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evielmostdefinitely · 5 months

Note

i need more about the wedding or the wedding press tour.

or smut on the train.

all of it. anything.

snow bride |young!coriolanus snow x capitol!reader|

prompt: based off the wedding night on the train before the press tour.

contains: smut. 18+. dom/sub dynamics implied. oral fem receiving. pinvsex.

“Wait!” Corio called, hand wrapping around your wrist, pulling you back towards him. Your champagne soaked squeals had him grinning, hand slipping around the white material of your dress.

“Corio,” You laughed, turning in his arms. “What are you doing?” Your eyes shone, love drunk and glassy with adoration, the high of the wedding, the reception still fresh. Your family, friends, other elitist members had waved you goodbye, with tight smiles and slithering hopes of joy for the newlyweds.

“It’s tradition, my love.” Corio smiled. Alone, he was more generous with his affection. His hands moved, bending at the knees to hoist you, one arm under your knees, the other on your back, cradling you to his chest.

You laughed, head tipping back, dizzy off the champagne that seemed to endlessly flow, drunk off the way Coriolanus held you while you danced. He moved into the threshold of the train’s carriage, the wafting scent of roses. Tigris and your other bridesmaids had taken the liberty of decorating the honeymoon carriage. Dozens of white roses, just like the ones from the ceremony, lined the carriage’s space. Dripping wax candles in their holders for a more romantic ambiance. A bottle of champagne and a signed card of well wishes on the plush bed, where Coriolanus set you down.

You lay there, sprawled, the frill and pearls of your dress around you, veil fanning around your head like a halo. Coriolanus grinned over you, blonde curls fallen from his coiffed hair from the night.

“How will this do? Hm, for the next two weeks?” Coriolanus reached his hand up, now bearing his own wedding ring, complimentary to your own. “Up to the Prima Donna’s standards?”

The nickname you despised had you rolling your eyes, shoving his shoulder lightly. “It’s wonderful.” You hummed, blinking up at him. “Much nicer than what I expected.”

“You didn’t think I’d put you in something like the tributes used to come on, did you?” Corio grinned, stroking your cheek bone affectionately. “Your father would have a noose around my neck before we ever made it to the train station.”

“No,” You giggled, shaking your head, your hand falling gently on top of his. Rings rubbing, metal on metal. “I just… It’s nice. Feels like home.” Your now shared home with Coriolanus, you meant. A wedding present after the engagement from your father, before you moved into the Capitol’s Presidential Mansion. Always with fresh cut roses, burning candles, and soft fabrics that relaxed Corio. Made it entirely your own.

“We’ll be back in no time, my darling.” Corio whispered, the pad of his thumb brushing over the soft rouge of your cheeks. “It will be a nice break. Nice to see all of Panem. You can see my work throughout the Districts.”

“I can’t wait.” You hummed, lips pressing gently into the pad of his thumb. Coriolanus’ cock lurched, a jolt of excitement even at the simple tenderness of your touch.

You watched his eyes darken, that primal need fell over him easily, lips curling in a sinister smile. His hands slithered up your arms, circling your wrist gently before he pounced, slotting his body over yours, lips pressed to yours. You loved when Coriolanus was passionate rather than powerful. When he’d kiss you like you were his lifeline, like the very thought of his lips not on yours would have him breaking apart. When he took time to explore every inch of your mouth, swallowing your breathy, needy whines, his tongue pushing past your teeth.

You could feel his erection even through the layers of your dress, pushing into you, hips rolling and rubbing into your own. His hands anchored your wrists down, squeezing them tightly before releasing them, tangling in your hair and veil instead.

“Corio,” You whined, the tug of your veil still pinned into your hair. “I- Let me take it off.”

He didn’t seem to hear, or ignored you if he did. His lips trailing up and down the side of your jaw, pushing into the nape of your neck to inhale your scent, the perfume oil you dabbed yourself with before walking down the aisle- it drove Corionalus mad the entire ceremony. His hands tugged at the veil again just to hear you whine, covering his smirk by sucking a bruise into your skin.

“Corio, please.” Your voice lilted, breathy with desperate pleasure. “Help me take it off.”

His lips were swollen, blossoming red and plump, his tongue running over the bottom lip. Despite the glint in his eye, he pulled back, offering you a hand. The carriage was beginning to rumble, you could hear the whistles and shouts of the crowd bidding goodbye outside over the crack of fireworks illuminating the Capitol.

Coriolanus pulled you up gently, a hand on your hip to steady you as the train started to glide. His hands squeezing the fat of your hips through the dress, gliding down your thighs, your claves to shove the fabric back up.

“No,” You clicked, a huff of annoyance. “You have to undo the buttons.”

“Oh.” Corio mocked, eyes cutting to yours in warning. “My apologies, Prima Donna. How dare I not know.”

You huffed, brows furrowing into a sulking frown. “That’s not a very nice way to treat your wife on our wedding night.” You held the bedpost, his fingers trailing up your legs, squeezing over the fat of your ass- playfully or a warning, you weren’t sure.

“You should be nice to me, Corio.” You turn, batting your eyes at him from over your shoulder.

He lifted a brow- amused. Fingers hooking the buttons from their fastens, calloused hands ghosting down your spine, leaving you shivering. “I think I’m very nice to you.” Coriolanus declared.

“You’re teasing me.” You frown, lip jutting partly for show- partly because you knew how much he loved it.

“I haven’t even begun to tease you, my love.” Coriolanus’ tone dropped to a dark, husky octave that had you shivering, nails digging into the post of the bed.

“Corio,” You whimpered, breath caught in your throat. “Don’t be cruel. Be nice to me tonight. It’s our wedding night. No teasing.”

Corio hummed, loud and dramatic, like he was truly thinking it over. Maybe he was. Maybe he was contemplating being so cruel and teasing you, a punishment for you daring to step out of line- so he could regain control. Or maybe he’d do the opposite, be so doting and ravenous of you, give you the attention you were requesting so you’d become desperate for it even more. Keep you in your place that way, desperate and ruined, only for him.

Coriolanus pulled the fabric off your shoulders, with a tenderness that made your knees weak, delicately removing the dress from you until you were left bare. Standing before him in your wedding lingerie, a garter on your thigh that bore the same initials stitched as his handkerchief. It was a tradition from the old world, something people had forgotten about or let die out with so many other traditions, but you kept. It was sweet, to you, carrying a piece of him intimately to reveal later.

Corio’s eyes never left your thigh, sinking slowly to his knees in front of you. His initials there, stitched in metallic red thread to the white silk fabric, tied to your thigh in place. “Do you like it?” You whispered, the flecks of the golden flames from the candles reflecting in his eyes.

Coriolanus’ gaze lifted to yours, hands cupping the back of your thigh, just above the garter. “You did this?”

“Well, I-I didn’t make it. I, uh, I had it made but it was my idea.” You blushed, heart hammering. “My grandmother used to tell us stories that her great grandmother did this. It was an Old World tradition, but-but I thought it was… endearing.”

Coriolanus nodded, eyes flicking to yours, a wolfish grin spreading across his lips. “Endearing…” He hummed, pad of his thumb swiping over the fabric that covered your inner thigh. “Very endearing.”

“You like it?” You squeaked, nails raking over his scalp, pushing the curls back so you could better see his face.

“Yes.” Coriolanus nodded. You didn’t think he’d take to the garter over the lingerie the way he did. “I think you look wonderful with my name on you.”

You blushed, hands raking through his hair. His fingers slipped over your panties, tugging them down slowly. Coriolanus undressed you, just as slowly and tantalizing as before, leaving you entirely bare in front of him- except for your ring and the garter.

Corio had you pinned to the wall, hands anchored in on your hips, tongue lapping furiously at your clit, running through your folds. His eyes on you, holding your gaze, sharp squeezes to your hips when you’d tilt your head back and look away for too long.

