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bucky-fricking-barnes · 4 months

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The Cards We're Dealt

Title: The Cards We’re Dealt

Pairing: Mafia!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 15k

Warnings: Arranged marriage, alcohol, cursing, objectification of women and mild sexism, bad parents, angst, fluff, mentions of drugs

Summary: Bucky and Y/N are the children of the two most prominent mob bosses in New York. When their parents use them as part of a deal, they’re left to figure out how their lives fit together.

A/N: Wow! Another long fic because I have no self-restraint. There’s a bit of Irish in this because I couldn’t resist it when I wrote Steve. Translations are at the end, and anything incorrect can be blamed on Google Translate. As always, thank you for reading, liking, commenting, reblogging, and supporting me in all the ways you do.

There is an unspoken rule amongst the mobs in New York that the more drug manufacturers a man controls, the nicer you treat his daughter. So, when Bucky’s father tells him that he’s once again been pimped out as part of a deal, Bucky knows to ask the question,

“How many does he control?”

If Bucky had his way, of course, he would treat all girls as well as he is able (which is very well). He likes girls, and he likes going out with girls. He just wishes he could choose which girls he got to take out.

“Seventy-five percent,” George Barnes says, and Bucky freezes with his glass against his lips. He has a club soda to his father’s whiskey—he’s in a good mood and was actually hoping to enjoy the day, though now he’s reconsidering it. His plan to lounge by the pool with Becca and soak up as much of the late spring sunshine as possible is quickly dissipating.

“That’s not possible,” Bucky replies. He quickly does the math in his head. His dad owns over half the manufacturers in Brooklyn. “We own—“

“Not anymore.”

The library falls silent as Bucky tries to wrap his head around the news. Just yesterday he’d overheard his father on the phone with one of his men, explaining in great detail what he’d do if they didn’t get him a sample of their newest product by the top of the hour.

“How?” he asks. He sets his glass aside and sits straighter in his chair. “Did something happen? You didn’t tell me about a takeover.”

George takes a sip of his whiskey. “That’s because there wasn’t one.” He sets the crystal tumbler on the small bronze tray nearby. Marta will come clean it up later. “I sold them.”

“You sold them? If you’ve already struck a deal, then why am I taking out his daughter? Isn’t that normally something you have me do to butter their fathers up before you make the deal?”

Bucky watches as his own father stands and goes to watch the landscapers through the library window, his hands clasped behind his back. He’s long since been out of the army, but some habits die hard. Very rarely did the man ever relax.

“You are the deal,” George answers, his voice much too casual for Bucky’s liking.

“What the hell are you talking about?” snaps Bucky.

“Watch your tone, boy,” his father replies. He doesn’t turn around to witness the way Bucky grinds his teeth together in response. “In exchange for the majority of Theo’s territory, you and Y/N will be married within a year and a half, though the exact date is up to the two of you. I believe that Theo mentioned his daughter likes spring, so perhaps a spring wedding. June is popular, from what I’m told, though that’s cutting it a little close to the deadline.”

Bucky’s up out of his seat now. He can feel his pulse thrumming and he can’t quite catch his breath.

“So what? You threw me in to sweeten the pot? Am I just another bargaining chip to you now?”

He’s shouting. He doesn’t care.

George turns and regards him in silence, and, like always, his expression betrays nothing of what he’s thinking or feeling. He doesn’t seem fazed at all by Bucky’s outburst.

“You’re my heir. I make my decisions based on what’s best for our family. Nothing about this decision is impulsive or frivolous, James,” he finally answers, his voice cool and even. There’s nothing familial in his tone—George Barnes is all business.

“You can’t just decide that I’m getting married. I won’t do it. I refuse,” Bucky tells him. He balls his fists at his sides and he sets his jaw, furious. How dare his father try to control his life like this? It’s one thing to occupy the majority of Bucky’s nights and weekends with dates, meetings, dinners, and weapons runs, but it’s another to throw him into a marriage he doesn’t want.

“I can and you will. If you don’t, there will be consequences. To start, you will be immediately cut off from our family. You will have no money, no home, no resources, and no contact or communication with anyone involved in the business, including your mother and your sister.”

Heart pounding, Bucky glares at him. He’s got a migraine coming on. He knows his father isn’t kidding, but he wants more than anything for Steve to pop out and say that this is all just a joke. He’s never even met Theo’s daughter. He’s barely even met Theo. According to the rumors, his only daughter is his most prized treasure. She isn’t someone who frequents any of the bars, clubs, and restaurants that he and the other “mob children” frequent. Maybe “mob children” isn’t exactly the right term, at least not anymore. After all, Bucky’s engaged now. He’s just part of the mob, another pawn to be moved around the chessboard.

“You have the rest of the day off. I’ll see you at eight tomorrow morning,” says George. He picks up his glass and downs the last of the liquor. “Theo and his family are coming for breakfast, and then Y/N will be moving in with us. I want you on your best behavior.”

He pauses and Bucky continues to glare at him, not validating his words with a response. George’s eyes grow dark with a thinly veiled threat. Bucky knows that look—if he pushes his father any harder, he’ll regret it.

“Do you understand, boy?”

“Yes, sir,” Bucky grinds out.

Turning on his heel, Bucky stalks out of the library and slams the door behind him. He immediately heads down the hall, then down the stairs and across the ground floor of the Barnes Estate to the garage. His keys are still in his pocket; he’d only just gotten back from a night out with Steve when his father had summoned him.

It doesn’t matter that he’s still wearing yesterday’s clothes. Bucky climbs onto his bike and revs the engine, speeding off down the long driveway that winds around the house. The guards barely get the gate open in time and then he’s flying down the road, heading straight to Steve’s bar in the city. He knows his friend will be there, most likely nursing his hangover and going over the books in his back office. He won’t be hard to convince to go out again, though Bucky knows he won’t approve of the plan to drink as much as he possibly can in the next twelve hours. It doesn’t matter, though—it’s Bucky’s last night as a free man, and he’s determined to make the most of it.

You sit between your parents, staring at the empty seat across from you. They’d told you this morning that you were going to the Barnes Estate for breakfast, and while you’d expected the grandeur of the dining room and the meal, you didn’t expect the eldest Barnes child to be completely absent. You’ve never met him, but your mother has insisted that you speak to James—George Barnes’ only son and heir—as much as possible during the meal. Supposedly, he’s the same age as you.

Rebecca Barnes is a ray of sunshine and her cheery disposition is a stark contrast to the dark clouds that now hang over your fathers’ heads. Maybe it’s a deal gone wrong or maybe it’s something else, but you don’t like it. It leaves an uneasy feeling in the pit of your stomach. Silently, you sneak a hand under the table to find your mother’s. You squeeze and your mom squeezes back, glancing over to give a reassuring smile.

“Y/N,” Mrs. Barnes starts, and you jump a little in your seat. You haven’t been verbally addressed since you’d been seated a half hour ago. The food has yet to be served. “Your parents tell us that you’re very interested in horticulture. Did you know we have a rose garden out back?”

You force a polite smile. “I don’t know about very interested. I have a few house plants that I’ve managed to keep alive, though I would love to see your garden sometime. I’m sure it’s beautiful,” you add.

“Maybe Bucky can take you,” Rebecca says, earning herself a sharp look from her mother. She simply shrugs.

Oh, to be as unbothered as Rebecca Barnes!

“Where is James?” your father asks. His voice is a low, threatening growl and you sink down in your chair, staring at the cloth napkin still folded atop your plates.

“He knows to be here,” Mr. Barnes growls back. “You’ll have to excuse his tardiness, he’s not normally like this.”

Mrs. Barnes gives Rebecca an even harsher look when she opens her mouth to speak, and this time the girl actually looks ashamed. She takes a sip of her orange juice to hide the guilty look on her face. She’s the first person to have actually touched something on the table, and it’s like whatever spell the room has been under is broken.

All at once, the dining room springs to life. A short, slightly heavy-set woman in a gray dress and white apron enters through one door. She’s holding a delicate silver coffeepot and the smell of coffee instantly fills the room. Two younger women in identical uniforms follow behind her, each of them pushing golden carts laden with food. Through the door across the room, a tall man with short, dark brown hair stumbles in. He’s wearing all black, from his rumpled button-up and jeans to his boots and sunglasses. His hair is sticking up in every direction and just like the coffee, you can smell the stench of alcohol coming from him even from your seat.

You grimace at the smell and pull your napkin into your lap as one of the women comes to place food in front of you. It’s a formal dining service and the strange new man who’s entered feels entirely out of place. From his attire to the way he shuffles across the antique rug, everything about him screams that he’d rather be anywhere else. If you acted like that, your father would be pulling you back out into the hallway to reprimand you, and you look anxiously at Mr. Barnes, who’s seated at the head of the table.

“James,” he greets, his voice unnervingly even. A chill runs down your spine. “It’s nice of you to join us. I trust that you slept well last night?”

James collapses into the only empty chair at the table, the one across from you, and pointedly ignores his father. You risk a glance up at him as he reaches for the cup of coffee that’s already been poured.

True to form, Rebecca leans over and claps a hand on her brother’s shoulder blade. “Good morning! Aren’t you excited to have breakfast with our guests?” she shouts, and her smirk makes it much too clear that she’s fully enjoying the way her brother’s scowl deepens. Rebecca also ignores her parents, including her mother, who leans forward to look past James and give her a look of warning.

James shrugs his sister off of him and starts buttering the toast on his plate. You watch for a moment, then start picking at your own food as your mother also begins to eat. Everyone’s acting so strangely that you’re already on edge, and you’ve only managed to get down a few grapes and two bites of dry toast by the time your father speaks up again.

“So when are we signing these papers?” he asks, sipping his coffee.

“As soon as the marriage license is signed,” answers Mr. Barnes.

You frown. Marriage license? Who’s getting married?

“And the terms are the same as when we last spoke?”

Mr. Barnes sips his own drink, something that looks suspiciously like whiskey, and sets down the glass. “Yes. I have that contract in my office. We’ll review and sign after we’re done here. Are all of your daughter’s things ready to be moved?”

Your stomach drops and you turn to stare at your father with wide eyes. He nods, not even paying attention to you as he continues his conversation with the other man. Your mother pointedly ignores you, choosing instead to stare at her plate as she eats. When you look around the room, it seems like almost everyone else is doing the same. Rebecca is the only person who actually meets your panicked gaze. She gives you a pitying look as your anxiety rises.

It feels like your mouth is filled with sandpaper, and you grab your glass of juice. You have to drink half of it before the feeling even mildly abates. As soon as you set it down, one of the women in gray appears to refill it.

“What’s going on? Why are you moving my stuff?” you finally choke out. You twist the napkin in your lap with both hands, wringing it as you look from one person’s face to the next.

Mr. Barnes stops mid-sentence and the whole room freezes. Even James, who’s pouring something into his coffee cup from a small silver flask, stops what he’s doing.

“Y/N, sweetheart,” your mother begins, taking your hand under the table.

You want to pull away. You don’t.

“After breakfast, your father and I are going home, but you’ll be staying here with the Barneses.”

“What?” you whisper, your eyes filling with tears. “No, I don’t— I don’t want to stay here. You never said anything about me—“

“We’re getting married,” James interrupts. He’s chewing and you look over at him, gaping at the casual way he’s sprawled out in his chair. You can feel his gaze on you even from behind his sunglasses and it makes you feel dirty.

“Excuse me?”

He chuckles and sits up, then leans forward in the chair. He drops the greasy strip of bacon he’d been eating onto his plate. “We’re getting married. They’re using us like bartering chips, sweetheart. You and me in exchange for all the drugs and all the territory in New York.” James gestures grandly with one hand, a too-wide grin on his face. There must be at least ten rings on each of his hands and you swallow thickly at the threatening display of black and silver metal.

You’re trembling now and you pull your hand away from your mom’s. She reaches for you again but you shake your head, shying away from her touch. Frantically, you look around the room to see if this is some kind of joke or a drunken rambling, but no one is laughing. Even Mrs. Barnes has the decency to look sympathetic on your behalf.

“No, no. You wouldn’t—“ You look back at your parents, imploring them to say that it isn’t true. You swallow thickly, trying to stave off tears, and your voice wavers as you prompt, “Mom? Dad?”

Their silence speaks volumes and a whimper escapes you as you wring your hands in your lap. The napkin slides onto the floor. It suddenly feels like you can’t breathe and when your mom reaches out for a second time and starts to tell you to calm down, you jerk away and stand. The chair falls backwards behind you, but you ignore it as you rush out of the dining room and into the hallway you’d entered from. Everything is unfamiliar. Frantically, you pick a door and yank on the handle. It doesn’t give way and you continue the process until one of them finally opens and you can rush inside. You lock it behind you and press your back against the door. The curtains on the floor-to-ceiling windows are closed, shrouding the room in darkness. You can’t make out much of the furniture through the tears in your eyes.

Out in the hallway, you can hear your mother calling for you and your father arguing with Mr. Barnes. Mrs. Barnes is yelling at somebody too, but it’s hard enough to hear the others over your own gasps and sobs. You’re properly crying now and you sink to the floor, curling up on the carpet as you heave. It’s a good thing you weren’t able to stomach much breakfast.

A knock on the door makes you yelp and then cry harder, and you crawl into the darkness of the room to try and find a hiding spot. You’re lucky enough to find an old, heavy desk right away. It’s the perfect size for you to crawl under for shelter, and there’s no chair for you to move out of the way. The drawers on both sides create a cubby for you, so you crawl into it and curl up into a ball with your back towards the door, just in case someone manages to get in. If you’re quiet enough, it’s possible they’ll walk right past you.

The crowd in the hallway has definitely heard you by now. The doorknob is rattling as whoever’s on the other side tries to get in, but after a few minutes, they stop and the hallway goes quiet. You hold your breath after every couple of sobs, listening for any sign that they’ve found a key or that they’re picking the lock. Nothing happens, however, and after a while, you give up on listening.

You sit in the darkness and cry until you’re thoroughly exhausted. Once you’ve run out of tears, you sit and zone out with your head resting against the side of the desk drawers for a while longer, numb from the news. Your body feels light and a buzzing, tingling feeling makes moving your limbs seem impossible. You could’ve never imagined that your parents would be so capable of treating you so poorly. You’ve always felt so loved by them, and to hear that they’ve practically thrown you away at the first chance of a profit makes you want to puke. Upon that realization, you actually do throw up, and the stink of your vomit on the carpet of whatever room you’re in makes you want to cry all over again.

The door opens just as the stench is becoming too much to bear. Light floods in from the hallway and you squint, curling up in fear. After a moment, the shorter woman in the gray uniform that you’d seen at breakfast appears a few feet away from the desk, right in the path of light. You look up at her.

“Oh dear,” she sighs, and you instantly feel ashamed at the disappointment in her voice.

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper. Your bottom lip is trembling again as fresh tears somehow appear in your eyes. Sniffling, you wipe your nose with the back of your wrists. “I can clean it if you—“

“You’ll do no such thing,” the woman says. Her voice is gentle and kind, so much so that you don’t feel the need to argue with her. She waves her hand dismissively and approaches you, then holds out both hands. She’s careful not to step in the mess you’ve made. “Now come on, up you go.”

You let her help you to your feet and then you straighten out your clothes, sniffling and wiping at your nose again in a desperate attempt to look more put together than you feel. Still a bit unsteady, you whimper for a second time, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright, dear.” She gives you a warm smile. “My name’s Marta. I’m the head housekeeper here. It’s very nice to meet you.”

You don’t feel the same way about meeting her, given the circumstances, but you hold that comment to yourself and simply nod in agreement. Marta leads you back out into the too-bright hallway. It’s empty except for a bald man mopping the floor on the far end.

The high ceilings and glossy marble floors make it look like you’re in a castle. Even the silence feels regal. Everything seems so cold compared to your home, and you feel too small in the massive space.

“What time is it?” you quietly ask, looking back at Marta.

“It’s almost noon, Miss.”

Your stomach sinks and you press your lips together, inhaling deeply as you look around again. Three hours have passed. “My parents…”

“They left about fifteen minutes after breakfast,” she tells you. Her words are matter-of-fact, even if she delivers the news in the softest possible way.

Somehow it hurts worse that they’ve left you than finding out they’d practically sold you to the Barneses in exchange for God knows what. Drugs or territory, whatever James had said. Not only did they treat you like nothing, but they’d deserted you after it was clear you didn’t agree with their plans. They hadn’t even tried to reassure you that they still loved you or that you’d still be able to see them. Maybe you wouldn’t be. Maybe they didn’t.

You nod numbly. There’s been nothing to prepare you for this, no precursor or warning, so you keep looking around the hall, though in reality you’re not really seeing anything.

“Your room is ready upstairs, Miss Y/N. Would you like me to take you?” asks Marta.

You nod again. You feel like you’re underwater as you follow her up a grand staircase and then down a long, narrow hallway. It’s decorated similarly to the ground floor, though with a plush Persian rug running its length. Marta talks as she walks ahead of you, no doubt explaining what the many doors lead to, but her words simply go in one ear and out the other. It’s all so surreal that when you finally get to your own room, you don’t even open the door. Marta has to reach around you to open it, and then she gently ushers you inside when you still don't move.

Just as they had said at breakfast, your belongings have all been moved into the Barnes Estate. The furniture here is different, grander than what you’re used to, but your blankets and pillows are on the bed, and the two bookshelves are packed full of the books you’ve collected over the years. Even the strip from the photo booth at an old friend’s wedding is pinned to the bulletin board above the desk. Someone’s even thought to put your plants on their own table by the window.

“There’s a bathroom on the left and your closet is on the right,” Marta explains, pointing to each. “If you’re hungry, dinner is at five.”

“Do I have to eat with them?” you ask.

If Marta is surprised by your question, she doesn’t show it. She simply shakes her head with a gentle smile. “No. We can bring food here if you’d like.”

You nod and stand in silence until she leaves and closes the door behind her. Then, after another minute passes, you drag yourself over to the bed, climb under the covers, and close your eyes.

If there’s any mercy left in this life, you think, I’ll fall asleep and never wake up again.

Weeks pass and you still haven’t adjusted to life at the Barnes Estate. The staff is only slightly less friendly than those you grew up with, but they’re more attentive. It helps that there are more of them. For every member of the Barnes family, yourself included, there are at least four staff members to attend to their every need. It makes you feel like royalty, but it also makes you feel guilty. You don’t need this much. You certainly didn’t ask for it.

You haven’t seen James since the ill-fated breakfast, nor have you seen your parents. They’ve gone so far as to block your number. After that discovery, you’d locked yourself in the massive ensuite bathroom and cried for an hour. Marta had been the one to coax you out. The poor maid who’d found you when coming to get you for dinner hadn’t known how to help. You’d spent that entire evening curled up on your bed while reruns of The Nanny played on the TV embedded in the wall across from the massive mattress. Marta had spent every second with you that she could, but eventually Mrs. Barnes—Winnifred, as you referred to her in your mind—had scolded her for neglecting her nighttime duties across the estate. That made you feel even worse.

“Are you okay?” Rebecca asks, and you turn to look at her from where you’re staring out the hallway windows at the gardeners. The backyard is massive, complete with a rose garden in full bloom, an outdoor swimming pool, a forested walking trail, a large green expanse for games and parties, a gazebo, a fountain, and what seems to be stables far in the distance, though you haven’t ventured far enough to be sure. A visit to the rose garden hasn’t been brought up again either, and nothing seems interesting enough to explore on your own.

Nodding, you don’t say anything before turning back to watch the men work. They talk and laugh with each other as they prune, pick, and water. You wish that you could trade places with them.

“You don’t look okay,” she says. Rebecca props herself up on the window ledge to your right, facing you with a suspicious look on her face. “We haven’t seen you at any meals, and Valerie told me that you were crying in the bathtub three nights ago.”

You should feel ashamed, but you’re too numb to care. It feels like you’re floating through each day, detached from most things. You’ve spent your entire life thinking that you would marry for love and live happily ever after. Now, your parents have sold you to the highest bidder and your husband-to-be is a cruel, disgusting man-child that wants nothing to do with you.

Rebecca’s fingers lacing with yours jerk you back to reality and you look down at your joined hands in confusion. Her nails are bitten short and she wears a single ring with the Barnes family crest. It’s dainty and gold, a stark contrast to the many rings on her brother’s fingers.

“You’re safe here, Y/N,” she tells you, her voice gentle. “You don’t have to be alone. I’m so sorry for everything that’s happened to you. If I had any say in it, you could be home right now with your parents, but I’m far from the top of the totem pole.”

“I hate them.” You spit the words out and jerk your hand away from hers. “I hate my parents.”

That’s the first time you’ve ever said that in your entire life and your heart skips a beat as the anger makes your lip curl. You’re baring your teeth at her but Rebecca doesn’t even flinch. She’s a mafia princess, through and through.

“They made me believe that I could have anything I wanted, that I could marry whoever I wanted whenever I was ready, and then they threw that all away and treated me like shit the first time it was convenient for them.”

She nods. “That’s true.”

“I was so foolish to have believed them,” you growl, but the fight in you is fading just as quickly as it came. You burn bright, but you burn quickly, too.

“No,” Rebecca says, shaking her head. “You’re just human.”

You look away, embarrassed by your display of emotion as your eyes begin to water with more tears. You were raised to be reserved. You knew very little about the inner workings of your parents’ business, but you’d learned as a young girl that you’d fare better if you always clung to the edges of the room, avoiding the dirt and grime and blood that surrounded your whole life. Over the years, you’ve grown very good at hiding yourself and your emotions from the people around you. From the spark in her eye, you have the feeling that Rebecca is the exact opposite. She could hold her own if it came down to it. You couldn’t.

“It’s okay to be upset,” she insists.

Shaking your head, you take a deep breath and look back out the window. You lift your chin slightly and when Rebecca tries to rope you into another conversation with her, you ignore her and focus on the men outside. They’re finished tending to the roses on the edges of the garden. Now they’re working their way inwards.

You’re finally left alone a few minutes later and as soon as she’s around the corner, you let out a heavy sigh and relax your posture. Slumping forward, you lean forward into the window ledge, curling up just a little as you continue to watch the gardeners. The silly song from Alice in Wonderland pops into your head and you hum along, eventually mumbling to yourself about painting the roses red.

You feel a little bit like Alice, you realize. You’re out of your element in a strange land where everything you’ve learned about life seems to be turned on its head. In this world, nobody marries for love and the girls are just as entrenched in the business as the men. Does Rebecca conduct business with her father and older brother? You could certainly picture it. Will the same be expected of you?

That afternoon, Marta knocks on your door with a written invitation from Winnifred. Your presence is being formally requested at their dinner table, though from the look the housekeeper is giving you, it’s more of a demand than a request. With her help, you pick out something to wear. By the time five o’clock rolls around, you’re crossing the enormous hallway in a dress and heels that you’ve never seen before. It’s far too showy for your taste, but it’s clearly something someone wanted you to wear. Otherwise, they wouldn’t have put it in your closet.

George Barnes and James stand when you enter the dining room, as do several other men you don’t recognize. Your father is standing near the head of the table with George, though your mother and Rebecca are nowhere in sight. Besides Winnifred, you don’t recognize any of the other women. The only empty seat is beside James and your immediate instinct is to flee, but then he’s stepping aside to pull out the chair and all eyes are on you.

Slowly, you close the distance between the two of you and sit. He helps you scoot in, then takes his own seat on your right. The other men sit as well and then dinner resumes. You sit in silence, staring at the top edge of your plate with your hands in your lap. You’re not really listening to the conversations around you, either, but you can feel someone’s eyes on you as you try to stay as quiet and motionless as possible.

“Are you sick or something?”

You startle and look up with wide eyes. James is watching you. He’s got one hand on the table with his fingers brushing the stem of his wineglass and the other resting on his thigh. Unlike your fateful breakfast weeks ago, James is dressed in a neat, all-black suit. He has no tie, and his rings are all gone except one. It’s identical to Rebecca’s family crest, except his is silver and has a thicker band.

His eyes are full of something you can’t place and you shift uncomfortably under his gaze. As quickly as you turned to him, you turn away and look back at your plate. The napkin is folded in some elaborate way on top of the plate. You’re not sure if it’s supposed to resemble anything at all, but maybe if you stare at it long enough, it will look like something.

“Y/N?” he prompts. You nod once, tightly, and then pull the heavy cloth napkin into your lap when a server appears to present the first course.

Between the second and third course, you can feel James’ eyes on you. After the third, he gets roped into conversation with a man sitting across the table, but you know that he’s glancing at you all the while. After the fourth, he bumps his arm against yours. You shirk away and feel him tense beside you.

“Excuse me,” you mumble, and you push your chair away from the table. Immediately, the conversations stop and all the men stand again. It’s too much attention on you and you hurry out of the dining room as fast as your heels and dress will allow. You’re stumbling over yourself by the time you get back to your suite on the third floor. The door slams behind you and you collapse onto the floor beside the bed, too overwhelmed to even climb atop the oversized mattress. You’re on the verge of tears when there’s a soft knock from the door, and that rips a sob from your chest that you hadn’t expected.

Immediately, the door opens and James is standing in the open space, a dark look on his face. You sob again and scramble backwards until the edge of the bed frame is digging painfully into your spine.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

You swallow hard and take several gasping breaths, trying to control yourself. Your mind is spinning with insults, calling you weak and pathetic, and you believe every one.

“It’s just too much,” you answer through your tears. “I don’t want this!”

James huffs. His angry expression has faded, now replaced with something more akin to irritation. “And you think I do?”

You shake your head. “Of course not.”

“These are the cards we’ve been dealt, doll. You’re gonna have to get over it. Let’s just get married and then we can live happily ever after in a big house where we never have to see each other. I’ll do what I want and you can do what you want. Sound like a plan?”

You look down at your hands. A big part of you wants to say that no, it doesn’t sound like a plan. You don’t want that life. You don’t want a house so big that you practically need a golf cart to get from one side to the other. You don’t want a husband who ignores you in favor of his blood money or his side chick or the next shiny toy off the black market. You don’t want James.

Though every part of you is screaming the opposite, you nod. He crosses the room and you inhale sharply to steady yourself as he approaches you with no care. His black dress shoes are tracking dirt across the rug. James holds out a hand to help you up and you take it. The heirloom ring on his right hand digs into yours until you’re standing, and then he drops your hand like it’s on fire.

“We need to go back,” he tells you, and you nod again. “Our parents are pissed.”

“Of course they are,” you mumble.

James pauses, staring at you critically. You’ve been staring at the baseboards since he helped you up, but when he doesn’t move or speak, you glance upwards at him. He’s got one eyebrow raised. His expression is thoroughly unreadable otherwise and an unsettling feeling blooms in your stomach.

“What?” you ask. You step back a little, but there’s no place to go except up against the bed again.

He shakes his head at you. “Nothing. Come on, princess.”

“Don’t call me that.” You scrunch your nose. “Anything but that.”

“Sugar?” he offers, and when you shake your head, he sighs. “Well, what do you want me to call you, since you’re suddenly the one calling the shots?”

His words cut deep and you look back down, hating the way shame immediately pools in your belly. How could he seem angry and irritated with you, then borderline kind, and then completely disinterested in your feelings the next? It’s disorienting, and you don’t need that on top of everything else.

“That’s what I thought. Let’s go.”

Grabbing your arm in a grip just bordering on painful, James pulls you out of your bedroom and back down the hall. He holds on as you stumble behind him in your heels. When you reach the ground floor hallway again, he drops his hand and offers you his arm. You’re hesitant to take it, but he sighs a little and you decide that it’s easier to give in than to put up a fight.

The two of you walk back into the dining room and the conversations immediately hush. James leads you to your waiting seats, pulls out the chair for you, and then helps you scoot towards the table again once you’re seated. As he takes his spot beside you, your father speaks up.

“Have you and James discussed when you’ll be getting married?” he asks.

You pick up your fork and stare at the strange food on your plate, ignoring him. Though your stomach is churning, you force yourself to take a bite. He can’t expect you to answer while you’re chewing—it would be bad manners.

“Next spring,” James answers. “In the rose garden.”

You want to spit on the roses. You swallow your food instead.

“Good choice,” Mr. Barnes agrees. He turns his attention back to your father. “Your daughter is quite the well-behaved woman. She’ll do well with our James.”

Beside you, James tenses again, his grip tightening slightly on his fork. You glance at him, holding your breath, and wait until he relaxes again to take another bite of your food.

The rest of the dinner passes with mundane, meaningless conversations. Nobody addresses you for the remainder of the meal, not even your parents, and finally the men begin to make their way out of the dining room to an adjoining room. You hadn’t even realized there was a room connected; the door is hidden amongst the paneling and crown molding on the walls.

“You can’t go in there.” James grabs your wrist as you stand to follow the group of men into the new room. His voice isn’t malicious and his grip isn’t tight, but you flinch away from him anyway. It’s only then that you realize the few women that had been in the room are leaving through the door to the hall with their wineglasses in hand.

“Because I’m a woman?” you counter.

“Because you don’t want to hear the things that they’re going to discuss,” he answers. He tosses his napkin on the table and stands, towering over you. After a long second of eye contact, he steps away from you and heads towards the men.

You watch him go and silently weigh your options. A few weeks ago, you wouldn’t have even thought about following the men into the second room. You would have simply taken the same path as the other woman, though your wine would have continued to remain untouched. Now, however, with your wine in hand, you stood at a crossroads. You could go into the room and potentially face the wrath of your father, James, and George Barnes, or you could live forever curious as to what was actually being discussed.

With your mind made up, you down your wine, step around James, and head through the open door into the room. It’s a study with dark wood paneling on the walls, leather couches, and stale cigar smoke in the air. As soon as you enter, the laughter and conversation stop and all eyes land on you.

“Y/N, you should be with Winnie and your mother,” Mr. Barnes says, stepping towards you. James is behind you now and though you’re hedged in, you simply lift your chin at the older man.

“Why? Am I not allowed to know what family I’m marrying into?”

His face darkens. “Girl, I’m warning you—”

“Don’t speak to my wife like that.” James’ voice from over your shoulder startles you and you quickly turn your head, looking back at him with shock.

Why is he suddenly standing up for me?

“Hold your tongue, James,” his father snaps. “You aren’t married yet, and Y/N needs to learn her place. One would think her father would have taught her better, considering the problems his wife caused.”

Though you hate your parents for what they’ve done to you, your blood boils at the insult. Your anger rears its ugly head even more when you realize that your father doesn’t look intent on standing up for you or your mom, either.

“That’s enough!”

You swear the room rattles around you when James shouts and you grit your teeth, furious at Mr. Barnes. How dare he insult your father? How dare he talk to you and his son that way?

