a stop next to you, wrapping his arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him.

"Been looking for you, baby." Your husband spoke as he kissed your cheeks.

"I was getting us a drink." You didn't lie. Usually, you would bring him a drink so he wouldn't get suspicious of your absence.

"Always so considerate." He laid another kiss on the top of your head. Being overly affectionate in public was something you were used to from your husband.

"Ain't I the luckiest guy in the world, Barnes?" He turned to Bucky, who was still standing in front of you.

"Yes, of course." Despite his neutral tone, he meant it. Any man who had you had the biggest blessing. He envied this man with every fibre of his being.

Both men talked about work very briefly. It was a formality. An act to go with the night. It was very well known. Bucky Barnes and Brock Rumlow don't get along. Their mobs weren't on the same page. But for the sake of the bigger picture, both had to learn how to coexist. Temporarily, at least.

"This reminds me. Are you free next week?" The bizarre question caught Bucky off guard.

"I'm throwing a party for our second-year anniversary. Would love it if you could come." Brock pulled you closer to him as you laid your hand on his chest, your smile not breaking for a second.

"I want to celebrate the best day of my life." It's the irony of the world that Brock's best day is Bucky's worst. He still remembers the heart-wrenching feeling of watching you marry another man. The excruciating pain of losing you

He was about to turn down the invitation. But he remembered the look in your eyes. Sheer helplessness and hurt Even if it was for a split second. Even if you looked so happy now. He wasn't going to take his chances. He couldn't turn away from your call for help, even if you didn't voice it.

"I wouldn't miss it." And he didn't. And he never regretted something more.

The party was a blast. A beautiful celebration of love. You and Brock looked so happy. A perfect couple. He wanted his instincts to be right. But only came face-to-face with his worst fear. You were happy with another man. A man that wasn't him. And could never be him.

Between the gala and the party, Bucky tried to look around. See if he could find anything out. To get a glimpse of your life behind the lights. And he got nothing. Only good things. Maybe his longing for you made him misread the signs.

After the wonderful speech Brock gave about you and your marriage, Bucky couldn't take it anymore. He had to leave. And most importantly, he had to let you go.

You barely met again after that day. He avoided even the galas that he would see you at. He needed to move on. He needed to forget you. He needed to let go of the girl who turned his whole being around. even though it was going to crush him. He had to.

He spent more time at work. More than he ever did. He started doing the dirty work again. Something he stopped doing for years. But he needed an outlet for the pain and rage. An escape from the brutal reality.

He knew how pathetic he was being. It's been two years, and he can't let you out of his mind. He tried to see other people. But it would only be physical. He couldn't find it in himself to be vulnerable or emotional with any other woman. Only you managed to tear his walls apart. Only you invaded his being. Sometimes he wishes he had never met you in the first place. The sweet girl sitting in a corner by herself in the over-the-top gala. He knew Alexander Pierce was your father. But he couldn't resist. You took his breath away the moment his eyes landed on you. And when he got to know you, you blew his mind away as well. You were nice, kind, polite, understanding, trusting, smart, and everything good. He had to have you. And he did. He fell head over heels for you. You gave meaning to his life. Bucky was madly and deeply in love with you. He still is.

And by some miracle, you loved him too. You let him have you. He remembers, after your first time together, As he held your exhausted form to his chest, he heard your sleepy voice whispering something he should have expected. "Please, when it's time to leave, let me down slowly." Of course, you would think he was only using you for something. He couldn't blame you. So he made it his mission. He would show you how much you meant to him. How much he loved and cherished you.

So maybe he should have fought for you? Shouldn't have chosen the city's peace and safety over you? Should have risked it all?

But this means nothing now. He had to move on.

Now, he was sitting in his office in his mansion. Sitting on the couch with his drink in hand and Steve and Sam on each side, They were joined by a dear guest. Nick Fury. Nick is a huge part of the mob. He started it off with Pierce at Hydra, but both of them grew too big. Then Pierce showed his true colours. So now he was playing on both sides. And nobody could stop him. A lot tried. But no one succeeded. Nick Fury was too dangerous of a man.

It wasn't a formal meeting. It was just a gathering. It wasn't planned. Nick showed up at Bucky's house. They talked about work for a bit, but the conversation drifted with time. With Steve's girl falling asleep in his lap, they found themselves talking about parenthood. How family and their line of work don't usually go together. However, those who did have families always managed to be the best. However, nothing could have prepared Bucky for the turn the conversation was about to take.

"Not all of them turn out to be good. You've got Pierce, for example. I have never seen a worse father in my life." The mention of the man's name caught Bucky's attention. Pierce definitely didn't win the Father of the Year award, but what does it mean?

"What do you mean?" It seemed Steve was thinking the same way as Bucky.

"That man married off his daughter to a beast and watched as he ate her off." The statement didn't sit well with Bucky.

"What are you talking about?" Bucky couldn't help, but he asked, wanting to know more.

"Alexander knows exactly what Rumlow does to his girl." Nick's answer wasn't enough for Bucky.

"What does he do?" He didn't care how desperate he looked or sounded. He needed to know everything.

"I think the scars on her body speak for themselves." It was like a bucket of cold water had been dumped on him. His blood ran cold. His lungs almost stopped working.

"Rumlow hurts his wife?" Sam was one to speak, knowing his best friend wasn't in the right state anymore.

"Hurt doesn't even begin to describe it. Poor girl has been hospitalised ten times in the last two years." His tight grip on the glass almost made it shatter in his hand. They have been doing this to his girl.

"How do you know this?" Steve couldn't help his curiosity.

"I know everything. And Pierce doesn't put much effort into hiding it from those close to him."

"How come nobody else knows?"

"I said only those close to him."

"But they look so happy. He seems to love her."

"Of course they do. Rumlow wants to be seen as a good family man. The perfect husband So they need to be a picture-perfect couple. Not a single flaw. It's easy to paint when you beat somebody that much."

"Why didn't she try to leave?"

"And go where? Her father has no problem with it. I heard that Rumlow slapped her in front of him. And Pierce did nothing."

Bucky was grateful for his bestfriends who kept the questions going because he needed to know everything. But he couldn't speak. Nick seemed to be talking about some stranger he barely knew. And it was true. But not to Bucky. That was you. His whole entire world. And someone was hurting you. And you couldn't do anything. You were helpless. He should have trusted his instincts.