“Corio- oh!” You whined, pulling at his scalp, pulling him further and further into your sopping cunt. His mouth suckled at your clit. He was always so good at giving head- too good, you’d told him once, at the beginning of your relationship, though he’d never tell you who his past lovers were.

“‘M gonna- ‘m gonna cum, Corio, please. I-I’m close, I’m so close.” You writhed under his touch, hips bucking and twisting. His hands held your firm against the wall, fingertip shaped bruises blossoming on your skin, eyes on yours, nearly challenging.

Your fingers curled, nails digging into his scalp, yanking at the curls, moans and whimpers tumbling from your mouth as your vision blurred. You hoped the train's walls were soundproof from the other cabins. Corio would normally mock you for being so loud, tease you with a slanted grin. Thankfully, his mouth was still occupied on you, even as your legs shook and slid down the wall, further onto his face.

Your chest heaved, a sheen of sweat that accompanied your flush over your body. Corio grinned, pulling away, hands still holding you in place. His chin was dripping with your release, and he didn’t dare bother to wipe it away. Instead, he kissed you. Hand gripping your jaw firmly, snaking to the back of your head. It was filthy, him making you taste your own release on his tongue.

“I want you,” Corio growled, a heaving breath between a rather harsh kiss. “To keep that on.” He muttered, and you knew he was talking about the garter. “And just that on for the remainder of the night, do you understand?”

You nodded, a pathetic mewl trapped behind your teeth, nose brushing his. Corio’s thumb traced your bottom lip, brushing over the kiss bitten, swollen lip before slowly pressing his thumb in. You took the digit obediently, cheeks hollowing around his calloused finger, sucking lightly. Coriolanus’ cock throbbed at the sensation, at the sight of your rounded eyes on him, sucking at his finger.

“If you want me to keep being nice to you,” Corio’s chin lifted, looking down at you in that authoritative way that made you throb, aching from the freshness of your last orgasm. “You keep that on. Make sure it doesn’t slip.”

Coriolanus kept his word. He was nice to you the entire night, long into the morning when you settled into District One. Your legs wrapped around his waist, clawing at his back, pressing his head into your neck to feel closer to him. He covered you with sweet kisses, lips dragging along your cheeks, your jaw, feather light kisses that had you swooning.

You were aching, linearly limping to the podium with Coriolanus, clutching his arm up the stairs, trying to hide your wince with every step. You’d spend the day in bed after that. Coriolanus would have orders to give, meetings- boring matters you were ok to miss. He’d spend his next night as a married man in the large bath tub with you, petals in the water, your legs on either side of his thighs making the water slosh over the side.

Every time he heard it announced- Mr. and Mrs. Snow. He would beam with joy. That politician smile, dazzling and smug, holding your arm as you walked to the podium of each district.

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generalsmemories · 3 months

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Unwanted reunion

✧ jing yuan x gn!reader

✧ prompts: “catching the other one crying shortly after an argument and immediately feeling an overwhelming wave of guilt crash onto you.” + "it's okay, we can fix this..." + “playing with their hair until they fall asleep”|| 1k event

✧ contents: hurt/comfort, angst, established relationship, implied character death

✧ a/n: if u wonder how in the world i came up with the scenario below. i genuinely don't know either it's a mystery to even me. CREATIVE LIBERTY WINS AGAIN THE PROMPTS WERE LITERALLY INSPO AND NOT WRITTEN DIRECTLY INTO THE SCENARIO. also implied that this took place after the battle with phantylia so keep that in mind.

NOT BETA-READ AS USUAL FELLAS I WANTED TO HAND THIS OVER TO YA'LL ASAP AS AN APOLOGY FOR STARVING YOU ALL FOR SO LONG!! it's mild angst though, so sorry.

Jing Yuan's can feel a familiar heaviness weigh on his body as well as the feeling of someone wrapping a roll of gauze on his arm. However opening his eyes proved to be a challenge in itself and it's only with great struggle that he can manage to force them slightly open to the bright light.

The first thing he notices is the familiar ceiling of your shared home. A bit weird since whenever he did get injured he would immediately be rushed towards a private room by the Seat of Divine Foresight - which was the safest place for him to stay. Perhaps you had gotten your will again to take care of him - seeing as you're a high ranking healer yourself and quite a stubborn soul.

But his eyes still widen a tiny bit when he sees you sitting by the edge of the bed, one hand gripping his gauzed wound while your other hand is busy trying to find something to keep your hard work in place. You're humming a soft tune again, he never knows what sort of melody you're humming, only that it had become a habit for you after the amount of years you had spent by his side bandaging his battle wounds. Something about helping your mood and staying positive.

"Your recklessness knows no bounds, Jing Yuan." the sternness of your voice snaps him out of the daze he's in, immediately rising up from the bed only to groan in pain when the wounds that you had just wrapped up react to his body folding, "... And still don't know when to rest - even when I'm in the middle of treating you."

"...How much time has passed?" he asks, voice hoarse after having slept for who knows how long. You only hum, setting the bandages aside - the gesture causing Jing Yuan to follow your hand movements which makes him notice the bloodied bandages inside the trash by your legs.

"A couple of days, I was just finishing changing your bandages when you finally woke up. Here, some water." you inform, raising a glass towards his lips, patiently waiting for him to move closer.

You only start to speak again after he's taken several gulps, placing the cup of water back on the nightstand beside his bed. "Why are you so willing to throw your life away?" you ask after a moment of silence, helping Jing Yuan rest against the headboard, eyes never leaving his own that don't dare to even look into your own.

"It's my duty-"

"Your duty is to make sure as many of the Cloud Knights survive a battle. Not gamble your life on a piece that you weren't sure had the capabilities to help."

Jing Yuan bites his tongue at your immediate rebuttal, you were right after all. "The Master Diviner was right there by you. A troop was enough to guard the entrance, you didn't need to leave the master diviner with them to go on this-"

"... Can't you be happy for once whenever we meet like this?" he asks quietly, effectively stopped you from saying anything more. His gaze is cast downwards whenever he mutters the same question to you whilst shrinking a bit after asking. There's no sign of the proud general in your presence - in front of you is just Jing Yuan asking a supposedly harmless question.

Perhaps that's the reason why you can never shove him away immediately.

"... You know what my answer is."

Jing Yuan was no crier. In fact, you think he stopped crying or showing any visible sign of discomfort or uneasiness the day he got the title as General. You're pretty sure you can count the amount of times you've seen Jing Yuan cry on one hand.

Perhaps his ability to hide his own needs and wants so often day by day for the past centuries makes your dismissal of his simple wishes that more gut-wrenching for you. You try to ignore the overwhelming guilt that washes over you every time you have to say the same thing to him.

"... You have a lot of things that you want to get done on the Luofu, Jing Yuan." you murmur softly, extending a hand to run your fingers through his locks, breaking apart any knots that may have formed in his sleep.

"You know we can meet again, but now is not the time - especially now," you gently remind with a sombre smile, your hand moving from his hair to rest against his chin to make him face you.

"It's gonna be alright, okay?" he scoffs at your reassurance, finally coming to terms with your conditions once again like always, wrapping his arms around your waist to fall down back on the bed with you on top.

"Remember the last time you said those words to me?" he says, almost sounding offended at your choice of words to which you only smile against his skin in guilt.

"It was the first time I saw you cry so hard," you try to joke, pressing your hands against the mattress to push yourself off of Jing Yuan, choosing to hover above him instead.

"... I'm sorry," you decide to say in the end after a moment of silence, once again threading your fingers through his hair - an act you knew used to calm him before. At this moment though, you're not so sure.

"Why? Shouldn't I be sorry?" he asks in return, a small yawn leaving his lips as his eyes struggle to stay open. You smile bitterly as you shake your head, still threading your fingers through his hair.

"No, none of it was your fault - what happened back then was out of your control. But this time it isn't. I can wait for a long time, Jing Yuan. I know you're aware of that so don't try to rush anything to meet me again." you tell him, leaning down to press your lips against his forehead.