James grabbing your hand shocks you back into reality. Once again, his grip is almost painfully tight, but you force your face to reveal nothing.

“Y/N and I are going out. If I so much as hear that you’ve said a single thing about her in my absence, you will regret ever giving me any kind of power in this business,” he growls. “The next time you see her, I expect that you’ll treat her with the respect she deserves.”

The men stare at you and James in disbelief, and then you find yourself being practically dragged out of the room. You’re too stunned to fight back, so you let him pull you across the ground floor of the estate to a door only two down from the dark room where you’d hit the morning your parents had left you behind.

“We’ll have to take the car, unless you’re okay riding the bike in that dress,” James says, pushing open the door. He doesn’t look back at you as he speaks, and it takes you a second to realize he wants a response.

“Car,” you answer after a few seconds. “Please.”

The room James has led you to is a massive garage, stretching farther than you ever realized a similar room could. Three of the walls are made of light gray cement, as are the floor and ceiling, and the fourth wall is made up of windowed garage doors, each one big enough for several cars to drive through simultaneously. Running down the center of the rectangular garage, there is a row of seven parked cars, with enough space to fit at least another car between each one, and beyond that, you can see a row of several motorcycles parked in a similar manner. The cars are in varying shades of gray and black, with the exception of one red sports car at the far end of the group. You can’t see the bikes well enough from the door, but you catch glimpses of blue, silver, gray, and black.

Four enormous, black and silver tool chests are lined up against the wall facing the hoods of the cars, but there isn’t a spot of oil or dirt in sight. You don’t even see any loose tools or equipment. Looking around, you wonder if the tool chests are just there for decoration, or if someone on the estate actually works on the cars and motorcycles.

Maybe James works on them?

“Are all of these yours?” you ask, unable to help yourself. He seems like the kind of guy who would enjoy driving around for fun, and he’s just mentioned something about a bike. You stare at the side of James’ face as he plucks a set of keys off a black pegboard on the wall. There’s a button embedded in the wall beside the board. James pushes it with one thumb and the keys in his hand bump against the wall.

One of the garage doors near the last few cars starts to roll upwards onto the ceiling, revealing the outside of the estate. The sun has completely disappeared from the sky, and the moonlight is blocked by the clouds you’d seen rolling in earlier in the afternoon. The leaves of the large shade trees that surround the estate and form a protective shield from the outside world rustle in the wind. Crickets and cicadas chirp, reminding you of the cool spring nights you’d spent on your family estate as a little girl. You’d run around in the grass near the garden while your mom or your nanny watched you. Sometimes your father’s men would watch from the perimeter of the property, and when you’d wave, they’d wave back, asking what you’d done that day. You always answered them, even if you knew it would get you in trouble. They never stopped asking either, even if it got them in trouble, too.

You stop walking and close your eyes, then breathe in deeply as the night air rushes into the garage. It’s the first time you’ve been even close to the outdoors since arriving at the Barnes Estate. Your skin is still warm from the stifling dining room and the anger you’d felt in the men’s study. The breeze is a blessed relief, even if you do shiver after only a moment. Goosebumps form on your exposed skin—the dress Marta had picked out for you did little to keep you safe from the elements.

James keeps walking down the aisle formed by the wall and the front of the cars, though you hear his footsteps pause a few moments after you stop following him.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

You’re a little surprised that he’s not demanding that you catch up. When you open your eyes, you immediately meet his gaze, and a weird feeling bubbles up in your stomach. The expression on his face betrays little, but his stare reminds you of the way your father’s men looked at you all those years ago—interested and almost fond, but ready to push you away at a moment’s notice. You nod and hurry to catch up with him.

Once you get closer, James presses a button on the key fob in his hand. One of the cars in front of the open garage door rumbles to life. The sound it makes is a low purr, almost seductive, and you raise an eyebrow as James approaches, then runs his fingers over the hood. Even if the others aren’t, this car has to be his. It’s a sleek black, with dark tinted windows and a gleaming silver grill in the front. The BMW logo shines proudly in the center. It looks like a car your own father would own. Though you know he’s never owned a BMW, if this car is anything like the ones in your father’s fleet, you know that the inside will be as much a picture of luxury as the outside.

You slide into the passenger seat when James opens the door for you, and in the time it takes him to cross around the front of the car to the driver’s side, you take inventory of the interior. It’s a manual transmission—something your father once said was obsolete, except for car collectors and enthusiasts—which means that you wouldn’t be able to drive it, even if you tried. The car is pristine, so much so that you’re afraid to move. Two water bottles are in the cupholders, and it still smells brand new inside. There isn’t a speck of dirt or dust on the dashboard, nor on the floor mats. The leather seat is soft and there’s a control for seat warming and cooling on the control panel.

James climbs into the driver’s seat and shuts the door. He buckles up and you follow his lead, and then you sit back as he reverses the car out of the garage and onto a winding driveway that leads you around the front of the estate, then along the other side to a large gate with a guard house. You’d forgotten about the extensive security since the last time you’d been outside the Barnes Estate. Your father had handed over your driver’s license, along with his and your mother’s, before breakfast all those weeks ago, and there’d been a strange code word of some kind. It dawns on you as the guard opens the gate for you and James that you’d never gotten your license back.

“Where are we going?” you ask as James pulls onto the main road. It leads away from the estate and into the city.

“To get some real food,” he replies. His tone is gruff, and it feels like he’s on the verge of an angry outburst, so you slump back in your seat as he shifts gears and the car accelerates. The tension in the car is thick. You don’t want to be the one to deal with it, especially since he’s the one creating it.

After several minutes of watching the enormous mansions and the forests surrounding them pass by, you look over at James again. His expression, just like in the garage, reveals nothing, but you can tell that he’s more put-together than the last time you’d interacted, and it’s not just the tailored suit. His hair has been trimmed and styled, and he has an even dusting of stubble that frames his jawline nicely.

In the time since you’d learned you were engaged, James hasn’t said anything to you. You’ve heard him talking in the hallways as you wandered, but you haven’t wanted to be near him. This is the closest you’ve ever been. Your brief conversations so far tonight make up the majority of the words you’ve spoken to each other. His words from the bedroom echo in your head, until finally, you can’t help but blurt out your thoughts.

“Do you really not want to marry me?” you ask. Your voice sounds small and pathetic, and you hate it, but it’s too late now.

He glances over at you with one hand on the wheel and the other resting on the gear shift. “What do you mean?”

You sit up a little in the seat, though you keep your hands in your lap and you try not to move your feet, just in case there’s dirt on your shoes.

“I mean,” you say, watching him carefully for his reaction, “that when you came to get me upstairs, you said you didn’t want to marry me. Is that really true?”

“I never said that.” He shifts gears again as you near a stoplight, and the car slows.

“Yes, you did.”

“No,” he shifts again, his teeth now clenched, “I didn’t. I asked if it looked like I wanted to marry you, and you said it didn’t. But I never said I didn’t want to.”

Now you’re confused, and you frown at him, ignoring the obvious irritation in his voice. The car rolls to a stop behind a Ferrari blasting music out the open windows.

“So you do want to marry me?” you ask.

He sighs and drops his hand from the gear shift, then looks over at you. “Y/N, I’m not going to pressure you into anything you don’t want to do, so if this is you testing to see how I’ll treat you, then you have nothing to worry about. I’m not a monster.”

“It’s not. I just…” You stop, unsure of how to phrase what you’re feeling. It’s strange to be upset over a marriage you don’t even want, but for some reason, you are.

“What?”

“If you don’t want to marry me and I don’t want to marry you, then why are we going along with this?” you finally ask, settling for the bigger question than the one that’s truly nagging at you.

“Because we know that if we don’t, life will be hell,” he answers.

It’s the truth. You know it is, and you know it deep down. If the two of you refuse this marriage, your life will be worse than you could possibly imagine, and you’re fairly certain that your fathers will find a way to make it happen anyhow. They’re well-connected in every sphere of life, not just when it comes to drugs and weapons. Your father probably has a priest on his payroll.

The light turns green and James moves the car forward again, merging into the right lane almost immediately. He slows as you approach a valet stand outside an upscale bar you’ve never heard of. It’s not one of your father’s, which means it probably belongs to George Barnes.

Then again, you think as a uniformed man opens your door, maybe it belongs to James.

“It’s nice to see you again, Mr. Barnes,” a valet on the other side of the car greets.

James hands him the keys. “You too, Tommy. Listen, don’t park it too far off. We’re not staying too long.”

The man nods and climbs into the driver’s seat as your own valet leads you away from the curb. James meets you next to the valet stand and offers you his arm, then heads towards the doors.

“What is this place?” you ask as he holds open the door for you.

“My friend’s bar,” James says.

Your stomach twists itself in knots as heavy club music starts to get louder. The bass rumbles in your chest and you dig your nails into his arm as you near a set of glossy black double doors. You haven’t been to a club in a long time. The last time you’d gone, you’d been dragged by a childhood acquaintance, but you’d spent most of the night alone after she’d ditched you for someone she met on the dance floor. You’re not particularly eager to relive that experience tonight, especially with the man you’re being forced to marry. Who’s to say he won’t ditch you for someone else right in front of you, just to rub it in your face? After all, he’d said it himself in the bedroom—you’ll do what you want and he’ll do what he wants. It’s the cards you’ve been dealt.

If these are the cards, then I’ve got a sucky hand.

“James—”

“Bucky.”

You stop and squint at him in the low light of the entrance hallway. The two bouncers in all-black suits stop with their hands on the door handles, ready to open them for you once you start walking again. The music pounds in your ears, so much so that you can feel your eardrums vibrating.

“What?” you ask, not sure you’d heard him correctly.

“Bucky,” repeats James, a little louder this time. “You should call me Bucky, if we’re going to be married.”

“Is that… a nickname?”

Even in the darkness, you can see him laugh, and a bashful, boyish smile spreads across his face. “My middle name is Buchanan. Steve used to tease me about it when we were kids, and he started calling me Bucky as a joke. It caught on.” He shrugs it off, but there’s a fondness in his voice when he speaks of his childhood friend, and it makes you smile just a little.

You loosen your grip on his arm. “Okay then. Bucky,” you add.

When Bucky steps forward again, the doors are pulled open, revealing a much more casual bar than you could’ve anticipated. Though it’s clean, it looks a little run down, and the heavy music fades into jazz piano as you step through the open doorway and into the large, open space. With almost cathedral-height ceilings, walnut floors and support pillars, and well-worn wooden booths and tables, the bar feels more homier than you’d expected. It’s clearly been well-hidden from the busy crowds of New York. Only a few patrons are scattered around the room, sitting in the booths or at two-top tables, but Bucky leads you to the wood, u-shaped bar that juts out into the room from the back wall. A single man stands behind it, drying glasses with a white bar towel. He smiles when he looks up and sees you approaching.

“Bucky,” he greets, and he reaches over the bar to pull Bucky in for a hug. It’s the first time you see Bucky smile—a real, full, genuine smile—and you watch in silence as he hugs his friend.

“Steve,” Bucky replies. Instantly, your brain starts connecting the dots. This is his childhood friend, the one who gave him his nickname.

“Tá sé go maith tú a fheiceáil.” Steve turns his attention to you, and you quickly look away from Bucky and at him. Your brain whirs as you try to place the language he’s just spoken. It’s not one you’ve heard before, which means none of your father’s men speak it, and neither do any of the Barneses.

“You must be Y/N.”

You nod and offer Steve a small, polite smile. You’re not sure how to act around Bucky’s friends. If they’re also part of the mob, it’s possible they’ll treat you even worse than George Barnes had after dinner, but a new, surprising voice in your head argues that Bucky would never be friends with someone like that.

“It’s okay,” reassures Bucky. He reaches out and touches your arm, gentler than he has all evening. “Steve’s a nice guy, and he knows about our family businesses. You can trust him.”

Steve looks between the two of you before picking up a glass and setting it right-side-up in front of you. “What’ll it be, Y/N?”

You glance at him, then at the wall of liquor behind him. After a moment, you list off a drink that’s not your favorite, but that you know you’ll be able to stomach no matter the circumstances. Steve nods in response before starting to make it.

Silently, Bucky takes one of the chairs at the bar, and you do the same. He sits with his arms folded on the counter. He’s still wearing his suit from dinner. You feel a little out of place in your fancy clothes, and you wonder if he feels the same.

Your drink is placed in front of you a moment later, and after Steve’s silent prompting, you take a sip. It’s delicious, and you can’t help but smile at him.

“Aha, I’ve still got it!” Steve cheers, and you laugh. He grins at you, a charming type of smile that makes your heart flutter in your chest. You feel a little sheepish at the intensity of his joy, and you fidget in your seat, then with your hair.

Beside you, Bucky rolls his eyes and tosses a round paper coaster at his friend. “Knock it off, Rogers,” he huffs. “Stop flirting with my girl. You’ve already got one of your own.”

You glance over when he calls you that, but you don’t say anything. There’s another weird feeling in your gut now. This one, unlike the one you’d had in the car or the fluttering feeling Steve had given you, you recognize immediately—pride. It feels good to have Bucky call you “his girl”, even if you barely know him. It’s strange, and the thought makes you squirm in your seat again. You drop your hand down to the bartop and take another sip of your drink, trying to quell the strange feelings inside of you.

What is going on with me? Why can’t I just feel normal about all of this? Is there even a normal way to feel about this?

“You hungry?” asks Bucky, and you nod when you realize he��s talking to you again.

“I make a mean twice-baked potato,” Steve says. He plants his hands on the bar to look between the two of you. “Whaddaya say, Y/N? You up for it?”

“Only if you put the jalapeños on the side this time, punk,” Bucky tells him before you can reply. He seems to remember himself a second later, however, because he looks over at you. “Unless, of course, you want them on top.”

You shrug, not wanting to upset anyone, and Steve groans.

“Come on, Y/N,” he says, and he smiles wide as he gestures around the almost-empty bar. “I’ve got all the time in the world to make your food exactly the way you want it. Don’t make me guess.”

“He’s bad at guessing,” Bucky chimes in.

“Terrible,” Steve adds, nodding earnestly.

Tentatively, you list off what you want, and Steve makes a note of everything on a notepad that seems to appear out of nowhere. Once he’s got your order down, he disappears through a door in the back wall. Before it closes, you catch a glimpse of a shining kitchen filled with stainless steel, and you wonder how many patrons come through the bar if Steve has what looks to be a full-sized kitchen in the back.

“You didn’t eat much at dinner, so I figured I’d bring you someplace that actually has good food,” Bucky says. He reaches across the bar to grab a bottle of beer Steve has left out, and he uses one hand to pry the top off.

You gape at him, too distracted by the blatant show of strength to properly process the very thoughtful thing he’s just said to you. “What?”

“I said that you didn’t eat much at dinner, so I figured—”

“You just pulled the top off like it was nothing. How did you do that?” You look around on Steve’s side of the bar for another bottle, hoping to try your luck. Maybe it’s some new kind of bottle that he’s trying out before it hits the market, or maybe Steve has bootleg beer with a different kind of cap.

Bucky is staring at you, seemingly just as confused as you. “With my arm.”

“With your arm?” you repeat. You’re certain that he’d used his hand to pry it off.

He stares at you for a second longer before the confusion disappears and is replaced with a glint of mischief in his eyes. It makes the shadows on his face melt away a little, and his blue irises seem bright and youthful again, entirely unlike a man who’s seen too much.

“My arm,” he reiterates, and then he pulls off the black glove you’d assumed to be part of his personal style. It’s not just for show, however, because he pulls it off to reveal a black metal hand with dull gold knuckles. Bucky continues, standing and shrugging off his jacket, then rolling up the sleeve of his button-down shirt. As he reveals more and more, you realize that the black metal continues, making up what would be his left arm.

No wonder it hurt when he grabbed me.

“It’s metal,” you dumbly say, and he snorts.

“Observant.”

You shake your head and look from his arm to meet his eyes. “You have a metal arm. How didn’t I know that?”

Bucky shrugs and drapes his jacket over the back of the chair. He leaves the glove on the bar where he’d first set it down. Once he’s seated again, he rolls up his other sleeve to match.

“Beats me. I figured everyone knew. My dad wasn’t subtle when he was bragging about the arm he had made for me when it first happened,” replies Bucky. He takes a sip of his beer, then sighs and sets it back down.

You don’t want to pity him, so you try your best to school your expression by taking a sip of your own drink.

“Was it an accident?” you ask after a minute has passed. He doesn’t reply right away, and you scramble to save the conversation. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

He shakes his head. “It’s okay. It was a long time ago.”

“How old were you?”

“Seventeen,” he says, and his voice is quieter than before.

You look back down at the drink in front of you. Twisting the glass around and around, you ask, “And it was an accident?”

Bucky takes another swig of his beer. “I was with my dad, working a job. I didn’t even realize I’d been injured until I woke up in the hospital, two weeks later, missing an arm. Apparently, falling shipping containers are heavy.”

You can’t help but curse. What he’s describing sounds horrible, but Bucky only laughs.

“That sounds about right, yeah. I’m lucky I had Steve around to keep me sane,” he tells you. “My friend Sam was a big help too, but he moved down to Louisiana a few years ago.”

“Steve seems like a good friend,” you agree. “They both do.”

You can feel Bucky staring at you now, and you take a sip of your drink while you wait for him to look away again. When he doesn’t, you glance in his direction.

“What?” you ask.

“What?”

“Why are you staring at me?”

“I’m not.”

“Yes you are!” you laugh, and you look at him fully this time. Bucky’s grinning, and you ball up a cocktail napkin and toss it at him.

“Okay, I was staring,” he admits, still smiling. “But I can’t help it. You’re pretty, and you’re nice, and you seem smart.”

You feel your cheeks grow warm at the compliment, and you look away. “You don’t have to say that. We’re already engaged.”

“I’m not saying it because we’re engaged. I’m saying it because it’s true.”

You don’t have a chance to reply before Steve comes out with two hot plates. He places them in front of you, joking briefly about giving you the wrong order, and it’s distraction enough that you sit up tall and smile wide. You push Bucky’s compliment out of your head as you chow down, groaning and moaning about the potatoes. They’re exactly what you need after the stressful dinner. Bucky was right—you hadn’t eaten much, and Steve’s cooking is delicious.

Once you’re full, you push your plate away and lean back in your chair. Steve grins at you before he goes back to counting the cash drawer. The other patrons have left already, leaving you, Steve, and Bucky alone in the bar.

“That was amazing,” you tell him for the hundredth time, and Steve chuckles.

“Thank you. I’ll be sure to tell mo bhean chéile—my wife—you said that, considering she still believes potatoes aren’t a meal.”

You notice the wedding band on his left hand as soon as he says it. Above it, also in silver, is a familiar ring. If you weren’t able to see the family crest, you would’ve thought it was the same as Bucky’s, but this ring has an eagle and a star engraved on it, rather than the wolf you’ve seen on Rebecca and Bucky’s rings.

“Potatoes are a meal!” you argue. You can tell that Steve has clocked you looking at his rings because he shifts his hand, instinctively blocking your view as he looks for your own ring. You’d taken your parent’s ring off the day you’d cried in the bathtub and you haven’t worn it since, but no one in Bucky’s family has replaced it with their own. It’s the first time since middle school that you haven’t worn a family ring, and you’d be lying if you said it was a weight off your shoulders. You’d thought it might be, but instead it just makes you feel naked.

Steve laughs and his posture relaxes. He stops hiding his rings from you when he realizes your hands are bare. “Well, whenever you meet her, you can have that argument with her, because I’ve already had it at least a dozen times.” He closes the drawer and fixes his eyes on Bucky, who’s just finishing his food. “Speaking of, when are you two coming over? I promised Peg I’d wait until Y/N had settled in to ask, and you seem settled enough to me.” He glances at you for the last part, and you look down at your empty plate.

“It’s not up to me,” answers Bucky. “We’ll come over whenever Y/N is ready. This is the first time we’ve been together since my dad dropped the bomb on us.”

Steve pauses, his hands on the tablet he’d set down before starting to count the night’s profits. “Wait. Really?”

You nod when he looks at you, suddenly self-conscious again, and you pull your hands into your lap. “I haven’t been the best house guest…”

“You’re not a guest, Y/N. It’s your home now, too,” Bucky interjects.

Reaching over the counter, Steve smacks the side of Bucky’s head. His accent is thick when he huffs, “Íosa Críost, you thick! You didn’t think to go talk to her? To see if she wanted to watch a movie? To see if she needed anything?”

Bucky stammers over in his seat, and you keep your head ducked to hide your smile. Clearly, Steve knows more about being married than Bucky does—most likely from experience, since he’s already mentioned his wife—and he isn’t afraid to tell his friend off for not looking out for your well-being.

“I’m sorry!” exclaims Bucky, ducking another hit. “I wasn’t thinking!”

“Like ifreann you weren’t!” Steve retreats and picks up the tablet with a huff, then looks at you. “Y/N, I’m sorry you’ve had to deal with him. He’s actually a nice guy when he’s not being stupid.”

“Stupid?” Bucky protests beside you.

“I wouldn’t have talked to him even if he’d tried,” you admit, finally looking up, “but it wouldn’t have hurt if he had.”

Steve nods, satisfied with your response. He leaves you a minute later when his phone rings. The wide smile on his face is enough to tell you who’s on the other end, but then he says her name as he walks away, the phone already held to his ear.

“So what’s with this place?” you ask. The quick change in subject is purposeful, and you hope that Bucky will take the bait.

Thankfully, he does. Bucky glances around before finishing off the last of his drink and setting the empty bottle closer to Steve’s side of the bar.

“Well, Steve wanted a place that we—and other people like us—could spend time without feeling like there was always a fight about to happen. We didn’t have that growing up, you know? And now that he’s in charge, he can do what he wants with his money. Everything’s filed properly, he doesn’t advertise, and all employees are paid above the table. If other people show up, then sure, they’re welcomed in, but they’re also fully vetted once Steve gets their IDs. Weapons aren’t allowed, and there’s no shop talk of any kind.”

“So it’s your little hideaway,” you say, propping your head up with one hand. The heaviness of the potatoes combined with the alcohol is starting to make you sleepy, and the emotional exhaustion from the night has started to weigh heavy on you, too.

He smiles a little. “Something like that.”

Bucky stands and rolls his sleeves back down, then pulls on his glove. He pulls a wad of cash out of his pocket and sets it on the bar.

“Come on, doll. We should head home,” he says.

The warm feeling you’d felt when Bucky had called you his girl comes back, and you smile a little when he holds open his suit jacket for you. A little sheepish at the gesture, you slide off your seat and let him help you into the sleeves, then take Bucky’s hand when he offers it.

“Bye Steve!” you call, waving with your free hand.

Steve looks up from the other end of the bar, where he’s wiping down a counter with one hand and holding his phone with the other. He lets go of the rag to wave back.

Silently, Bucky leads you out to the front, where the valet already has his car pulled up. You’re not sure how they knew to have it ready, but you don’t dwell on it. Stranger things have happened in your world. Bucky tips the valets with another wad of cash before opening the passenger door and helping you in.

You fall asleep on the drive home. You don’t mean to, but Bucky turns on the radio a few minutes into the drive, and he lets the first station that comes on continue to play. The music is soft, and he drives so smoothly that it lulls you to sleep before you’re even fully out of the city.

When you wake, it’s because Bucky’s stubbed his toe on something, jostling you in his arms. He’s muttering curses under his breath and hobbling down the hallway, and though the jerking motion and his tightening grip isn’t the most comfortable for you at the moment, you keep your eyes closed and force yourself to keep your smile at bay. Bucky is a much sweeter guy than you’d first thought him to be, and it seems like he’s trying now to make up for lost time. You’d misjudged him at first; just like you, he has his own ways of dealing with the life forced on him by his parents, but he really is a gentleman underneath it all.

He carries you to your bedroom and carefully lays you on top of the covers. Then, as gently as possible, you feel him lift your foot and pry off the uncomfortable shoes Marta had picked out for you. Bucky stays totally silent as he takes the shoes off and sets them on the floor at the end of the bed. He pulls a thin blanket over you, one that you’re sure is just for decoration when the bed is made, and presses a kiss to the side of your head. You have to force yourself not to smile when he whispers,

“Goodnight, sleep tight.”

The door clicks shut as he closes it slowly, and you peek open an eye after a few seconds have passed. Your room is dark and empty. Silently, you smile to yourself and crawl under the covers, your eyes heavy. It’s been a long, exhausting evening, and you’re happy to be in bed. You fall asleep to the sound of spring rain on the estate windows and with Bucky’s jacket still wrapped around you.

Over the next few weeks, Bucky slowly enters your life in both big and small ways. He smiles at you over meals in the dining room and late night snacks in the kitchen. He drives you to the city to visit Steve, Peggy, and his other friends, and when he finds out that his father still has your license, Bucky argues with him for over an hour to get it back. Marta delivers your license to your room the very next day, along with a handwritten note that the dark blue Mercedes in the garage is there for your use. Sometimes, you wake up to a bouquet of flowers with another handwritten note. Sometimes it’s a text, and sometimes it’s a gift. Bucky develops a habit of purchasing anything you mention enjoying or even vaguely liking, and you eventually have to tell him to stop because he’s bought you so much that there’s nothing left to buy for yourself.

Bucky turns out to be a closer friend than anyone you’ve ever known. He’s kind, and funny, and intelligent, and he remembers all the little things about you that nobody else does. When you’re sick or feeling lonely, he’s attentive and his presence alone reminds you of all the good things in the world. He makes your days brighter, even the worst ones. You find yourself falling in love with him, much to your surprise. You admit this to him one day. He kisses you then, and he tells you that he’s been in love with you since the first trip you’d taken to Steve’s bar.

Halloween, Thanksgiving, and Christmas roll around. New Year’s, Valentine’s Day, and Easter come and go. The Barnes’ grand celebrations for every holiday blur together as the months fly by, until eventually, it’s June and you’re standing in your room, staring at your reflection in the full-length mirror.

The wedding dress you’d picked out a few days after Christmas is just as beautiful as you remember it being. It fits you perfectly, thanks to the impeccable work of several tailors employed by Winnifred, and your hair and makeup are flawless as well. There’s no possible way you could’ve imagined how beautiful you look and feel on your wedding day.

Through the open window, you can hear a string quartet playing outside in the rose garden, where the ceremony is set up. Steve has already come by once to check on you at Bucky’s request, but both men are back downstairs. Bucky’s no doubt at the front of the garden with the priest—the one that you now know for certain is on your father’s payroll—and Steve is waiting with the rest of the wedding party. The only people remaining in your room are Marta, your mother, and Peggy.

You’ve grown to love Peggy more than any of your childhood friends. She didn’t grow up in the same world as you. She didn’t even grow up in the same country, and you love her all the more for it. She’s rational, cool-headed, and kind, though she’s not afraid to stand up for what’s right. On top of all that, she’s drop-dead gorgeous. It’s easy to see why Steve fell for her during his time in the military.

The quartet finishes the song and moves onto a new one, one that you recognize after only two notes. Your stomach drops and you close your eyes, gripping your bouquet tightly. It’s the song you’d been listening to the morning you’d found out about your engagement. You’d discovered it the night before, and you’d had it on repeat before going to sleep that night, then again that morning as you’d gotten ready. You’d even listened to it in the car on the drive from your parents’ estate.

Who added this to the playlist? Is this some kind of sick joke to them?

The same feeling of dread you’d felt that morning comes back, making your mouth dry and your head spin. You try to take a slow, deep breath to calm your nerves and block out the song, but it doesn’t work.

“Y/N?” Peggy asks.

You inhale sharply at the sound of her voice so close to you. She’d been texting Steve from near the window only moments before. You hadn’t thought that anyone would realize your distress, and you’d hoped to be able to collect yourself before it was noticeable. You hadn’t even sensed her coming closer.

“Y/N, are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” you tell her, but your voice wavers and your lower lip quivers. You try to take another slow breath.

“What’s going on?” Marta asks. Her hand lands on your arm and you pull away, closing in yourself and pulling the bouquet tight against you.

Your mother’s scolding makes you feel like you’re a little kid again. “Careful, Y/N! You don’t want to ruin those flowers. We don’t have time to make another bouquet for you. George is already hounding your father about how soon after the ceremony you’ll be signing the certificate.”

Anger wells up in you at her thoughtless comment, and you open your eyes. She’s standing behind you in the main part of the bedroom, near the foot of your bed. Any guilt you might’ve felt over ruining the flowers is gone now, and you turn and chuck the bouquet at the carpet by her feet. It bounces once, then lays motionless in a heap of smashed petals and ribbons.

“Enough, Mother!” you shout.

Marta rushes to close the window so the guests in the garden won’t hear your outburst.

Your mother gapes at you, somewhat surprised, but she doesn’t budge. “Y/N, dear. What are you doing?”

“What am I doing?” you yell, stepping closer. Your dress swishes as you walk, and you normally enjoy the sound, but you’re too furious to care how pleasing it is. “What are you doing? I am your only daughter! You should be treating me like a princess and worrying about how I’m feeling and what I need, but instead you’re too busy thinking about the damn flowers! I’m sick of you thinking of me like I’m an object you can sell, steal, and trade away whenever it’s most convenient! You and Dad are so obsessed with the timeline you’ve created for yourselves that you don’t even notice how much this has affected me! You didn’t even ask if this is what I wanted!”

She scoffs at you, and any trace of motherly care and concern has disappeared from her expression. Your mother is showing her true face—the mafia wife that has almost as much blood on her own hands as her husband does, if not more.

“It’s too late for that now, isn’t it?” she asks. She picks up her clutch from the end of your bed and steps closer until you're standing eye to eye. Her voice is patronizing and infuriating, and she continues, “It’s your wedding day, dearest, and you can’t back out now. We’ve made sure of it. Even James has agreed to the contract.”

Your anger wavers. “Contract?”

“Yes, the contract,” she repeats, smirking. Her cards are all on the table now, and she’s got a winning hand. You both know it.

There’s a malicious glint in her eye as she says, “It’s already in effect. It has been since we agreed on the marriage.”

“What contract? What are you talking about?” There’s a sinking feeling in your chest, like your heart has decided to drop into your stomach, then down to your feet and through the floor. Bucky hadn’t said anything to you about a contract, and you trusted him, but you certainly didn’t trust your parents anymore, nor did you trust George and Winnifred Barnes.

Your mother smiles, a sickeningly sweet smile that makes you want to puke. “That’s a conversation for another time. After all, it doesn’t even matter to you until James gets you pregnant.”

The alarm on your phone rings and you close your eyes, your hands trembling. You’d set that alarm to remind you when it was time to leave for the ceremony. Right on cue, the wedding planner knocks on the door to your bedroom.

“Y/N?” she calls, knocking again. “Are you ready?”