"How bad does it get?" He mastered the neutral tone, so not even Nick would know the fire burning through him.

"I don't know. All I know is if that was my daughter, Rumlow would be dead a long time ago." Instinctively, Steve pulled his daughter closer to him and laid a soft kiss on her head. How can any father not protect his daughter with his life? Steve would never know.

"But the girl is tough. Despite it all, she is still nice and caring to everybody." Nick added. And it somehow hurt Bucky more. For godsake. You even tried to be friendly with him. He, who left you, was a deer in a wolf's den.

"Have you ever met her?" Nick asked, looking at Bucky.

"Only on parties and occasions." He could never tell Nick that you were the love of his life.

Nick stayed for a little longer before he left. And Bucky couldn't recall a single thing after Nick told them the truth. Steve and Sam wanted to stay with their friends, but they knew better. He wanted to be alone right now. And he did. He went upstairs to the master bedroom. He opened a drawer in the side table and looked at a small album he kept hidden from the world. He tried to get rid of it but never had enough courage. It had all your pictures together. This album meant more to him than all of his good fortune.

Looking at the pictures, he felt like he was drowning. They took you away from him, only to hurt you. Bucky didn't know what to do. He must think straight, because if he didn't, he would go over and kill them all right now. It would be a bloodbath. But you were worth it. so worth it.

Before he could make any wise decision, he reached for his phone, dialling the number of the person who would help him.

"Bruce, I need a favour."

Bucky was standing by the bar, watching people talk and laugh in their very expensive attire. It was all so fake that he wanted to throw up. But maybe the act wasn't the only thing bothering him.

Bruce was able to do him the favour he asked for. And he gave it to him today. Your medical reports. All of them.

Bucky was stunned, to say the least. He regretted asking, but he had to know. How could anyone do this to you?

Broken bones. Internal bleeding. Deep Cuts. Concussions. Vaginal bleeding. Three miscarriages.

Bucky couldn't help the tear that fell on his face as he read the last report. It was two months ago. Two weeks before he met you again. A week before the anniversary party. You were recovering from another miscarriage and a broken elbow. Yet nobody could tell. You put on the act to perfection that even Bucky believed. You managed to trick Bucky, who claimed to have known you best. His heart ached to see how much Brock had to beat and break you to fool everybody that you are so happy. Bucky was a strong man who everybody feared, but he had to read how a nobody hurt his girl. Yes, you were his girl. You were always going to be his girl. He needed to figure out a way to get you out of there.

Which is why his eyes never left you since you walked in. It took all his willpower to not go and beat the hell out of Rumlow. But he knew better. All he could was wait and think. He watched your moves and your voice. You were such a good actress. With all you went through, you acted the happiness so well. He wondered how you were really behind closed doors.

He didn't plan to do anything tonight, but the moment offered itself when you walked to the garden alone. He followed you out instantly. Not knowing what to do. But he had to do something.

You were breathing the fresh breeze ear. You needed to a moment of peace, or you would have lost your mind. This morning, Brock lost his temper, and your body was still aching. It wasn't something you hadn't seen before. You mastered the ability to look and act fine by now. You just needed a moment away. You were glad there was a garden so you could enjoy the view of the stars

The familiar voice calling your name made you stop in your place.

"Mr. Barnes." You turned to him with a smile on your face. Even if you were alone, you weren't dropping the formality. Also, it looked like he never wanted you to

"I want to talk to you." He didn't know how he was going to approach the topic, but he had to do something. Say something, at least.

You gave him your full attention. What do both of you have to talk about? And after all these years. You weren't sure if you could even hold a conversation with him.

"Are you okay?" The question caught you off guard. It was a strange question to ask.

"I'm fine, thank you." You tried to keep a smile on your face. You haven't talked in years, and that is what he wanted to say?

"How are you and Brock?" Bucky was a feared mob boss, yet he couldn't get a word out that made sense.

"We are great." You couldn't hide your surprise. The last thing you expected was for you to talk about your relationship. Let alone with Bucky, from all the people in the world.

"Are you sure?" He should have thought about what to say first before he followed you.

"Yes, pretty sure." You weren't really seeing where this conversation was going.

"No, it's not great." Way to go, Bucky. He thought.

"I beg your pardon." Yes, of course, your relationship wasn't great, but that wasn't for Bucky to know.

"I know your relationship isn't that great." Bucky was hoping to get any reaction from you other than your pretty smile.

"I don't think that's for you to judge." You were taken back by his statement. So you went in defence mood.

"No, it's. It's when you aren't safe." You tried not to let your emotions take over your face. He didn't mean it this way, did he?

"I think I would be perfectly safe with my husband." You prayed he didn't catch your lie. You were a good liar by now.

"Does he make you memorise this?" Bucky was frustrated. Not with you. But with your situation.

"Does he tell you to always pretend you are happy?" Bucky was done with your act.

"Mr. Barnes, I don't think we should be talking about my marriage. And you can't talk about my husband like this." You knew you had to be direct and forward. Even if nobody was around, this wasn't a chance you were going to take.

"Do you have anything else you want to talk about?" You received silence, but you could tell he had a lot to say.

You turned to leave because you couldn't stay and have this conversation. Even if you wanted so desperately to stay in Bucky's company.

"How many more hospitalisations will it take for you to admit the truth? How many more babies do you have to lose before you leave?"

You froze in your place. It was like time had stopped. You were trying to process what Bucky just said. Every cell in your body was working overtime to keep you from shutting down. You turned again to look at him with your pale face.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say it like this." Bucky felt guilty for throwing it like this in your face. But he saw you leave, and he had to stop you.

"How do you know?" The question may be irrelevant, but for you, it was important.

"It doesn't matter." Bucky tested the water by taking small, little steps towards you. You didn't move.

"It doesn't matter. What matters is that I know." He was itching to hold you. Wrap you in his arms and protect you from the world.

"I'm okay, Bucky." It had been so long since you said his name, but it still felt the same. And you were back on track with your act quicker than you thought.

"No, you aren't. Nobody should ever go through this." He came to a stop in front of you. You saw empathy in his eyes you hadn't seen in a long while.

"Let me help, please." Bucky had no problem getting on his knees and beseeching you to allow him to step in.

"You can't help me." Your voice was tiny. You felt exposed. That part of your life wasn't to be known.