"So it's time to wake up, dear. Luofu is waiting for you."

#honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #star rail x reader #honkai star rail x you #star rail x you #hsr x you #hsr imagines #honkai star rail imagines #star rail imagines #jing yuan x reader

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bby-deerling · 2 months

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netflix + chill (law x reader nsfw)

you and law spend the night doing some transponder snail and chill >:^)

18+, mdni, nsfw, wc: 1.4k masterlist

cw: fem!reader, oral (law receiving), established relationship, cocky law, some liberties taken with transponder snail capabilities for the sake of plot, crack taken seriously, messy blowjobs, law gets his balls sucked, slight cumplay

tagging: @ragethebunny @eelnoise @sanjisprincesswifey @sanjisjuul @mandiemegatron @alicesfracturedmirror @willowbelle @kaizokuniichan

Transponder snails with screens were usually reserved for important tasks on the Polar Tang, like observing live feed of footage deep in enemy territory, or replaying the outcome of battles so that Law can analyze and scrutinize his own techniques and mistakes, but on rare occasions like these, Law uses them to rewatch his favorite shows with you in his office.

Tonight, you were starting one of his favorites—a mecha show with tons of bright colors as nebulas explode on the screen in front of you during the opening sequence.

“Pay attention, this is important.” Law scolds as he wraps an arm around you and leans back into the couch as the characters on screen hop into their mechas. “The main character gets ridiculous by the end of the series—he can even beat Sora easily.” he says, causing you to turn and squint at him as you scrutinize his features. Law had a habit of taking advantage of how much trust you placed in him, and would often tell you complete lies—with a convincing deadpan expression—about the show you were currently watching just to mess with you.

“You’re lying.” you say decisively, crossing your arms as you lean back into the plush cushions of the couch, “How is a mecha going to beat Ultra Instinct Sora?” His claim was nothing short of preposterous, though the look on his face betrays no sign of mischief.

“People don’t even know how to rank him when power scaling.” he insists, eyes glued to the snail screen, “Now shut up and lock in.” His words are harsh and make you roll your eyes, but his tone has a hint of playfulness to it as he pulls you in closer to his side.

Though the main character would soon apparently be able to destroy planets and galaxies, right now he was an adorable kid drilling through the ground in his bunker; Law was right, this show was good, gripping you from the very first scenes. Entranced and transfixed, you’re uncharacteristically quiet; usually you and Law both ramble on as you discuss what’s happening on screen, but this show in particular has you pulled in and focused until the ending credits of the first episode begin to roll; as it continues to play, Law stretches out and lays on the couch, and you respond in turn by laying on his chest.

He’s seen this show a hundred times over—enough to know that he has a little over four minutes to let his lips and hands roam all over your body before the real meat of the next episode starts again—and seizes the opportunity. There’s a practiced, comfortable smoothness to his movements as he initiates the kiss, sitting up slightly to align his hips with yours as he rocks against you. Though you had been sucked in by the show moments earlier, now you were mesmerized by the way his thin fingers rake through your hair as he swirls his tongue against yours, cradling your jaw as he presses his clothed length against your core. The dizzying haze you’re both swirling in makes the show fall deep into the background as it resumes, nearly disappearing from your mind entirely when he pulls your neck down and drags his tongue along it, breaking the rhythmic circles of his tongue with a bite or two every so often. Like a predator, Law knows where you’re weak, but enjoys playing with his food as he teases you, kissing your neck and grinding up into you until you’re a whimpering mess on top of him. The mewls you let out as he sinks his teeth into your sensitive flesh makes him twitch and throb as his cock strains against his too-tight jeans, prompting him to mumble a request in your ear.

“Can you suck me off?” he whispers, his voice raspy as it sends a pleasant shiver down your spine; it’s phrased as a question, though it’s more of a gently spoken order considering the way he’s turned you into putty in his hands. As anticipated, you hum out a content mhm and sit up on the couch and put your hair up, nearly salivating as he unzips his jeans and frees his cock. Eagerly slotting yourself between his legs, you swirl your tongue around his head teasingly before taking his length in your mouth until he hits the back of your throat; the little muffled gag you let out makes him growl with pleasure as he tangles his inked fingers in your hair. Though you always start intent on doing things your way, Law can’t help but to seize control once you have him in your mouth; the prospect was far too tantalizing when you were only an arm’s length away from him.

Sensing you need a small break as your chokes become more frequent, he pulls your mouth off him roughly and leans down to capture your lips with his; he deepens the kiss quickly, his course set on sending your mind spinning with his tongue as your hand idly plays with your clit.

“You like sucking my dick?” he coos in a teasing whisper as he breaks the kiss for a moment, his hands trailing upward to play with your breasts before attaching his lips to yours again.

“Mmm… I do, I love it…” you whimper out as your lips continue melding into each other, your words drowning in so much desperation that it makes your face burn.

He exhales with amusement as he pulls away and nudges your face back towards his length. “Get back to it, then.” he taunts, letting out a sigh as you eagerly comply and take him as deeply as you can. The chokes and whimpers you let out as he stretches your throat make him exhale sharply with pleasure; while the sight of you drooling on his cock is mesmerizing, he wants to watch your tongue drag along his cock instead of having to imagine the movements taking place inside your mouth as you take him in.

“Lick along my shaft.” he whispers; his voice is barely audible as he directs you, but the words ring in your ears all the same. You take no time to wipe the inadvertent tears rolling down your cheeks before running your tongue up and down along the side of his length messily; his grip on your hair tightens as he enforces your pace, using his grasp on you to drag your head back and forth; the drool pooling at the base of his cock ends up coating the side of your cheek. Though the sensation was foreign and strange as cool air ran across it, the look in Law’s eyes as he watched your tongue run across him was like bait on a stick, keeping you in place and catering to his whims. “Good girl.” he mumbles as he throws his head back, causing you to let out a content whimper.

He drinks in each movement you make as your tongue’s movements gradually get sloppier and clumsier, prompting him to coax you further downward to put his balls in your mouth; Law’s hand replaces yours, urging you to give them your full attention. Tongue swirling around them as you gently suck, he lets out a sharp gasp as his fingers tighten around your hair—he loves you like this, messy, pupils dilated, and focused on pleasing him.

It was enough to get him close.

“Don’t swallow when I cum, I want to see it.” he warns as he guides your mouth back towards his cock; the blood pounding in your ears as he fucks into your mouth with an unforgiving pace almost drowns out his words, though once the phrase ingrains itself in your mind, it only spurs you to get him closer to the edge.

Giving you no warning but a strangled gasp, he spills into your mouth, tasting salty and slightly bitter on your tongue. Obediently, you open up your mouth and stick your tongue out for him, and he smirks at the sight of his seed coating it with a thin layer of white. He ruffles your hair as you close your mouth, swallow hard, and lean your face into his thigh; he runs his fingers soothingly through your hair as you sigh contently, and he presses a kiss to your forehead—the only part of your face not covered in spit—as he helps you to your feet.

“Fuck…” he sighs quietly after the two of you clean up, sinking into the leather of the couch, draping his arm around your waist as you join him and curl into his side. “We’re on episode three now...” he says as he pulls a blanket over the two of you, “I’ll fill you in on what you missed.”

#one piece x reader #law x reader #trafalgar law x reader #trafalgar law smut #law smut #law x you #trafalgar law x you #one piece fanfiction #one piece scenario #one piece smut #law x y/n #trafalgar law x y/n

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emmyrosee · 10 months

Note

Hey if you’re ever not busy can you do a Suna fic where he just got his wisdom teeth removed😭I’ve seen it done on so many haikyuu characters but Suna and I think it’s so cute. You also write him the best😓

THANK YOU THANK YOU FOR THE KIND WORDS AND THE ADORABLE PROMPT 😭💖💖💖

—-

The nurse told you that they’d used a strong anesthetic because of how impacted his teeth were, but when it took them quite a few times to finally wake him up, you knew you were in for a ride.