Slowly, you squat down and pick up the bouquet. It’s smashed on one side and the petals have fallen off of various flowers, but it’s mostly intact. It shakes as your hands tremble and tears well up in your eyes.

Marta appears in front of you, having pushed your mother out of the way, and over the ringing in your ears, you hear Peggy talking to the wedding planner. Somehow, you make it out to the ground floor of the estate, to the double doors that lead out to the rose garden. You’re dazed by your mother’s strange revelation. The sound of the alarm is still ringing in your ears. Peggy says something to you, but you can only stare straight ahead.

Your father is next to you then, as Peggy disappears through the doors and joins the rest of the wedding party. You see her glancing back at you, and whispering to the rest of the groomsmen and bridesmaids. Most of them are Bucky’s friends who have now become your own, and all of them look worried.

“Let’s go, princess,” your father says, and he pulls you forward by the arm.

Numbly, you follow his lead. Not even Bucky’s initially delighted expression shakes you out of your trance, but the way he rubs his thumb over your hands at the end of the aisle pulls you out of it just enough for you to lift your head and look around. You don’t remember walking to him, nor do you remember handing off your bouquet to Peggy, just like you’d practiced last night at the rehearsal.

“Y/N? Darling?” Bucky asks. He crouches and tilts his head slightly to try to catch your eyes. “You okay?”

“I—” Your mouth is still dry and you swallow, your eyes flitting from one place in the garden to another with no rhyme or reason. The world feels like it’s spinning and you clutch Bucky’s hands, unsure of what to do.

“Someone get her a chair,” Bucky orders, raising his voice enough that you flinch. He immediately starts murmuring reassurances to you, and he pulls you into his arms until he can lower you into a seat.

Someone fans you and a cool glass is pressed to your lips. You drink obediently, closing your eyes as the water helps the sandy feeling in your mouth abate just a little. When the water is gone, the glass is pulled away.

“Y/N, can you hear me?” Bucky asks.

Slowly, carefully, you nod your head. He sighs in relief and when you open your eyes, he’s kneeling down in front of you. His shoulders are tense and his forehead is creased with worry. You’ve never seen him this stressed over anything and it makes you want to cry.

“I’m sorry,” you croak, heat flaming in your cheeks. You feel horrible. Bucky has been looking forward to the ceremony—he’d told you last night at the rehearsal dinner.

“It’s okay,” he quickly replies. He reaches forward and takes your hands, and you glance away from him to peek at the guests, your parents included, who are still watching you from their seats.

“Are you ready for this, or do you need a break?”

You look back at Bucky. “A break?”

“She’s fine,” your mother says, and you look over at her from your seat. She’s standing in the front row, her eyes fixated on the priest behind you. “They’re fine, Father. Y/N’s been a bit nervous all morning. Wedding day jitters, you know.”

“I—” You frown at her, still clutching Bucky’s hands. “That’s not what it is.” You look down at him and shake your head. “I’m not nervous to marry you.”

“I’m not nervous either,” he says with a small smile.

“Then shall we continue?” the priest asks.

You turn to shake your head at him. “No. I’m sorry, Father. I need to talk to Bucky—James—in private for just a minute. Is that alright?”

He smiles gently and nods. “Of course.”

There are more agitated murmurs from the crowd, but you ignore them as Peggy, Steve, and Bucky help you up and back down the aisle. When your mother moves to follow you, she’s blocked by Sam and Clint, another one of Bucky’s friends. She calls after you once, but you ignore her as Peggy helps you onto a bench inside, then leaves, closing the double doors behind herself. She’s handed back your bouquet, and you clutch it with both hands like it’s an anchor in the storm.

“Is everything okay?” Bucky asks. He stands near the door, and you can tell from the way he rolls his shoulders that he’s stressed. His prosthetic always bothers him more when he’s agitated, and you suddenly feel even worse about stopping the ceremony.

“Yes,” you say, but then you shake your head. “No, I’m sorry. Obviously, it’s not, or I wouldn’t have stopped everything. I’m sorry, Bucky, but I have to ask you something.”

“Okay…” There’s a wariness in his eyes, one that you loathe yourself for. You put it there, and you wish with all your might that your mother hadn’t told you what she did. Maybe then you wouldn’t have had to do this.

“Did you sign a contract? With our parents?”

He frowns and his whole body grows very still. “A contract?”

You nod. “Yes.” With your hands still fisted tightly around the bouquet, you inhale deeply and add, “A contract about getting me pregnant.”

“What?” Bucky’s furious response is immediate. He shakes his head, his eyes searching your face for any sign that you might be making this up. “Y/N, what are you talking about?”

“Did you sign a contract agreeing to marry me, and agreeing that my parents get something after you get me pregnant?” The words make you sick to your stomach. You haven’t eaten anything all day, which doesn’t help, but the thought of Bucky agreeing to something so vile… It’s enough to make anyone nauseous.

He’s shaking his head at you again. “Why the hell would I sign anything like that? Do you really think I would do that?”

You shrug a little and look down at the bouquet. “My mother…”

“Darling…” Bucky sighs and comes closer, and he kneels down in front of you again, just like he had outside. All the fight and anger has left his voice. “I would never do anything like that. Not in a million years, and especially not to you. I love you.”

“She said you signed it before they’d even told me we were engaged,” you said, quiet now that he’s so close. You’re afraid to look him in the eye, to see what his face might be telling you that his words aren’t.

“Can you look at me? Please?”

Reluctantly, you lift your eyes from the flowers in your lap to meet Bucky’s eyes. They’re just as blue as the ribbons wrapped around the flower stems, a choice you’d specifically made without the wedding planner’s guidance. You’d wanted him to be your “something blue”, even if it felt a little cheesy.

“Do you want to marry me?” Bucky asks.

You swallow the lump in your throat and nod. “Yes.”

“Do you believe me when I say I had nothing to do with that contract? That I didn’t know it existed?” he questions.

You nod again, tears forming in your eyes.

“And do you trust me to help you find a way to get rid of it, once all of this is over? Do you trust me to protect you?”

You nod for the third time, and Bucky takes both of your hands in his.

“Okay. Then let’s get married, and I swear to you that as soon as our honeymoon is over, the guys and I will start doing some digging.”

“What about me?” you ask, sniffling. You pull one of your hands away to dab at your eyes before the makeup can get too damaged by your tears.

“What about you?”

“Can I dig, too?”

Bucky chuckles and kisses your knuckles on the hand that he’s holding, and then he pulls himself up off the floor to sit beside you on the bench. He pulls you into a half-hug and you cling to him, sniffling and smiling as he rubs the your back and answers,

“You can do all the digging you want, doll. I’ll even hand you the shovel.”

Tá sé go maith tú a fheiceáil. = It’s good to see you.

Mo bhean chéile = My wife

Íosa Críost = Jesus Christ

Thick = A stupid person

Ifreann = Hell

Thank you for reading! If you liked this, please consider reblogging my work so that others can enjoy it too.

I do not consent to have my work posted, translated, or published to any third party site or app. If anyone sees my work anywhere other than my personal tumblr, Patreon, or ao3 accounts, it has been reposted without my permission.

If you want to support me further, consider buying me a ko-fi! My ko-fi is also under my SPN fanfiction blog, but I promise it’s me.

If you would like to be added to my tags, please send me a message or an ask! I tag for Everything, Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers, Thor Odinson, and Peter Parker.

Forever: @aya-fay

Bucky Barnes: @lipstickandvibranium @valhalla-kristin @buckymcbuckbarnes

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randxmthxughts · 1 year

Text

Human Stuff - Neteyam x Human! Reader (afab)

summary: the one where a confused na’vi teenager tries to comfort his human friend while she’s on her period

warnings: menstruation talk, feeding food

wc: 2.3k

a/n: can you tell that i’m on my period and this is all i want rn

also, neteyam not knowing about periods can be canon? i just read that na’vi are non-placental, so they most likely don’t menstruate like primates. eywa be looking out for her girlies lol. but what do i know

masterlist

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

Neteyam walks into the science facility confidently, knowing every nook and cranny like the back of his hand. Growing up, he has spent countless hours here with his siblings, and especially lately, he has been here every other day. His eyes search for you through the glass windows of the labs where he knows he is not allowed to step a foot in, ears perked up for a sign of you, even though it’s awfully quiet. The facility is mostly empty, and he assumes that the rest of the group is probably in their avatar bodies, busy with research. But it’s you that he’s looking for.

Ever since you arrived at Pandora, Neteyam liked you right away. Roughly translated, the two of you were close in age, and had similar humor. Your father was the team lead of entomologists, and since you weren’t an actual scientist like the rest of the group, you had a lot of spare time to spend with Neteyam, exploring the forests. Your weekly meet ups with him became so familiar, that when you don’t show up at your regular meeting spot, Neteyam has to come and fetch you himself.

So here he is, walking through the labs, wondering if you had forgotten about your plans and were out with the others. It takes him some courage to sneak his head into the sleeping area, where he knew humans slept. Neteyam also knew very well that he wasn’t allowed back there because he could accidentally knock over things with his massive frame but he just needs to check. And his gut feeling isn’t wrong. You are laying in your bed, your back turned to him, completely unaware of his presence. Neteyam takes notice of how little you look with your body curled into a ball.

At first, he assumes you’re asleep. A small smile stretches his lips, as he sneaks up on you planning to scare you awake for abandoning your plans. But as he readies himself for the loud growl, a small whimper escapes from your lips.

Neteyam stops in his tracks, his ears perking up immediately at the sound. He thought he had imagined it, but that theory gets quickly disproven when he hears another whimper. Moving quickly, he rounds your bed to confirm his suspicions. You jerk up at the sight of his big frame looming over you.

“Neteyam, what the hell?” your heart starts racing.

“I didn’t mean to sneak up on you, sorry,” he slowly crouches down in front of your bed, with a guilty expression on his face.

You throw an annoyed look at him before wrapping your arms around your middle again, and pressing your face into the pillow. You don’t want him to see your face. Neteyam doesn’t move, watching you.

“Go away,” you mumble, hoping that for once he will just comply.

“Did you forget about our plans?” he asks, ignoring your previous words, “Are you sleeping?”

“I am not sleeping,” you mutter angrily into the pillow.

Neteyam can’t quite put his finger on it but he knows that something strange is happening to you. Maybe it was the scent? Of course, he was used to your scent, he could sense you from a mile away because it always stood out to him. It wasn’t necessarily bad or good, it’s just the way he recognized you. But right now, for some reason, it was so intense, like somebody gathered it into a perfume bottle and sprayed it right into his nostrils.

He instinctively sniffs the air, and you cringe out of embarrassment, wishing you were dead right at this moment. Stupid periods, stupid cramps, stupid human bodies. If only you were back home right now, indulging in comfort food and taking your usual painkillers that could soothe the pain. Whatever you had found in the lab's aid kit was clearly not strong enough, and you suspect that the pressure on Pandora is making it even worse.

Tears began to prick at the corners of your eyes as another painful cramp surges through your already sore muscles.

"Y/N, are you hurt?" Neteyam asks, attempting to turn you to your side so he can see your face. You grumble in annoyance, resisting his movements.

"Can you please just leave me alone?" you snap at him.

“But what about our plans?” Neteyam stares at you confused.

“I’m canceling them,” you huff, “I’m going through some human-stuff.”

It feels like your insides are being twisted and squeezed over and over again. You place a hand on your lower belly, hoping to suit the pain, but it only gets worse. Noticing the way your face grimaces, Neteyam stands up.

“You’re in pain,” he states, “I will go for Tsahik.”

“No!” you protest, “No Tsahik!”

“But you look unwell,” he hesitates, unsure of what to do.

“No Tsahik!” you squeeze your eyes shut, feeling another cramp, “It’s a human thing, the pain will pass soon.”

Something about Neteyam standing there and watching you, makes you feel embarrassed. You already felt weak in comparison to him, whenever you tried to keep up with his running through the forest or climbing trees. He loved teasing you about it, and you don’t need another reason for him to poke fun at you. Your hand clutches one of the pillows under your head, and you sit up to shoo him away.

“Go away, you’re not allowed to be here,” you threaten him, raising your pillow in the air.

Neteyam frowns, still not moving. Angry at his sudden stubbornness, you throw the pillow at him with as much force as you can.

“Go!” you shout at him again.

Neteyam easily dodges the pillow but finally backs away from your bed. He knows that when you get angry at him, it’s because you’re embarrassed about something. He just can’t grasp what this “human stuff” is and why is it making you so stressed. Neteyam thought he knew plenty about humans from his dad, but Jake had never mentioned anything like this.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

Neteyam is so confused on his way out of the facility that he barely notices Norm and almost bumps into him. Fortunately, Norm was in his avatar body and wasn't trampled by the teenage Na'vi. He chuckles at the way Neteyam doesn’t even stop to acknowledge him and keeps walking.

“You okay, kid?” Norm calls out after Neteyam, finally catching his attention.

“Norm, you’re one of the sky people,” Neteyam turns around.

“I am,” Norm confirms with another chuckle, “Something bothering you?”

“Yeah… Can you tell me what is this ‘human stuff’ that you go through?”

Norm cocks his head, the question sounding so ridiculous, he assumes it’s a joke. But Neteyam looks serious.

“What ‘human stuff’?”

“I’m not sure but it looks like it is painful,” Neteyam shakes his head, “I just saw Y/N, and she was laying in her bed, and crying. It looked like something was hurting her, but she wouldn’t tell me what. Only said it was ‘human stuff’.”

“Maybe she’s just having a stomachache or something?” Norm shrugs.

“That’s what I thought. But when I wanted to get Tsahik for her, she got mad at me. Said that it will pass on its own.”

“I don’t know, man, I don’t understand women sometimes,” Norm replies, then a sudden realization hits him, “Ooooh…”

“What?” Neteyam’s ears perk up, “What is it?”

“I don’t want to jump to any conclusions, but she might just be on her period.”

“Period?” it was an unfamiliar word.

“Yeah, women get it every month,” Norm explains but it only seems to confuse Neteyam further, “Okay, so I’m probably not the best person for this but sit down.”

After what seems like an hour passes, Neteyam gives up on the human biology lesson with Norm. He sort of gets the idea of menstruation but he can’t imagine what it feels like, no matter how hard he tries. All he gets from this conversation is that Y/N needs to rest to feel better, and that the food she craves can help ease the pain? He is an alien; he has no idea what she wants.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

“Y/N?” Neteyam’s soft voice catches your attention.

The medicine you took earlier finally seems to work, and you feel slightly better. You prop yourself up on your elbows and see Neteyam walk into the room. A few colorful plastic bags in his hands catch your attention; these were usually hidden away in the very back of the kitchen cabinets for special occasions. Your mouth salivates at the sight of the chips and the cookies.

“Are you feeling better?” Neteyam asks, now crouching down next to your bed.

You nod, sitting up, feeling a little guilty for shooing him away earlier.

“I stole these from the secret stash,” he grimaces, laying out the bags on your blanket.

“My father is going to kill you for this,” you chuckle, reaching for the chips.

Neteyam smiles softly, as he watches you open the bag and fetch a few chips into your mouth. With a loud crunch, you munch on those with a giddy smile, then offer him some. Without much hesitation, Neteyam opens his mouth widely, letting you feed him a handful. You can’t help but chuckle at his blissful reaction to the taste; it was always fun for you to introduce Neteyam to human snacks. Your father got mad at you sometimes for it but you liked sneaking some for Neteyam, just to see him try it out. The sweets seemed to be too intense for him, but he liked salty things.

“Good?” you ask him. Neteyam hums, then opens his mouth again, signaling for more.

You chuckle before feeding him another handful. Though a teenager, Neteyam still required much more feeding than you did. So if you had a couple of chips at a time, Neteyam had to have a triple to fill his mouth.

“How did you know to bring these?” you ask him, now reaching for the bag of cookies.

From your previous tastings, you knew that Neteyam didn’t like chocolate chip cookies. Or anything with chocolate, to be fair. You did not hide your disappointment the first time he almost gagged at the chocolate kiss you gave him, offended by the way his eyes teared up.

“Norm told me that your favorite food can help,” he shrugged, watching you bite down on a cookie.

Your eyes closed in satisfaction as you chewed on it, savoring the taste that filled your mouth. You haven’t had those in a long time.

“Help with what?” you open your eyes again.

“Your human thing,” Neteyam gestures at your stomach.

“Did Norm tell you what it means?”

You feel heat flush to your cheeks, when Neteyam nods his head. You’re not sure why but the thought of Neteyam knowing makes you feel a little embarrassed. Not because there was anything embarrassing about getting a period. You just couldn’t imagine how weird it might be for him to know that you were bleeding out right at this moment, and he could probably smell it.

“Do you want to cuddle?” his voice catches your attention again. Where did he get that from?

You gulp down nervously, confused at how nonchalant he is. Maybe it’s not a big deal to him? He probably just wants to be supportive.

“Cuddle? Like, with you?” you clarify.

“Who else?” Neteyam chuckles, standing up.

He doesn’t wait for your response, instead gently nudging you to move to the middle of your bed. He was too big for it, so instead of laying down next to you, Neteyam decides to act like your headboard. You watch in confusion, as he slings his left foot over the bed and sits down, pressing his back against the wall, and setting down pillows on his lap.

“Come on,” Neteyam pats the pillows, encouraging you to lay down.

You hesitate for a second, before laying down, as Neteyam’s huge frame hangs over you. He smiles at how small you look, gently propping up the pillows under your head to make sure you’re comfortable.

“This is a little weird,” you sigh, looking up at his face.

Neteyam only chuckles and grabs the bag of cookies. He takes one out and offers it to you, bringing it to your mouth. As you open up to take a bite, Neteyam suddenly moves it out of your reach. You huff.

"Please, do not choke," he warns, before finally letting you bite into the cookie.

Eventually, you find yourself sitting up, leaning against his chest. As you swallow the bite, Neteyam feeds you again, listening to the satisfied sounds you make.

“Feel better about the human stuff?” he nudges your shoulder.

“Much better, thank you,” you turn a little to look at his face.

While you were spending a lot of time with him, you’ve never found yourself in such close proximity with him. It felt weird but comforting. Like he offered you some sort of protection, a shield.

“Can I ask what it feels like?” Neteyam breaks the silence, “Norm was sweating trying to explain it to me.”

You laugh at the thought of Norm trying to explain human biology to him. Nestling against Neteyam's chest, you make yourself comfortable and start talking. You both enjoy the snacks he brought, and occasionally he comforts you by rubbing small circles on your shoulders and arms. As the evening wears on, you start to feel tired and eventually doze off in his arms.

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princessoflalaland · 18 days

Text

Wanna Try Something New?.✶⋆.˚꩜˙⋆✶

synopsis: pegging your boyfriend, geto suguru. that's literally it. nothing more, nothing less.

꩜˙⋆✶content: geto suguru x fem!reader, smut, anal, fingering, pegging, dirty talk, degradation laced with some praise, 69, begging, impact play

꩜˙⋆✶word count: 3.5k

꩜˙⋆✶a/n: I saw this one thing in a jjk link post about pegging geto, and I honestly couldn't get him, or the thought of pounding his ass until he screams, out of my sick head. i mayyyy have fangirled over him as i wrote this because its geto suguru, who wouldn’t?

“would you let me peg you?”

it’s a beautiful Saturday spent inside watching bad horror movies with your boyfriend. your head lay comfortably on his lap, cheek pressing against the smooth fabric of his pajama pants. you tilt your head, peering over your shoulder to gauge his reaction.

suguru’s violet, catlike eyes are slightly widened in amused shock. the beginnings of a smile toy with the corner of his lips as the subconscious stroking of his hand on your hip ceases. “what?” he asks with a chuckle.

“would you let me peg you?" you kindly repeat. the glitter in your eyes is the only thing indicating that you’re only partially joking. there’s a hint of real curiosity in your voice that suguru wishes he could ignore.

“i mean…” he tears his eyes away from yours for a moment, thinking. “i dunno, honestly. i’ve never really thought of something like that.”

bunching your lips to one side, you go back to watching tv. “that’s alright. i was just wondering is all.”

your boyfriend sighs contentedly. “alright.”

you aren’t disappointed, not completely at least. you stumbled across a special twitter account recently, and just couldn’t get the thought of reenacting everything you’d seen with suguru. you couldn’t get the bitchy moans the men made out of your head, or the expressions they made.

taking those faces and translating them onto your significant other turns you on more than you care to admit. the content you’ve been ingesting flickers across your mind, the sounds repeating like a catchy song. you nuzzle your cheek against his crotch, feeling the imprint of suguru’s cock against your face.

“bored of the movies already?” suguru whispers, his fingers gliding over your body to your clothed pussy in response to your nuzzles. he rubs his thick digits right on your clit, making you clench your thighs closed.

“just a little.” you reply breathily. you kiss his growing bulge, listening to him groan. “i have an idea of something else we can do…”

“mm, ‘m way ahead of ya,” he smiles. in seconds, you two have shifted down onto the couch, your shorts are pulled to the side, pussy glistening in his face as you free his cock from his grey sweats.

“so pretty.” suguru sighs, like he’s observing a piece of art. his warm breath hits you, sending shivers rippling up your spine. he attaches his lips to your folds, fighting back a moan as your taste explodes over his tongue.

in his eyes, everything about you is a work of art. from the way you roll your eyes at inconveniences, to the way you laugh loudly and unapologetically, to how your hips naturally dip a little. you’re his goddess, and now he’ll worship you like one.

he laps leisurely at your cunt, addicted to you all over again. you lick a long strip from his base to his tip, making his thighs flex.

“mm, shit.” suguru hums, “do that again, baby.” you oblige with a giggle, then down him in one go, eyes rolling back as he fills your throat perfectly. “fffuck, yeah.”

you two exchange moans on the other, causing a never ending cycle of ecstasy to circulate between the the two of you. one of your hands snakes under his thigh to fondle his balls. your boyfriend shivers when your manicured fingers grasp him.

“ah, agh, y/n.” his masculine whimpers are music to your ears. “shound sho pretty, shugu,” you say around a mouthful of him. “sho pretty.” suguru feels his balls clench at the compliment. it’s not often someone calls him pretty, especially, surprisingly, his own girlfriend. he’d tell you to say it again, but he can’t seem to detach his mouth from your delicious, weeping pussy.

you bob your head on his cock, his tip gliding against the back of your throat easily with the absence of your gag reflex. your saliva pools at his base, some dripping down to where fingers play with his scrotum.

an idea forms slowly in your head as your boyfriend traces the inside of you with his tongue. his big, calloused hands hooked under your thighs, preventing you from squirming away from his fervent eating. you stop fondling him to collect the saliva that rests on his pretty, dark pubes onto your fingers. you suckle on his tip, tongue sliding against his slit mercilessly, to catch a glimpse of him.

he’s still completely enraptured with making out with your cunt, it looks like, making you ever wetter with his groans and him sucking sweetly on your clit. carefully, bottoming him out in your throat as a slight distraction, you let your wet digits wander to his asshole, spreading spit around his unbelievably tight hole.

suguru jolts, his surprise causing him to abruptly stop what he’s doing. “w-what are you- ahh! ohh, God…” his head falls back against the couch cushions, his breath stuttering, heat filling his entire body.

the sensation is…foreign. he’s never explored that area of himself, nor did he ever think he would. suguru assumed he’d always be the one fucking or fingering someone. but, as your curious fingers gently prod at his puckered asshole, he cant deny the butterflies going haywire in his gut, or stifle the high-pitched whines and moans floating effortlessly from his moist lips.

“y-y/n, what are you d-doin?” he gasps. the very tip of you index finger has penetrated him, and it feels like his brain is melting from the pleasure. “oh my God, baby. that’s- you’re- aghn, c-can’t think..”

his inability to formulate coherent sentences is a good sign, at least to you. “d’ya like it? like having my fingers playing with your cute ass?” your voice is sickly sweet, makes his brain even mushier than it already is.

“gotta say something, love.” you remove your finger, making him gasp.

“n-no, put it back!” suguru pleads. he hasn’t experienced being fingered for long, but it’s like he can’t go without the sensation now that he’s had a taste. he pants, looking around your body at the Cheshire smile gracing your beautiful face.

“please, y/n, love. p-put it back, please…” he tries not to sound like he’s begging, but that doesn’t work to well when his words are breathy and full of desperation. this new kind of need, the way his eyes widen with the ache to have your soft fingers in his ass, fills you with power, with dominance you didn't know you needed.

"say it properly. tell me exactly what you want." your fingers tease the smooth skin surrounding the place he so desperately wanted them. he whines, hips grinding against the couch.

"please, i- i want your fingers in my ass. i need it, need them, please!" the small whine that follows his words is the cherry on top.

“okay, but only because you asked so nicely. dont forget what you should be doing back there.” you both resume giving each other mind-boggling head, suguru’s pathetic sounds go straight into your pussy, adding pressure to your lower stomach.

his sphincter muscles spasm around your digit, signaling that he’s going to cum. you suck ferociously on him, groaning hunrgily, beckoning his cum to spill onto your tongue.

“mmph, ‘m gonna cum..gonna cum, y/n.” he mumbles into your cunt, which he struggles to lick as his orgasm crashes down onto him. you pop him out of your mouth and use your other hand to help him along, letting his seed spurt onto your face.

“ah, yes,” you whisper darkly watching him jerk slightly under your touch. “so good for me, sugu, so good..”

he’s breathless, dazed when its all over. you sit upright on his chest, looking over your shoulder at him so he can see the result of his orgasm. seeing your cummed-on face makes him hard all over again.

over the next week, suguru cannot get that moment out of his head. he can’t believe how insanely good it felt to have something inside him. he’s conflicted though: is it less masculine to enjoy being fingered? does it make him less of a man to want to beg for his pleasure?

is it bad that he wants, no, needs something bigger in him? that he needs to venture into that part of intimacy or he feels like he’ll lose his damn mind?

one night, while you were out with some friends, suguru logs into twitter and checks your following. he finds the account that’s ignited your curiosities, and finds himself becoming painfully hard at the things he sees.

one guy, a rather well-built blonde, chokes shamelessly on his lady’s strap before he takes it like a champ in his ass, crying his pleasure and begging for her praise. suguru breathes harshly through his nose, his eyes are glued to his screen.

never, in a million years, would he expect to be aroused by something like this. can it really feel that good? the guy in the video makes it seem like it sure as hell does. he palms himself over his boxers, groaning lowly. his eyes flicker to the bedroom door and he listens, making sure he’s still home alone.

suguru shimmies his briefs down just enough to get his hard dick out. he inhales sharply, dragging his fist from the tip to the base. he replays the video for reference for his own fantasies, ingesting every second like it’ll be the last thing he ever sees. then, he tosses his phone aside, already panting.

God, what he would give to be in that guy’s place and have you in the woman’s. he would swallow your strap so well, let it stretch his throat, let himself be the perfect fleshlight for you. he’d listen and memorize the praise you’d give him like a scripture from the Bible.

suguru’s hand speeds up, soft whimpers falling from his lips. his other hand glides over his perfect abs, toward his dark brown nipples. he pinches the bud between his fingers, moaning desperately. his heart thuds heavily in his chest, his conscience trying to make sense of what the fuck he’s feeling.

what man gets turned on at the thought of getting fucked rather than fucking? why does he so badly want to feel his girlfriend’s skin slap against his as she pounds into him ruthlessly?

that image, you behind him, pegging him while stroking him the way he’s doing it now, makes him arch his back off the bed.

oh, God, how good that’d feel, having his ass stretched like that. the fingers playing with his nipple suddenly find themselves near his ass, pressing tentatively to it. he lubes his fingers up with his saliva, then carefully inserts one into himself. the intrusion, the fervent way he jerks off, the erotic fantasy that dances behind his eyelids, all of it makes his breath stop short in his throat, makes his balls tighten and his moans impudently louder.

as he cums on himself, he cries your name, begging you, thanking you for this climax. he lays in the aftermath of his little session, blushing wildly, as he thinks about his next steps. his first should probably be to clean up, then maybe order a strap on and figure out how to break this down to you.

“and you’re sure you wanna go through with this?” you ask for the fifth time. suguru sighs, exasperated at the fact that you’re still questioning him about this.

“yes, babe, I’m sure. it’s so funny how you were the one to offer this and now you won’t stop asking if I wanna do it. So for the last time, my answer is yes, I want this.” you smile at his attitude, finding it cute that he’s being so bratty.

"no harm in makin sure you're okay with this," you reply with a chuckle, securing the pretty pink strap on he purchased to your naked lower half. "can't believe you'd be so eager for this, 'specially since you were hesitant before." you meet his eyes, there’s a glimmer in yours that makes his heart flutter. "thanks for being so open, suguru."

"of course, babe. now..." he leers at you in all your nude glory as you crawl over to where he lays on his back on your shared kingsized bed. he'd be lying if he said he wasn't equal parts terrified and horny.

you lean over and kiss him, sensing his subtle apprehension. "please, don't hesitate to tell me if your uncomfortable, okay? I want us both to enjoy this." he cups the sides of your neck and pulls you into another, deeper kiss. his tongue slow dances with yours, drawing a soft moan from you.

"I will, I promise." he utters when you two part. you're a little flustered at this point; his kisses have a way of short-circuiting your entire system.

you squirt a dollop of lube onto his asshole, hearing him hiss, and looking up at him with a tinge of worry. his breathing staggers, but he assures you he's okay.

"it's fine, it's just..colder than I expected. and I didn't think you'd- ohhh God." you don't let him finish after he's confirmed he's okay, slipping a finger into him. a smile cracks onto his face, he missed the feeling more than he anticipated.

you study your boyfriend, watch him slowly come undone under you gentle touch. "likin' this, sugu?" you coo, sinking your finger deeper into his tight, greedy walls.

"m-mhm." suguru hums. his tongue swipes over his bottom lip before he tucks it between his teeth. "f-feels good."

"that's a good boy. always wanna make my pretty slut feel good." his dick jumps at the degradation. so many kinks he didn't know he had are being unlocked.

you feel yourself getting wet, feeling it leak down your thighs at the state your boyfriend is in. he's never looked better: spread out for you to tease and torment in the sweetest ways possible. the rapid rise and fall of his broad chest, the red tint in his cheeks that spreads down to his neck, the way his tanned dick twitches as you add another finger, all of it mesmerizes you.

"I think you're good to go. whaddya say?" you ponder after another minute of fingering him. he climbs through the fog in his brain to answer you, his eyes still cloudy with arousal. "y-yeah, im ready. please, be gentle."

"I will," you whisper as you line yourself up with his entrance. his heart races crazily in his chest, like its trying to force its way out. the tip of the strap pokes him and he jumps a little.