"No, I can. I have to try." Bucky wanted to help you, not just for your sake but for his too.

"No. It's my life now. I'm okay." You knew Brock wasn't going to get a trophy for being the best husband when you married him. However, it got so much worse than you thought.

"Stop saying that. You aren't." Bucky hated the surrender in your eye. The shakiness of your voice. He hated how you were choosing to accept this life when you deserved nothing but the best.

"There is nothing me or anybody could do." You made your peace with this fact long ago. Since Brock first hit you and nobody moved.

"I can. I should have never let you marry him in the first place." He moved even closer to you.

"Then it would have been the both of us, now. Either dead or suffering. I'm okay with it being me." You were. Maybe that is the reason you managed to survive up to now. That Bucky was okay

"You think I'm not suffering this way?" He followed his instincts and placed his flesh hand on your cheeks.

He prepared himself for you to flinch or move away quickly. But you didn't. On the contrary, your face softened. You were craving Bucky's gentle touch. You missed him so much. Bucky took this a sign and let the next words fall from his tongue.

"I still love..."

"Please, don't.

You stopped him right away. Did you still love Bucky? With all your heart and even more. But it was way more complicated than this.

"There nothing you could have done or can do to change it. It's my life, and I can't escape it." He should move on. He shouldn't even be standing with you here.

"I was doomed from the beginning. I'm so sorry I dragged you with me."

You shouldn't have let him love you. You should have heard his name and went the other way. You should have spread him all this pain and mess. If you failed to do it, then you would now. You moved away from, already missing his touch.

"Thank you, Mr Barnes. But I can never leave." You put on the act again, keeping your tears inside. You wished you weren't that helpless or broken, but you were. You were surrounded by monsters that can never let you break away.

You gave Bucky one last smile before you turned to get back inside. You didn't want to anger Brock more. And you didn't want to drag Bucky deeper. Even if your heart longed for him dearly. It wasn't right. You were a tragedy from the start.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #beefy bucky #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x reader #james buchanan barnes #mob!bucky #mob bucky x reader #mob bucky au #mob bucky barnes #bucky barnes au #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes x you #bucky angst #arranged marriage #bucky fanfic #bucky au #james buchanan bucky barnes #bucky barns x reader #bucky x female reader #bucky x reader #james bucky buchanan barnes #bucky x you #bucky barnes one shot #brock rumlow #hurt

[vivendraws]

drunken stupor. (lucifer morningstar x named!reader)

in which the lightbringer and a very inebriated jophiel converse solemnly about their melancholic tumbles from grace.

content and warnings: excessive alcohol consumption, swearing, angst of course. the reader in this is named jophiel and lucifer’s fall is not lore accurate because i wanted them to be able to empathize with the reader at least a bit. just sad lesbians being sad lesbians guys !❤️❤️

word count: about 2,963 give or take.

✨special thanks to @agathaandgwenslesbian , my biggest inspiration.

— “ walk with me, little lamb…

𖤐

your fall from grace was less than justified.

scrubbing the Morning Star’s quartz floors with fury, you reminisced about your time in heaven, your once beautiful wings, plumed and well groomed with beautiful white feathers and a holy glow that you wore so, so well. now you had no wings, just stubs that once were soft appendages that signified your sacred position in the gates of heaven. how you missed the bright light of the heavens, the smell of chrysanthemums and what you could only describe as purity that filled your senses. the heavenly experience was truly something you longed for again.

but you were being punished. you were being punished because you had feelings, feelings for a mortal and you acted upon them with great sin. you felt stupid. you cursed yourself. stupid, stupid, stupid. every day you spent in Lucifer’s kingdom you dreaded, and the longer you were there the more you longed for your mortal companion whom you assumed had moved on by now as all mortals do. that thought pained you.

and that Morning Star, the Lord of Lies, the Lightbringer - to you, the light-take-away-er. if the scent of sulfur and rotting wood and burning flesh in the air wasn’t enough, you had Lucifer over your shoulder almost constantly, their piercing blue eyes observing, watching, all-seeing and all-knowing of every thought you had about the place. and they absolutely relished in your suffering, which made you all the more infuriated.

what seemed to make you the angriest though was why Lucifer bothered to pester you about how you fell. after all, they didn’t give two fucks about you, your position, your job, how you felt. you constantly refused to tell them, which made them ask more, and more, and more, and more, until they made you snap like a weak tether. until you would scream at them to stop asking, beg them to stop being so fucking nosy so you could wallow in self pity without being mocked and bothered by your fall. and yet they did not care, and carried on anyways.

today was different. you finished your duties, setting the scrub brush back into your bucket and dusting off your white robe that the lightbringer picked for you - and specifically for you, you noticed, because everyone else dressed in a darker solid color. you sighed and lifted the heavy bucket of suds, straining your arms to some extent before a gentle hand laid itself on your shoulder. well, speak of the devil.

“wonderful to see you working so hard, sweetling. i take it you’ve finished your chores, hm?” their voice rang like a gong against your eardrums. you grumbled, turning slowly on your heels to face them.

“yes, my lord.” you answered plainly, gazing down at the dirty soapy liquid in your bucket.

“well… you know, Jophiel, i never thought i would find myself commending you for your hard work, but you’ve polished my floors wonderfully. they’re so pretty, aren’t they? pure quartz tiles. white and angelic.” they wore a small grin, eyes examining you and your figure. that comment seemed to have struck a nerve with you as your brows furrowed, which only made them chuckle in response.

“is there anything else you plan to assign to me, my lord…” you asked with a clenched jaw, feeling like you would’ve blown a gasket then and there.

“why, yes, there is. walk with me, little lamb.” Lucifer held out their hand for you to take, which you did not. their smile faded as they lowered their hand. you set the bucket down, staying close to them, refusing to look at them.

you and Lucifer walked in silence, treading to their chambers. they did not typically allow servants such as yourself in their space, as they seemed to be extremely anxious about it being kept private, but seeing as how they only took interest in you, you knew you were an exception to their peculiar rule of ‘my eyes only’. entering the room bombarded you with… pleasantry, which surprised you, and you gave lucifer a short glance, perking a brow as you looked around and took in the scenery and new scent.

for the first time since you fell you smelled something sweeter than sulfur, something less putrid than rot and death. this was comforting, a sultry vanilla and spice. of course you had never been in here before, why would you be? the newness of it all was almost overwhelming. lucifer took a seat in the sofa nearest the fireplace, leaning forward to pat the chair across from them in which you assumed you were supposed to sit in. as you plopped down into the seat you felt nearly swallowed by the comfortable cushion of the chair, the soft texture of the arms. you gazed around the room again, admiring the carved marble of their fireplace, and their neatly made bed, which they probably made themselves. you didn’t blame them for that.

as much as you hate to admit it, they had quite the sense of decoration and knew what sort of furniture belonged where. it reminded you of your mortal companion’s home… how you missed her.