Rintaro always hated the dentist. Always. He blames it on childhood trauma (he didn’t have any. He never brushed his teeth and that was his problem) but up until last night, months after his dentist told him he’d need an extraction as soon as possible, he’d been trying to get out of it.

Deep down, seeing him so relaxed in the chair was a relief. The teeth were out, now he has to heal. Easy enough.

You smile as you make your way over to his slowly waking body, taking his hand gently in yours to be the first thing when he woke up. Kissing the knuckles finally had him stirring, and he blinked those bleary green eyes open at you, you practically saw the hearts forming in them.

“Morning, sunshine,” you coo, moving your free hand over to card the messy locks of hair from his face. “How do you feel?”

He tries to speak, but it comes out as a croaky ‘guhhh’ and from a few feet away, the nurse chuckles.

“He’ll have some nasty cotton mouth- literally- for the next few days, but communication should be normal as he starts to wake up,” she says, snapping the gloves off her hands. Then, she passes you the care directions, “no rush. If you need anything, just press the buzzer.” At this point, Rintaro has taken the liberty of grabbing all the gauze he can to put in his mouth. You assume it’s to absorb all the spittle.

“No, no honey,” you chuckle, gently grabbing his hands and pulling the damp cloth out easily. “Be careful. We can change your gauze when we get home.”

“I ‘ont wonna shange my gods,” he mumbles, resting his hands on yours. “‘Ike my gods.”

“Gauze, baby,” you titter. You lean over to plant some kissed onto his forehead, hoping your affections will ease him back more. “The nurse said you might be woozy when you stand, so let’s take it slow okay?”

“Yesh, bosh,” he slurs out. He blinks his foggy eyes before letting them wander around the room, over the sharp objects and wooden cupboards, all before wandering back to you. They widen before a brow quirks in confusion, "who're you 'gain?"

"Me?" You snicker. "I'm the one who's gonna keep you alive for the next few days. Your parents are away, so you're stuck with me." You turn your head slightly, "though that may be the other way around."

"Keep me 'live?" Now, he gives you a small, messy smirk. "'re too schexy to keep me 'live."

"Are you hitting on me?"

He doesn't answer you. Instead, he lets out a small string of laughter, head rolling around his neck in haze. You snort before opting to move him up and out of the room, "come on Romeo. Before you pass out on me."

"nuh-uh," he argues. You, however, choose to ignore him.

It's hard to pay attention when there's a pile of 185 centimeter man on your right shoulder, saying goodbye to every hygienist, dentist, secretary, patron, and flower on the sidewalk on the way to the car. There's a slurp from the spittle in his mouth that rings in your ear and makes you want to gag, but you chose to count some of your blessings.

He's at least mobile- unlike the horror stories you've heard about Osamu falling asleep in the seat while Atsumu wailed about the bandaid on his arm.

Finally, you and your oaf are able to make it to the car, his eyes closed in an attempt to sleep, and you jostle him awake slightly.

"I need you to work with me just a bit longer, okay?"

"When'd we get ousside?" He slurs.

"Not long after you said goodbye to the flowers," you say, rolling your eyes. "Watch your head, babe."

He ducks under your guiding palm, but you're not fast enough before he bumps the crown of his head against the door frame, mumbling a soft "ow" before moving on. It takes everything in your power to not laugh at his poor expense.

"It's because you've got such a big melon head, booger," you tease, and he smiles softly.

"'Ike mewons."

"I know baby."

You buckle him in before closing the door. You give yourself a stretch before heading to the driver's side.

You hadn't had him out of your sight for 25 seconds before you open the door and see him with your chapstick, completely rolled up and making a move towards his mouth.

He's either eating it, or trying to apply it.

Neither sounds like a good idea.

“Rintaro!” You scold, reaching for the chapstick. “You can’t eat that! You’ll get sick!”

“You’re th'ick,” he grumbles, but he does release his hold on your chapstick. His head thunks back against the headrest, letting you buckle while he says one more round of goodbyes to the flowers.

"Gonna nap," he murmurs, and you chose not to fight him on it. "Don't pick mah nothe."

"Why the hell would I do that?" You ask, laughing as you start the car.

He doesn't answer you. He's too busy letting his jaw slack open and let out the wheeziest of snores. You put your hand on his thigh and squeeze lovingly, allowing the hum of the engine and warmth from the sun lull him to sleep.

He's out, he's comfortable, and you can't wait to tell him about how, even drugged out of his mind, he still tried to put the moves on you.

You'll have to leave out the head smacking, though. Let him blame himself for that bruising.

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cevansbrat0007 · 13 days

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What's Eating You, Mr. Barber?

Summary: You decide to test your man's patience with a prank you saw on TikTok. CLICK HERE to check out Ari Levinson's reaction to the same prompt.

Warnings: Mature Themes, References to Smut, Andrew Barber Being A Menace, Brat!Reader, TikTok Hijinks, Bickering, Manhandling, Ass Slapping, Daddy Kink, Allusions to Oral Sex, Cursing, Minors DNI

A/N: Prompt brought to you courtesy of a Reader Request. This fic features Andrew Barber from my Growing Pains Series. Semi-proofread, not beta'd. All mistakes are my own. Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated. Thanks for reading!

It’s hard for you to put into words just how much you love playing pranks on your unsuspecting husband. And after downloading TikTok, you’d discovered that the app was home to an online treasure trove of practical jokes designed to make your loved one’s head spin. While it had taken a few days for you to settle on the right prank, you were pretty confident that the one you’d chosen would earn you a fun reaction from Andy without you having to risk your ass in the process.

You find yourself grinning as you take your time prepping dinner, humming a little tune as you peel and press even more fresh garlic for your homemade tomato sauce. Tonight’s family dinner of spaghetti and meatballs promised to be very interesting. Which was why you’d also taken the liberty of setting up two hidden cameras – one in the dining room and one right here in your kitchen.

As of now, you had no plans to post this on your channel. But you also didn’t want to miss a minute of your man’s reaction. Until then all you had to do was play it cool for a couple more hours.

Later that Evening…

“Baby Girl, are you sure you don’t need any help?” Your husband asks after watching you make what easily had to be your third trip from the kitchen into the dining room.

Any other night you would’ve said yes, but not this one. Tonight you were flying solo. The cameras were already on and recording – you’d taken care of that before you’d started setting the table – and so far Andy hadn’t noticed a thing.

Hopefully you’d be able to keep it that way until it was time for the big reveal.

“No thanks, Big Man. This Mama only has to make one more trip and then we’ll be ready to eat.” You tell him before sitting two plates on the table in front of your two youngest children. You were down a kid tonight thanks to your oldest, Bianca, being away at a sleepover.

Andy nods before leaning over to adjust the small hand towel you’d previously tucked into the front of your three-year-old son’s t-shirt. Not that it really mattered all that much since you were positive he’d be swimming in sauce before the meal was over. But what kind of mother would you be if you didn’t at least try?

Biting your lip in anticipation, you scamper back into the kitchen to grab dinner for you and your husband. Andy’s plate was piled high with a generous serving of spaghetti and meatballs. Meanwhile, you give yourself hardly any.

And therein was the so-called prank. Earlier this week, you’d spent the better part of several hours gleefully watching as dozens of girlfriends and wives proceeded to serve their man impressive looking portions before sitting next to them with virtually empty plates for themselves. Many of the reactions had ranged from hilarious to heartwarming, with only a few dickish exceptions.

Glancing over your shoulder to ensure you weren’t being watched, you pick up various pans and quietly place them in your oven and out of sight. For this to actually work, Andy would have to believe that there wasn’t enough for seconds or leftovers. Once that’s done, you square your shoulders and confidently march back into the dining room with dishes in hand.

“I’m back.” You announce, placing a piping hot plate in front of Andy before taking your own seat at the table. “I tried something different with my sauce this time, so everybody dig in and tell me what you think.”