"it's okay, I'll go slow." your reassurance calms him a little. first, the tip enters, and the stretch of his hole blanks out his mind. his head falls back onto the bed, his breathing labored. inch by inch, you penetrate your boyfriend, and with each inch he feels himself unraveling.

"oh my G-God, you're all the way in." he whimpers once you bottom out. "slow, please slow."

you only nod, a primal dominance having hijacked your mind. your thrusts are slow at first, wanting to abide by his wishes to not scare or hurt him. but with each moan, each whine that comes from suguru's lips, your control slips and you speed up.

"ah, ahh this is so- so fuck.. can’t think.” his grits through teeth. his sounds are so pretty, just like him. you now wholeheartedly believe that all men, regardless of how masculine they portray themselves to be, should be rendered to such a pathetic yet angelic state.

“aww, my slut feels so good he can’t think? does my cock feel that good, honey?” there goes that saccharine tone again, the one that makes his stomach tighten.

“y-yes, ‘s really good.” he mewls. as good as your dick feels in him, it’s somehow not enough. he needs to feel more, wants to get closer to that blissful release. so, he guides his hand down to his leaking cock, ready to pump himself to the rhythm of your thrusts.

you notice this and a sinister smirk curls your lips. you slap his hands away, watching his eyes widen with shock. "no touching. keep those hands on your chest, filthy fuckin whore."

your sudden meanness startles as much as it arouses suguru. he's never heard this kind of tone with you, and he's not afraid to admit that he likes it. "y-yes ma'am, 'm sorryy." he concedes breathlessly.

he’s cupping his large pecs like they're tits, the most perfect fucking tits. "there ya go, keep those hands to yourself. good whore." you sneer.

it's not long before he aches for more stimulation again. pinching his nipples, he gives you the saddest puppy dog eyes, "baby, t-touch me. 'm so leaky, please, n-need to feel your hand..!"

a firm slap to his thigh yanks a yelp out of him. "who the fuck do you think you're talking to? is that anyway to ask for anything? stupid slut.." you sound so mean, his dick twitches. "try again."

he swallows accumulated saliva and fails to speak. he can't seem to get around the wanton moans that endlessly slip past his lips. you slap his thigh again, reminding him of he wants.

"please, m-miss, please touch me. please touch my dick, 'm sorry for b-being so demanding. touch me, im beggin you!" drool slides down the side of his mouth, catching the light in the room.

“think you deserve it, deserve my touch? speak up, whore.” another spank, another howl-like moan.

“I don’t deserve it! I’m a dirty whore, i don deserve it, b-but please!” you like the way he lowers himself for you just for the sake of being pleasured, so you oblige, stroking his wet cock in time with your thrusts.

the slapping of your skin on his, the heat and vibrations from the impact of your slaps makes precum leak endlessly from his tip, helping you as you jerk him off, the way you speak to him like he's nothing fills his stomach with warm fuzziness that he's positive is not normal.

this is all he's dreamed of, he realizes. he's wanted this, wanted to be told what to do, wanted to be dominated. he could care less whether this makes him less of a man or not, it makes him feel like he’s on cloud nine, and that’s suguru cares about. “thank you, thank you..” he utters between moans like he’s praying. “thank youu..”

“takin me so well, sugu. makes me think you’ve taken cock before. well? you whore yourself out for any one else?” you’re panting from the exertion of thrusting into him. a thin film of sweat gleams on your skin, your pussy weeps for his cock. if he’s good, maybe you can use him to cum afterwards. “n-no, ‘m only a slut for you. need only your c-cock.” being on the delivery end of that word is something else, something he’ll probably (most definitely) never get tired of.

“aghn, wait, wait ‘m gonna cum! miss, p-please!” he wants this to last forever. as much as he wants to cum, to spray it all over himself like the nasty little cockwhore he is, he doesn’t want this feeling to end.

“aw yeah? My cockslut’s gonna cum? hmm?” your sugary tone builds the pressure in his core. “I think I’ll let you. mhm, cum all over yourself f’me.”

you jerk him faster, pound into him harder. the tip jabs at his prostrate with unforgiving force, making his moans border screams. “miss, miss i’m gonna cuuumm!” tears slip down his face into his ears, momentarily muffling the world.

“then cum, bitch. cum for your mistress.” that word feels so right in regards to you. you snap your hips with a level of expertise that he has when fucks you senseless. “cum for me, cum for me, cum for me.”

your carnal chats are all he can hear. “I’m cumming, I’m cumming, ahh, ahhn!” ropes of his milky white cum shoot out of his tip, painting his chiseled chest. you stroke every last drop out of him, smiling all the while as suguru gasps and convulses from the overstimulation.

“no more, no more… ‘s too much, please, miss..” and more incoherent babbles along those lines tumble from his mouth. you lean down and collect some of his seed onto your tongue, then harshly gripping his chin, your force your tongue into his mouth. he hums contently at tasting himself, eyes rolling back into his skull. when you two part, a thin trail of spit connects your mouths.

you both come back down to earth, the lustful glaze that was once harbored in your eyes slowly retreating. you pull out and suguru feels empty.

“that..that was amazing.” your peggable boyfriend sighs, running a hand through his dark locks. “gotta do this again, I’m being so serious.”

you chuckle, removing your strap on and mounting him. he hisses, still sensitive from his recent orgasm. “oh we will, trust me. but there’s another matter that needs to be taken care of..” you slide your sopping pussy along his hardening dick.

“I haven’t cum yet.” your smile is as sadistic as it’s ever been, and suguru thinks he’s falling in love again.

“let’s take care of that then.”

#paradiseofpleasure𓏲𝄢#i love Geto idgaf #jjk smut #jjk x black reader #jjk x reader #jjk geto #jjk suguru #suguru geto #jujutsu kaisen smut #geto x reader #getou suguru x reader #jujutsu geto #jujutsu kaisen suguru #geto smut #geto suguru x reader #jujutsu kaisen #I need to peg someone at least once in this lifetime #if u’re willing hit my line😘

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mayearies · 9 months

Text

☆.

NORMAL GIRL

𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐒 𝐆 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐒

˚ʚ property of ©hiimayee ɞ˚

genre: angsty (a lil fluff) | warnings: insecure reader a/n: i gotta confess i just listened to the ctrl deluxe because i didnt know there was one but I LOVE JODIE AND MILES SMSM translations: amor, que paso / love, what happened . di lo que piensas / say what you think . tía / aunt . como si fuera ayer, hermosa / like it was yesterday, beautiful . mi corazon / my heart . mamá, déjame ayudarte / mama, let me help you

summary: miles assuring youre the one for him no matter what ♬ song: normal girl by sza

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

miles and you were just laying down and watching some television on the couch while tía rio went to the store. she said she wanted to teach you and miles how to make pasteles tonight. you honestly weren’t paying attention to whatever was being shown, instead you were thinking about yourself. you just wish you were more-

“-normal?”

the tv cut off your sentence with that word, snapping you back into the moment. he noticed your sudden jump and looked up as you as his thumb circled your stomach. “you okay?”

“hm? oh yeah- yeah i’m fine.”

your voice was really unconvincing, he rolled his eyes as he laid his head back down on your chest and turned his eyes toward the tv again. “amor, que paso? you look upset.”

“nothing, just thinking.” “you know you can tell me anythin’, right? di lo que piensas.”

you know that. but you wanted to keep this to yourself. but also knowing him, he would be able to get you to crack sooner or later. miles was really passionate about hearing what you’re thinking. he liked to hear you speak. he says that a lot.

“you know how i, y’know act really out of character?” “what’chu mean, ma?” “like when we first met—don’t i act completely different now that we’re dating?”

the circular motions on your stomach paused for a second as he looked up at you but the motions still continued as he stared at you. glancing at your lips from time to time. “i mean, i never really noticed.”

“never?” “no. you stay the same in my eyes. the same cute princess i’ve known. so i dont know what you mean when you say ‘out of character’.”

maybe he didn’t see you the way you saw you. you felt like you’ve changed since you met him. in some ways bad, in some ways good. but you still felt like you weren’t yourself. “you know the times i would be hyper and all that.”

“como si fuera ayer, hermosa.” “well.. do you think thats normal considering me?”

miles squinted his eyes at you as he shifted so you were sitting on his lap. “‘normal’? you’re not normal.”

“exactly what my point is, miles. and i feel like it’s a problem.” “what’s wrong with not being normal, love? you can’t define normal in a person.” “but i’m not-“

“no buts, mi corazon. i like all the moments we share. the silly ones, the serious ones, thats all a part of you. and i like that. y’know, mama might have not had the best perception of you when we first met but, i still loved you. the same i do now. you might have changed. i still love you the same. ♡”

he lightly pepper kissed you over your face. he always knew a sweet way to shut you up. you were his life, and he wouldn’t want you being insecure about yourself any time of day. even when we was asleep or away for prowler business.

miles didnt have any expectations when he wanted a girlfriend. you just had to like him back. and you did. thats all he asks for. nothing else. “you okay now?”

he liked the way you would instantly melt at the kisses from his chappled lips. it made him feel warm and fuzzy inside. he kissed your nose before you laid your head on his chest. he stroked your scalp, too.

the sweet moment was inturrupted when the door lock was making noise, “i’m back!”

miles’ hands gestured for you to move so he could help with the groceries. a faint “mamá, déjame ayudarte.” coming from him as she thanked him. you were still a little froze in the moment to which you couldnt feel tears on your cheeks drying up.

“oh! good, she’s still here-“

once rio turned her attention to you, she held a look of slight worry. which then shifted to an eyebrow raise at her son as he carried the bags.

“what did you do?” “nothing, mama! i swear. we just.. had a little moment while you were out.”

she looked back and forth between you two until her mouth made an ‘o’ shape, “ah, i see.”

“…not-“ “yes, i know ‘not like that’!”

©hiimayee

#miles morales #miles g morales #miles morales x reader #across the spiderverse #miles morales blurbs #e!42 miles morales #earth 42 miles morales x reader #miles morales earth 42 #miles 42 #42 miles morales #earth 42 #earth 42 miles fluff #earth 42 miles morales #earth 42 miles x reader #earth 42 miles morales x black!reader #earth 42 miles angst

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emeraldkniight · 2 months

Note

Could you do an enemies to lovers NSFW with Damian?

p.s. I’d just like to say your writing is SO good for someone whose first language isn’t English! I would not have known

ANIMALS !

older!damian x fem!reader

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀. . . drabble. smut. porn without plot. Dirty talk, degradation. Dacryphilia, humiliation kink, praise kink, Damian is mean. Some bdsm. Aggressive sex, bondage. Oral sex and fingering, p in v.

𝗰𝗼𝗽𝘆𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁. . . no copying of my work is allowed. Free translation is allowed as long as I am credited.

𝗹𝗮𝗻𝗴𝘂𝗮𝗴𝗲. . . as I said in my other posts, English is not my first language. I have tried to make corrections with the translator, but as you all know, it is prone to making mistakes, so I apologize in advance for any mistakes or if anything sounds weird.

𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲. . . Okay, I get it. Damian is your favorite character on my account, I get requests for him all the time and I love that because who doesn't love Damian? So here we go again. By the way, I'm glad you liked my writing! It is almost impossible for me to write without any grammar or vocabulary mistakes, but I keep trying! Thanks🌷 (Pd: if you reblog this post it would help me a lot) <3

— Do you want to stop?

From the vulnerability of your bed, shackled hand and foot, you thought it was a bad decision to bother Damian for so long. You thought you were just being funny, that no one would care that you were harassing Bruce Wayne's son. You had no idea what he was capable of doing to you.

— No.

A mischievous smile played on his lips as he stood over you; you could feel his weight on your body. In an instant, however, you felt yourself fall hard against the mat in the room.

— What do you have to say now? — He admired you from on high. — Aren't you the same funny girl you always were?

The sole of his shoe brushed your cheek. You felt incredibly humiliated, as if you were an inferior being in his presence. He looked at your body as if it were worthless.

— This would be amazing for anyone to see you: tied up, naked, on my bedroom floor. I can see your dripping pussy from up here. Who knew the amazingly cool girl would like this? — His shoe began to press harder against the flesh of your face. — You like it rough, guess what, I'm the best at it when I put my mind to it.

The wetness from your pussy dripped down your legs, leaving gray stains on the carpet. Damian, aware of this, walked around to stand behind you to get a close-up view of your ass. He easily slid a finger through your swollen folds and instantly it was stained with so much accumulated moisture.

— Damian, what are you going to do? — you asked, somewhat anxiously, but received no answer.

He bent his face down until his breath was in contact with your pussy; you quickly felt a mere shiver from your nervousness. Soon you felt his lips, and not long after, his whole hand making an obscene sound inside you; sliding up and down your wet folds, not yet reaching the pleasurable point that made you go wild.

— Damian... — You moaned softly as you buried your face in the carpet.

He didn't stop moving, he just kept playing with every part of her crotch, making you wish he'd concentrate on the throbbing clit that needed attention.

One of his fingers hovered around your clitoris and began to caress it gently. Just as you thought you were about to come, he pulled away.

— Didn't I tell you, y/n? Bad girls don't have orgasms.

You quickly began to cry. You knew that if he didn't give it to you, it would be incredibly impossible for you to get that orgasm on your own. So from your position, you just moved closer and started begging.

Kneeling down, you approached him and looked at him with your tearful eyes. Lamenting, with your face at the level of his knees, you still looked at him from the ground.

— Damian, please... — You sobbed. — I'm sorry for all the things I've done to you, but I really need you. I want you to fuck me. I'll do anything you want.

The young man simply smiled as he watched his enemy from his clearly superior position.

— Lool at this, the famous y/n now begging losers for some attention? I feel sorry for you. — He said in reference to how you used to tell him he was a loser.

He cut your bonds with a knife. You felt relief as the blood began to flow again.

You didn't notice as he grabbed your neck, almost choking you. He pulled you roughly close to his face until his lips collided with yours in a dirty, loveless kiss.

Finally, he pushed your face to the floor and lifted your ass until it was in the ideal position to fuck you. Without further ado, he rammed you hard and began to move hard inside you. As hard and precise as if he were an animal.

— What's the matter? Is it incredibly hard to believe that only I can fuck you like this?

#dc comics #dc universe #damian wayne x female reader #damian wayne smut #damian al ghul #smut #batboys #damian wayne #damian wayne x reader

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honeyedmiller · 6 months

Text

A Blissful Feeling | Javier Peña

pairing: husband!javier peña x wife!reader

rating: 18+, minors dni.

warnings: fluff, established relationship (marriage), smut (grinding, fingering, rimming [don’t look at me lol], f oral receiving, one (1) smack on the ass [if i remember correctly], unprotected piv, consensual choking, spitting, praise), small uses of spanish with translations at the end, uses of pet names in a loving manner, teasing, no use of y/n. please let me know if i missed anything.

word count: 4.1k

synopsis: You find out Javi is having a bad day at work, so you pay him a visit at the office.

divider by the wonderful @saradika-graphics

It was mornings like this that Javier wished he could stay in bed with you. Tangled in the sheets, bare skin against bare skin, soft lips brushing pulse points, and satiated grins adorning your lips as you stared at each other with pure love and awe.

But, reality was an unwanted, cruel thing that wrapped herself around perfect mornings like ones like this. Ones where Javier is almost late to work because he can’t get enough of his beautiful wife, leaving him to rush out of the door with his thermos of coffee and a chaste kiss to the lips as a see you later, mi amor to you.

That left you standing in the middle of the kitchen, bare feet on the cold tile floor as you leaned over the counter to make a list of all the errands you had to run today. Your silk robe was tied securely to your body, recalling that the material almost made its way off of you, courtesy of your husband’s needy hands.

As much as you almost gave in to temptation, you didn’t need him to be chewed out by his coworkers for being late. They all loved and respected him at the Laredo sheriff's office, but to save him the humiliation, you mustered up more willpower than you wanted to and ultimately swatted his hands away.

You knew he had a long work day ahead of him, though, and you missed him already. You loved your husband so dearly and being away from him for most of the day tugged at your heart. Some might call it clingy. You just call it being in love.

You decided to get to work on your list anyhow, hoping that these errands and few chores would give you the perfect distraction from missing your sweet Javier too much.

First up: tidy up the house. You put some music on and got to work, having the house cleaned in about an hour. You upkept with cleaning pretty well, so your intermittent cleaning wasn’t as tedious. Once you were done you showered and got ready for the day, sporting a cute christmas patterned sweater with some leggings Javier always said looked good on you. You smile faintly at your husband’s words, relishing in the recollection of them.

The rest of the to-do list was pretty easy, considering it was mundane tasks like washing your car, putting gas in it, and grocery shopping. You also had a nail appointment lined up today, which you were excited for. You were feeling festive, so you wanted to go with something more Christmas themed.

You decided to save grocery shopping for last, knowing it would take at least an hour and a half. The list you and Javier made last night was long, knowing you needed to restock on essentials and your favorite foods.

You got washing your car and filling up the tank out of the way in twenty minutes, leaving you to head to the nail salon. While you were sitting in the chair mindlessly watching your nail tech paint your nails, your phone pinged with a text from Javi.

Hi mi amor. How’s your day going so far? I miss you.

You couldn’t help but smile foolishly at his text, making your heart flutter as you read the words over again. Six years together and two years married, and yet, he still made you feel so special—like the only girl in the room that mattered.

Hi baby. I miss you too. It’s good, just got some stuff done off of my to-do list. How’s work?

You respond as fast as you could with the hand thats nails weren’t being painted.

He responded almost immediately to you.

That’s great, cariño. Work has been shitty today. Tipped my fresh coffee over by accident in the break room, and I couldn’t make myself a new cup since we ran out of coffee grounds. Nobody around here seems to know how to do their job today. Wish I was back in bed with you.

Your smile falters at his text. You hated seeing him so stressed, wishing you could take it all away in an instant.

Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that, amor. I’ll make you whatever you want for dinner tonight and give you a nice back massage. How’s that sound? ;)

You’re hopeful your offer lightens his mood a little bit, but another idea skimmed your mind. You looked at your watch-clad wrist, seeing it was only eleven thirty. You decided you’d try and brighten his day sooner by surprising him with lunch at his job.

Part of you wanted to go anyway just to see him and kiss him, telling him the stress of the day will go away when he comes back to a nice clean house and a home cooked meal waiting for him after he gets off of work.

Sounds great, baby. Can’t wait.

You heart the message and finish up with your nails, paying your tech and tipping her for doing an incredible job. You contemplate where to get lunch, and you ultimately decide on this Mediterranean spot you both love. It’s down the block from the sheriff’s office, so it was perfect.

Within twenty minutes, you were heading down the road to see your husband. You pulled up to the sheriff’s office, greeting the familiar receptionist with a smile.

“Doreen! How are you today?” You smile, and her grin reflects yours. The sweet older lady always enjoyed chatting with you, loving when you paid the office a visit.

“Mrs. Peña! What a nice surprise. I’m good dear, how are you?” She asks, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose.

“I’m great, thank you. Glad you’re doing well. Is Javi busy at the moment?” You ask, hopeful that he isn’t so you can actually spend time with him and enjoy your lunch together.

“Nope. Go right ahead, doll. Should I call him and tell him you’re coming?”

“No, no,” You stop her with a sweet smile. “I wanted to surprise him with lunch today.”

“Well aren’t you two just the cutest. Enjoy your lunch.” She winks at you, and you can’t help but laugh. You just absolutely adored her kind soul.

“Thank you Doreen. See you in a bit.” You wave, heading off to Javier’s office. You turned a couple of corners before stopping at his door, knocking on it twice with a smile stretched on your lips.

“Come in.” You heard him say, and you opened the door.

He doesn’t look up from his paperwork until he hears the bag of food rustling, and his head shoots up. His big brown eyes gleam with joy as he takes in the sight of you.

“Mi amor,” He whispers, getting out of his chair to make his way to you. “What are you—”

“Surprise.” You say and hold the bag of food up, and he chuckles as he wraps an arm firmly around your frame to pull you into him. You softly yelp in surprise, your free hand landing on his chest.

“You’re the best, cariño. This is exactly what I needed.” He grins as he leans to kiss you tenderly, hand making its way under your sweater to splay out against the skin of your back. The coolness of his wedding band shot a shiver down your spine, and you moved your hand from his chest up to the back of his neck, pulling him in closer.

He groans softly and pulls away before he gets lost in the art of kissing his beautiful wife.

“What’d you get for lunch?” He mumbles against your lips.

“Mediterranean.”

“Mm, thank you baby.” He kisses your cheek before fully pulling away.

“Thought I could join you today, if that’s okay.” You grin at him.

“Of course mi amor, I wouldn’t want it any other way.” He kisses you chastely once more before closing his office door behind you all the way. He makes his way back to his desk chair and grabs your hips, silently asking you to sit down on one of his legs. You laugh at the gesture before taking the food containers out of the bag, the aroma of chicken kabobs and basmati rice instantly filling the office.

Javier keeps one hand wrapped around your waist as you both eat, savoring the delicious food. Halfway through the meal, you feel his lips brush your neck with a ghost of a kiss that has you clenching your thighs together.

Javier always had a way of arousing you, even with the simplest of actions. Sometimes it wasn’t fair how easily he could turn you on. He didn’t care though. He fucking loved it, and loved teasing you until you were squirming and whimpering for him.

“Javi.” You whisper, leaning your head back on his shoulder. It could’ve also been the way that you two didn’t get to finish what you started this morning, so the anticipation has been building and brewing deep in your belly all day.

“My wife is just the sweetest,” He whispers against your neck, “Just wanna thank her for a wonderful surprise is all.” He teases, hands caressing your curves underneath your sweater.

Goosebumps rise on your skin from his touch, and you put a hand on his thigh to steady yourself. He stops his movements momentarily and brings one hand out from under your sweater, lifting your hand up to his line of sight.

“Got your nails done, baby? They look real good,” He compliments, kissing your hand. He admires your red nails with a holly design on your ring finger.

“Thank you, baby.”

“Did you use my card to pay for them?” He asks, and you shake your head no. He groans, shaking his head. “Baby, you know I love to pay for your nails. Why won’t you just use my card?”

“I feel bad, honey, you don’t need to pay for everything I need maintenance on all the time.”

“Uh uh. Don’t ever feel bad. I’m here to spoil my wife as I please, and if I wanna pay for her nails, I’ll do so,” He chastised, but it wasn’t condescending. He chuckles after, and you turn to give him a confused look. “Besides, I love seeing what color and design you always pick out. Can’t wait to see how it’ll look wrapped around my cock you love so much.”

He’s snickering like a school boy, and your jaw drops in pure shock.

“Javier Peña!” You swat his arm, “You’re so bad.” He laughs at your scolding, putting both hands on your thighs.

“You know you love it, baby.” He teases, rubbing his hands up and down your thighs, taking notice that you’re wearing his favorite leggings on you.

“Do me a favor, mi amor,” He says, and you turn to look at him. “Lock my office door for me.” He nods his head towards the door, and you look at him in confusion.

“Javi, what—?” You begin, but he shakes his head and gives you room to get up. You rise slowly, making your way over to the mahogany door to twist the lock shut. You turn to look at Javier again, and the lustful look on his face startles you.

His sweet brown eyes are now nearly black, full of so much desire and neediness and—fuck—you were so turned on by it. There’s just something about the way he looks at you that silently screams possession, like he’s proud that you’re his, that turns you on so much.

You needed to ground yourself back to reality though, because doing anything here would be too risky.

“Javi, baby, we’re at your job. We can’t—we can’t do this here.”

You begin to walk closer to him and he turns his chair to the side so he’s no longer facing his desk. He makes a ‘come here’ gesture with his index finger, and you want to fucking salivate with how delicious your husband looks right now. He’s got that carnal stare locked on you and your figure, legs spread wide with the fabric of his slacks straining against his thick thighs, and a devilish smirk on his face as he tugs you by the waistband of your leggings to stand before him, tucked between his legs.

“But that’s where you’re wrong, baby. Wanna finish what we started this morning,” He tugs you down gently so you’re straddling his lap. You feel his bulge through his slacks, and it takes everything in you not to moan. “Just gotta keep that pretty little mouth of yours quiet.”

His large hands cradle your ass, giving it a squeeze as he kisses you. Your first instinct was to card your fingers through his dark locks, but you had to remind yourself that you were in his office—you didn’t want to leave any evidence of your insatiable endeavors behind. You opted for the lapel of his suit instead, tugging him closer to you. You moan breathlessly into his mouth, instinctively grinding your hips down onto him.

A deep groan rumbles from his sturdy chest, like the neediness and desire to have you right now was life or death.

He pulled back from you for a second to trail kisses down the warm skin of your neck, tongue poking out to trace over your pulse point.

You gasped and grinded yourself into him harder, your arousal slowly seeping through your panties and leggings. Your core was aching to be touched at this point, only merely teased this morning by your husband’s skillful fingers.

You wanted more, more, more, but responsibilities outweighed desires.

One of his hands traveled down to rub at your core over the fabric of your clothes, cock straining tighter against his slacks to find you’ve already soaked through your panties and leggings.

“Does my beautiful wife want me this badly?” He murmurs, and you nod frantically.

“Please, Javi. Need you so bad.” Your voice sounded desperate and whiny, but you truly couldn’t care at this moment. All you wanted was for your husband to take everything he needed and wanted from you.

“Stand up, sweet girl.”

You obey instantly. He was so easy to submit to. Everything with him was just so easy. He was safe, he was gentle, he was home.

He turned your body so you faced his desk, and he bent you downward so your body was at a ninety degree angle.

He easily peeled your panties and leggings off of your ass, shimmying them down to your mid-thigh. He kicked your feet further apart, relishing in the sight of your ass on full display for him. He rubbed the supple flesh lovingly, giving it a smack before he sank to his knees behind you.

You turned your head back to look at him, eyebrows threading together at the sight of him kneeling behind you.

“Baby, what are you do—oh, fuck.” You cry, hand clamping over your mouth. Javier had taken it upon himself to eat you out from behind, delving his expert tongue through your slick folds.

He hummed against you, licking up everything you gave him as your arousal dripped down your thighs, and now, his face.

It was rare when he ate you out from behind, but when he did, it was a fucking treat. Before him, nobody else had ever done so, so the first time he did it with you, it had you coming in less than five minutes tops.

He usually liked to eat you out from below, just so he could see your pretty face contort into pure pleasure as his tongue fucked you rhythmically.

Your hand did a half-assed job at muffling your moans as Javi’s tongue circled your clit, all the way up to your entrance, and past that to your other hole. You choked on a gasp as he greedily licked you, reaching your other hand back to grab one that dug into the meat of your thigh. He intertwined his fingers with yours, giving your hand a squeeze as he removed his mouth from you.

He chuckled darkly as he spit onto your hole, saliva trailing down to your entrance. He got back to work immediately, licking your entrance before moving back down to your clit. He unlinked his hand from yours, prodding two fingers at your entrance. He pushed in slowly and with ease, slick instantly coating his thick fingers.

You whimper at the sensation, that low burn of desire that’s been pooling in your belly all day completely awakened, licking a flame up your spine and waiting for a chance to engulf you wholly.

“Could eat this pretty pussy all day, baby.” Javier mumbled below you, and you couldn’t help but clench around his fingers.

The lewd sounds of your wetness reverberated off of his office walls, hoping to god none of his coworkers could hear any of this.

You felt the internal flame in your body get hotter and hotter, traveling down your legs as they shook with pleasure.

“That’s it, mamas, there you go. Doing so well. Let it go, baby.” Javier’s words launched you over the edge, gushing around his fingers and all over his mouth. You squeezed your eyes shut as you bit your lip hard to try and keep quiet. The obscene sounds of him slurping every last bit of you up nearly made your knees buckle.

Your body went limp against his desk, breath uneven and shaky.

“Fuck, Javi.” You breathe, eyes closing in pure bliss.

“Worth the wait?” He asks.

You nod mindlessly, mind too fuzzy to conjure up a proper response.

“Good. Not done with you yet, though, cariño. Turn around for me.”

You muster up all the strength you have in your body to turn around and face him, and your eyes immediately move down to the straining bulge in his slacks. You lean against his desk, pulling him to you by his belt buckle. You deftly unbuckle his belt and pop open the button of his slacks, sliding down the zipper in one go.

You move to drop to your knees, but Javier catches your elbow before you fully sink down. You look up at him with glossy eyes and a confused stare, and he moves to cradle your jaw in his large hand.

“Mm mm. Let’s save that for tonight, mi amor. Wanna be inside you now.”

Before you can even register his words, he’s lifting you up onto his desk and pulling his slacks and boxers down. His painfully erect cock springs free, and you reach forward to give it a few tugs and swipe your thumb over his slit to collect the pre come that gathered at his tip. You pop your thumb in your mouth, sucking on it while staring into your husband’s beautiful brown eyes. You let out a satisfied hum, licking your lips after you remove your thumb from your mouth with a ‘pop’.

Javier hisses through clenched teeth, expression painted with neediness and agony. You tug on his cock a couple of times, biting down on your lip as you look up at your handsome husband. You bat your lashes up at him and you feel his cock twitch in your hand.

“Need you, baby.” His voice is gravelly, nearly pained.

“I’m yours.”

And he’s on you. He leans down to kiss you fervently, sliding the tip of his cock through your folds before pushing into you. You both swallow each other’s moans; the fullness he provided you each time was something you’ll always be mesmerized by.

He starts off slow, testing the waters of his thrusts to see if his desk would creak too loud or if it would scrape too much against the thin rug beneath it. Once he found he was in the clear, he picked up his pace immediately.

He relentlessly thrusted in and out of you, the tip of his heavy cock kissing your cervix. You cried out his name and he shushed you with praises that only made you more aroused.

Sh sh sh, I know baby, I know. Taking my cock so well, hm? Such a good fucking girl for me. My pretty wife. All mine, he babbled.

He looked down at you as he relentlessly fucked you, the sound of skin slapping on skin much louder than your moans. Javier couldn’t give a shit anymore, though.

His tunnel vision was locked in, only wanting to make you feel good. One of his hands gathered your wrists and held them above your head, flashing you a wicked smile as his other hand traveled up to your throat. Before he could squeeze, he waited for your consent.

“Please.” You squeak out, and he wraps his fingers around your throat to squeeze the sides.

“Open your mouth.” He says, and you oblige, sticking your tongue out for good measure. He spits directly into your mouth, and you swallow without hesitation. You grin up at him as he squeezes your throat a little tighter, a euphoric type of bliss overcoming your whole being.

He’s fucking into you so hard now that various items on his desk start to rattle. Pencils are being knocked over and the framed photo of you and him on your wedding day plops down onto a pile of papers. His hand moves from your wrists to your breasts, squeezing them generously over the soft fabric of your sweater.