“my lord,” you cleared your throat, but you dared not make eye contact with them, knowing your place after it was beaten into you by Mazikeen, “why have you called me here… are you going to make a fool of me again? ask me about how i fell?”

the Lightbringer chuckled, reaching for the bottle of wine and two conveniently placed glasses from the small side table next to them, pouring you a glass and one for themself. “no, sweet Jophiel. i think i’ve been going about it all wrong, we are strangers after all, hm? tell me about yourself.”

no. you weren’t strangers. you knew who they were and they knew well who you were by now. you just… did not know enough about them, and they didn’t know much about you besides what they could force out of you.

“i was heaven’s messenger.” you muttered, cautiously taking the glass of crimson liquid they handed to you. “i was one of the elite, the favored, the most beautiful divine.”

“tell me something i haven’t already heard.” they took a small sip from their own glass, side eyeing the fireplace for a moment. “i hear that all the time, what makes you special?”

you were at a loss of words, truly, nearly angered again as they uttered that sentence. you would dare call them blasphemous, but not to their face, or to anyone else. you grumbled as you chose your next words carefully. “i’m special because i nearly had a chance to return.”

Lucifer’s color drained from their face, as if their porcelain skin could get any lighter. for a moment they glared at you with a fire that burned like a thousand furious suns. that was their dream. that’s what they’ve been longing for this whole time and their fucking servant gets the chance? “and, how did you manage to accomplish that feat?”

“i was simply close with the messenger angels. we were all tight knit and spent most of our time together.” you shrugged, finishing off your glass of wine as your eyes slowly met Lucifer’s exasperated gaze.

their look suddenly softened, and a gentle smile pursed their lips. “i’m happy you received that chance. i’m sure you were beyond disappointed with the idea that you were ineligible in the end?”

“i was.” you nodded slowly, watching curiously as Lucifer leaned forward to fill your glass again. this time there was more, as they seemed to no longer care how much you consumed, their sudden pang of hatred towards you creating thick tension.

“what a shame.” they handed you the bottle, not feeling up to another glass as they set theirs to the side. you watched them tap two long fingers against their knee, thinking carefully about their next words. what would they say to you? their eyes occasionally flicked to the bottle of wine in your hands as you poured glass after glass in awkward silence, the silence slowly becoming comfortable silence as you felt warmth rise in your chest, your cheeks flushing, the world around you appearing as though you had astigmatism.

finally breaking the silence you spoke up, drunken thoughts becoming drunken confessions as your soft sigh caught the Lightbringer’s attention. “i miss her.”

“miss whom?” Lucifer asked, perplexed by the randomness of that statement, leaning back against the sofa cushions.

“my mortal…” your speech didn’t slur yet. your mortal? Lucifer was interested now, their attention focused on nothing but you.

“you… loved a mortal?” they blinked, crossing one leg over the other, piecing two and two together.

“yes, loved her so deep, so pure, s’one of the purest mortals…” you looked into the bottom of the bottle, hoping to drown your confessions with more of the red liquor, but the bottle was empty.

“what was her name?” Lucifer asked quietly, hoping they hadn’t overstepped.

“s’was uh…mmm. Destiny.” her name rolled off your tongue like you had spat up the acid from your stomach - with how drunk you were, you probably had by accident. who knew angels were light drinkers. the author certainly knew.

“Destiny…” the name echoed from the Lightbringer’s lips, the way they spoke her name with respect, and not ridicule, as the other angels had done, was relieving. “you fell because you felt for Destiny, little lamb?”

“yes, n’she’s probably looooong gone by now. she was so… she was so beautiful…” you whined. “she had pretty green eyes that brought stained glass to sh-shame, and her sk-kin was beautiful too, was dark n’speckled with porcelain patches…”

— standing before your maker, you could not pray yourself out of this situation. you were guilty and caught red handed before the angelic court, not even necessary to stand trial for your sin. all of your memories played back in your mind like a cassette tape…

…the first time you saw her you were scouting souls, routine work for you, reporting back how many were to come in and how many were to go out. you decided one day to take a break - after all you chose to use a human form, to get closer to the mortals, and you could always return to your work, since you worked at a calm pace. you were fascinated by them, so you decided to be them temporarily whenever you had the chance - and you chose a library to enjoy mortal splendor, in other words, books. the librarian was her, your sweet destiny, helping you choose books, helping you read, helping you, only you in that moment…

…the last moments you spent together, you knew you had to return to heaven. she already knew your secret, already knew what you were and why you were here, and accepted it. parting ways was never easy even if you were doing simple things for her like market runs or even helping with her chores. this was no different, your last hug spent shortly, much to your dismay. you kissed her tenderly and promised her that you would return. you promised her you would come back for her. you promised you would make all of this up to her the next opportunity you got.

but that opportunity never came to you.

now as you uttered no words for your case, your fate set in stone, you gazed into the eyes of your father, who else but God to make this sort of decision, who else but he who judges the harshest in the grand scheme of all things. your eyes flicked back to your fellow angels, their eyes averted from yours, disappointment heavy in their hearts.

you closed your eyes and braced yourself for whatever punishment you were to receive, unexpected that it was to be sent to hell, banished from the heavens. you dropped to your knees and begged for forgiveness and mercy, but you were denied despite your higher status amongst the ranks. a harsh breeze enveloped you, and before you knew it you had tumbled into the gates of hell, your wings burning, nostrils on fire from the scents that filled the air and the smoke that polluted your lungs. —

Lucifer nodded as you explained, listening, as if they were a therapist holding a notepad. “im sorry, Jophiel. truly. i can’t imagine how it feels to fall from the heavens because of your adoration for a mortal with an expiration date… i only know what it’s like to fall and fall from love.”

before you drunkenly scolded them for that comment on the living, you were intrigued by that last bit. you knew Lucifer had fallen, and now that you finally gave in and told Lucifer about yours, it was only fair lucifer told you about their own, every last goddamn detail to make up for their pestering.