Andy absentmindedly rubs his palms together as he stares down at the fragrant heap of spaghetti before him. Silently, you will him to look over at what you’d served yourself, but you force yourself to remain quiet so as not to give yourself away.

“This smells amazing, sweetheart.” Your husband tells you, reaching for a piece of garlic bread. “I’ve been excited for this meal since you told me you texted me at 10:00am.”

“Glad to hear it, Daddy” You pick up the little bowl of parmesan you’d set out and hand it to your middle daughter, Katrina. “What does everybody else think?”

You take a brief glance around the table while you wait for feedback. And although you make a point of not looking at your husband, it’s impossible to miss the way he’s now staring at your nearly empty plate.

“Ooh.” You inwardly squeal, stopping just short of clapping your hands. “It’s starting!”

“What’s up with this?” His tone is rife with confusion, which only grows when you decide to ignore him in favor of dipping a small piece of bread into some sauce. “Hey – stop!”

“What?” When you finally deign to return his gaze. You have to choke back a laugh as you watch a bewildered Andy comically gesture between your two plates.

“What the fu–fudge,” he swiftly corrects, “is going on with your plate?”

“What do you mean?” You aim to keep your tone light and breezy.

Your husband lets out a frustrated sigh. “Where’s the rest of your food?” He jabs at your plate with his fork, holding up the half of a meatball you’d allowed yourself.

“This was all that was left.” You tell him with a shrug.

“What the hell are you talking about?” His confusion continues to mount even as pauses long enough to grab a napkin to wipe at his son’s increasingly messy fingers. “There was plenty of spaghetti left on the stove.” While he’s occupied you quickly check on little Rory, who appears to be faring slightly better.

“Not really.”

“Baby…” Andy pins you with a knowing look, one that you readily return.

“What? I…” You trail off, pretending to think. “After I realized BiBi wouldn’t be here tonight, I made some adjustments to the recipe. Turns out I didn’t make enough, so…” Another shrug. “This was all there was after I made everyone else’s plates.”

Andy is uncharacteristically quiet as leans back in his chair. Meanwhile, your children are busy staring at you, each of them sporting tiny, furrowed brows. Pursing your lips, you set your fork down on your plate and reach for your drink.

“You can have some of mine, Mama.” KitCat offers before sweetly pushing her plate towards you. The unexpected gesture touches your heart in more ways than one. Not to be outdone, your three-year-old twins also follow suit.

“That’s okay, babies. I’m perfectly fine.” You reassure them, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Besides, this is all I need and –”

“Thanks kiddos.” Your husband kindly interrupts as he places his napkin on the table. “That was very sweet of you, wanting to take care of your Mama like that.” His brilliant blue eyes beam with pride as he speaks. “But Daddy’s got this one.”

You’re momentarily taken aback when he stands, picking up his plate as he does. And you’re even more surprised when he motions for you to do the same.

“Can I see you in the kitchen for a moment?”

“Andrew, sweetheart, it’s okay. I promise.”

“Now, please.” It’s an order, that much you know. But at least your handsome ogre has enough sense to take on the word “please” at the end of it.

“Fine.” You huff before standing and following him out of the room, although not before encouraging your children to keep eating while you’re gone. Just because it was Friday doesn’t mean it was time to dispense their normal bedtime routines.

You were only playing a prank, not embracing total anarchy.

Once in the kitchen, you each take up residence in opposing corners. But of course, you’re careful enough to avoid blocking the view of the camera.

“Baby Girl.” Andy exhales, his fingers coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Do you really mean to tell me that there’s no food left? You really made all that pasta and there’s nothing?”

“Yes, Andrew.” You lie without missing a beat. “I already told you. I trimmed down the recipe because –”

“Because Bianca is gone. Yes, I heard you.” He sets his dish down on the counter, openly scrutinizing it.

“So then what’s the problem?” You rest your back against your pantry while you wait for him to respond.

“The problem – my problem –” Andy is quick to amend, shaking his head. “– is that you expect me to sit back and watch you starve while everyone else eats. And I don’t like it.” He scrubs a weary hand over his beard. “Hand me your plate, beautiful.”

“Why?” It’s impossible to keep the suspicion out of your voice.

“Because I don’t need all of this.” He grunts, taking the plate out of your hands when you don’t comply fast enough. “In fact, I don’t need any of it. You eat and I’ll order myself a pizza after we put the kids down.”

“Andy!” You scoff, which comes out on the heels of a laugh.

“What?” The man is clearly confused by your dismissal of his offer. “I am capable of handling myself, okay? My hands work just fine.” He grates out, making a show of holding up a large, lightly calloused palm.

“But I…I made that plate for you.” You were seconds away from caving and you both knew it.

“And I’m telling you, my wonderful wife, that I want you to have it.”

“Oh, you really don’t have to –” You begin, wrapping your arms around yourself. It was time to fess up.

“Fine.” Andy breathes, taking a second to roll his broad shoulders. “Then we’ll split it.” He reaches for your hand, pulling you into his warm embrace so that he can whisper in your ear. “And then, after we put the kids down, we’ll order ourselves a pizza. Maybe open up a bottle of wine while we wait.”

“Yeah?” You murmur, relaxing as you bury your face in his chest.

God, he always smelled so good.

“Mhm.” He continues, nuzzling his nose against your curls. “And then, once we’re all giggly and buzzed, I’ll convince you to let me make love to you in front of the fireplace. We can even set up a booby trap so that we pretend like the children don’t exist.”

“Wow.” You can’t stop the giggle that bubbles its way past your lps. “Andy Bear, that sounds amazing. But I’m afraid I can’t.”

“Why the fuck not?” He rumbles as his brawny arms tighten around your smaller frame. You were pushing your District Attorney beyond his breaking point.

“Because.” Squirming out of his hold, you dance your way towards the oven in preparation for the big reveal. Hopefully your husband would be a good sport about all of this.

“Because?”

“Because…” You draw out the word, even as you go to open the oven to show him what’s inside. “There’s actually plenty of dinner leftover. See?” You throw your arms wide, but force yourself to stop just short of adding spirit fingers because you suspected he wouldn’t appreciate it.

“Baby, I swear…” Andy sighs, his hands slowly sinking into the pockets of his charcoal-colored slacks as he rocks back on his heels. Most likely to keep himself from strangling you, his lovely wife. “Why–what would possess you to lie about something like this?”

“First off, sweetheart, it’s called a prank.” You bridge the gap between your bodies so that you can wrap your arms around his trim waist. “And secondly, I saw it on TikTok. Ever heard of it?”

He glares down at you, which has you instinctively clenching your thighs together. That’s part of the reason you loved riling up your Big Man.

Being a brat got your motor running.

“I take it you have.” You stand on your tiptoes to kiss away his frown. “Well, I fell down the rabbit hole the other day while the kids were napping. There’s this whole, like, subsection that’s just pranks. And the latest one involved these women pranking their guys by serving them a huge plate of food, and then pretending like there’s nothing left for them to eat. The reactions were super entertaining, so I figured I’d test it out, you know? Just for fun.”

You grace him with your most dazzling smile, but unfortunately, he’s still having none of it. His frown only deepens as he tilts his face up towards the ceiling in an effort to summon all of his remaining patience.

“Are you mad?” Your teeth sink into your bottom lip while you wait for his answer.

“Yep.”

“C’mon, Andy Bear!” You pout before placing your hands on his biceps to give him a light shake.”Where’s your sense of humor?”

“Pretty sure I lost it the day you decided torturing me was your new favorite pastime.” He grumbles, although there doesn’t appear to be any heat in his words. “In fact, I have a feeling you just gave me several new grays.”

“Oh, don’t you dare blame me for those.” You tell him, playfully rolling your eyes at his dramatics. “I’ll have you know that you came home with those. I spotted ‘em the moment you walked through the door.” Your sassy response earns you a sharp crack to your ass, making you wince.

“Ow!”

“Brat.” He grouses, even as he presses a sweet kiss to your nose.