He couldn’t wait to give the entirety of your body all of the attention it deserves when he got home from work tonight. The thought of you squirming beneath him as you tugged on his hair, moaning as loud as you wanted without a care in the world, had him fucking panting.

You were canting your hips up to meet his thrusts as best as you could, the sensation of his wiry hair at the base of his cock causing a delectable friction onto your already sore and puffy clit. He moved his hands from your throat and breasts to skate them down your figure, finding home on your hips.

“I’m close, Javi.” You were breathless, the rumbling fire in your core slowly overtaking your body once more. You needed only a single match to light your fire, and Javier was it. He was your match. He slid you against the matchbox and lit your whole body aflame, engulfing you in everything Javi. He was all-consuming.

You let the feeling of that familiar euphoric bliss overcome your body once more as you convulsed, legs shaking as they locked around Javier’s waist. Feeling you clench around him with such force had his hips stuttering, knowing he wasn’t far behind from release himself.

His lips enveloped yours once more, hands flying up to cradle your face as he spilled every last drop of his come into you. Your moans met in a harmony that not even the most skilled choir could compete with.

His hips stilled completely, waiting a few seconds to relish in your warmth before sliding out of you slowly. You whimpered at the loss of fullness, wishing you could curl up next to him and enjoy his warmth for hours. Reality trickled back in as he bent down to pick up his boxers and slacks, readjusting himself to make it look like he didn’t just fuck his wife relentlessly on his desk.

He leaned down to kiss your forehead before helping you stand, kissing your thighs before sliding your panties and leggings up your legs again. The fucked out look on your face was one of his favorites, and it’s one he knows he’ll never get tired of seeing.

“I love you, baby. Thank you for two meals in one.” He winked, and you felt your body get hot.

You quirk an eyebrow at him, taking a step forward to close the gap between you both. He mindlessly wrapped a hand around your waist, and you rested a hand on his chest—right above the strong, rhythmic beat of his heart.

“You’re very welcome, Mr. Peña. Hope this made your day a little better,” You give him a chaste kiss, hand sliding down his chest to his abdomen before separating your lips from his as your gaze meets his once more. “And I can’t wait for mine tonight.” Your fingers tease the waistband of his slacks, and he grabs your hand to move it lower, resting over his already half-hard cock.

He closes his eyes in pure bliss as you rub him through the fabric slowly, and you kiss his neck before huffing a small laugh.

“Mine.” You say, stepping away from him, heading for his office door. You wink at him and blow him one last kiss before unlocking and opening the door, leaving him dumbfounded, turned on, and pondering what you had in store for him at home that night.

But, for now, he had reality and her greedy ways to tend to before he could submerge himself once more in this blissful thing he called home—

You.

translations:

-> amor: love

-> mi amor: my love

-> cariño: honey

tag list: @party-hearses ; @ilovepedro ; @nostalxgic ; @tinygarbage ; @bastardmandennis ; @amanitacowboy

#javier peña smut #javier peña fic #javier pena imagine #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena fic #javier pena smut #javi pena #javier pena one shot #javier pena fluff #javier pena x f!reader #husband!javi #husband!javier #pedro pascal imagines #pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal one shot #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal

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astelren · 2 years

Text

OP to you being clueless to their flirting/feelings II

ೃ⁀➷ TW/CW: Fluff, Gender Neutral Reader, Teasing, Nothing much, Doflamingo being extra like always, let me know if I need to add more TW/Tags ♡ Minors please interact with me only by liking or reblogs. ➳ Characters: Nico Robin, Nami, Eustass Kid, Killer, Donquixote Doflamingo, Crocodile, Dracule Mihawk, Koby

⤠ Part I ⤟ One Piece Masterlist ⤠ Cbat Song ⤟

someone asked for Doflamingo, Mihawk, and Crocodile so here they are 💞💞 I hope you will like this, I'm not so sure about certain characters fhfkf

In Robin's eyes, you are the cutest thing she ever saw in her life. You are so adorable over how completely oblivious you are to her flirting or everyone else's, she doesn't really have the heart to tease you that much. Still expect a very soft and kind "I like you very much" from her while she caresses your cheek in a very intimate moment.

Truth to be told, Kid hates you just a little bit. How fucking oblivious can you actually be?? Like, hello??? He's being flirting with you for ages, why don't you get the hint already??? Does he have to scream at you his love?! Because he won't do it. Just no. Accept his gifts of love which consisting of intense bullying (with love)

Killer doesn't mind that much. Sure, sometimes he does get slightly annoyed by it, but seeing you smile makes him forget about it. He also seems the type to not confess and prefers to watch you from afar, so it doesn't surprise me that you didn't get his "flirting", since he just clearly favours you (don't say it in front of Kidd though, he might get pissed about it lmao)

Just endless teasing from Nami, we can end it there. You are just so cute, so oblivious, so adorable that she wants to squeeze you! Doesn't mind that much that you don't get it when she is flirting you, she just makes it very hard to not get the hint when she is so straightforward with her feelings, loving to see you getting so embarrassed.

How the fuck did you managed to think that Doflamingo is just being friendly (or nice) is beyond me. But okay. He clearly favours you with; luxurious gifts (even if you try to reject them), his attention only on you, and his not at all subtle flirting. Why should he hide his feelings when he can say time and time again how he likes you and wishes you to be a part of his family, he swears you will make a new beautiful addition.

The same could be said about Crocodile, much to his despise. He clearly favours you over others and doesn't mind flirting to the point of calling you different pet names without shame (I feel like he's the type of calling you doll, pretty face, beauty, etc). More protective of you since your obliviousness, but overall just finds it a charme. Sometimes he wishes you will get the hint though, deeply sighing whatever you comment over how nice Crocodile is.

I feel like Mihawk would be very similar to Killer; just a lot more open with his feelings, his eyebrows frowning whatever you say what good friends you two are when he thought his way of courting you was very obvious but it's not like he minds it that much, he finds it quite cute how clueless you are. More excuses to protect you!

Koby is as bad as you are, so don't worry. He can't fathom the idea that his biggest crush ever has feelings for him, he simply can't accept it. However that doesn't mean he won't stop flirting with you even if you don't it get, he finds it a bit cute to be honest, but he will make sure you get how much his heart beats for you. He is very determined.

This work belongs to @/sevywy, do not repost, translate, copy, rewrite or share on tiktok without my permission. Reblogs are appreciated and encouraged♡

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confusedblakex · 1 year

Text

Words

Pairing: Eijiro Kirishima X Deaf Reader (GN)

Summary: Kirishima always wondered why he had no words on his wrist, but when he meets you it all makes sense

AU: Soulmate AU - Soulmates have tattoos of the first words their soulmates say to them

Wordcount: ~1430

Warnings: Self consciousness (inferiority complex)

Requested by: Me stressing about finals

Notes: As a hearing person, please let me know if I offend anyone with the way I've written the reader (or if you have any constructive criticism)

Last edited: 24th May 2023

Kirishima was self-conscious about many things. His looks, his personality, his quirk. And the fact that he had no soulmate.

The first words a person’s soulmate said to them would be written as a tattoo-like mark on the inside of their wrist. Everyone found their soulmate at some point in their life, whether intentionally or not, they would end up as friends or lovers or something in between.

Not everyone wanted to find their soulmate, but having no soulmate at all was even rarer than being quirkless. And on Kirishima’s wrist, there was nothing.

His love of sweatbands and nice watches wasn’t because of their usefulness and functionality, but because it meant he never had any questions about his soulmark. Though that didn’t mean he completely avoided the subject, and he always felt a sting in his heart whenever his friends brought it up.

But UA would be different - he told himself - at UA, he wouldn’t fear judgement because of it. And so for his first day of hero school, he didn’t cover his wrist, the empty space looking so abnormal to him.

Yet on the first day, quite a few people found their soulmates. He may have felt his heart ache, but reminded himself of the new person he was. He wouldn’t let this get him down. So when the topic of soulmates was brought up, he didn’t shy away - though he was nervous - and told his class about his lack of soulmark. No one made a fuss, and no one made him feel bad. Bakugo even called him lucky for not having destiny be the one to decide his partner.

So manly.

And though he still wished he had a soulmate, he didn’t let himself feel upset that he didn’t have a soulmark. Well, that was until he met you.

You were a transfer student who joined midyear, and apparently you knew Uraraka since she greeted you with a hug the moment she saw you. And then once Aizawa walked in, you introduced yourself to the class.

Notebook in hand, you took a deep breath and stood in front of the class. Kirishima watched as you flipped open the first page of the notebook and gasps and whispers filled the room.

“Hello, my name is (y/n), and I’m deaf”

And you flipped the page again.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you all”

You were nervous, he could tell you were nervous, but you smiled through it regardless. You were shown to your seat by Aizawa, and the moment he tried to go back to sleep the class erupted into chatter. Uraraka ran over to you and started making quick hand movements to you, which Kirishima realised was sign language.

The rest of the class followed suit, all rushing over trying to talk to you and asking Uraraka to translate. You took out your notebook with some pre-written answers for common questions. Things like:

“I do have hearing aids, but that doesn’t mean I can hear fully”

“If you want to talk to me, please make sure I’m able to see your face so I can better understand what you’re saying”

Once the fuss all died down, Uraraka ended up convincing you and a bunch of others to start a club to teach people sign language so you could communicate with them more easily. Which was then followed by Bakugo, of all people, going up to you and challenging you (and probably also insulting your quirk) in fluent sign language.

But Kirishima never took his eyes off you. You were gorgeous. The way you interacted with the class as they asked you questions, and how cute you were when you were focusing on listening to someone. Your smile and the positive aura you had.

He had fallen hard.

---

He walked up to you one day with the intention of asking about joining the sign language club, but he couldn’t seem to think clearly. He had never spoken to you before, so once he had your attention his mind blanked.

Instead he said the first thing that popped into his brain.

“Hey, I uh… just wanted to say I think you’re really pretty…”

Your eyes went wide as your wrist started to tingle and then gently burn. It only lasted a moment, but you knew exactly what it meant. You pulled your sleeve down just enough to see the words glowing, and then turned to furiously sign to Uraraka, who was already understanding what was going on.

“Oh my gosh, (y/n)’s your soulmate!” She exclaimed, probably a little louder than she intended as you winced at the noise.

“What?” Kiri asked, not because he didn’t figure it out, but because it simply wasn’t possible. And yet it made so much sense.

The silence that followed rang loud, and yet your bright smile made everything alright. Kiri couldn’t help but pull you into a gentle hug, one that you quickly reciprocated.

From that moment on, Kirishima felt complete, felt as though his heart was whole. As though all those years spent feeling insecure about his lack of soulmark, and all those nights he spent wishing he’d have a soulmate were nothing.

And your friendship quickly became something more. Kiri didn’t want to feel like he was pushing you into a relationship, but it just felt so natural. His love for you was unlike anything he had ever felt, and it only grew greater each day.

Kirishima wanted to confess his feelings for you, but he wasn’t sure how. Not once had to two of you spoken about your feelings regarding the realtionship, and he wanted it to be special.

He finally convinced Bakugo to teach him sign language - even though Bkakugo wouldn’t tell Kiri why he knew it - and planned the perfect way to tell you. On his birthday.

Unbeknownst to him, you wanted to do something special too. With the help of Uraraka, Momo and Jiro, you all came up with a plan. The three of them were the best friends you could ask for and were so supportive of your feelings for Kirishima. Together, they helped you learn over the months, and for Kiri’s birthday you were going to tell him you loved him. With words.

It wasn’t as though you couldn’t speak, you could, you were just so self-conscious about how you sounded - and of course it wasn’t easy. But it was something you were willing to do for Eijiro. He was so uplifting to be around, and encouraged you endlessly. For years you were worried that your soulmate wouldn’t be interested in you romantically because of your disability, but Kiri didn’t care. He loved you regardless, and you couldn’t be happier.

But when the day finally rolled around, you suddenly didn’t trust yourself. What if you sounded weird? What if he didn’t like your voice? You knew it was just your thoughts bringing you down, but they were so difficult to ignore.

A tap on your shoulder brought you back from your thoughts, and your turned to face Bakugo and Kirishima. You smiled at Kiri, but Bakugo had something to say.

“Stupid hair had something important to say, so you better pay attention” he signed, “I’ll kill you if you don’t treat him well”

His face softened, and he patted you on the back before leaving, which took you off guard. It leaft you and Kiri alone together, but you were still confused.

He looked nervous, but before you could ask any questions, he bagan signing.

“It’s my birthday today, and I wanted to do something special”

“And I really don’t want to come off as weird, but it’s not manly for me to keep my feelings hidden from you”

He signed to you fluently and confidently, making a few mistakes here and there, but you could tell he was really trying. And it was wonderful.

“I love you (y/n)”

This was not how you expected it to go, but it was perfect nonetheless. He confessed to you! It was practically the perefct setup.

“I love you to-o, Kiri-shima” You said, making sure you carefully sounded out the words so you didn’t say anything wrong.

Kiri didn’t even have time to process that you just spoke. You loved him too!

“Really?! Ow-” He felt his wrist burn, and he hadn’t even noticed until it hurt. He tugged his sleeve down to see what had happened, but paused when he saw there was no wound. Instead, his wrist was glowing with words appearing on his skin.

‘I love you too, Kirishima’

#x reader #x male reader #x gender neutral reader #x gn reader #kirishima eijiro #eijirou kirishima #kirishima x reader #bnha #mha #bnha x reader #mha x reader #reader insert #soulmate au #soulmates

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notyour-valentine · 2 years

Text

I'd do anything to make you stay (dark!Tommy x Reader)

[Masterlist] [Taglist]

Summary: First, she wished to leave, then she felt it was her duty to leave, then she was desperate to leave until she realised she was forced to stay.

Note: This was written for @noforkingclue and her 2.5 k celebration. Congratulations once again. I hope you have as much fun reading this as I had writing it! I tried my hand at dark! Tommy, but in a more conniving, subtle way and used the implicit prompt of "I'd do anything to make you stay" and the explicit prompt of "I have nothing I could offer you"

I do not consent to my work being translated, copied or posted elsewhere on this platform or any other. This hasn't been beta'd so I apologise for typos or mistakes

Warning: Gun, manipulation, controlling behaviour, obsession (18/21+)

Wordcount: 5033 words

"So that means, I have to leave.", She announced, slightly out of breath from the strength it took to say these words.

For a moment, there was silence. Then it was Ms Burgess who spoke up.

"So we will have to find someone new?", She sighed in annoyance. "This hassle is the last thing we need with the wedding coming up."

Her tone made her swallow hard, turning her eyes to the floor.

"Grace, leave the girl be.", Mr. Shelby argued. His tone softened, when he returned to her.

"Congratulations.", He offered. "We wish you and your fiancé all the best."

His soft smile made relief wash over her.

"Thank you for letting us know so that we have time to plan in finding a replacement, even if we are sad to see you go. You are incredible with Charlie."

That was why they had hired her.

She wasn't a governess, and no nanny or nurse either. In fact, she was only a trained housemaid, but once Mr. Shelby had found out she had three younger siblings of her own, he had hired her as Charlie's caretaker, deeming her qualifications as a sister more important than those from some college or school.

Ms Burgess had disagreed at first, but the little boy had taken to her.

And now with Ms Burgess focussed on nothing but the wedding, Charlie grew ever more attached to her.

He was a beautiful boy, so soft and gentle. Other children raged with tantrums, but only ever cried when he was frightened, hungry or exhausted. He loved to be held and always tried to hold onto a part of her in return, her hair, her hand, the fabric of her clothes.

And he was getting strong fast.

Having to leave him would break her heart but before long she'd have a bunch of children of her own.

Mr Shelby had always been kind to her. Occasionally he would bend the rules or show the occasional kindness, like sending her a car to pick her up from the station after her day off, or keeping back a slice of blackberry pie only because she had once mentioned that she adored it.

Perhaps it was because she knew their secret. It was obvious, really. The way he held and watched the boy, who on paper was nothing but his fiancée's son, gave it all away. But it wasn't her place to judge so she didn't.

And she always greeted him with a smile whenever he would join her in the nursery or outside in the gardens, or when she would bring the boy to him before putting him to sleep.

This would have been the beginning of goodbye, only it wasn't.

When she visited home a few weeks later, she was met with the shocking news that her fiancé had married someone else and moved away with her to London.

The heartbreak was bad, but the shame was worse.

"I see.", Mr. Shelby said, when she sat in his home office in front of him, her cheeks wet as she tried very hard to keep her voice composed.

The sudden ending of her engagement meant she needed employment once more and it made her cheeks burn to ask for it.

Mr. Shelby sighed deeply, smoke escaping his lips.

"We have already found someone.", He mumbled, making her heart drop.

He was a good employer and paid well, but she couldn't blame him, could she now?

"However, the change wouldn't be good for Charlie. You may continue your employment here."

Relief made her sniffle once more.

"Now, now. No more of that, eh?", He insisted, getting up and walking around the desk.

From his own suit pocket, he produced his handkerchief and dabbed her cheeks gently.

"There. I know all too well how betrayal by someone you thought you loved hurts.", He said, his voice even softer than it normally was when speaking to her.

His hand lingered on the side of her face from where it had tilted her face upward.

It was so warm, and his eyes, those eyes the other servants claimed to be cold, were filled with nothing but compassion.

His thumb traced her cheekbone.

"But let me promise you this: while it is a hard lesson, it is a lesson you will never forget."

A lot of people had said a lot of things in the last few days, and she hadn't believed them. In a way, she didn't really believe that a man like him could have his heart broken too, but here he was, admitting it to her. And somehow she knew it was the truth.

He only removed his hand when Ms Burgess entered, visibly upset about some order of flowers.

Their wedding was shortly after Christmas and yet she wanted non-seasonal floral arrangements, which proved to be rather difficult.

"Congratulations, Mr Shelby.", She offered when she saw him in the corridor.

He turned in the spot, seeing her beam at him with the basket of clean laundry in her arm.

"What are you doing with that, eh?", He asked.

"Pitching in."

A lot of things had fallen off the edge in light of all the work that had to be done to make sure today would be absolutely perfect.

"That's not your job.", He reminded her.

Without another word, he took it from her hands.

"I'm glad to help. A lot of the maids are too busy.", She argued. "I'd feel awful if I didn't help at least a little bit."

Once she had placed the sheets in the large wardrobe in the corridor and the towels in the appropriate bathrooms, all absolutely perfect for the guests.

"I can take that now.", She assured him. "You are probably missed downstairs."

Mr. Shelby scoffed and shook his head.

"They can drink my champagne on their own."

So he followed her back in the nursery where she took over from Jane, the maid who had actually been supposed to take care of the towels. But she had been on her feet since three a.m. that morning so a little chance to sit and get a bite to eat was more than welcome.

"Sorry, Mr. Shelby.", She said at once.

"'s alright.", He assured her as he sat down on the other chair.

Still, Jane rushed to leave, leaving the three of them.

"Shall we show your father how well you are doing with your walking, Charlie?", She asked, kneeling down in front of the boy before turning to the father again.

"He can almost do it on his own."

Giving Charlie one hand of hers to hold, while the other was braced against the wall, he could hold his balance.

Then step by step, he moved forward towards his toy horse.

With a soft smile, Mr. Shelby crouched down too, opening his arms.

"Come here, Charlie!", He encouraged, making the boy change directions. That meant he had to abandon the safety of the wall.

Her hand went to his other hand, but Mr. Shelby shook his head.

"Let him try with one hand.", He instructed and so she did.

Charlie leaned heavily into her arm, but kept taking his steps, until he was in his father's arms.

"Well done. Now back again.", He instructed, offering Charlie only one hand to hold onto.

And once more Charlie made his way across the small space between them.

As she stretched out her hands, she glanced up and saw his eyes, focussed not on his son, but on her. And she smiled before focussing her attention back on that darling little boy.

The bad news came in the middle of chaos, although chaos seemed to be their constant state. Right after the wedding, the new Mrs Shelby was determined to start working on the foundation. While Mr Shelby’s money was the ticket into polite society, this work would keep them there, of that she was sure and so she poured every waking minute into it, and everytime she came to ask if perhaps she wanted to join her on a walk with Charlie or bathe or feed him, she was turned away. Some days, Mr Shelby saw him more than his mother did and that was saying something.

And so it was him she turned to, with the letter in hand.

He leaned back against the windowsill as he read through what her mother had written.

“How old is your aunt?”, he wanted to know.

“Thirty - six.”, she responded, wringing her hands.

“And now your mother wants you to go and help her?”

She nodded.

“She can’t possibly do the household chores with a broken hip, and rear four children, Sir.”

“No, she can’t.”, he said with a sigh before sitting down at his desk.

For a moment, he seemed to consider the implications, then he nodded.

“And you’d take that on? Four children and a household, all the while playing nurse?”

That wasn’t a difficult question at all.

“Of course, Sir! I don’t want to leave, but it’s family. That's what family is supposed to do."

Her words brought a hint of a smile to his lips.

“That is very kind of you.”, he told her, making her cheeks flush. “But the truth is, I don’t want to see you go. I think it would be bad for Charlie.”

All softness had gone from his voice and he met her gaze with the same determination she had seen him use with his brothers

She opened her mouth to argue, but he waved her off.

“But since I understand your situation, and the conflict it brings, I would like to make you an offer.”

Those demanding blue eyes met hers again and she shuddered in anticipation.

“I’ll pay for your aunt to hire some woman from the village to take care of her household and children. And I will increase your pay by 15% as I know you send all your earnings back to your family so that your mother won’t have to work so much. That increase would let her take another day off about another day a week, no? During that time she too can help your aunt.”

“Mr. Shelby-”, she insisted breathlessly, “that’s too much to ask! I couldn’t possibly accept that!”

But he only shook his head.

“Don’t you worry. You just stay right here and tend to Charlie. The costs of letting you go would be far higher, to all of us.”

She tried to argue once more, but he wouldn’t have it and instead sent her off with a small smile, feeling dizzy from her luck.

It was awful. No, it was worse than awful. It was horrific.

Mrs Shelby had been so proud, so happy when it came time to leave for the foundation dinner, only to -

She hadn’t believed it at first, not even when Mary told her. Only when bit by bit, the Shelbys came home.

It took three days for anyone to spy Mr. Shelby.

There had been strict instructions from his sister that no one was to talk to him, not even to offer their condolences. He wouldn’t want that.

There was some comfort though, as Charlie seemed blissfully oblivious to everything, babbling and playing, giggling whenever she sung “This is how the Lady rides” and bounced him on her lap. She had been doing that when she saw him standing in the door and profusely apologised, with a burning face and a tightening chest.

It had been on the mourning of the fourth day. He was wearing nothing but a working man's shirt and old saddleworn trousers, his eyes red and his cheeks sunken.

The poor man had lost his wife and here she was making his son laugh until he was breathless.

It just wasn’t right. It couldn’t be right.

But instead of scolding her, of screaming or even striking her for her inappropriate behaviour, he had only ever placed a hand on her arm to sooth her, crouched down beside his son, stroked his hair and asked her to continue.

It hadn’t been easy, at least not until Charlie was laughing again, but when she brought him up again, he had thrown himself into her chest, his whole body trembling with giggles.

But Mr. Shelby hadn’t minded. Instead, he had only watched, his hand staying on her arm, his eyes on his son.

“You’re a Godsend.”, he had called her on that fourth day before leaving, the hand moving to cup her cheek. And then he was gone.

But he returned on the fifth day, and on the sixth and seventh and on every day thereafter, joining her in the nursery.

Sometimes, he’d hold his son, sometimes he’d help her dress him or hold him or feed him. Sometimes he preferred to watch.

But he always returned.

For weeks it went like this, and she was the only person apart from his son, sister and aunt that he talked to. And the only adult he looked in the eyes while doing it.

She had seen him shrug off his aunt’s hand on his arm, while his own found her shoulder or back, brushed against her fingers as they exchanged toys or clothes, just as he never really met his sister’s eyes, while they didn’t shy away from hers.

A godsend, he called her, a blessing, a stroke of luck, once even saying that she was the only thing that still held all this together.

She had tried to argue, but he had insisted. She cared for Charlie and that was all that mattered now. He hadn’t allowed her room for argument in that, and in his situation, she couldn’t blame him for putting his son above all others.

“Without you, all this would fall apart.”, he had said and she hadn’t even considered leaving, until it was her only thought- from one night to the other.

It was the noise that woke her, the shouting and slamming of doors.

Her eyes darted to the door that connected her small bedroom to Charlie's nursery, before she remembered that he was staying with Mr. Shelby's older brother and his wife.

Wrapping a scarf around her shoulders, she stepped out of her bedroom in search of the cause for this commotion.

In the chilly darkness of the corridor, she could hear them long before she could see them, arguing in the hall.

"Listen to me- eh!", Mr. Shelby roared, but stopped talking as soon as he heard her approaching.

She could see him standing close to the foot of the stairs, wearing crumpled trousers, his bare chest revealing tattoos she had never known him to have, his dark hair ruffled.

Her eyes followed his outstretched hand to a woman who was standing in the middle of the hall.

She had never seen her before but it wasn't difficult to place her, after all, a Russian Duchess as a houseguest made the rounds quickly.

She was wearing Mr. Shelby's coat and little more, her messy dark hair fell down her shoulders, her dark makeup was slightly smudged and her black eyes shone in the darkness.

"Oi,", he called out, "Back to bed, now!", He ordered and she was about to obey, when the Duchess laughed and stretched her arm out, and in it she held a gun, casually as if it was a pen.

All air was knocked from her lungs and she froze.

"You there, pour us a drink!", She insisted.

Her heart thundered in her chest, as she felt hawkish dark eyes locking in on her.

When her dark lips turned into a smile, she felt her stomach coil.

"No, get back to bed!", Mr. Shelby insisted.

Her eyes darted back and forth between them. She knew his word was final, but he wasn't the one with the gun.

"I told you to come here!", the Duchess snarled, her voice strained with impatience.

Her chest tightened as she felt frightened tears come to her eyes.

Her whole body trembled as she took a few uncertain steps forward, not daring to take her eyes away from the woman.

She had barely reached the middle of the stairs, when Mr Shelby stopped her, blocking her descent with his body as his hand found her waist, feeling her body tremble.

"Go to bed.", He told her. "Go."

"She has a gun.", She whimpered, blinking the tears away.

"You should listen to her, Tommy!", the Duchess giggled.

While glancing down, she saw her twirl her hair around the gun as if it was nothing.

"You know in Russia, the lady of the house took care to have pretty maids and ugly nannies.", She chirped, as if this was as casual a setting as a lesson in good manners.

It made her heart beat so fast she feared it would rip through her chest. Either that or give out forever.

But it was a desperate, almost painful hope that made her look up through teary eyes at the only other person in the room, the only person that might save her.

He’d tell her she was wrong, he’d take the gun from her, he’d make her stop.

Mr. Shelby's jaw tightened, but he kept his distance, his eyes following the gun.

"The only men who had pretty nannies were the widowers. That way there were no problems."

"Come on!", Mr. Shelby insisted, practically pushing her back up the stairs, while blocking the Duchess from sight, his hand burning in her back and arm.

But he couldn't stop her from hearing the other woman's venom.

"I do wonder why you hired your pretty little nanny far before your wife died."

"Go, go. It's alright.", He promised, as they came close to the top. "Go to bed. I won't let her bother you."

She ran the last few steps, and as soon as she was around the corner she pressed herself against the wall, but even that didn't still her trembling hands.

Move, she told herself. Go. Hide. Do as he said.

But her body had developed a will of its own, trembling like a leaf and frozen to the spot, as if all its strength was focussed on not crying out in fear or sobbing in desperation. She clasped a hand over her mouth and tried to calm her breathing.

She could still hear them arguing, the Duchess teasing and Mr. Shelby trying to calm her down.

"I thought it was me you wanted to dress up as her but it was that little thing up there all along.", She heard and her hand muffled her whimper.

It was as if the Duchess had ripped open a drawer of her memory and had spread their contents all over the floor, forcing her to pick them all up again, look them over and rearrange them.

Only on second glance, in this light, they all looked different, not explicit but doubtful.

He had always been a good and kind employer, but what if there was some truth in what the Duchess had said?

What if there even was a hint?

It wasn't right- it couldn't be right.

And she couldn't allow herself to be pulled in.

So she had kept an eye out, wrote her letters, a few to the announcements in the papers, and another to him to explain her reasoning.

It was easier to write than saying it to his face. But of course, she couldn't hope to evade him forever.

Mr Sheoby came while they were spending some time outside, sitting in the open air on a thick woollen blanket, both her and Charlie bundled up against the lingering yet fading winter cold.

The first flowers had begun to come out now, and not even this place could escape the wind of change that carried spring each year.

Beside her, Charlie was busy playing with the little wooden cubes, happily babbling to himself. That made it hard- harder than it should have been.

She heard the steps before she saw the shadow, easily identifiable to her. She still could not meet his eyes, even if it was rude.

When she didn't react to his satisfaction, he decided to clear his throat.

"Might I join?", He asked impatiently.

"Of course, Mr. Shelby. I'm sure you son would like that."

He sat down far too close to her for her liking, the fabric of his trousers almost brushing against her knee in the process.

Instead of paying attention to Charlie, he simply stared at her.

She didn't do him the favour of looking at him. She couldn’t. Her cheeks were burning with shame.

"I gather you received my letter.”, she whispered, taking a deep breath to brace herself for whatever was to come now.

"Good.", She said, staring straight ahead, to the trees and the river that lay beyond.

"I've decided to reject it."

He said it without anger, without malice. At best, he sounded annoyed that he had to deal with it in the first place, like she had somehow stretched the limitations of his patience with her request.

"You can't reject a resignation.", She insisted.

"Well I fucking do.", He said, sounding more exhausted than angry.

She took a shaky breath and focussed on the treeline. Her hands had begun to tremble again and so she clutched the fabric of her dress.

"I understand, you're upset and you have every right to be but you are needed here.”

“I want to leave.”, she insisted.

Her voice cracked and she glanced away, clutching a hand over her mouth.

But she refused to cry in front of him.

"I understand.", He said, surprisingly gentle. "I understand your wish to leave, but I can't let that happen. So I'll let you draw up a number, any number, and I will see it in your account or your family's account by the end of the week. As high as you like. You could set them up for life if you want to.”

She felt like the ground had shifted under her once more and she was falling again.

"I am not a thing to be bought and paid for.", She hissed. "I am a person and as a person, I have the right to decide and I have decided not to continue my employment here."

With you.

He stared at her with that unreadable expression of his, those cold, unyielding eyes burning into her soul.

"Are you finished?", He asked, sounding almost bored once more. "Good."

She felt her heart clench as his words.

"I won't allow you to abandon Charles and that's the end of it.", he merely stated.