“tell me about your fall. i want to know. i want to know everything about it.” you narrowed your eyes on them, watching them think of something to say, before their expression softened and their smile faded.

“i don’t know if that’s wise of me to talk about little lamb.” they focused their gaze on something that wasn’t you. this made you upset.

“you don’t get ta do that to me, Lucifer Morningstar. you done nothing but pester me about how i tumbled down here, jus’ for you to not tell me what happened to you too? boooooooo.” you taunted them, but silenced yourself as they raised their hand to quiet you down.

“fine. i will tell you how the great samael fell.” they sighed and grumbled, looking pained. their fall was a heavy subject, something they had not spoken about in eons, something that they preferred not to speak about. but they supposed it was only fair.

— rebellion.

rebellion and war and love and sin, truly a long, painful battle for the Morning Star, their love for another angel, their pride and their desire for self rule. they did not like being told what to do nor when to do it, especially by God, who made them the angriest. they were the most powerful, bested only by God himself, their abilities unmatched by other angels.

this did not stray them from their love for another angel, Nephele, a soft and kind and tender soul, the only being strong enough to ground and calm the lightbringer when they began their prideful quips and spats with God, or when their tantrums grew worse because of the severity of their punishments.

their last straw came about after having been caught with nephele, tossing peony petals into the fountains and holding hands and quietly admitting their scandalous affections. they had plans to run, to escape, cast themselves out of heaven and make peace with each other’s presence for eternity, how lucifer longed deeply for such, but it never came to fruition.

pleading for forgiveness, Nephele received mercy; Lucifer would not lower themself to that degree, they chose instead to rebel and conquer and destroy. wars were fought, battles were consequential and the consequences in question were severe. heaven became a battlefield and Lucifer was at the forefront before archangel Michael struck them down with force and fear.

Lucifer feared nothing.

but on that day they feared for the life of Nephele.

worried that she would suffer more, Lucifer surrendered. archangel Michael claimed his victory and moved forward on their decision to cast Lucifer out of heaven, banishing them to a hellscape of their own fate, a product of their immense power and strength that kept them locked in for eternity.

and so, the Lord of Lies lost their spirit and their love, their new role to punish and destroy and contain their power to the best of their ability. they have never been happy since losing their faith in the divine. —

you blinked, taking in the story as best you could while being past the point of inebriation. “wow.”

“we are not all that different, you and i.” Lucifer spoke softly, easing the tension between the two of you and earning a giggle from you.

“i s’pose we aren’t, Lucifer.” you raised an empty glass as if you were toasting to that statement, leaning back into the cushions of your seat.

“thank you for telling me your story, Jophiel.” they gave a subtle nod, rising to their feet and gazing down shortly at you.

you met their eyes on you, confused, dazed, seeing two of them, your eyes darting back and forth between the two figures. the Lightbringer’s hands reached for you, their grip gentle as they lifted you under your arms and allowed you to relax in their hold as they carried you to your chambers.

“why are you bein’nice to me?” your speech slurred, and you felt like you were flying, despite Lucifer not moving fast enough to make even sober you feel such a way.

“it would be cruel of me to be unkind to you in this state.”

“but you’re the- the bloody devil, aren’t you s’posed to be evil?” you hiccuped.

“not to drunken fools.” they sighed.

“ohh.”

“mhm.”

Lucifer carefully opened the door to your room, that you had decorated to your liking, which they admired. they set you down against your mattress, watching as your eyes fluttered open and shut and open again, your brain indecisive on whether or not you were to fall asleep.

“rest your head, little lamb. you’ll forget all about this at dawn, i'm sure.” Lucifer’s voice was tempting. your eyes finally settled shut, and you succumbed to your drunken stupor, having drank yourself into unconsciousness.

they watched you fall asleep slowly, staying for some time to ensure you were okay before they let you sleep and rest off the drunken buzz.

perhaps the devil did care after all.

— 🦇🩸

#fanfic #fandom #for lucifer morningstar #if you read this #lucifer #is very cute #omg i love them #i wonder if anyone reads these #im so unwell #lucifer morningstar #the sandman #pretty people #angels #i dont know #i’m not good at tagging #what are tags #like huh #anyways #x reader #named #tumblr fyp #gwendolineuniverse #gwendoline christie #fannon

[ebonyslasher]

Spicy Alphabet: Billy Loomis

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Billy lies on the bed, cuddling your perfect self after. Don't let his relaxed condition fool you, he's going to have deep conversations coming through.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Billy: His eyes are beautiful and powerful. Often stares at his eyes in the mirror. They had the perfect eyelash length and shape. He could put anyone he was attracted to in a trance.

You: Boobs. He loves a great set of boobs to rub his hands on and put his face in. The round flesh sitting on top of your chest is so pretty. The brown areolas resting on them are his favorite. Cute nipples poking out just greeting him.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

He has an average amount of cum. He has a better diet than Stu, so his cum has a neutral taste. He loves to see you swallow it

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Billy really really wants to watch you get a pap smear done (if you have a vagina). Cervixes look beautiful to him. He will buy a speculum to see what it looks like before and after sex.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Experienced. Have you seen him? There are a few things he's good in, but others he hasn't tried before

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Standing missionary

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Neutral. He'll chuckle at a few reactions and sounds.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Billy's curly hair is groomed

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Not at first, but once the relationship progresses he becomes more romantic.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Almost as often as Stu, however he won't have a whole marathon. He'd rather wait for you to be available.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Joint murder, forced voyeurism, phone sex, almost getting caught, bloodplay, knifeplay, facefucking, and more.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Bedroom. Bathroom. Maintenance closets.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Acting coy makes him want to chase you. Making out in front of others. Palming his dick. Looking like a bimbo.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Anything too nasty. Don't cut his face. Not into slapping or punching.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Receiving. He will give, but it won't be long. Gives standard frat white boy head tbh.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Interchanges between slow and fast. He's very good at giving a solid pace.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Very fond of bathroom and closet quickies. Billy had been walking around campus looking for a good maintenance room to bang in.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Little cuts on his and your skin? No problem. A little blood is an aphrodisiac to him. Choking until you pass out? He knows how to do that correctly. And he teaches you to return the favor while he's jerking off. He's a bit risky.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Standard. He'll need time to recharge. Sometimes, he can go back to back. Limit is 3 times

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Eh…

He's okay with watching you use them on yourself. He doesn't care for them outside of that. Unless you include knives as a toy? Then he's into that. Also, a speculum would be nice….