“Guilty as charged.” You hum, weaving your arms around his neck. “Besides, I had a feeling you wouldn’t let me starve.”

“Not sure it’s even possible to fail that challenge, Baby Girl. I mean, you’re my wife. My partner in crime. Did you really expect me to just let you go hungry?”

“You’d be surprised.” You mutter, making a mental note to show him a few videos featuring some of the men who’d actually failed the test. “But thankfully you didn’t. And neither did the kiddos. Which is why I will graciously allow you all to sleep inside tonight.”

You let out a tiny yelp when Andy suddenly grabs your ass with both hands, squeezing hard as he lifts you up. Unsure of what else to do, you immediately lock your legs around his waist. Right now you were just going along for the ride.

“Now is that any way to talk to Daddy?” Andy lovingly captures your mouth, lightly stroking his along the seam of your lips. “Especially after you played such a mean trick?” His once clouded blue eyes are now filled with mischief.

“Oh, I’m not sorry. But if it helps, I am willing to delete the video.” Your husband’s eyes go wide, letting you know that he hadn’t even considered the prospect of being recorded. So you keep talking, hoping to distract him. “And I still wanna get you drunk and take advantage of you after we put the children down for the night.” You run your fingers through his neatly coiffed hair, lightly scratching at his scalp with your nail.

“I don’t know if I should trust you.” He eyes you warily, making clear that he still hasn’t quite recovered from your earlier betrayal.

“What if…” You lean in close, lightly nipping at his earlobe. “I could find it in my heart to apologize between then and now? How does that sound, Big Man?”

“I mean I might be interested.” Andy shrugs, gently setting you on the counter before bracing his muscled arms on either side of you. “Out of curiosity, just what kind of apology are we talking about?” He gazes at you with lust-filled eyes, eagerly anticipating your response.

“The kind that’s best offered while on my knees, wearing nothing but a flimsy pair of thigh highs and garters.” You know you’ve got him when you hear him groan low in his throat.

“Fucky, baby.” Your husband hisses, burying his face in the valley between your breasts as his imagination suddenly kicks into overdrive. “Can you be sorry enough to wear the heels too? You know the ones I’m talking about.”

Oh. You knew exactly which ones he was talking about.

“I think so.” You murmur, stroking a tender hand along his back as he struggles to regain his composure.

“Then we’ve got ourselves a deal.” He grips your hips before kindly helping you down. “Now let’s go get those kids fed and off to bed.” Andy grabs your hand, tugging you behind him as you head back to the dining room to see about your babies.

“Slow down, Andrew.” You laugh as your legs scramble to keep up.

“No can do, Baby Girl.” He grunts, picking up his pace. “Daddy’s really looking forward to that apology. So be sure to eat up because…” He trails off when he comes face-to-face with his sauce covered little ones. “...You’re gonna need all of your strength.”

“You can count on it.”

END

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syoddeye · 1 month

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useless

Part one of my submission to @glitterypirateduck's O, Captain! Challenge. I rolled a d100 to select three prompts. Part one uses two:

42. The story spans over a period of 10 or more years

14. Opposites attract

~2k words, Price x f!Reader. Some liberties were taken with canon, obvs. Please enjoy!

You meet John Price when you're fifteen years old.

Being the new kid is never easy, but you have some practice. This is the fifth time your family has moved since you were born. Such is life when your mother's an ambassador. However, it is your first time attending an actual school, and it's miserable. It doesn't matter who your mother is when your peers are the children of millionaires, celebrities, and executives. Compared to them, you're a nobody, just easy pickings.

But compared to John, you might as well be a princess.

The son of your mother's assistant, you see John almost every day. You do not attend the same school, of course. Despite the awfulness of its students, your school has standards, after all, but every day after the last bell, you and your security detail fetch John to rendezvous at your family's sprawling home. Since both sets of your parents work long and odd hours, you spend a great deal of time together. Usually, you study, eat dinner, maybe read or watch television, but you do not necessarily talk. He's as surly as an old man, unpleasant on good days and unbearable on bad ones.

You don't look at John when he slides into the car anymore. You're enthralled in Sabriel, too busy to acknowledge him, that is until you feel his eyes on you.

"What?"

"Didn't say anything."

"You're staring," You huff, lowering the book, only to almost drop it. "What happened to your face?!"

A purpling, inky black bruise covers John's swollen left eye. It's nasty, but he looks bored by the question.

"Scrapped. Some idiot ran his mouth."

"So you hit him? Then he hit you?"

"That's generally how it works," He says dismissively, crossing his arms and leaning into the seat to stare out the window.

You roll your eyes and return to the Abhorsen. "Your mom's gonna kill you."

He doesn't have a comeback for that.

Predictably, his mom loses it when she arrives to pick him up. Throws a fit, her anger evenly split between John and his school. You watch from the top of the stairs as your mother consoles her friend and offers advice before they leave. John scowls, the expression deepening when he catches you listening in. You give a shit-eating grin before retreating to your room. Serves him right for fighting. Boys.

Of course, though, in a rotten turn of events, his mother leverages her position, and John enrolls in your school. Due to your relationship, you're naturally coupled together both in and outside of the classroom. It isn't for lack of trying on your peers' parts. You can grudgingly admit John's a good-looking boy. He has all the makings of a popular kid. Athletic, intelligent, and withdrawn, just enough to make people wonder in a good way. He's regularly asked out, the invitations often extended in your company. You don't miss how other girls look at him or glare at you.

Jokes on them, he's easily the most unpleasant person you've ever had the displeasure to know.

"What are you putting down on the careers interest form?" You ask one afternoon, sprawled on the couch while John sits with his back to it, reading.

"SAS. Enlisting next year."

"Military? How noble." You muse. "Your dad's not–"

"No," His head turns a fraction. "But my grandfather served. North Africa."

It's the first you've heard of it. John doesn't talk much about his family, nor do you make a habit of asking. You don't pay close attention to the adults' conversations either. "Well, you're pretty strong and clever, I guess," you temper the compliments, uneasy about doling them out to him. So you'll fair well, I bet."

He doesn't respond for a minute before a quiet "Thank you," ekes out.

For whatever reason, your face heats. How embarrassing. You tap your pen against your blank form, grateful he faces away. Yet as a silence follows and stretches, irritation sidles alongside discomfiture. Honestly, this is what you'd like to show the girls at school. Prove that John's actually quite annoying.

"Now's about the time another person would ask what I'm putting down."

John doesn't look up from his book. "I know what you're going to write."

You bristle. "Oh, do you? Enlighten me."

"Artist. Writer. Actress. Something useless."

In one fluid movement, you sit up and strike him across the crown with your notebook. "You're such an asshole!" You quickly create distance between his stupid, stunned face and yourself, stomping all the way to the stairs. Halfway up the steps, you crouch, pressing your face between the balusters. "You're not going to amount to anything!"

You don't speak to him after that—not entirely, of course. Your families are too intertwined to avoid him completely, but the incident strains your already tenuous relationship. It's awkward and tense, though neither of your families notices the shift. You sit in silence at joint dinners. You leave him alone in the den after school. You latch on to other singletons in class, avoiding him in the halls.

Months pass, and as John declared, he enlists the moment the school term ends. Freshly sixteen, and scheduled to ship out to basic.

The morning he leaves, your mother drags you to his house. You stand speechless on the walk outside when he marches out with his rucksack. His head's shaved. He grew an inch and filled out some in the last few weeks when you weren't paying attention. Still a boy, but clearly on his way to becoming a man.

His mother all but shoves him at you to say goodbye. He stares down at you now, the twit.

"Good luck." It's the nicest thing you can manage.

"Break a leg," He responds, hauling his bag over his shoulder. "Don't be useless."

You're too busy noticing how his eyes are the same color as the sky to feel even a twinge of irritation.

When he files into the waiting taxi, his mother bursts out into sobs. You watch the car until it disappears down the next street, trying to understand why your chest is so tight.

It’s a decade before you see him again.

"I told the Prices you'd pop by."