"It's not yours to allow!", She said a little louder than she had intended, her voice thinning as her resolve slipped more and more.

Charlie's head peaked up and he looked to her, his own summer sky blue eyes staring at her.

"I will leave, Sir, and never come back.", She told him.

His jaw muscles tightened as he stared at her profile, his piercing gaze burning itself into her skin just like the memories of that night that burned themselves into her soul.

"I have to go now, but when I return, we talk."

"There is nothing to talk about.", She whispered as he got to his feet.

"We will talk when I return tomorrow.", He said sternly, before walking off.

Only Mr. Shelby didn’t return.

She had her suitcases packed and went down to the kitchens to retrieve the sandwiches Mrs O’Sullivan had promised her for her journey when she heard the whispers - Mr. Shelby was dead, beaten to death by thugs in the street.

It had shocked them all to their core, leaving them in paralysed uncertainty, and her in tears not for the man, but the little boy upstairs. Both parents dead within months was a harsh fate to suffer.

The truth had come later, in the form of Mrs. Thorne who had told her the truth of it. Mr Shelby was very badly hurt and might die. When she found out of her plans to leave, she had begged her to stay given the seriousness of the situation. Once they knew what would become of Mr. Shelby, they could decide what to do about a replacement.

And so she stayed, for Charlie’s sake. Otherwise he’d be left entirely without any constant person in his life and she couldn’t do that to him. But she should have done.

She had agreed with Mrs Thorne that she would stay until a decision for her replacement could be made and that meant until Mr Shelby was well enough to look through candidates again, which he actually began to do.

Once she saw that, she made preparations to leave in two weeks time.

Five days before her departure, he called her into his office.

"Have you found a new nanny for Charlie?", She asked, after sitting down across from him just like he had bid her.

Mr. Shelby shook his head.

"There's not much time left before I leave.", She told him.

His response came ever calm, ever cool.

"You won't leave."

Her heart skipped a beat.

"Mr. Shelby, we've been through this.", She said.

Too many times.

Slowly, Thomas Shelby turned back from the window and faced her, nodding towards a dark red file on his desk.

"What is that?", She asked.

"Take a read.", He said, leaning back and observing.

She felt her heart thunder as she reached for it, fearing for whatever would be found inside, but to her surprise it was a letter of enrolment to one of the best schools for young girls in the country, a school of higher education with excellent recommendation and frightening prices.

This letter was confirmation between the school and Mr. Shelby that the payment for the full enrollment of her sisters until their respective ages of graduations had been paid for.

She stared up at him wide-eyed but before she could form any response he nodded towards the folder.

“Keep reading.”, she demanded.

She turned the page and skimmed the words.

Next, she found another letter, this time to a name painfully familiar to her, a name she had heard all her life and one she had up to this point associated with kindness and generosity, with understanding of their situation.

It was the name of her landlord, or rather the man that owned the land her family lived on and farmed.

And unlike the previous letter, this deal had been sent and answered, confirming that the ownership had been transferred from him to Mr. Shelby, with an agreement not to inform the tenants and asking what was to be done about it- if they really had to remove them from the property.

The authentic signature was like a stab to her stomach and the blood in her ears began to rush.

As she had read, Mr. Shelby had moved across the desk to lean against it.

"You see that there are two ways this can go?", He asked, calmly, as her chest began to tighten.

Her lip began to tremble and she forced her burning eyes shut.

“As long as you stay here, your sisters will be taken care of. Your mother won’t need to pay a dime in rent while I will make sure they have every comfort and renovation they could possibly want. Or…-”

He needn’t spell it out.

His hand found her shoulders in an almost reassuring manner, as if he was the source of her comfort and not the sole cause of her troubles.

He took the file from her shaking hands, placing it back on his desk amongst countless others- another box ticked business deal completed.

"I knew you'd understand."

The way he sounded, filled with not just pride but relief, made her sick to her stomach.

He continued holding her shoulders between his hands as if to ease her tension, letting her look out at the vast lands of the Arrow House Estate. She had once liked the fact that one could look for miles and see nothing.

"You belong here.", He told her as if it was meant to assure her.

"Please, Mr. Shelby.", She whispered, whimpered even as her tears began to fall.

“It’s not right. It’s just not right. Let me go home. Please.”

He only sighed in response, so she tried once more. She had to.

“There are a thousand women like me, better suited to the task. Please Sir, think of your wife. She wouldn’t want-”

His grip tightened so suddenly it made her wince as he pulled her up to stand, spinning her around to face him.

She saw anger flash in his pale blue eyes, and froze as he placed a single fingers on her lips.

“Don’t.”, he said softly, and yet she wasn’t so foolish as to miss the warning that lay in them.

“You know this is for the best.”, he assured her, gentle once more as he began to stroke the tears from her cheeks.

When she shook her head, he held it between his hands until she couldn’t do so anymore.

"Why me?", She dared to ask, forcing the words out through trembling lips. “I have nothing I could offer you. Please!”

He seemed almost amused by her answer and gave his response in the way one would talk to a child.

"Because you are untouched by all the dirt, by all the filth. No blood on your hands. You are so pure."

She didn't feel pure now.

She felt filthy, body and soul.

Hot tears began to spill once more and instead of being appalled or angry, he pulled her into a tight, almost comforting embrace and let her cry, while gently stroking over the back of her head.

I should have left long ago, she thought bitterly, her fingernails digging into the palms of your hand. I should have left when you were weak and wounded and dying. I should have left and never looked back.

But she hadn’t. She had been too weak, too soft. And now it was too late.

"I know you're upset.", He soothed. "But I think you understand too. You know this is what's best for everyone. After all, I couldn't have you breaking Charlie's heart."

End.

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed and as always I'd love to hear your thoughts!

Taglist

Overall

@lilyrachelcassidy @jyessaminereads @chlorrox @watercolorskyy @books-livre @quarterpastmidnight @lilyevanswhore @polishcrazyone @zablife @just-a-harmless-patato @stevie75 @flyingjosephine-blog @runnning-outof-time @cillmequick @alex-in-the-wilderness @babayaga67 @butterfly-skinnylegend

Tommy

@knowledgefulbutterfly @babayaga67 @signorellisantichrist @lespendy @geeksareunique @look-at-the-soul

#tommy shelby #thomas shelby #dark! tommy shelby #dark!tommy #tommy shelby x reader #thomas shelby x reader #dark!tommy shelby x reader #dark!tommy x reader #dark!thomas shelby x reader #tatiana petrovna #dark!tatiana #tommy shelby imagine #thomas shelby imagine #valentineswritings #peaky blinders #i'd do anything to make you stay

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crow-hoards-things · 23 days

Text

The Bad Batch Series Finale

FULL DISCLOSURE: This is a vent post. I’m angry and hurt. After I get this out of my system I’ll be more open to discussing the positives of the episode.

Warnings: Ranting, Spoilers

Hooo boy. Okay. I am… less than satisfied?

Quick rundown since I haven’t posted much of anything Bad Batch related: Tech is my favorite Batch member, immediately followed by Crosshair. I’m also a HUGE Republic Commando Nerd (read all the books, played the game, despised Bad Batch as a whole initially because I felt the commandos were being unfairly ignored, can sing + translate Vode An, etc.) and Scorch was my favorite Delta. The Bad Batch grew on me shortly after Season 1 finished up, and I immediately latched onto Tech when I began watching. He’s the reason I watched the first two seasons. (Crosshair + delusions about Tech were the combined force behind watching the final season)

NOW, onto my actual thoughts on the episode, in no semblance of order because my brain is still trying to process, Ft. Cry count:

• Wish Tech was here. He would’ve loved the Zillo being freed.

• “‘Cause I’d do the same thing” no you wouldn’t. Fives would’ve. The you I fell in love with would’ve yelled at Fives about it being a terrible idea and then promptly gone along with it anyway. That said it was a really cute moment and I loved his nonchalant little “come on” afterwards.

• C: “Echo or Omega?” W&H: “Omega” THEY KNOW THEIR GIRL SO WELL

• When Hemlock went to get the operatives I got excited thinking maybe, just maybe we’d get Tech back.

• CROSSHAIR LOST HIS FREAKING HAND!?!? WHAT THE HECK!?! I will never stop being salty about this. He’s been through enough. [Near Tears]

• Rampart sucks

• Nala Se got to blow stuff up and I appreciate that even if I don’t really like her

• I’m glad Wrecker’s okay. He had me scared for a bit. Hunter, conversely, never really did? He’s Omega’s Dad, he had to survive.

• Did anybody else see that one operative whose helmet seemingly had goggles built into it? We had a lingering shot on his helmet for a few seconds and they looked like a red version of Tech’s goggles.

• SCORCH IS DEAD AND YOU’D BETTER BELIEVE I’M MAD ABOUT IT! [First shedding of tears]

• HECK YEAH, HEMLOCK IS DEAD!!! [Tears of relief combined with grief over Scorch]

• I’m so glad Omega hugged Crosshair first. I fully expected her to just run to Hunter, and Crosshair needed that hug.

• Echo’s goodbye was disrespectful. 0/10. He’s family and they don’t even care that he’s leaving???

• SOMEONE IS MISSING FROM OUR NICE LITTLE GROUP SHOT!

• I never really got super invested in the dynamic between Omega and Hunter, but the ending between them was cute I guess.

• We were robbed. We could’ve gotten Crosshair and Wrecker as old men and we were robbed.

• Tech is dead. Like, seriously, really and truly, dead. As a delusional “Tech’s alive guys, trust me” fan, it feels like he just died all over again. I’ll talk more about this later because I’m not over it. [Que sob-fest]

alright, circling back around to my main gripes, in order of appearance:

#1. Scorch.

I hate how they handled him. At first when he showed up I got super excited. That was my boy! In the Bad Batch show!! He’s making an appearance!!! Maybe they’ll do something with the Delta boys!!

Even as the episodes went on and I started to suspect where his path was leading, I consistently would go “Scorch!!! <3” every episode, because that is my boy and I love him dearly.

The levels of offended I am on Scorch’s behalf are not within my ability to express with words. The complete and utter disrespect he was shown over his time on the show is appalling. Why bring him in if you’re going to drain him of all his personality, make him have zero plot relevance, and then murder him?! They could easily have made a new clone for that, as seen by the number of operatives who exist and got 0.5 minutes of screen time.

But no. They brought in a beloved character with 10 seconds of canonical screen time prior, stripped him of everything that made him lovable, didn’t even have him DO ANYTHING, and then murdered him. It feels like a spit in the face and a kick to the gut all at once.

I will mourn. I’ve already cried and I’ll probably cry again. But right now I’m angry and I think Scorch deserves to have people be angry about how he was treated.

#2. Tech

Yes. I admit to having been a “trust me guys, Tech’s alive” person. I will also admit that at the end of episode 13 I wanted him to stay dead because I had zero faith they could satisfactorily bring him back.

My gripe is not with him staying dead. Yes, it feels like losing him all over again. Yes, I will mourn him again. Yes. That sucks. It’s not what’s making me mad.

What makes me mad is how his death was handled.

• It served ZERO purpose narratively other than to up the stakes and make us worry about whether anyone else would die (Spoiler alert: They didn’t. Tech was the only one who died) • Nobody mourned him. No one seemed affected by his death at all. No one cared. I don’t care what anyone says, that will NEVER be okay. • The first actual mention of Tech *dying* was in the finale. Sure, we’ve had name drops and goggle appearances, but actually talking about what happened? One line. One. Freaking. Line.

I feel like I’ve been slapped in the face, you know? He deserved better and so did we. He was a part of that family and they couldn’t even be bothered to address the responses to his death. He was beloved by many of us and they couldn’t even respect him or his fans enough to treat his death like something to be mourned.

That’s wrong, no matter how you look at it.

#Crow’s cawing #star wars the bad batch #the bad batch #star wars tbb #Star Wars The Bad Batch Tech #tbb tech #star wars republic commando #republic commando #tbb scorch #clone commando #clone commando scorch #tbb spoilers #Star Wars The Bad Batch spoilers #spoilers

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missmonsters2 · 1 year

Text

—On Your Mind

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader/OFC

Summary: You watch her across the room, eyes heavy-lidded and the edge of a red solo cup resting against your lips. It doesn't matter that a sea of bodies separates the two of you. It doesn't even matter that there's someone else in front of you right now, trying to get your attention. The sight of Wanda fighting with her boyfriend always caught your eye.

Warnings: Toxic Behaviour. Infidelity. Spicy but not explicit content. Toxic!Reader. Tony—should get therapy but throws a party instead. Natasha—trying to be a good person. Vision—is a loser.

Note: JLKSDFJSk I wish I could explain this but I can't. Inspired by the song #icanteven - the neighbourhood

Main Masterlist || Library Blog || AO3

You do NOT have permission to repost or translate my work on any other platforms (even with credit)

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The music pumped so loudly that you could feel the bass thrumming along your skin. It was electric, and the only thing that soothed you right now was when the taste of the bourbon in your red solo cup slid down your throat with ease.

You found it kind of funny that Stark rented out an entire club, buying the most tasteful liquor but refused the glasses and shelled out money for red solo cups instead. You had teased him, saying he was looking to relive his youthful days, but Stark insisted it was because it would get more expensive when people got too drunk and broke the glasses one way or another.

You didn't blame him. Stark was a particularly stressed individual, even if he hid it behind his snarky remarks and flippant personality. But that was what you especially liked about him.

"Are you having fun?"

You hold your cup out to Natasha, letting her pour you another bourbon on ice.

"So much," you replied flatly, looking her in the eye as she smiled. "It's almost crazy how much I can't contain my excitement."

Natasha laughed, tipping her cup towards you, and you bumped yours against hers in cheers. Once the two of you took a generous sip of your drinks, Natasha sighed as she leaned against the counter.

"You didn't have to come tonight," Natasha drawled. "Stark throws one of these every year. He won't even know if you're missing one."

"Thanks for blatantly lying to my face." You smirked. "But with his neurotic personality? I'd be getting phone calls all night if I didn't show up."

Natasha only chuckles in response, and you know that she knows that you're correct. She turned to you, about to say something else, when she noticed a glint in your eye. Following your line of gaze, Natasha only sighed.

Across the room, past the many bodies of people dancing, was Wanda arguing tersely with her boyfriend.

"Stop," Natasha warned you, flicking the side of your head. You turned to look at her with a raised brow.

"Stop what?" You asked innocently.

Natasha rolled her eyes. "You know exactly what." Her nose is scrunched up in mild displeasure. "Stop staring at Wanda and Vision fighting. They're really on the rocks lately, and your flirting with her has been making it worse."

You shrugged, uncaring. "Wanda hasn't told me to stop." You smirked again. "And from the looks of it over there, she might need someone hitting on her to lift her spirits."

Natasha bumped her shoulder against yours, shoving you slightly in reprimand. "Don't you feel bad at all?" She sighed. "Vision isn't...a terrible guy and everyone can tell you make him feel...small."

"I think it would take me having a second heart to feel remotely bad for him," you rolled your eyes and then scoffed. "He's not a terrible guy, but I wouldn't exactly say he's awesome either. He's so condescending to Wanda."

Natasha only fidgets uncomfortably at your words, unable to fight against them. It was hard when Natasha thought back to Wanda's muted behavior this last year. You wouldn't have known being new to the group, but Wanda used to be so full of laughter and mischief. Now, she was so serious and, well, drab.

"Still," Natasha bit her lip. "They're dating and Wanda doesn't seem like she's come to her senses about breaking up with him."

"Maybe she just needs a little push," you quipped with a shrug.

"If that were the case, the constant love confessions she gets would've woken her up already," Natasha pointed out dryly. "Wanda's not unaware that she's an incredibly attractive girl." Natasha left out the part that begs the question of why she stayed with a guy like Vision in the first place.

"Yes, but she's told all those dudes to fuck off," you grinned, swirling the bourbon in your cup. "So, maybe," you licked your lips, eyeing the two arguing across the room, "she needs a little push from someone whose interest she's entertaining."

Natasha sighed, grumbling obscenities under her breath before she looked at you with unimpressed eyes. "I want no part of whatever you're planning to do tonight." With that, Natasha gave you a look before she walked away.

You laughed as you began to walk off in the other direction.

"Well, if it makes you feel better, I have no plan!"

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Wanda glanced at you. It was her 29th time since arriving at this stupid party. She hadn't wanted to come at all, not feeling social in the slightest lately.

But Vision had insisted since he's been friends with Tony since they were young. Vision never missed any outgoing Tony planned, and sometimes it drove Wanda mad. It was a point of contention how often Vision would choose Tony over her needs.

Wanda never blamed Tony since he was unaware it was a problem in the first place. Unless Vision told his childhood friend, and Tony was blatantly ignoring it and continuing on with the constant events and invites.

The dimmed lighting and pumping music gave Wanda a slight headache, and she was about to turn to Vision to tell him they could only stay for an hour because, despite trying to convince her boyfriend to not go, big events like this were impossible to not go to.

"Vis," Wanda kept her tone even. "I'm serious, I want to go home after an hour—two at the most."

"Wanda," Vision sighed as if she were being completely unreasonable. "You know these only happen once a year. Just—try to enjoy yourself, okay?"

Wanda didn't reply with anything in return, only tersely nodding her head. If she opened her mouth now, she would undoubtedly say something that would cause another spat between them, which has been happening a lot as of late. It just seemed like every little thing was a cause for an argument. Half the time, Wanda didn't even remember what they were fighting about by the time they had their next argument (which would be soon after).

Wanda pursed her lips. Well...that wouldn't be an exact truth.

Lately, the fights have been centering around a few focus topics. Vision's lack of attentiveness, Wanda's nagging, and you.

It was bad, Wanda knew. She really shouldn't be indulging your witty banter, lingering looks, and grazing touches. Honestly, it was probably already considering cheating how much your attention charmed her.

It was just the right amount of flirting. Friendly and obvious but not disrespectful.

"I'm going to go find Tony. Do you want to come along?"

"No." Wanda answered shortly and shook her head.

Vision sighed deeply through his nose, pinching the space between his brows. "Fine," he gritted, trying to avoid another argument. "Just stay here and enjoy yourself then. I'll come find you later."

"It's hard to enjoy myself when I have a headache, Vis," Wanda glared at him.

"Then you should've taken an Advil before you came—" Vision started to raise his voice but immediately cut himself short. He muttered to himself as if he were trying to calm himself down. "I don't know what you want me to do, Wanda. We're here, so let's just do our best, okay? I'll see if Tony has some Advil."

"I want to go home, Vis," Wanda emphasized because she was sure Advil wasn't going to fix her mood. She had a tight feeling in her stomach that this party would be a mistake.

Wanda looked over her shoulder again and found your eyes on her. They were aloof as you stared, and you weren't even paying attention to the girl talking in front of you. A chill scratched down Wanda's arms, her skin rising to goosebumps.

That was probably why Wanda entertained it. You made her feel seen, and Wanda had never felt so seen by someone as much as she did when you looked at her.

"Jesus Christ, Wanda. I wouldn't have insisted on you coming if I knew you were going to be so miserable to be around," Vision grunted.

Wanda sharply turned back to Vision, her eyes flashing dangerously.

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The song changes. The calypso beat and reverse guitar sound ring in your ears compellingly.

You've been leaning against the back wall for a while now, nursing that bourbon drink Natasha poured for you earlier. The club is hazy with flashing blue lights, making it easier for you to be a wallflower.

Well, almost.

"I didn't think we'd get to see each other again. I thought about texting you, but I don't know. I felt weird since you haven't texted me. But I mean, what a coincidence, right? I would've never guessed you knew Tony too."

You hummed, barely paying attention to the brunette in front of you.

Wanda was still fighting with Vision, and honestly, you were quite impressed. They arrived almost half an hour ago, and they're still managing to fight in a club with deafening music.

Your index finger tapped against your red solo cup along with the beat of the music idly. Natasha's probably right, and you shouldn't look at Wanda anymore. You have a perfectly nice woman in front of you now, eager to talk with you and probably would go home with you without too much work.

But Wanda Maximoff was a vice, and she had you in an unyielding grip.

You watch her across the room, eyes heavy-lidded and the edge of a red solo cup resting against your lips. It doesn't matter that a sea of bodies separates the two of you. It doesn't even matter that there's someone else in front of you right now, trying to get your attention. The sight of Wanda fighting with her boyfriend always caught your eye.

Vision threw his arms up in frustration and defeat before he walked off. Wanda turned her head, eyes catching yours in a glint, and you smirked behind your cup.

And the sight of you staring at her fighting with her boyfriend had always caught Wanda's eye.

"That's lovely," you muttered half-heartedly to the girl in front of you, passing her your cup as you stood straight. "You like bourbon, right? You should enjoy yourself and I'll catch you later."

You heard the call of your name, but you're already navigating through the crowd of bodies.

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A warm hand slid into Wanda's, fingers tracing her palm before interlocking.

"Hey."

The husk voice and puff of air hit the shell of Wanda's ear, and she turned around as if she hadn't been waiting for you. The smell of bourbon and the citrus smell of Neroli Portofino hits her nose. She almost sighs contentedly but bites down her tongue instead.

"Hey," Wanda leaned in towards your ear to say back.

Your thumb traced the thenar of her palm while staring into her eyes, searching for something—and god, Wanda hoped you found the answer because she couldn't verbally give you one.

"Wanna dance?" You asked her, but you're already dragging her out onto the dance floor, between the sea of bodies, obscuring them from view.

You pulled Wanda into your body, all her parts pressed against you perfectly. Your hands on her waist, squeezing tightly once.

Headache?

Wanda felt like such a liar. She was feeling something else—something that traveled much lower. Something that Advil couldn't fix.

This was a terrible, terrible idea.

And Wanda blamed Vision for it. He really should've just taken her home.

Wanda turned around in your arms, her back pressed against you as she ground against you along with the beat. Her hips sway while your hand caresses her shoulder, trailing down her arm.

Your lips grazed the shell of her ear, ghosting down her neck, and suddenly the flirting didn't feel so friendly anymore.

Your hand enclosed Wanda's, and her head fell backward, eyes fluttering close as she leaned against you, moving with the music.

"You're so pretty," you muttered in her ear, and she almost couldn't hear it over the music. Wanda's hand tightened around yours, and she could feel the rumble of your chuckle. "Are you even thinking of him?"

Wanda's eyes snapped open as she looked at your piercing gaze and felt herself grow feverish.

Guilt filled her because, no, Vision hadn't crossed her mind once until you brought him up.

"I—" Wanda started to say, but nothing else would come out.

"Must've been a pretty bad fight." You kissed the junction of her neck and shoulder. "He's a shitty, shitty guy. Otherwise, he'd cross your mind even a little."

Wanda felt you grip her chin, tilting her head down to stare straight ahead, and her stomach dropped.

"But I guess you're pretty mean too, Wanda. I mean, you're probably the only thing on his mind right now and you're not even thinking of him a little," you chuckled, and Wanda shouldn't feel so flushed with how callous it sounded.

A couple of people have moved off the dance floor, giving Wanda the perfect line of sight to see Vision—or for Vision to see her, she supposed.

He stood there with a bottle of Advil; his face was grim.

But he didn't move, and neither did Wanda.

They stood there, staring at each other.

"Don't think that bottle of Advil is gonna help him," you mused. "He looks sick to his stomach."

You nudged her to stand straighter, causing her to look at you. "Wanna get some fresh air, or do you wanna go be miserable with him?" You gave her a choice, despite your taunting words. Your grip on her hand loosened, only giving Wanda a split second to decide.

Wanda tightens her hold on your hand. "No, it's pretty hot in here."

You gave her a lopsided smile as you began to tug her in the opposite direction of Vision, and Wanda followed, only turning her head back once to look at Vision's grim face as he gripped the Advil bottle.

Wanda leaves, and he doesn't follow.

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Wanda moaned against your mouth as you pressed her against the wall of the club in the alleyway. Her fingers slid against your jaw, pulling you closer as she consumed your lips over and over.

She hated the taste of bourbon, but it tasted so fucking good on your tongue. Wanda wanted to concentrate on only one thing, and that was just how good it felt to have your hands sliding up her waist, ruffling her shirt as your thumb pressed against her ribs.

But fuck, you were making it really hard for Wanda to feel the pleasure guiltless.

"So pretty," the words from your lips tumble into Wanda's mouth. "Think about you all the time. Can't believe you're with such a dickhead."

"Not right now I'm not," Wanda quipped, capturing your lips.

The words made you chuckle, and you squeezed her in your hands. "Not right now?" You mused. "Are you saying you're going to go back to him?" You peppered kisses along her jawline.

"Are you telling me Vision's gonna take you back after he looked like he was going to throw up?" You pulled back just slightly to look Wanda in the eyes. Her chest rose and fell in deep pants, lips plump and cheeks flushed.

You brush your lips against hers, pressing lightly as if to test the connection between the two of you. "He's probably standing there like a fucking moron thinking about how could you do this to him."

Wanda surged forward, deepening the kisses as she firmly pulled you closer. Her grip was possessive and intense, and she just wanted you to shut up.

"Natasha asked me earlier if I even feel bad," you pulled away, shifting your hands to thread through Wanda's hair, gripping her head to pull her into another lust-driven kiss.

Wanda moaned.

"I don't," you told her. "I don't even feel a little bad."

Your thumb stroked Wanda's swollen lips. Really, she was so fuckin' pretty.

Wanda raised her brow at you. "Are you gonna talk about him all night? If you keep making me think about him, I might just go running back right now."

You chuckled, pulling her into a rough kiss, teeth dragging at her lower lip, and Wanda whimpered. You soothed it over with your tongue, hearing her soft sigh.

"Let's not make empty threats. You and I both know who's always on your mind. Does that make you feel bad?"

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You woke up to an empty bed, but you weren't surprised.

You checked your phone to see a bunch of texts from Tony to see if you were awake and sighed deeply, sending a quick message back.

Another thing you hated about the yearly parties was the brunch date the next day.

You lingered in the shower, your fingers running over the dark hickeys that littered your neck and collarbones.

By the time you made it, you were the last person.

"There you are!" Tony dramatically scowled at you, pointing his fork threateningly at you to sit down.

You took the seat next to Natasha, getting a questioning look from her with her brow raised. You winked at her before looking ahead.

Wanda and Vision sat together cozily, her head on his shoulder while his arm was around her.

Vision was pointedly ignoring your existence, but Wanda looked at your amused gaze that trailed the matching hickeys on her neck poorly covered with concealer, raising her brow in challenge.

"Man," Tony groaned, rubbing his face. "I feel like shit today. Anyone else feel bad?"

There were mumbles here and there in response.

Wanda just stared at you before she soundly said, "No. I feel just fine."

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff imagine #natasha romanoff x reader #wanda maximoff x y/n #wanda maximoff angst #avengers imagine #scarlet witch imagine #scarlet witch x reader #wanda maximoff fanfiction #Elizabeth olsen x reader #mm: my fics

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gatitties · 6 months

Text

Mute: O3. Study

O1. Flowers / O2. Friends! / O3. Study / O4. Ice-cream / O5. Sick / O6. Locked up / O7. Fight / O8. Friends? / O9. Grateful / 1O. Wishes

ilsm @chiyoso <3 I can tag you in all chapters of course 🫶🏻

You kept ignoring the girls' advice, in a way it bothered you that they were afraid of Tendou hurting you but you convinced them that he was someone you wanted to spend time with. Without interfering much in your life, they let you be, as long as nothing bad happened to you, everything would be fine.

Today you finished the club activities later, some new plants had arrived that you had to place because it was your turn to take inventory. You wiped the sweat from your forehead and the dirt from your clothes to close everything and go to the bedrooms. Well, that was your main plan because you wanted to get rid of the dirt along with the bad smell but hearing the squeaks of the court it was inevitable not to approach. It had become customary to go visit the boys, with whom you end up having a strange friendship, you communicated with them thanks to Tendou, he was like a translator or rather like a parrot that repeated what you said.

You were received by a ball that almost hit your face, if it weren't for your reflexes you would probably have ended up lying on the ground because of that power. You blinked before picking up the ball and putting it in the cart along with the others.

"I-I'm so sorry!"

You saw how Goshiki bowed deeply over and over again, you waved your arms downplaying it, you couldn't get angry with such a baby even if that ball had hit you, the dark-haired man was undoubtedly your favorite of the entire team. You managed to calm him down, you watched their training again silently supporting everyone with smiles or nods, you helped clean up and now you are on your way to the bedrooms.

"So we're having a study session?"

Semi looked expectantly at his companions, searching for an affirmative answer to his question.

"Yes, please."

"Yes!"

"Would you like to join?"

Ushijima asked you politely, you going to decline so you could rest; lately they had sent more work than usual, also a few days ago you couldn't sleep well, but Tendou answered for you.

"Of course she'll come, she's probably a brainiac just like Shirabu, she can help us."

«Stop answering for me, Tendou»

"Oww, I just want you to join your friends, plus I'm sure our future ace needs some help with his homework."

Goshiki nodded frantically asking for your help since mister salty didn't want to help him, saying that he was too stupid to understand anything.

«Sneaky salami»

"Salami!? Is that an insult?"

You smiled innocently walking next to Semi, who was the calmest of all. You sighed internally, you couldn't deny that cinnamon roll help and Tendou knew it.

When you arrived at the room of the blocker and former setter you sat on some cushions, you were placed next to the first year to help him, you lent him some of your notes that despite being a second year served him perfectly to understand the basics. Bored you played with a pen scribbling from time to time, apparently your notes were understood so well that he didn't need you to explain it.

Tendou watched as your eyes traveled from side to side looking for something interesting, he smiled mischievously to walk towards the drawer where he kept his treasure; his favorite manga. You turned your head quickly as he hummed your name playfully, he pointed to the tome in his palm to repeatedly raise his eyebrows.

«What's that?»

He opened his mouth surprised and offended, you had no idea about that because you basically didn't read anything in particular. He practically dragged you next to him as he explained the story, slowly turning the pages so that you had time to read, you discussed some things with him from time to time. A few minutes passed in which he did not stop talking, then you began to feel all the accumulated fatigue, you ended up leaning on his lap to be able to rest, somehow his voice relaxed you so you fell asleep quickly.

"Tendou, she has fallen asleep."

Ushijima reported as he watched how you rested comfortably on the redhead, you instinctively hugged him causing him to stiffen for a few moments, resuming the posture he was going to wake you up but Shirabu stopped him.

"Let her rest, lately we've had a lot of homework."

He saw how you smiled in your sleep, snuggling closer to him, causing a faint blush on his face, he positioned you better so that he could hug you from behind and that you could rest on his chest. He wrapped his long arms around your waist placing his head on yours to continue reading the manga that was now on the table.

"How sweet you are, Tendou."