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Whole existence is a tease. This is the one aspect he's an expert in. Billy will verbally tease you, especially before he bottoms you out. Being physically teasing is on the table too. He wants you to whine for it.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

His moans are soft and low. Can easily be missed if you're moaning loud. But! He will get loud and whiny if you hit a particular spot.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Billy kidnapped the one bitch who would talk shit about you. Always behind your back, but never to your face. They would be sugar sweet in your present, then turn peppery sour once you left. Horribly made lemon pepper wings type sour. Said that you didn't deserve a guy like him. He couldn't stand them.

Tears stained the patch of duct tape covering their mouth. They tried to vigorously escape the captivity of the chair placed in front of your bed. But, thankfully, they failed. Billy, in his ghost face fit, had you fuck him in front of them. Start to finish. You were in control of everything. Including the aftercare of cutting the dickheads' skin off, starting with their face. You and Billy made out over the skinned corpse.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Slightly over average. Near 6"

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Moderate

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

{Billy} [You]

"Do you think WW1 happened in an alternate universe? Like is it something that was destined to happen?"

"......."

".......what you think?"

"...I just feel like tons of people really can't get along like that, so it's inevitable."

"Right?!"

Deep conversations afoot, he's not sleeping. Even if there's isn't an existential discussion, he still stays up to go do something else once your comfortable.

#slasher x reader #billy loomis x reader #billy loomis #scream #spicy alphabet #grown folks business #x black reader

[fieldofdaisiies]

young!Remus Lupin x Reader | Beauty Marks

type: angst warnings: blood, scars word count: 1.1k words summary: re-write of my first Remus story on here; you taking care of Remus after a full moon, tending to his wounds and scars

-all rights reserved-

Absently your index finger traces the marred skin of Remus upper chest, following each small and longer scar that traces over his skin. The sun has barely risen outside, the grass is still drenched in dew, the birds not yet tweeting in the trees. 

Snores sound from the room next doors — they either come from James or Sirius, but you guess it is the latter who is once again snoring like tired bear. They brought Remus back home this night and you offered them a room to sleep, knowing how exhausted they always are after a full moon. It is sometimes still beyond you what they do for their best friend, and you are more than happy that your boyfriend met them and the became his best friends.

“Darling,” Remus breathes, watching you through heavy lidded eyes, the skin around them swollen.  “You don’t have to do this now.” You give him a look that should be answer enough. You know you don’t have to do this, but you want to do it. You want to be here for him in times like these — always actually. “I know,” you answer, smiling softly when you finally lift your gaze to his. The green of his eyes looks dull, almost a little murky, the white bloodshot form the happenings of the the night. You pick up the cream and bandages from the bedside table and sit up straighter. Some silent conversation passes between the two of you when your eyes met again and without anything being said Remus also sits up a little and moves the blanket away from him so you have full access to his chest. You bit back on the grimace when your eyes trail over his exposed and marred skin, the new wounds and the ones that have scarred already. Blood —although you tried to clean up most when he returned— still covers his lower belly, trickling down to the edge of his underwear, staining the weight fabric. You pull your leg out from under you, and get up. Leaning forward you quickly peck your boyfriend’s brow, thumb brushing over his collar bone. “I’ll quickly grab a cloth and some water, be right back.” 

Remus smiles a little, he is too exhausted to do more. His shoulders are hunched, his hands placed on the bed, his eyes empty and tired. But he lifts his gaze when you move away from the bed, his eyes following you until you disappear into the bathroom. A pout appears on his lips — he does nto want you to have to do all of this for him, but he also knows that at the current time he is not strong enough to care for his wounds himself. He is incredibly thankful that he has you, couldn’t have hoped for a better partner than you are. Only moments later you return, a damp cloth and a little bowl of water in your hands. After everything is carefully placed on the bed, it is finally time to tend to all his wounds. And even though he has just sat up you decide it is better is he lies down, so you can better take care of his wounds. You help him lie down, aiding him a little, until his head rests on his pillow again and Remus exhales a low and pained breath. You know that he tries to be all tough and strong, not wanting to show in how much pain he is. He never wants to show this side of him, not wanting you to worry that much. But you have told him a million times already that he can be vulnerable with you, that you wanted to see all of him and slowly he comes to accept that and also lets these sides of him show. 

Ever so slightly, you brush the cloth over his chest, getting rid of all the fresh but also the already dried blood, cleaning his skin enough to put cream and bandages on it. You barely touch him when you apply the cream, carefully tending to his wounded skin. Remus bites the insides of his cheeks, his eyes glazing when you move your index finger over one very severe wound. A gloomy grimace spreads over your face because you know it is hurting him and it is the last thing you want, but then it has to be done. Your boyfriend sits up a little bit, lifts his arms when you are done with the cream, so you can put the large bandage around his chest, not too tightly but also not too loose. Remus groans he lies back down. You brush your hand over his cheek, lean in a little and kiss his right pec. “How are you feeling?” you ask softly and Remus finally lifts his hand and places it on your shoulder. “Much better, thank you.” He smiles, his lids closing on their own. He is fully drained of energy. 

“You should sleep,” you tell him, pulling on the blanket and moving it up on him. 

“Please lie with me.” You obviously agrees, moving onto the bed, sliding under the sheets and as carefully as possible you curl up next to him. Your fingers once again find their place on his chest, the skin that is not covered by the bandage. Your trace your warm finger tips over his cool skin, brushing some smaller and older scars. Lifting your head a little you try to catch his gaze, his lids only open a little. “I am so thankful for you,” Remus whispers, his thumb stroking your collar bone after he curls his arm around your shoulder. “That you take me as I am.” “You also take me as I am, Remus. And I love you so much for this.” You grin up at him and watch how his lids close once again, a beautiful and peaceful smile on his lips. 

“And you know.” You pause, and place your palm on his chest, right above his heart. “All those scars they make you who you are. All of them are beauty marks.”

Remus falls asleep your words and the soft touch of your hand. 