You nearly fumble your card, phone cradled between your shoulder and ear, and clumsily tap it against the scanner. Mouthing an apology to the disinterested cashier, you take your bag and find your words.

"Why would you do that?" You ask, unable to completely mask your disdain. "I told you I have plans for New Years."

Your mother tsks. "Surely you can pencil in some of our oldest friends for an hour tomorrow."

The automatic doors open, and the wintry air envelops you instantly. The plastic bag taut in the crook of your arm, you flip the collar of your coat and start the return trek to your flatshare. "I haven't seen them since graduation, since we moved back to Virginia."

"And you moved back to London, what, eight months ago?" Her end muffles a moment while she says something to her aide. Her voice is sterner when she speaks again. "They've been asking about your job, how acting's going…" Her voice trails, leaving the works or not going unspoken.

You swallow, tucking your chin into your scarf to consider the remainder of the conversation. "Fine. I'll stop by tomorrow afternoon. But I'm not staying late. I have plans." You don't. You did have an invite to a party a week ago, but that was before Jeff decided Jane from work was 'more his speed'. More 'conventional'. Though you'd seen the breakup coming for weeks and the relationship only a measly six months old, it still stung. Since coming back to London, you've had more than enough rejection.

Dozens of auditions. Dozens more interviews. Zip, zilch, zero. No callbacks, no non-speaking roles. And while you are the favorite stage manager for several small local theaters and Yes Woman, you weren't any closer to the stage. Something your mother loves to remind you of. Between her rapid ascent up the career ladder and your decision to study theater, an uncrossable gulf cropped up between you. It grew with each passing day. Moreso, when you reject every offer of financial support or connection. Her support means control. Ownership. You won't have it.

The conversation drifts to other topics—Dad, mostly. He's still putting around after her, content in his retirement. They'll spend New Year's at the White House, of course. You're pushing through the door to your place when she drops the bomb.

"John'll be there, too."

This time, you drop your keys.

There is no excuse you can make to back out now. You wait on the top step of the Price's home. It's smaller than you remember. You hear people inside, music, and laughter. You hesitate. Given what you told your mother, they probably expected you far earlier than nine, but you barely mustered the courage to leave your room. You practically blacked out on the tube, leaving the station in a daze with your cheap bubbles. Taking a deep breath, you reach for the door. No time for stage fright.

The foyer is a time capsule, aside from the dozens of coats hanging on hooks and a coat rack. Framed photos of the Prices throughout the years line the short corridor leading further into the home. John's center stage for most of them. You hang your coat and slowly edge down memory lane, pausing when you see your own face looking back at you. Aged fifteen, the first day of school. You and John in different uniforms, sulking for different reasons. It was the last time you were the same height.

There are a lot of photographs of you in the hallway gallery. Ones you didn't know existed. You get stuck on a still of you and John from behind. It's from the London Zoo, from some ridiculous event your mother's work mandated you attend. The photo is simple, accidentally composed almost professionally. You and John lean against the rail overlooking the lion exhibit. You excitedly point at the pair lazing about in the shade, and John…John's focus is on you.

The sound of your name rips you away from the moment, and Mrs. Price beckons from the doorway to the living area.

The reunion between yourself and Prices is sweeter than you thought it would be. It's odd to see them older. As jarring as it is when you see your own parents, as sparingly as those visits are. Wrinkles, spots, graying hairs…But unlike your parents, none of the familiar warmth is missing from the Prices. They fuss, complimenting your secondhand dress and gushing over the bottom shelf champagne. They awkwardly introduce you to the closest guests, some claiming to have met you as a teenager. But you feel Mrs. Price's hand on your back, gently ushering and ushering, until you arrive at the threshold of the kitchen.

He's taller, tanner, and a hell of a lot broader than you remember him.

"John? Look who's here!"

You step into the kitchen with a gentle nudge from Mrs. Price, and the figure from many memories and more than a handful of confusing and mortifying dreams turns to face you.

Your name slips from his mouth in an arrogant purr, and the little tug of his lip into a smirk instantly pokes at your patience. He's literally only said your name, and already he's resurrected the same shade of vexation you felt ten years ago.

You're going to need something stronger than champagne.

#ocaptainchallenge #john price #john price x reader #john price x f!reader #price x reader #price x f!reader #lieutenant john price #smug lieutenant john price is so important to me #i'm also obviously not british and i'll admit i did maybe 10% of the research i usually do.....apologies #lightly edited i was too excited

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oneforthemunny · 1 year

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pieces of you and me |dad!rockstar!eddie munson x nepo baby!reader|

prompt: your six daughters with eddie are named after the places they're conceived. fluffy little piece I had about nepo baby!reader and rockstar!eddie and their lives as parents, more specifically how they named each of their girls.

contains: mature, sexual themes not graphic but still 18+, minors dni. mom!nepo baby!reader x dad!rockstar!eddie throughout the years.

June 1993 - Corfu Beach, Greece

Your wedding ring dazzled in the Greek sunshine, bright and clear, almost as reflective as the waters in front of you. Corfu Beach was the first stop on your honeymoon trips, after three wedding ceremonies.

The tabloids had gone rabid when you'd announced that your weddings- plural- would be spread out from May to June. Three ceremonies, extravagant but intimate. The first in Palm Springs, an estate near the San Jacinto mountains with just your family. You and Eddie were both only children, the ceremony was sweet and short, an officiant, your parents and grandparents, Wayne and his girlfriend, and the two of you. A silk, slip white dress, custom made by Donatella herself just for you. Eddie wore a tux, the sweetheart, choking back sobs when he read you his vows, promises for your life together. You'd danced under the strung lights, Forever by the Beach Boys, his hand on your back, holding you sweetly. Your private photographer, a family friend, made sure to capture all the intimate sweet moments for you, and it was secluded with no worries of paparazzi.

Then you'd jetted off to Las Vegas, sin city as a couple. Eddie had taken the liberty of renting out Elvis' Little Chapel just for the two of you, hiring the best Elvis and photographer. You'd wore a tiny, leather white dress, garter showing on your thigh. Eddie in an Elvis suit, white just for you. Your friends dressed their part, his band mates, friends from Hawkins, and yours from Beverly Hills and others joined. You didn't remember most of the night, giggling when the Elvis impersonator read you your vows in the mimicking voice. It was a blur, champagne, liquor, and drugs in a penthouse suite at the Palms. You'd woken up a little sick, veil still in your hair and aching between your thighs, ass covered in welts from the night before. Eddie had managed to find a heart shaped paddle on the strip, using it on you when you got back from the 'reception' that was in the other room, where your friends were scattered still.

Lastly, you finished in Paris. Eddie wanted it just to be the two of you, an officiant, and the city of love. He'd gone all out, his vows seemed to triple in size from the first ceremony. Tucked away in a Parisian Chateau that had a stunning view of the Eiffel Tower in the backdrop, Eddie poured his heart out to you, vulnerable and raw. You both sobbed through your vows, heavy with emotion that pored out with each word, kissing each other before the officiant ever gave you the signal.

Now you were here, Greece. The beaches were beautiful, the wine delicious, and the waters stunning. Eddie had rented a small boat for the two of you, drifting off the coast of the secluded resort you were staying at. You were thankful for the intimacy, relaxing in the warm sun, topless, the true European experience.

"I think we should do this more often," Eddie grinned, blocking the sun from your view, standing tall over you.

You shielded your eyes, looking up at him. The sun haloed around his curls, his inked skin a little pinkish from the rays. He looked angelic.

"I think you just like to see me topless." You smirked.

"I think you'd be right." Eddie scoffed, kneeling down between your legs on the towel. "Can you blame me? Look at them." He squeezed your boobs lightly. "My girls. All mine, forever."

You let out a soft laugh, his lips ghosting over yours, fingers rubbing your pebbled nipples between the two of you. He kissed you slow, sweet, taking his time to truly taste you, feel you.