His teammates were not going to waste the opportunity to make fun of his blocker, especially if we talk about Semi, who constantly suffered from the redhead's jokes.

"Shut up Semisemi."

He stuck his tongue out at him childishly and they carried on with their chores throughout the afternoon without further interruption, without anyone waking you from your sleep, clinging to the comfort of Tendou's embrace.

#haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x fem reader #reader insert #sfw #tendou #tendou satori #tendou satori x fem reader #fem reader #shiratorizawa #shiratorizawa x reader #mute reader #mute fanfic #tendou fanfic

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hey-kae · 2 years

Text

20 Minutes to Spare

Charles Leclerc imagine

Pairing: charles x female reader

Storyline: Charles is tense before the Canadian GP and reader wants to help him relax

Warnings: smut, fingering, unprotected sex, p in v, not really proofread (that’s it i think) also french translation to english is in italics.

Sidenote: I’m super proud of him for going from p19 to p5 but it’s sad so see that in his post-race interview he still seemed unsatisfied by it. I wish he would give himself some credit! Also I don’t know when a driver is required to be at the garage or if there are public bathrooms near the tracks but let’s roll with it please🥲

lmk if it’s bad. I appreciate brutally honest people!

Right between the deafening sound of cars zooming by and the nearly suffocating smell of burning rubber and motor oil, you were sat in the corner of the Ferrari garage with Charles right beside you. The amount of things happening all at the same place and the numerous people rushing around made you move your attention down to your lap where you rested your fidgety hands and to Charles’ leg bouncing anxiously beside you.

He was a little bit frustrated, nervous even, for obvious reasons. He had suffered a penalty that would force him to start today’s race from the back of the grid, what upset him considering his current standing in the championship and how crucial his every future win would be.

Sighing, you reached over and placed your hand on his forearm, finding it almost painfully stiff: a clear manifestation of how tense he was. Noticing your soft touch, he looked at you and smiled briefly before moving his arm to rest assuringly round your shoulders, pulling you closer to him and kissing your head firmly.

“Ça va bien?” Are you alright? You whispered into his ear, genuinely wanting to know if he was fine. Your eyes locked with his and you could see him calculating his response.

“Oui, cherie. Don’t worry.” He replied, further squeezing you into his side.

However, it was unmissable at what pace he was shaking his leg, making the whole bench bounce with him. Luckily, you two were its only occupants. Soon enough, you found yourself moving your hand to rest on his thigh, what surprisingly startled him, causing him to abruptly still his movement.

“Fuck.” He breathed out in frustration as you nuzzled your face into his neck, lightly pecking the skin there.

You wanted to help him relax but the idea that you had in mind wasn’t exactly applicable in such a crowded and busy environment. Plus, you were completely clueless to how much time he still had before the race.

“How much time ‘till lights out?” You asked and Charles immediately checked his watch.

“Environ 30 minutes.” About 30 minutes.

“And till you have to stay in the garage?” He moved to look at you, his eyes shining with suspicion.

“I’d say 20 minutes if i want to stay on everyone’s good side.” He smiled, “Why are you asking?”

Instead of replying, you got up and grabbed his hand, pulling him out of his seat.

“Come on.” You said and started making your way out of the garage with Charles right behind you.

By now, Charles had caught onto what you were thinking, the thought painting a small smile on his face as your hands stayed intertwined and your thumb softly caressed his skin.

You looked around you and realized you didn’t know where you were going, the realization stopping you in your place.

“Charles…” you trailed off, making him chuckle.

“Come with me.” His arm once again found its spot around your shoulders as he lead the way.

Seconds later, you found yourself entering a public bathroom that happened to be in a somewhat obscure spot so few people even used it. It was decently neat and spacious enough, with a small counter space beside its sink.

Not ideal, but it’ll have to do.

“I just thought that going back to the motorhome would look suspicious right now.” Charles explained as he locked the door and turned around to face you.

“Alors, you brought me here because…” he acted clueless, his hands on his hips as he attempted a frown. However, his knowing grin gave him away.

“Shut up, we don’t have much time.” You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him close to you, your lips immediately crashing against his, the pace leaving him momentarily breathless. He still recovered significantly fast. His hands slid up your shirt, roaming around your body and discovering every curve as you softly bit his lower lip, causing him to groan into your mouth. You, on the other hand, didn’t have equal access to his body, given the fact that he was already in his stupidly attractive race suit, which was unreasonable since it covers every inch of his skin. It still turned you on when he wore it, no matter how much it covered up.

Your hands trailed down his body, down to his chest as you frantically searched for the zipper, struggling to pull it down, what ended up in Charles’ hands joining yours in effort of unzipping it quicker. The stupid zipper wouldn’t budge, causing Charles to pull away from the kiss to figure out what was happening.

“Fuck, it’s stuck.” He cursed as he inspected his suit. Your mind was already reeling with what this would lead to. However, you were startled by Charles’ sharp movement as he yanked at the zipper’s slider, ripping it away from the fabric, ruining the suit in the process.

“Charles…” you gasped, panicking immediately. It surprised you to see he was unfazed, pushing your back against the counter before helping you on top of it, his body snug between your parted legs.

“Fuck it, mon amour. Je n’ai pas la volonté d’arrêter ça maintenant.” I don’t have the willpower to stop this now. He responded, eyes shifting down to his very obvious bulge, implying that would be a problem if he didn’t get any relief.

“Now, let me fuck you, ma belle.” My beautiful. He mumbled against your neck, littering open mouthed kisses there as his hands fumbled with your pants, unbuttoning them and moving them down just enough. His fingers started tracing teasing shapes onto your clothed pussy as his soft assault on your neck continued. The feeling he was giving you was teasingly good, causing you just enough pleasure to keep you on edge. Your lips parted and a soft moan escaped you when his fingers pushed your panties aside and started rubbing your clit. He pulled back a little to watch your face, loving how much his slightest touch could affect you.

“Fuck, i love having you all to myself.” He bragged, pushing two fingers into you and admiring the way your eyes squeezed shut in reaction to the slight stretch.

It felt so good, too good to comprehend that he was wasting his time like this. All your could focus on was the way his fingers moved so skillfully inside of you and the sounds they were producing as he thrusted them. Finding the strength to stop this was nearly impossible, especially since the tingling sensation was starting to build up in the pit of your stomach, but as if your body was reacting on its own, your hand wrapped around his wrist, urging him to stop his actions.

“Stop this, baby. We don’t have much time left and i want you to fuck me and take all your tension out on me.” You pushed his race suit further down his body, freeing his painfully hard dick and pumping it a few time as Charles looked at you with slight surprise in his expression.

“You will be the death of me, i just know it.” He blurted before holding your panties to the side and thrusting into you all at once, causing the both of you to let out an audible gasp. He started slowly moving, his hands steadying your hips as your eyes drifted down to watch him slide in then out of you at a steady pace.

“You are so wet for me, sweetheart. Do i make you this horny?” He spoke seductively. His hand slipped into your shirt then into your bra, pinching your hardened nipple with just enough force before rubbing the sensitive skin, what left you bucking your hips to meet his thrusts, encouraging him to pick up his speed.

“Fuck, Charles.” You whimpered.

“Je crois que c’est exactement ce que tu fais en ce moment. N’est-ce pas, cherie?” I believe this is exactly what you doing right now. Isn’t it, cherie? He spoke right into your ear as pushed deeper inside of you.

You didn’t know what caused you to moan this loudly then, his words or the new, deeper spot he was hitting inside of you at an intense, consistent pace.

His hands found their way back to your hips, his hold on them tightening significantly as he started slamming into you fast and hard. Your nails clawed at his clothed back, your eyes rolling back at the pleasure your were feeling. His whimpers and breaths right by your ear were the single, most hottest sounds you had ever heard in your life.

“Fuck.” He whimpered and followed it by a moan, making you clench around him as hard as possible.

“Mon dieu, you’re so tight around me, y/n. So fucking good.” He praised, his fingers digging into your skin hard. His praise made you arch your back into him so he moved up his arms to wrap around your torso, pulling you as close to him as possible, your chest flush against his. He desperately needed the strong sense of intimacy at the moment.

The overwhelming pleasure encouraged you to relax your head into the crook of his neck, sloppily kissing the exposed skin there as he fucked the last ounce of energy out of you, one of his hands moving down to your clit to support his thrusting. You felt the surreal sensation building up fast, leaving you with little to no control over the sounds your body made.

“Oh my god, Charles. I’m close.” You moaned into him, feeling him draw soothing patterns on your back as he rubbed your clit and maintained his fast pace.

“Let go for me, baby. Let it all go.” That was all it took for you to come undone, clenching your walls so tight against his dick. You repeatedly whimpered his name as your whole body shuddered in his arms before going almost limp against his chest.

He continued moving inside of you for a few more minutes, his movements a little sloppier by the second as endless moans left escaped his lips. Your hand found its way to his hair and you tangled it in his messy brown locks, moving your fingertips against his scalp gently until you noticed his body tense up against your own, a colorful mix of italian, french and english curse words leaving his lips as you felt him finish inside of you.

Head still against his shoulder, you could hear his rushed heartbeat and shallow breaths as he came down from his orgasm. It felt good knowing that you could make him orgasm this hard.

“You’re good?” He asked you when he noticed your silence, his hands delicately gripping your shoulders and pushing you back so he can see your face. He found you smiling at him, your face glowing from your orgasm, causing him to smile himself. And fuck, he looked heavenly, hair disheveled, lips plumb, cheeks blushed and eyes sparkling with love as he took you in this state in.

“Je t’aime tellement.” I love you so much. He said, still beaming.

“Je t’aime beaucoup, Charles.” I love you so much, charles. You were quick to reply, feeling the words as you say them.

He pulled you into a hug then kissed you as he pulled out of you, making sure to grab a bunch of tissues and clean you up afterwards.

It was only as you were getting up to fix your clothes that you remembered the mishap that occurred with his suit.

“Shit, what are you gonna do about the race suit?” You asked, panicked as your eyes watched him fix his boxers and tights.

“Relax. I have spare ones in the motorhome. I’ll just grab one.” He assured you, pecking your forehead slightly before redirecting his eyes to his watch, “Luckily we have two more minutes to do so.”

You exhaled in relief as he grabbed your hand and unlocked the door, ready to go back to his job.

“So you have many race suits?” You asked innocently on your way to retrieve the previously mentioned item.

“Yes. I have like… three, i think.”

“Oh.”

“Oh? Pourquoi te demande-tu, mom amour?” Why are you asking, my love? He smirked.

“Non, c’est rien. Forget it.” No, it’s nothing.

If you told him how attractive you found the suit, he would have a field day with the information, probably inducing an excessive amount of winking while he was in his race gear.

“Y/n…” he teased.

“Fine. You look stupidly hot in it. I was wondering if you could bring one home.” You blurted up, your face heating up after the confession.

Charles beside you burst out laughing, making you blush harder.

“Arrête, s’il te plais Charles.” Stop, please Charles. You mumbled, pleading him to stop the laughter since people around you two were now watching.

“D’accord, cherie.” Okay, cherie. He gave in, trying to catch his breath, “And i’ll see what i can do about your request of bringing one home.” He winked, earning himself a playful shove on the shoulder.

#charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc oneshots #charles leclerc one shot #charles leclerc imagines #chatles leclerc fic #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc blurb #charles leclerc drabble #f1 x you #f1 x reader #f1 imagines #f1 one shot #f1 oneshots #f1 fic #formula one imagine #formula one imagines #charles leclerc smut #f1 smut

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writingonleaves · 4 months

Text

things you never said (things you'll never say to me) - nico hischier

pairing: nico hischier x original female character

warnings: swearing, sadness, angst, not my traditional fluff folks, very little dialogue, kinda a ramble disguised into a piece lol, google translated german, projection?? is that a valid warning

inspired by + title: "things i wish you said" by sabrina carpenter

word count: 2.8k

author's note: got into my feels randomly for this (incredible) song and decided to write something with it. also a part of @wyattjohnston 's lowkey loverfest 2k24!! hope you all enjoy this melancholy ride and please let me know what you think <3

*****

Nico Hischier has always been a leader.

You ask anyone in Naters or Bern who knew him growing up and they would say the same thing — he’s a polite, young boy with so much talent and a sensible mind. He may be the youngest of three, but everyone’s always turned to Nico for guidance. With a calming voice paired with a warm smile, it’s rare for Nico to steer anyone wrong.

And he sees it in himself too. Even when he was a rookie, when the C stitched into his jersey was only a blurred dream, he still felt like he had to lead by example. No one was expecting that of him, he knows that now, but he was a first overall pick, the weight of a losing team’s hopes on his shoulders. If he crumbled, those supporters’ hopes fell with him. His own hope would fall with him.

It took a few years, a pandemic, another first overall pick, a shit ton of roster changes, a new coach and other things to walk into a locker room that wasn’t used to losing. And Nico prides himself as being a leader in that transition. C on his jersey or not, he would’ve done it. Because he doesn’t know how not to.

Leanna always said he didn’t know how to turn it off.

When Nico had first met Leanna Spritz, it honestly was one of the worst first impressions he’s ever given. It was the morning after a brutal 6-1 loss against the fucking Flyers. The final score itself was bad, but the fact that it was against the Flyers rubbed more salt into the wound. He knew Lindy was gonna bag skate them all to hell and back the morning after and he just really wanted his cappuccino before to take away some of the bitterness.

All up in his head, he had crashed literally into Leanna. Before they both could comprehend, her cold brew had spilled. Somehow, Nico got away with an unnoticeable splash on his hoodie and no spillage from his own drink. But Leanna wasn’t so lucky. Her brown sweater wasn’t dark enough to hide the fact that half of her cold brew was on it while the other spilled to the ground.

“Fuck,” Nico had exclaimed, eyes widening and darting between her now coffee stained sweater, the empty cup on the ground and her red hair that only glistened with the sun rays. “Shit! I am so sorry. That’s totally my fault.”

Leanna had waved him away with a small chuckle as she dug into her purse for stray napkins. Far too nice for someone who now had coffee all over them because of him. “It’s okay. Mistakes happen.”

Nico looked at his watch and grimaced. Shit. He was going to be late to practice. And that would be even worse than usual with their horrible performance the night before. “Listen. I really want to buy you a coffee to make up for my clumsiness, but I’m gonna be late to work and-”

Leanna had nodded in understanding, lips quirked up. “Don’t worry about it. Promise. Go. Don’t be late for work.”

He had been so frazzled that all he remembered doing was blurting out another apology before practically running away, partially from embarrassment but also because he really did have to go.

A week later, Nico went back to the coffee shop. In the back of his mind was the redhead who he still owed a coffee to. But Nico’s also realistic and he knew he’d probably never see her again.

While he was patiently waiting in the long line, he felt a tap on his shoulder. He braced himself to interact with a fan, but turned around and was pleasantly surprised by who he did see.

“I thought that was you,” she had said, pink beanie over her hair and a twinkle in her eye. “Not going to spill coffee again on me, are you? I’m wearing white today.”

Nico swallowed before his brain turned back on and he grinned. “Good eye. And no. I promise I’ll be less clumsy today. And I’m less in a rush.” They were next in line to order and he ordered first before turning to her. She had tried to deny him but he just raised an eyebrow until she gave the barista her order.

“I’m really sorry again,” Nico said as they had shuffled out of line to wait for their drinks. “I hope the sweater didn’t stain.”

Leanna waved him off with her bright smile. “That sweater has been through too much for some coffee to ruin it. You don’t need to worry, Captain.”

Nico had been shocked that she knew who he was, which, in hindsight, is dumb. He’s not Jack, but he gets recognized a good amount around New Jersey still.

He cleared his throat. “Nico is fine.”

She smiled. “Okay, Nico. Well, I’m Leanna. Thank you for paying for my coffee. You didn’t have to, by the way, especially to clear your conscience.”

“That’s not why-well, it is. But I also, uh, are you in a rush?”

Nico remembers that day so well still, his English failing him despite living in North America for over five years as he basically asked Leanna on their first date right there and then. He remembers being thankful that she took some pity on him with her sweet smile and led them to a table. He probably would’ve stood there stuttering like a fool if she didn’t cut in.

“Nico?”

Nico blinks himself out of his memories as Jack walks into his living room. Sometimes he questions if he should’ve given Jack a key.

“Hey. What’s up?”

“We have skate,” Jack gives him a look. “Dude, take a shower. Quickly. Or we’ll be late.”

“Right,” Nico says, stumbling over to the shower. As the water’s warming up, his eyes stop at a purple bottle tucked in the corner of the sink. Hair oil. Leanna always joked that she couldn’t live without it. His hands twitch to reach for the bottle just so he can smell the grapefruit scent, but he forces himself into the shower instead.

He can hear Nina’s voice so clearly. Throw it away, she’d say in their mother-tongue that realistically Nico will never not be fluent in but sometimes is scared will slip away. Nina liked Leanna a lot, actually, the one time they met when she came to Jersey to visit last year. But Nina is also Nico’s sister, and cursed her name many times when Nico called her crying, waking her up in the middle of the night. She had stayed on the phone with him for three hours, letting him cry.

He forces himself to take a shower. To wake up a bit and shift his focus to the upcoming skate and game tonight. They’re playing the Rangers, which is just always a grind. He needs to be all in.

Nico keeps to himself while getting ready for practice, putting on his gear quietly while his teammates chatter about something or another around him. He speaks quickly to the equipment team about his skates and smiles in thanks. He catches a whiff of the perfume of their head of PR as she walks past in the hallway, and Nico swallows.

Realistically, he knows it’s not the same one. But it’s floral and smells like jasmine, so it might as well be.

As he’s driving home, he has the radio down low. He was never the one to fuss about putting his music on in the car. Because the world just works like that, a song that he doesn’t know the title to comes on. He hums along, because Leanna always played this song.

Instinctively, his fingers twitch to reach out to someone who won’t ever be in his passenger seat ever again. He can hear her voice, her thigh under his palm. It’s not safe to drive with one hand, she’d say with an amused laugh interlaced in her voice. He would always roll his eyes before giving her thigh a squeeze and keeping his hand there for the majority of their journey.

He remembers that sentence bringing him comfort when they were driving to her sister’s house in upstate New York. He was scared shitless to meet her whole family for the first time to celebrate her cousin’s birthday. It was below freezing point outside, but his hands were so clammy that one would’ve thought it was summer.

Leanna had put her hand in his hair at the nape of his neck. He had immediately calmed down.

He swears if he focuses hard enough he can still smell the green tea shampoo Leanna used. It was always interesting to him, because the first thing he would think of when he saw her flaming red hair wasn’t green tea. It deserved something more bold attached to it. Like orange. Or vanilla. Or coconut.

Because Leanna was exactly that. Bold. Bright. Crashing into the lives of everyone in her path with her bright smile, loud laughter and a personality that sucked you in.

Nico stops at a red light and absentmindedly looks to the right. His breath catches at the sight of a woman walking a beagle. Leanna always said that once she was more settled down, a beagle was the kind of dog she wanted to get, just like the dog she had by her side throughout her whole childhood.

At one point, Nico had thought she meant settling down in Jersey. Never did she give the indication while they were together that she had meant London.

He couldn’t force himself to unfollow Leanna on Instagram after the break-up. He catches himself way too often seeing if she still follows him. She does. And she even likes his posts most of the time. He checks.

Nico shouldn’t be surprised. Even though she cried so much when they broke up and he couldn’t handle it, through tears, she wished him nothing but the best. Even as she was actively breaking his heart.

As he pulls into the parking garage for his apartment complex, he kills the engine and just sits there. He should be focusing on the game tonight. Focusing on how they need to stop taking stupid penalties. Focusing on their positioning in the offensive zone.

You think too much, honey. Leanna would say, kissing his forehead twice, something she started doing to calm him down. You just need to play hockey. Least that’s what you always tell me. Everything else will follow.

And he would never admit it out loud — especially to Jonas — but he still repeats those words in his head. He’s not sure if it works, but it’s like a mantra. A routine. And hockey players know more than anyone how important routines are and how difficult they are to change.

It’s been two months and three days. It’s annoying that Nico can still hear her voice in his head, clear as day. He hopes one day he’lll never be able to remember. But he also dreads the day that he’ll forget what she sounds like.

He walks up into his apartment and pours out a glass of water, downing it in one go. The sun’s out for the first time in two weeks, and a small smile spills on his lips as he admires the sunlight through his glass windows. His eyes shift to a spot on one of the tables by the window on the right, where it seems like something is shining. His curiosity takes over and he walks over, a reminder popping into his brain that he needs to dust his apartment. Why does dust accumulate so quickly anyways?

His stomach drops. One of her combs placed nonchalantly behind one of his plants. The shine is coming from the light hitting the red hair caught between the bristles.

What the fuck?

Nico closes his eyes and takes a deep breath before hastily grabbing the comb and tossing it into the trash. She never officially moved in with him, but she was around the apartment enough to leave some things lying around here and there. He thought he had thrown everything out. Or more accurately, he trusted Jesper, Timo and Jack to do it for him during a particularly bad Saturday afternoon two weeks after everything fell to shit.

He checks the time and sighs. He needs to nap or else everything will be thrown off. Checking his phone to make sure no one needs him, he plugs it in to charge by his bedside, ignoring a text from Nina he’ll answer when he wakes up.

It’s a text she sends a few times a week when she senses that her younger brother’s having a harder day. From almost 4,000 miles, she still knows. Nico’s always loved his sister, but he’s never felt more grateful to have her as he has in these last few months.

eins zu zehn?? ❤️

One to ten, it translates to. On a scale of one to ten, how shitty or good are you feeling about it today?

Nico sighs, responds back with a 6, and wills his mind to rest.

Somehow, he wakes up decently well rested to his alarm. He stays in bed a few extra minutes, getting his mindset ready for gametime. He chooses to wear the gray three piece suit tonight. One of his more fancier fits. It is the Rangers, after all.

It was Leanna’s favorite suit of his. She always joked he “ruined the look” when he slapped on his beloved white beanie. I love your hair. I wish you’d show it off more, she’d say.

He digs out the beanie from his clean laundry.

He always leaves an hour or so to himself before he has to go to the rink. He usually spends it tidying up or doing things around his place to clear his head so he can come back after the game and just crash.

Today, he replays the breakup in his mind. Or what he remembers of it, since he blocked a lot of it out.

When you picture your future, do you see me in it at all? He had choked out, holding Leanna’s hands in his for what was the last time.

It hadn’t helped that she had also been crying as she said her next words. Neeks, baby. It’s not you, it’s me. And I hate that I’m pulling that out, but it’s true. Maybe this isn’t the right time for us.

Why can’t it be? Nico had said. Why can’t we make it work?

Maybe in the future, if things are different. She had said, biting her trembling lip. But even then, Nico knew they were empty promises. She’s too stubborn of a person to not bend the world her way. She just doesn’t want Nico to be a part of that world.

It’s not fair, he knows that realistically, but oftentimes he wonders if she ever loved him at all. That thought especially rode his mind after he saw her post a story on Instagram earlier last week. It was clearly a soft launch, with her hand in the hand of some faceless guy over dinner. Nico ended up scoring two goals that night out of sheer adrenaline and anger.

Because all he’s ever wanted was for Leanna Spritz to be happy. Even now. Even after all of this. Even if it’s not with him.

But fuck, she’s clearly moving on. Why can’t he?

He blinks, collapsing on his couch in the living room and staring at the wall. The last time he heard from her was a month ago, when he had gone down after a rough hit during a game against Minnesota. He ended up only being out for the next two games, but the hit hadn’t been pretty. His chest had taken the brunt of the damage. Everyone, including him, had been relieved that it wasn't more serious.

While he was getting checked out by the trainers the next morning, his phone had buzzed and he almost threw up.

Leanna Spritz✨

I saw the hit last night. Hope you’re okay. Listen to the trainers.

Nico was angry. What right did she have to text him that?

But then, he just felt sad. That bottomless pit in his stomach opened up. He felt nothing but emptiness.

His phone buzzes, this time with a text from Timo, and Nico takes a deep breath. It’s game time. No more crying over his ex-girlfriend.

As he’s sliding on his beanie in the bathroom, he catches sight of the hair oil again. He picks it up, smells it, before throwing it in the trash. It lands on the bottom of the can with a final thud. He clicks all the lights off, makes sure he has everything he needs, grabs his key off the hook and shuts the door.

Two hours later, everyone’s getting hyped up. He gives a mini impromptu speech, Jack slaps his back way too hard and Nico smiles, dimples and all.

He takes a deep breath before his blades touch the ice.

#lowkey loverfest 2k24 #k writes #hockey fanfic #hockey writing #hockey blurb #nico hischier #new jersey devils #nico hischier fic #nico hischier blurb #nico hischier writing #nhl #nhl writing #nhl fic #nhl blurb #nico hischier x oc

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pearlywritings · 1 year

Text

Behind the wall of falling snow we love

synopsis: Pierro is a mysterious man, the kind that guards his secrets well. One of them is being you, his lovely wife, his heart, his everlasting lover. And tonight he is finally stealing you from your duties and bringing you to his residence where you can drop the masks you wear for the people of Snezhnaya and be just a married couple.

pairing: Pierro x fem!reader

tw: smut, established relationship, immortal lovers (you and Pierro are Khaenri’ahns), religious themes, sliiiight a/b/o feature, oral, biting, unprotected sex, obviously size difference

word count: 8.1k+ words in total

author’s note: the words of prayer are actually a translated and altered from French song Ave Maria Païen from Notre Dame de Paris musical.

Ave Tsaritsa, please pardon me, if in your house I have come begging.

The Cathedral of Tsar the Saviour is a majestically built and decorated temple, having been honoring the previous Cryo Archon in the past, and now being full of prayers offered to the Tsaritsa. Today the official designation is the only reminder of in whose name it was founded, as every last piece inside and out was completely replaced with symbolism of the new deity, and Pierro personally made sure of it, solidifying her position and showing what a good and valuable asset he was.

And still is.

Ave Tsaritsa, no one ever taught me about kneeling.

Half-truth and half-lie. The people of Khaenri'ah had their ruler, to whom bowing heads and, on occasion, getting down on their knees was an etiquettish must. But they never had a god to humiliate themselves before. Even now, he doesn’t quite do so, always proudly standing akin to a frozen statue near the goddess, that is not his. Nor yours.

Ave Tsaritsa, please will you keep me from the misery, madness and fools, who rule this evil world?

That's what the purpose of the Harbingers is - enlightening the Snezhnayan people according to the wishes of Her Majesty Tsaritsa and ensuring that nothing can undermine their faith in her and push them off the intended path. Who knew that religion can be such a powerful instrument? Too bad it ended up in his and your hands. Of that he also made sure.

Ave Tsaritsa, I'm a stranger and you're my last recourse.

You were strangers to this snowy land; weakened and exhausted by the curse were your bodies the first time you ever saw your future salvation. Back then the kindness in her eyes wasn’t hidden behind a veil, and the heart, not yet frozen, tightened at the display of your tightly intertwined fingers, the stubborn desire not to let go of each other’s hand touched the deepest parts of her immortal soul. Nowadays Pierro may call it a memory that’ll never be proven existent, because the only person capable of telling it has locked herself in the Zapolyarny Palace, rarely appearing in front of anyone, and The Jester, despite the folly of his code name, is not an idiot to go and flaunt around about his dear one.

Ave Tsaritsa, please can't you hear me? Please take down all these walls between us. We all should be as one.

A wall between a follower and an Archon…foolish to try and break it. But the Cryo Archon heeds as she is fond of your singing, and you can hardly call yourself her follower, having willingly become an instrument in the silver-haired wise and cunning man’s hands. You became the holy wonder of Snezhnaya - a maiden, who hasn’t grown older a day over the centuries, and many generations came to witness your divine service and had your voice stuck in their minds, piercing their very souls. And the man could claim with certainty - you were loved by the people.

Ave Tsaritsa, please watch over my life night and day.

She really doesn’t, but Snezhnayans do, however it was by your wish and with your consent, that he put you before so many watchful eyes, and the Archon’s ones as well. But then again, if you want to hide something precious, you should put it right before the seeker’s nose. He made you adored, he secured your safety with the right deeds of yours - all Abyss would break loose if something happened to their cherished high priestess and no one would like to incur the wrath of the Tsaritsa and the Harbingers.

Ave Tsaritsa, oh please protect me. Please guard me and my love; now I pray.

His stone heart flutters for how softly, how tenderly have you sung of who your heart is beating for. Not for the deity, no - it’s pumping blood for the very man who is standing in the shadow of a wide pillar, gazing at you from behind a mask and holding a thick cape similar to his own, with his plans quite evident.

Tonight you are leaving with him.

Ave Tsaritsa. Amen.

You breathe the last words of the song against your hands, clasped together in front of you in a prayer, and the sound seems to infiltrate every corner of the grand catholicon. Your figure is ethereal, kneeling on the steps before the huge stained glass of the Cryo Archon your words were directed to. Basking in the light of the moon, pouring through the glass and painting you in the sacred blues of Her Majesty's robes, you look like a holy being, and had Pierro not known you were a sinner like him, he would've been tricked by your false chastity. Whiteness of the high priestess’s robes is pure, much purer than the snow outside, but now tainted by the colors of the Archon you both swore to serve.

Even if she doesn't, Pierro watches you, and his gaze will never waver.

Your archbishop’s crown reflects the light and diamonds gleam coldly, just like they are. The long veil hides your soft pretty hair he loves running his fingers through so much. It soothes him, reminds him of the times he used to witness you braiding them in the morning and unbraiding in the evening, sitting on the edge of your shared bed and talking about everything and nothing.

Now this became a privilege, one you are granted only once every couple of months. Sometimes separation is unbearable, but the different flight of time immortals experience makes it more tolerable. And you both know - it’s a small price for the power you managed to obtain.

Slowly you open your eyes - breathtaking cosmic crystals, that shine with pretensive innocence and have fooled and enchanted much more mortals you care to count. You are already doing so much for them, no need to try and remember every single one, it’s the clerics’ job and they fulfill it excellently under your guidance.

Pierro thinks this position suits you. You are not stupid, far from it, while leading others along the path he wants, you see right through it, never forgetting your homeland, never forgetting who you are, never forgetting the pain. You always were like this, even half a millenia ago your ingenious character intrigued him and pulled him to you like a magnet. Winning your affections and uniting your destinies by marriage is still one of his biggest personal achievements.

Despite being cursed, he is a blessed man and was one long before the doom was brought upon his nation. You are his eternal blessing.

You descend more gracefully than the deity behind you ever could in Pierro's eyes, because you were descending to him. Robes and the veil flow behind you magnificently - a sight he witnessed thousands of times, yet it still gets to steal his breath away, because you look like a lovely bride to be wed.