Cause you take me as I am And I take you as you are With your heart in weathered hands And the bruises on my heart That make me who I am That make you who you are Baby, when you take my hand You show me that my scars are beauty marks

#remus lupin x reader #remus x reader #marauders #marauders era #remus lupin #remus lupin drabble

[hjinnie]

enhypen as taylor swift songs (angst ver.)

enhypen x gn!reader! fluff/angst! masterlist

✩ heeseung!

right where you left me ─ "did you hear about the girl who lives in delusion? break-ups happen every day, you don't have to lose it. she's still 23 inside her fantasy, and you're sitting in front of me, at the restaurant, when I was still the one you want. cross-legged in the dim light, everything was just right, i could feel the mascara run, you told me that you met someone, glass shattered on the white cloth, everybody moved on."

✩ jay!

the 1 ─ "i guess you never know, and if you wanted me you really should've showed. and if you never bleed, you're never gonna grow." "we were something, don't you think so? roaring twenties tossing pennies in the pool. and if my wishes came true, it would've been you." "i persist and resist the temptation to ask you if one thing had been different, would everything be different today? we were something, don't you think so? rosé flowing with your chosen family. and it would've been sweet, if it could've been me."

✩ jake!

the other side of the door ─ "i said, "leave", but all i really want is you to stand outside my window, throwing pebbles, screaming, "i'm in love with you", wait there in the pourin' rain, come back for more. and don't you leave, 'cause i know all i need is on the other side of the door. with your face and the beautiful eyes, and the conversation with the little white lies, and the faded picture of a beautiful night, you carry me from your car up the stairs, and i broke down cryin', was she worth this mess? after everything and that little black dress. after everything, i must confess i need you."

✩ sunghoon!

mr. perfectly fine ─ “mr. perfect face, mr. here to stay, mr. looked me in the eye and told me you would never go away. everything was right! mr. i’ve been waiting for you all my life, mr. every single day until the end, i will be by your side! but that was when i got to know mr. change of heart, mr. leaves me all alone.. i fall apart. it takes EVERYTHING in me just to get up each day, but it's wonderful to see that you're okay! hello! mr. perfectly fine! how’s your heart after breaking mine? mr. always at the right place at the right time, baby. hello! mr. casually cruel, mr. everything revolves around you, i’ve been miss misery since your goodbye and you're mr. perfectly fine.”

✩ sunoo!

back to december ─ "so this is me swallowin' my pride, standin' in front of you sayin' i'm sorry for that night, and i go back to december all the time. it turns out freedom ain't nothin' but missin' you, wishin' i'd realized what i had when you were mine, id go back to december, turn around and make it alright... i go back to december all the time" "your sweet smile, so good to me so right. and how you held me in your arms that september night, the first time you ever saw me cry."

✩ jungwon!

red ─ "losing him was blue like i'd never known, missing him was dark gray, all alone, forgetting him was like trynna know somebody's you never met, but loving him was red." "touching him was like realizing all you ever wanted was right there in front of you. memorizing him was as easy as knowing all the words to your old favorite song. fighting with him was like trying to solve a crossword and realizing there's no right answer. regretting him was like wishing you never found out that love could be that strong."

✩ niki!

out of the woods ─ "we were built to fall apart, and fall back together. your necklace hanging from my neck, the night we couldn't quite forget when we decided to move the furniture so we could dance, baby like we stood a chance." "remember when you hit the brakes too soon? twenty stitches in a hospital room. when you started crying, baby, i did too, but when the sun came up i was looking at you. remember when we couldn't take the heat? i walked out, i said "i'm setting you free", but the monsters turned out to be just trees, when the sun came up, you were looking at me."

#enhypen #enhypen fluff #enhypen angst #enhypen fanfic #enhypen imagines #heeseung #jay #jake #sunghoon #sunoo #jungwon #niki #enhypen reactions #enhypen x reader #enhypen x y/n #enhypen x you #heeseung x reader #jay x reader #jake x reader #sunghoon x reader #sunoo x reader #jungwon x reader #niki x reader #taylor swift

[iameliseposts]

Little Midnight Rendezvous Lilia x MC

This fic is dedicated to @la-lolita ! Happy birthday hun!! I decided to make a cute banner for you and write a forbidden love AU fic for Lilia since you’d literally lick his ashes-

You’ve always been so supportive of my writing, this was the least I could do for you! You’re one of my closest friends on Tumblr and I hope you have an amazing day! I hope you enjoy bestie!! 💖💖

“We shouldn’t do this!” You whisper against the cold night as the short fae whisks you into the dark night. Hand in hand, your assailant ran in front of you, taking you alongside him further and further away from your home. Although, you couldn’t be far from home when he’s near. The icy air was gliding down your skin, making you chilled to the bone. 

Lilia looks back, staring deeply within you, “Oh? Have you not wanted this?” You didn’t reply, how could you reply when he was absolutely right? You bit your bottom lip, as though that would silence your breath and keep you both hidden. 

Even when looking at you, he still moves gracefully and quickly. Compared to the elegance that was your fae, you must look spent. Every night, Lilia appears at your window and steals you away. Once the shimmering lights of daybreak appear, he returns you to your room, like the gentleman he is. Parted at dawn, but rejoined at dusk. 

You didn’t have a choice, but to have your little midnight rendezvouses. You weren’t allowed to meet under the blurring sun with others’ glaring eyes. It wasn’t allowed, you see. More than not socially exceptional. Lilia was a fae, a well known fae. One loyally dedicated to the royal family. Simply put, he was a man of high power. 

High power comes with high affluency. High affluence brings more respect. A fae as respected as Lilia must be seen in a good light by the public. A romance between a fae and a human was deeply frowned upon. You’ve heard stories of lovers being exiled from Briar Valley with nowhere to go. It truly terrifies you of how ruthless Lilia’s country could be, considering how sweet the fae himself was to you. 

Yet, every time Lilia shows up at nightfall, you couldn’t resist his charm. This is a dangerous and wild flame of love. It consumes you both and threatens the very life you live. This path you both continue to walk is treacherous at each turn with only one person you could rely on. Each other until the very end. Each morning you repeat, “Don’t come back tonight. I don’t want to hurt you.”

You lied. Each morning you told your white lie in a pathetic attempt to prevent harm to Lilia. He didn’t buy it and neither did you if you had to be honest. You wanted him to come each night and the way you avoided meeting eyes when you said your line exposed you. “I shall stop coming when you truly mean that statement.” Lilia replies as he slinks back to his quarters with the revealing light of day. This was a cycle. “Stop coming here! You know what happens if you get caught…” “You still wish to lie straight to me?” “...” Over and over, this conversation occurred. 

You both stop running once you came onto a vast flower patch. You’ve been all over since you started seeing Lilia, but nothing beats the beauty of the luminescent beams of the moon shining onto the radiant flowers. These flowers were special. They reflect light which enhances the already alluring petals. 

Keeping your hand in his, Lilia pulls you towards him. You crash onto him, nuzzling your face in the corner of his neck. ‘Don’t come back tonight. What a lie.’ Really, it was foolish of you to say. How could you say that after spending all your nights in his warm embrace. Spending all your nights with his lips on yours. Spending all your nights under the moonlight with the love of your soul. What a lie.

“You’re cold.” Lilia states as he wraps his arms around you, like a blanket. You hug your fae, getting all the heat you could from him, “Yeah, it’s kinda cold tonight. It’s getting colder each night. I should have brought a jacket.” Lilia chuckles, deep and mellow, “There is no need for that. You have me after all.” With a snap of his fingers, you felt your skin lose its goosebumps and you felt cozy. 

You whisper, tracing invisible patterns with your index finger on his back, “Thank you, my fae.” You felt a hand on the back of your thighs as you got picked up. You were used to Lilia’s antics, so you knew not to be worried. Lilia sat down and placed you onto his lap with your hand on his shoulders. 

You couldn’t help, but admire his gorgeous face. You were so entranced by him that you didn’t notice your secret lover was doing the same. It was times like this where your lie was revealed the most. You both didn’t care who saw your display of love. You didn’t love anyone the same way you felt addicted to him. You just loved each other, your fae and Lilia’s human. 

Was this forbidden love really so wrong? 

#HAPPY BIRTHDAY HUN!! #twisted wonderland #twst #twst lilia vanrouge #lilia #lilia vanrouge #lilia vanrouge x mc #lilia vanrouge x reader #lilia vanrouge x yuu #lilia vanrouge x gn!mc #lilia vanrouge x gn!reader #lilia vanrouge x y/n #lilia x mc #lilia x reader #lilia x y/n #lilia x yuu #lilia x you #mc x lilia #mc x lilia vanrouge #la-lolita has arrived in arcadia #elise’s request

[eddieslittlefreak]

What if Eddie had a crush on Steve in high school ever since he knew that he existed? Like it was just this overwhelming attraction that soon turned into longing and Eddie didn’t even know more about the guy, other than his not so shiny reputation.

Eddie was the biggest nerd you could find in school which made him the perfect target for Steve’s shitty friends. Luckily, he could avoided them mostly, but he always got close enough to somehow bump into Steve. Small sorry’s in the corridors, taunting looks in the changing room and Eddie started to think that he read too much fantasy, because he is now making up that Steve Harrington is starting to look for his attention. And the funny thing that Steve himself didn’t even notice.

As he started to change, his inner love hunger grew out of his control. Eddie was always smiling at him, watching him on his basketball matches from the door, where he was usually leaning against the doorway, careful spark in his eyes. And those girls were all cheering for Steve from the front row, but Steve’s gaze started to linger to Eddie’s direction. And whenever Steve scored, Eddie would clap so loudly, yet still most of the people wouldn’t even notice him. Well, Steve did. 

Just like Eddie noticed Steve.

He noticed his little habits, how he picks on the skin on the end of his fingers when he’s nervous, or how he leans into your personal space when he really gets into talking about something. It was quite unnoticable how the short hi’s turned into small chats in the classroom then long conversations on the way home. It wasn’t even really noticed by them until Dustin pointed it out with a really subtle “Are you guys dating or what?” 

That night Eddie lied on his bed, as awake as ever. He was home alone and soon he found himself walking up and down in front of the phone on the wall, thinking and fighting his own feelings. He had no clue what Steve could be feeling about him, but he needed to let him know what he feels. He called him up and Steve never picked up the phone quicker. He was a bit ashamed to admit that he was hoping, waiting for a call from Eddie.  At first it was just some meaningless small talk which turned into an all night long talking session. And around half past five in the morning, when the summer sun started to crawl up onto the sky, Eddie held the phone impossibly close to his face and his voice was low.

“Steve?” he said his name just above a soft, love soaked whisper.

“Yeah?” he could hear the sleepiness in his voice, but something was so awake in him that it wouldn’t let him drift to dreams.

“I really like you. I like you more than just a friend.” Eddie thickly swallowed, gripping the phone so tightly that his fingers went white. Steve let out a small, breathy laugh.

“I thought it was obvious that I like you the same, Eds.” the nickname came so easily, while Eddie was sure that Steve can hear how hard his heart was beating.

It was so delicate, because Steve was just getting out of his fake, deformed, bitterful reality that he called his life, and now Eddie showed him something real, sweet and beautiful. Steve never thought he could ever feel like this. Steve liked Eddie, he liked him so much, it soon turned into the pure, unconditional love. But it was crazy for him how Eddie could like him too? His reputation never been worse, but little did he know that Eddie liked him, even when he was living in this ugly pattern. There was just something mesmerizing about how Eddie decided to settle next to Steve, and Steve decided to finally start to live again.

“Can I.. come over?” Steve asked “It’s technically morning so..” Eddie laughed.

“I don’t guarentee I won’t fall asleep, but it would be a pleasure to have you here, Stevie.”

“Oh, you’re saying that I’m boring?” he pretended to be offended, but he couldn’t hide the warm smile on his face. He liked Eddie. He liked him so much.

“Come over and you see.” Eddie said, grinning. 

“On my way, babe.” Steve said, then ended the call with a racing heart. 

This was the beginning of something beautiful and real.

#steddie #eddie munson #steve and eddie #eddie x steve #eddie stranger things #steve harrington #steve x eddie #steve stranger things #ST #they are so in love shut up #loverboys #they are so taylor swift coded #lucas sinclair #max mayfield #dustin henderson #mike wheeler #will byers #dnd #steddie brainrot #steve loves eddie #eddie loves steve #high school crush #robin buckley #nancy wheeler #fruity four