And I would marry you again, in every other world or timeline that is existent.

That’s what you told him when he admitted the reason for his awe-stricken expression during your first century of living in the land of snows. Even now, the cold and terrifying advisor of the Tsaritsa feels the same.

“Have you waited for long?” You start speaking not even halfway close to him. The question echoes in the majorly empty space, and prompts the man to step out of his hiding spot, becoming the victim of the moonlight as well.

“No, I have not,” his answer is short, but only because he doesn’t like getting personal before you two are back in his manor, where he knows no one can interfere. You simply nod at that.

“I’ll go and change. Will you wait for me, Lord Pierro?”

Always.

“Of course, Your Eminence,” he doesn’t ask you to take your time, and you know that while he is an embodiment of patience, you don’t have any second to waste.

Putting the crown on the pedestal and laying out your ceremonial clothes for the trusted deaconesses to take care of tomorrow, you can't stop the excitement pouring from your heart. Two months ago you couldn't meet due to the passing of the Eighth Harbinger - you were busy with the memorial service to commemorate La Signora and your beloved was stolen away by his duties and complications, caused by her death. While you did not hold anything against the fair lady, your thoughts were far from mourning, only thinking of the wasted time with an edge of bitterness. It happened before, and you learnt to bear with that, but even with all your practiced patience you'd never want the repeat of that three-year long occurrence when you haven't seen or heard from him at all due to your respective occupations.

You sigh in relief when the heavy fabric and furs are brought upon your shoulders, hiding the elegant, yet simple outfit, reserved for your outings. The weight of his big gloved palms is also welcomed and the deep sound of his voice washes like calming waves over you.

"Should we be on our way?" You don't see him, but you know the glow his eyes possess. Usually unreadable, they glint with emotion, the one - you can proudly declare - reserved only for you.

"Yes, we should, My Lord. We have quite a number of things to discuss and settle."

The staff of the Jester's manor know that their master and the head of the priesthood have business to discuss and under no circumstance should they be interrupted for the night and the next day. Fireplaces are lit and fresh wood is prepared. The room, that became your personal chambers in his estate, is cleaned and readied for your most comfortable stay, and the servants make sure to move as far away from the West wing, where it and the living room you use for your discussions are located. Eavesdropping is akin to a death sentence, but many would consider themselves imbeciles for trying to sneak on the two most respected and praised people in the whole country.

How fortunate it is that the Jester's personal chambers are in the same wing, just at the other end of the corridor? Servants have just one part of the building to avoid during those times, not worried about accidentally doing something wrong in regard to him and you.

Little do they know what exactly happens behind the closed door, since no one is allowed near them during these particular times. They can’t even fathom the sins your bodies bask in, perfect images crumbling down and revealing the real yous, wild and yearning, drinking up each other's touch like a life-saving water of the oasis, work talk replaced with sweet moans and low grunts and long-forgotten names occasionally slipping past your parted lips.

This is why the sheets get burnt after every stay of yours. Staff members know that's being done to prevent anyone from feeling tempted to steal and sell the fabric, touched by the skin of the Saint. In reality no one needs to know of the reasons behind torn holes and stains.

Pierro destroys them personally in the morning, as you calmly sip on your tea, seated in the armchair of his bedroom with nothing but the silk bathrobe covering your body (replaced by just his shirt occasionally). Only then you devote some of your time for actual discussions and planning, while having an amazing supper and regaining your strength for another couple of rounds, that do not even have to include the bed.

Sometimes, though, the discussion starts when servants leave you till the next evening - the time you inevitably shall depart.

"Anything notable on your side?"

You hum, plucking a pristine white petal from the water surface and twirling it between your fingers. The large floor-installed pool is enough to fit at least three people of your lover’s complexion, but there is only you, water up to your collarbones and pleasantly hot against your skin. Hundreds of petals float around you, covering your body from two piercing eyes and occasionally bumping against your bent knees, and you don’t even want to think how many flowers the servants wasted just to “please” you.

“Nothing much, and nothing of concerning importance” you admit with a huff. Church is actually a pretty good source of information; with Snezhnayan being such good believers and followers it is not hard to gather intel through confessions and later pass the concerning ones to Pierro for him to see if it actually can cause harm. But as of later it was very calm.

“Though I must admit, one young lady really caught my interest,” you throw the petal away and sink a bit deeper, water pooling around your neck now. You lift a leg, stretching a little, and from the corner of the eye watch the half-naked man, seated on the edge of the pool, following with his attentive gaze the path the droplets make down your smooth skin before they disappear somewhere at your thigh.

“And that is?” Oh, these eyes. If you were standing, you’d certainly sink onto the nearest piece of furniture, unable to fight its magic even hundreds of years later. His mostly bared body becomes the next victim of your fascination, and you bite the inside of your cheek, feeling that tingling sensation at the tips of your fingers.

“Well…” you hum again, holding his inquiring gaze and slowly, teasingly lowering your leg back into the water. “If you take all of your clothes off right now, I might tell you."

'All of his clothes' is an open shirt and a pair of pants, both made of a very light fabric. He probably abandoned the robe while walking through your bedroom, and the mask was most likely taken off there too.

"Oh?" His chest shakes with a deep chuckle, that has that specific dark edge to it, that makes you aware of why people submit to him. "It seems the information is really not of such a great importance, if you are asking me to undress in exchange."

"Mmm, you saw through my intentions. But can you really blame me? It's been so long…" Your voice trails off and you sigh, diverting your eyes elsewhere, sight quickly obscured with the images of your last encounters, making your heart clench. You must stay unbothered, but this is so excruciating, being trapped in the land of raging blizzards and frozen landscapes and the loving touch becoming not an everyday thing, but a seldom occurrence. The memories of what it used to be like are almost non-existent at this point, having been wiped out of your mind with the new reality.

Gaze falls onto your wrist and a small smile tugs onto your lips. An intricate band of the metal one would never find again and the stones that lie deep down in the mines of the miasm-contaminated homeland, rests against your skin, gleaming beautifully in the light. The same is wrapped around Pierro's wrist, just a bit wider than yours - one Khaenri'ahn tradition you were allowed to preserve - the symbol of your marriage, which in the broad daylight stays hidden under your long sleeves.

The rustle of clothes doesn't register in your brain right away, but when it does your head whips to the side, just in time to see the silver-haired man sit back down, carelessly dumping his nightwear near the side of the tube.

"Happy now?" All sorrowful thoughts leave your mind instantly when all of his body is on display for your hungry gaze. With a soft splash you lift yourself slightly, enough to get on your knees and move closer to him. His braceleted hand immediately takes a hold of yours and you comfortably lean your chest on his thigh, using an elbow to create support for your head to look up at him.

"Yes, I am. Thank you, my love."

My love. Sometimes Pierro thinks you are just a dream, a pretty, nostalgic dream, where love is not just a concept. Snezhnaya and the closeness to the Cryo Archon affected him far more than you. He toughened up, his gaze got heavier and frown deeper, lips are always drawn in a tight line and voice is even and cold, lack of emotion coming straight from his almost destroyed heart. Just one part is still alive, and warm, and capable of feelings.

This part is loving you.

"Do I deserve to be told what caught your interest?"

You smile at that, happy that he is willing to engage in a chat that doesn't relate to your plans at all. It's one of the things that serves as a reminder that you are special to him, more special than anyone and anything else, be it the Tsaritsa or your scheming.

"Oh, that's a funny thing!" Beaming, you trace one of the scars on his abdomen with your finger, noting with a smirk how it tenses under the touch. "One of your colleagues gained a faithful admirer. Quite a hopeful one, if I am being honest."

Pierro hums, showing that he is actually listening, and reaches his hand to gently pat your hair. You are so pretty, leaning on him, breasts pushed against his leg, back arched and fingers caressing his stomach, which soon becomes an absentminded gesture as your unkissed mouth moves in speech.

"She's been coming every week for three months already, lightening candles for his safe return."

'Not Arlechino, not Columbina,' he notes, attempting to distract himself from the image before him, but still noticing every single detail about his perfect wife. Hand slides to graze the side of your face and put a stray lock behind your ear. You glance up at him and, holding his gaze, turn your head in the opposite direction to press a kiss to the inside of his wrist, just above the wedding band. Pierro sharply inhales.

"Either way, she's been confessing her affections and, as the priest described it, did so "in a dreamy voice a young girl would talk about upcoming marriage". You think I spoke to my parents the same way about you?"

Your gaze turns curious and the notion of your question finally manages to return his focus. It's not often that you voice the things from the past, but on particularly calm days like today it just slips.

"I don't know. Did you?"

"I don't remember…"

Yes, that is why. And sometimes it just hurts.

"But no matter. Honestly I am quite surprised that people like her are a rare occasion. I mean, all of the Harbingers have qualities that might make you fall in love with them."

"Do many live or get close enough to witness those?" Pierro raises a brow and you roll your eyes, poking his side.

"Fair point. That's probably why she chose to fall for Childe. Young, energetic and outgoing he seems to wear his heart on his sleeve."

"Tartaglia, huh?" Makes sense, if he thinks of it. "But a marriage? Already?"

"Of course not! All I said she sounded like that, the only way the wedding is happening is in her imagination!" You burst into giggles at your lover's silly assumption, not missing him huff and tighten a hold on your hand.

"You are quite talkative today."

"I haven't seen you for four months! I missed you! You can't seriously expect me to be silent just staring at you with wide lovesick eyes."

As the man watches you dig your elbow in his thigh to push yourself off of him to stand up with the most fake offended look on your face, he thinks that his life would've ended had you succumbed to the fall of Khaenri'ah. You are the one keeping the part of him alive, cradling his heart in your loving hands, passing your warmth and aligning his heartbeat with yours.

Pierro loves you with everything left in him, and he himself can't measure if it's a lot or a little. He doesn't remember what it's like being humanly soft - but you tell him he is doing enough. And he chooses to believe you.

When a shadow is cast upon him his attention is stolen back by the present. Even with his huge complexion he has to crane his neck a bit to look at you, standing at your full height and staring down at him.

"But you are right," white lashes flutter when a warm palm cups a scarred side of his face, but he doesn't let himself succumb to the peaceful feeling, not yet, "it's time to finish with the conversations for today. Let's move to the bedroom."

Pierro is convinced that your body was created for worship. So soft, skin smooth despite all your hardships, locks thick and heavy, cascading down your shoulders, lips plump and sweet, lower one seductively caught between pearly teeth as you lead him back to your room, holding his wrist with both of your hands.

You are bared to each other, and can sense the space filling with the heat of arousal your bodies radiate. Every step closer to the bed ignites a small fire in the pit of your stomach, fueled by anticipation. Just a couple of meters and he'll push you down and pin with his weight, caging you with no thoughts of letting go for a long while, oh, you can already feel it with every cell.

With an abrupt stop you tug him closer so his body practically bumps into yours, and, releasing his wrist, cup his face instead.

"You are so handsome," you smile, standing on your tiptoes to reach and plant a kiss in the corner of his mouth. "And I bet you'd look even better on top of me."

Tempting, but he has other plans for now.

Your eyes grow wider, but a sparkle of excitement is clear in them, when the tall, broad man slowly, not breaking eye contact, gets down on his knees. Well, he did say your body was created for worshipping, so it makes Pierro your most devoted follower.

His lips are a relief against your heated skin and you sharply exhale, sliding palms to the back of his head. The kiss lingers against your stomach, the only 'ugly' part of your divine body. The place where the curse decided to bloom, circling your waist akin a wide belt, variations of dark splotches creating a bizarre picture on the canva of the skin. Still it is lesser than his is, but the price you paid for it was a devastating one.

"You are beautiful," he whispers, pressing another kiss, and then another, and then some more, leading a path down your pelvis. "So, so beautiful…"

"So now we are exchanging compliments?" Your fingers play with the longer strands of hair at the back of his neck as you are looking down at him, not missing a move, not missing the way his eyelids slide close, when he is almost there.

"Rather speaking truth," is his short answer, before his hands start prying your thighs apart.

"One leg on my shoulder," the command sends shocks through your body and you immediately obey, almost too excitedly throwing your leg over his shoulder. A kiss to the inside of your thigh is your reward.

"Now stand still, and once I secure my arms, put the other one too."

The anticipated display of physical strength makes you lose your voice for a moment and all you can do is quickly nod.

"Words, my dear, I need your words."

"I-I understood."

"Good girl."

The praise makes you blush and is enough of a distraction from what he is in the process of. But not a minute later, both your legs are on his shoulders, their broadness giving you enough room to keep your thighs spread. The globes of your ass are literally resting in the crook of his elbows, arms reaching up your back and palms splaying against your shoulder blades, creating a perfect support to lean into.

Your breath hitches when his warm breath ghosts against your slicked folds and heart begins violently beating with your body realizing the sheer strength of its partner and future pleasure this man is going to provide. And oh Archons, centuries proved how masterful he is in both.

First shudder wrecks your body when his thick tongue traces along your slit, coating it with saliva and teasing you with flicks of the tip. You blissfully sigh, closing your eyes and enjoying the small shocks sent down your spine with every drag of his wet muscle, before he steals your breath away by dipping it inside.

Pierro hums, content with tasting you again after so long, and you are so pliant in his arms, putting an ultimate trust in him, that his own sex swells at the thought. The tip of his tongue catches against your clit, which makes you gasp and tighten your hold on the back of his head, involuntarily bucking hips forward. But he is not going to give you everything right away, no, he is going to show you his faith slowly, so you can understand every single notion behind his actions of praise and worship.

That is why he is drawing his face away, smirking at your needy whine. Attention shifts on your thighs - the last time he thoroughly marked them, so harshly in fact, so you would’ve still had them aching for days to remember the time spent together. Now your flesh is so pristine clean, that he hardly suppresses the urge to bite you right away. Instead he wills himself to plant kisses, sucking the skin occasionally to leave the blooming spots to darken later in beautiful hickies, undeniably hidden by your long and many layered garment. The hairs of his beard tickles you, contrasting with the slight tingles of pain, when he decides to lightly catch the skin between his teeth and urge you to pant and squirm in his hold.

"Stop teasing me…" You try to turn his head back into the direction you most need him in, but yelp, when he digs his nails in your back and bites on your other thigh. "Pierro!"

He only groans, flexing his shoulders to shift you in a more comfortable position, licking the stinging spot he's just abused.

Biting your lip, you have half a mind to reach a hand and touch yourself since he doesn't, but the man knows you well. He glares up at you, the dangerous glint in his eyes doing not much to scare you, but that's not his intention. It's a warning.

"Don't look at me like this," you huff, still taking one of your hands from behind his head, but reaching to cup your breast instead, "I can take a little bit of teasing, but not when you give me a taste and then ignore my aching."

The way you roll the erected bud between your fingers ignites fire in the pit of his stomach, leaving his cock half hard. Who is the one talking about teasing?

A soft cry leaves your lips, when he finally dives back in. Your lover sucks on your clit like there is no tomorrow, pressing the tip of his tongue against it hard. It twitches in his mouth from stimulation and your back arches, fingers grabbing and messing his hair from the intensity he's attacked you with.

Pretty moans and deep groans fill the room as he delves his tongue into the hole - rubbing against your walls deliciously. Slick gathers at his chin and slowly drips down, just a couple landing on his twitching length. You taste divine, in all the years of his life he's never drunk anything that would come close in comparison to your nectar. He grinds his face deeper into your pussy, beard tickling the insides of the thighs and nose nudging the swollen nub, as he savors you.

Your heels dig in his back, your own arches into his arms, and you feel so so heavenly. The palm pressing on his head is as secure as his own hold on you, not letting him back off this time, so unwilling to lose this building pressure in your belly, that'll soon explode, giving you the sweet release you've been yearning for.

Pierro relishes in your throaty whine when he drags the first orgasm out of you, gulping down whatever your spasming cunt has to offer. He feels your legs trembling, but he also knows that this tiny form of relief is nothing compared to how strongly he can actually make you cum on his fingers and cock, when you writhe and thrash under him, begging for no more, or when you are stuffed to the brink and unable to move, weakly clawing at his shoulders to stop. He wonders where tonight will lead you two to.

With an oof your back hits the bed, and his arms slide from under your body. Your hand drops to your side, as the one that was fondling with your chest rests on it, feeling your heart beating against the outstretched palm.

"See, was it so hard?" You smile at him, rising to his feet and wiping his glistening mouth and chin. "Maybe I should sit on your face more. It brings you to action faster."

Wordlessly Pierro grabs your waist and shifts you higher on the bed, climbing onto right after. He lets you wrap your arms around his neck and bring him closer, slotting your mouths together and sharing a kiss full of unspoken passion. He presses himself on you, pinching your hip and making you gasp, allowing him to push his tongue into your mouth. You taste yourself and moan, sliding your own appendage against his, licking at it playfully.

Only you make him feel like this - hot, bothered, desperate, thoughts reigned by you, - everything the Jester is not, but your husband is. Only your touches and your embraces can comfort and relax him, only your kisses steal his breath away and cloud his mind, only your softness against his sturdiness is a perfect match, one that makes so much sense. Only with your heart his agrees to synchronize, sharing one beat, one melody. Only because of you he still knows what love is and that this is the feeling you two share.

When he breaks apart, chest rising and falling in sync with yours, he can't help but focus on your neck - another canva begging to be painted and who is he to decline? Your head falls back as his teeth graze down your throat. Legs, having a mind of their own, spread, and Pierro doesn't miss a chance to use it.

Your cunt is still sensitive when he plunges a long finger inside. Walls flutter and tighten around sudden intrusion, and the skillful thumb starts drawing slow circles on your clit.

"So tight…" He growls into your skin, leaving a tenth hickey on your neck and collarbones. "In four months you must've forgotten the shape of me…"

"I'll be quick to remember, mmm," you bite your lip, when he starts moving and curling his digit, all the while switching his attention to your full breasts. Your moans grow louder than before as he teases your pebbled nipples with his tongue, enveloping them in his mouth, gently sucking and releasing with a wet pop, blowing cool air on them right after only to feel you squeeze his finger.

Pierro is working your open with one and then two digits, not forgetting to play with the bundle of nerves, making the slick gush that soon even you could hear the squelching noise your pussy is making. What would've made you shy and embarrassed on your first couple of nights with him, now turns you on more than anything, prompting you to roll your hips to meet his own movements. Sometimes you feel his hard dick brush against your thigh and you gaze at him in silent question. He shakes his head, declining your help, and adds the third finger.

Now that's a really tight fit and he has a hard time dragging three fingers against your gummy, but resisting walls. You attempt to relax, but there is little you can do with how big everything about him is. Your body grows restless and fingers dig into the pillow above your head, back lifting off the mattress in a sensual arch and feet planting to bend the knees. Once or twice his real name drips like honey from your swollen lips and the man's heart skips a beat or two, your own name whispered between your ribs as kisses are pressed against the skin of your stomach.

When his mouth envelopes your clit again your moans get louder and thighs twitch to close around his head, but he uses his now free hand to push them away and pin you by the lower stomach down. Your fingers reach in his hair again, tugging on silver strands when he sucks particularly hard or curls his digits and brushes that delicious spot inside, that makes you see stars bright enough to outshine the ones in the sky.

Pierro loves when you grab onto him, doesn't matter where or how, he just loves having your hands on his body: holding, caressing, palming, squeezing, cupping… Every single touch makes him aware of your mood and desire to have him, which makes bringing you to mind-blowing orgasm even more satisfying. You inevitably scratch him, leaving a mark of your own.

He softly hisses as you dig your nails in the back of his neck, almost breaking skin to draw blood, and with a trembling scream cum. Pierro fingers you through your high, feeling your walls spasming and slick running down his hand and your thighs, soon to ruin the sheets, and watches you shudder, mouth hanging open and sweet noises creating a pretty melody. Could anyone witness a scene more divine? He can swear he is the only one.

You bite your lip when he plants a kiss to your clit and slowly pulls his fingers out, leaving you so empty, and more yearning than before.

"I want you," is your breathless demand, hands reaching for him. The man quickly grabs them, bringing closer to his mouth to kiss every single knuckle.

"Patience, my dear," is his quiet murmur, which makes you grimace.

"What is here to wait for? I've been waiting for so long, I have patience of a saint!" Literally. "Tonight is the only time I can forget about it, please don't take it away from me, I know you want me too."

And you are right. After having your taste and getting to feel the welcoming softness of your pussy he wants nothing more to sink in and mold you back to the shape of his cock.

Then why wouldn't he do just that? Taking wife's lovely advice never hurts.

He places a large hand above your head to steady himself, preventing him from crushing you with his burly mass. You hold your breath in anticipation, when the big mushroom tip parts your lips and presses against your opening. With a deep inhale Pierro grits his teeth and pushes inside, stomach immediately flexing when your walls swallow an inch. His gaze is on your face, making sure you are alright as he is slowly working his massive dick into your cunt. He knows you can take him, even if sometimes after big breaks your body screams that it can't, but the habit of checking on you just never died.

As he finally fully settles inside, he understands that his ability to move is to be cruelly tested. Your walls have an almost vice grip on his girth and the man above you groans as you tighten even more with sweet moans falling from your lips. Hair disheveled, hands fisting the shits beside your head, legs desperately trying to wrap around his wide waist but to no avail. Your struggle - to embrace his body, to take in his girth, - amuses him, but he has some pity for his dear wife, as his big scarred palms slide down your hips, leaving a trail of fire igniting sensations on your skin, and up to your knees, grasping under them and securing your legs where you want them, where he wants them. You cannot escape, you are his.

"If you don't relax, I won't be able to move."

"But it's-" you mewl when he experimentally rolls his hips.

"Don't tell me it's too much. You've taken it for centuries, don't tell me you can't take your husband's cock now," the man smirks at the way your eyes light up, and the hand with a bracelet on it reaches out to him. He lets himself a moment of vulnerability, leaning forward and into your palm, eyes sliding close and hips stilling, pelvis pressed impossibly close to yours. You feel the hairs of his beard grazing your skin, and softly run the thumb over his lips, usually drawn in a tight line. Breath chokes when he opens his mouth and bites the tip of your finger, gently catching it between his teeth. Your heart skips a beat and you tighten again, eliciting another groan from him and prompting the jaws get a little bit tighter too.

"Relax," sounds more like an angry order, but you know it's just because the man is slowly but surely losing control because of your body.

"What, can't you take your wife's pussy?" You cheekily shoot his words back at him and instantly regret it.

Because Pierro lets go of your poor thumb and launches forward, crushing you a little with his weight, and closes his mouth on your neck. Your whole face goes red from how lewdly you moan when teeth bite hard on that special place that makes you go absolutely wild once stimulated. You still haven't figured out the cause of these, and making you a subject of Dottore's research is the last thing Pierro would do in his life. You discovered it after the curse settled in your bodies and just decided to embrace this new feature, since it proved not to be causing any harm. Quite contrary, it brings you unimaginable pleasure.

Your whole body heats when he tightens his jaws a little more and you claw at his back. You have no idea what you want - him to let go or stay like this, but the unbearable need for him to move gnaws at your insides.

The man smirks when you arch into him, breasts pressing to his chest and pelvises flush against each other. He rolls his hips again, and this time his cock slides smoothly between your walls.

"Good job, love," you shudder and whimper when hot breath ghosts against your ear. Pierro murmurs quiet words of consolation, licking at the bruised place, where the dents of his teeth are already becoming pretty pronounced. He doesn't forget to thrust into you, setting a steady pace and trying some angles to find the perfect one to hit all your favorite spots.

It takes a bit of time, but he figures it out, grabbing you under one knee and pushing it forward to put you in a position that lets him reach deeper, tip kissing your cervix. From now on he grows relentless with only one thought in mind - to satiate you. He fills you over and over with his length, bulging veins caressing your walls, eliciting the sweetest noises your throat is capable of producing, each one sending shivers down his spine.

"More… Please, more…"

You look truly debauched under him, so different from the serene and gentle expression everyone is used to. Only he can see you like this and it feeds his ego, eyes glinting with lust and thrusts growing even more relentless, each bursting pleasure. Skin slaps against skin, sound mixing in you joined noises of bliss. Pierro is grunting above you, pace hard and deep, driving you closer for the third orgasm. He releases your knee, but throws that leg on his shoulder instead, leaning on you even more, so you practically scream when thick hairs on his abdomen start rubbing against your neglected clit.

“Just like that…” he murmurs, both palms firmly planted on both sides of your head as he practically pistons his dick in your cunt. You can only wrap your hands around his arms to steady yourself at least somehow, but it all comes crashing when the tight knot in your stomach snaps.

Your eyes grow wide in the mind-numbing orgasm and your head falls back. It’s almost embarrassing how fast you reached your high this time, your stamina failing you, absolutely destroyed by your husband’s actions. He is still moving inside, helping you to ride it out, snug between your walls, where he belongs.

However you both know it’s far from the end. Suddenly he picks his speed, changing deep and hard pace to a fast one, driving himself into you almost wildly, chasing his own high this time. Your grip onto him only gets stronger, nails biting in his skin as your pussy tightens every time he pushes in. Pierro’s name flows from your lips like a mantra and he lets out a growl-like grunt of your own name. The loud squelches that your recently milked cunt make are clouding his mind and making his reddened cockhead leak with arousal.

Your gaze is hazy from overwhelming pleasure, but even in such a state you could see his tense jawline, blown pupils, drops of sweat sliding down the side of his face and flaring nostrils. The sight makes your pussy contract especially hard, forcing the man to choke and halt in his movements. He feels the telltale signs of his orgasm approaching, and knows, that you are hanging at the brink of yours as well.

“Cum with me,” you frantically nod at his request, heating up from the way he grunts, rutting into you, nudging your pulsing cervix as he fills you with his hot cum. It triggers you and with a loud moan of his name you let the orgasm wash over you again.

Your lover is gentle, grinding slowly, pushing out just a little and then all the way in to keep his load inside. He pants heavily, shoulders dropping and head lowering to press his forehead against your knee, eyes sliding close to catch a small break from the first long-awaited release he’s just experienced.

Moments like this - away from his duties, with you in his arms, filled with absolute bliss, - remind him happiness is possible, that he can rest in your embrace and be caressed by your love, be it in the form of emotional connection or the primal need to mate through sex. Sometimes one thought of you is enough to make his day brighter. Seeing each other is a blessing, since he doesn’t have time to hide in the shadows of the Cathedral to watch you speak to the Tsaritsa’s people, and you have no opportunity to slip out unnoticed and unquestioned to go and visit him. This is why every touch of your hands, every kiss, every thrust, every word exchanged in the privacy of his manor matters, and you try to go as long as your bodies are able to.

Only when you let go of his wrists and relax in his hold, does he stop his movements and carefully drop your leg back onto the bed. Then, ignoring your protests, he slowly slides out, mesmerized by your gaping hole, desperate to be stuffed again by his still hard cock, so wet with your juices it almost shines in the dim light of the bedroom.

You scowl at him for leaving you empty, but your gaze doesn't lose softness reserved for this man only. The amazed way his eyes are glued to you warms your heart and lessens the ache in your core from being ripped of the opportunity to cockwarm him.

"See something you like, my dear?" You flash him a knowing grin and run one of your hands sensually down your body. Star-shaped pupils dart at the movement and immediately sharpen, when two fingers reach and spread your folds. "Do you, perhaps, like the mess you made of me?"

"I do," he breathes out. "Always do."

With a sweet smile you reach to his shoulder, gently sliding an open palm over tense flesh. You are far from satisfied, desire igniting even brighter in you, so you use his moment of distraction, lure him in with your moves, only to gather your strength and roll your bodies, reversing the position. Galactic eyes widen slightly, when his back hits the mattress and your body hovers over his.

"My turn," you lunge forward and bite on his neck, pride stirring in your chest when your lover's self-control slips and he actually moans.

"You…" You hum at his low growl, lapping at the bitten place, knowing that the job to arise his hunger here is done.

"Yes?" With a cheeky grin you face him, closely watching his expression, loving the way his lips parted in silent pants.

"A wicked woman."

"Wicked? How rude and salacious calling a high priestess such names."

"Not her," a big scarred hand reaches forward and cups your cheek. So warm. "But the woman I married."

"Oh? So it's a good thing?" You lean happily in his hold, rubbing against wide palm. Pierro slowly lifts his upper body, steading yours on top of his with the hold on your hip, and takes the sitting position with you settled on his thighs. Hot breath brushes against your lips and you let your eyelids slide close.

"The best."

As he indulges you with a fervor-filled kiss, you reach between your bodies and graze just the tips of your fingers against his cock. Two sets of eyes fly open at the same time, but while he stares at you with yearning, your eyes crease in mischief. Simple caresses soon turn into your palm wrapping around his girth and slowly sliding up and down his semi-hard length. The bite you've granted him just moments ago does it work magnificently, turning him on the same way it was with you. Attempts to restrain his hips from jerking up to thrust into your hand don't go unnoticed by you and you tug on his cock roughly to elicit a groan out of him and bury your tongue in his mouth.

Palm which was resting on your cheek up to this moment abandons its place and drops to your other hip. Thumbs smooth over the night sky painted skin of your waist, soothingly rubbing. It makes you hum in content, caressing the cavern of his mouth languidly.

Palming and groping continues for a while, shift in pace obvious after the previous round (if you were to count by the times your lover came). His cock finally stands proudly against his toned stomach once again and you lift yourself with his help, lining the tip to your hole.

Pierro feels how his own semen drips down onto his length as you position your body the most comfortable way possible given the challenging stretch your thighs have to endure because of the wideness of his figure, including the hips. Pussy inevitably releases thick white substance, coating him and surely ruining the sheets even more.

Your walls show no resistance when he slides back home. How fascinating this part of your body is - molding to his shape quickly no matter how much time has passed since the last time. He knows he is big, he's made you drool and cry and mindless plenty of times in the past (he still can, but it takes more rounds and much rougher behavior), yet your pussy always takes him.

As if to prove the statement, you press a palm against your stomach and feel an outline of him, nestled deep inside your heat, a prominent bulge appearing whenever he shifts.

"I missed this…" You admit with a smile, rubbing up and down, absolutely enjoying the view of his greeted teeth, heavily rising and falling chest. “Mmm, I can feel you twitch inside…” Your teasing voice is so beautiful and the man can’t help it but lean forward and kiss the column of your throat.

“I missed this too…”

“Then let’s take the most we can from this night, shall we?”

As your lips meet in another kiss and hips start rocking again, Pierro silently agrees, secretly, just like every time, praying to no one in particular for the night to never be over.

taglist: @we-wo-we-wo, @secretartisanclodhairdo, @eiscoathanger

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #pierro x reader #pierro x fem!reader #jester x reader #pierro genshin #genshin impact smut #moonlit pearl stories #my longest fic so far

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