He was between your legs before you knew it, his cock splitting you open, harsh thrusts that left the small boat rocking and shifting with the waves. You'd gotten on top, hips swiveling and rocking with every rise and fall, his hands gripping your hips harsh.

You two spent the day like that, him filling you up raw, pumping his release deep inside of you, leaving you dripping him for the rest of the day on shaky legs.

The thrill of the ceremonies, of the honeymoons, of being hopelessly, completely in love with Eddie had your head spinning. You were still on the high of the first two ceremonies when you'd left for Paris, forgetting your birth control on the counter of the Hills home.

It wasn't until nearly a month later, when you finally returned, still in bliss and the rush of that newly wed feeling, that you realized. Staring at the silver packet that mocked you. You hoped that maybe you'd be lucky, maybe your body was just adjusting from jet lag and the different time zones. You were dehydrated from your time in Europe, maybe that was it.

A month later, you sat in the gynecologist office, the wand pressed over your belly, showing the small blip on the screen, Eddie's ringed hand tight in yours. "Looks like you're about seven weeks along, Mrs. Munson." The doctor said, looking over at you.

Eddie's eyes shined at you, teary and wide. You were both scared, overwhelmed. "Greece." He muttered. "It must've been our honeymoon, shit- well, that makes sense."

Persephone June Munson was born February 17th, 1994.

November 1994 - London, England

"Christ, fuck, it's cold." Eddie grumbled, hands buried deep in his leather jacket, air fogging around him.

You snorted, rolling your eyes. "That's why I told you to bring a jacket." You hummed, Burberry plaid scarf whipping in the harsh winds. You held Persephone closer to your chest, she was bundled up in her hat and scarf under your own heavy jacket, but you still worried she'd still be cold.

At ten months old, she was the spitting image of her daddy. Eddie's twin through and through, shining brown eyes that were so expressive and little chocolate curls that were starting to spiral on the ends of the tufts of downy, baby hair. She was your kryptonite, your little angel, for both of you.

Parenthood fit you both very well, to the surprise of nearly all the media. You and Eddie navigated being parents like you did anything else, head first and a little stubborn. After many sleepless nights, parenting books, and the help of your own parents, you'd finally felt accomplished. Eddie didn't want to miss a second of being a dad, and you couldn't blame him, not when the most precious creation on the Earth was looking back at you.

The tour and Corroded Coffin's album had been pushed, finally releasing in September. Eddie knew he'd have to tour soon, the two of you were still working out if you'd stay or go, but when he'd been asked to play at a concert in Wembley Stadiums, headlining with Metallica and Ozzy and all the legends he'd looked up to, he couldn't turn it down.

Now, the three of you were walking down South Kensington in London, heading towards the Natural History Museum with your baby- oh, how times had changed. Eddie smirked, stepping closer to you, looking down your jacket.

"Can she breathe in there? Is she alright?" Eddie asked, eyes scanning the two of you. All he could see of little Persephone was the little pink poof that sat on top of her hat, bobbing and hitting your chin with every step.

"She's fine, aren't you Sephy?" You cooed down at her, pulling your jacket back. Eddie looked down, melting at the brown eyes that stared back at him, chubby cheeks a little red from the warmth of your jacket. "Say, quit worrying daddy, mama's got me." You mimicked a high pitched baby voice that had her giggling.

Eddie grinned, pulling you close to him, his lips pressing a sloppy, wet kiss to your cheek. The security in front of you and behind you followed closely, one holding the door while you climbed into the room. The guide waited cheerily at the front, excited to take the infamous rockstar on a private tour.

You held Persephone, still in her little hat but your own jacket shedded. Eddie watched you, how you'd coo sweetly at her, pressing kisses into her little cheeks, swaying with her when the guide would explain the areas.

Eddie felt his heart swell, boasting and filling with love and pride, and something else. Something primal and deep and lustful. It was different from before. Usually the type of thrill that came with drugs, performing for thousands, then having groupies throw themselves at his feet. Now, he felt it deep in his chest, the protectiveness he had over you, over Sephy, his little family.

"You think she'd stay down for a nap if we take her back to the hotel?" Eddie growled low in your ear, teeth nipping at your lobe playfully.

You swatted him away, rolling your eyes. "I doubt it." You gave him a pointed look. "She has like a sixth sense for when were about to fuck." You snorted playfully, looking down at your little baby.

Eddie gave a soft smile, taking Persephone from your arms, snuggling her tight in his arms. She giggled, reaching to grab onto his curls. You grinned when she did, yanking them down hard, pulling at the scalp. Eddie hissed, moving his head with her to alleviate some of the pull. "Easy, easy, sweetheart," He muttered, opening her little fists.

You told him a million times to put his hair up around her. She was going through a grabbing stage. Anything and everything. The two of you had to re-baby proof the house when she'd started crawling, her tiny hands grabbing onto anything and everything she could.

"She's got a fucking iron grip." Eddie grunted, pulling his scalp back, tossing his hair over his shoulders. He knitted his brows, looking down at Persephone playfully. "Don't you? You're just a strong lil thing aren't ya?" He cooed, excitedly, bouncing her in his arms.

You smiled at her little giggles, the faintest crease in her chubby cheeks, hinting that she'd inherit dimples like her daddy. You shouldn't be surprised at this point, she was Eddie's twin, but it still made you a little jealous every time a new feature came in and it was a carbon copy of him.

"The next one will look just like ya, babe." Eddie would wink when you'd huff to him about it. "If not, we can just keep trying and trying and trying 'til one looks like ya." He always said it like he was joking, but the way his eyes darkened, you wondered if he truly was.

Persephone had gone down easily for her nap, and you were thankful. You figured she was still exhausted from the flight. You'd flown private with the band, your parents insisted on it, which benefited the two of you more than anyone else. Her little ears hurt from the pressure, whimpering and sobbing in the little bedroom on the back of the plane while you and Eddie tried to soothe her.

Eddie had gone for a soundcheck with the band, leaving you at the hotel with Sephy, unwinding in the cool linens of the hotel. You ran your hand down the bed, gnawing at your bottom lip. The last time you'd been at this hotel in London, it was with Eddie, but very differently. The two of you had just begun... whatever you wanted to call the relationship. You'd flown out on a red eye to London when he started his European tour, letting him fuck you hard and mean, tying you up to the headboard and having his way with you.

Now, you had a baby, you were married, and life was so different.

The door clicked shut, locking gently. Eddie could hear the sound machine, white noise that washed out the busy streets below next to the crib. You held your finger to your lips, nodding towards Persephone, who napped in her little portable crib.

Eddie smiled lovingly, looking over the edge of her crib. He climbed into the bed with you, gently laying down beside you. "She been asleep long?" He whispered.

You shook your head, your nose touching his. "Just a few minutes. I fed her and she was exhausted." You smiled, hands running over his shirt, down his arms. He perked up at the movement. "I think we have some time if you want to..." You bit your lip suggestively.

Eddie's eyes flicked from you back to the crib. "Here?" He whispered, ringed finger pressing into the bed.

You rolled your eyes. "We can go in the bathroom." You nodded to the spacious bathroom on the other side of the room. "Just be quiet."

Eddie grinned wide, letting you pull him by his hand towards the bathroom. "You be quiet," He whispered, pressing the door closed softly. "You're always the one screaming."

You rolled your eyes, wiggling your pants off. "Just hurry up." You huffed, tossing your discarded clothes to the ground, bending over the counter.

Eddie grinned, dropping to his knees. He pulled the lacy little thong off, smirking at your choice of panties. "Let me taste you first," Eddie rasped, ringed hands pulling your cheeks apart, revealing your slick puffy lips. He nearly drooled. "'S been too long, baby, let me have a taste."

You bit down on the back of your hand hard, smacking the faucet on, hoping the steady water stream would muffle your whimpers that escaped while Eddie devoured you over the counter. Miraculously, Sephy stayed asleep while Eddie pounded you hard, hips snapping against yours, holding you up to look at you through the mirror, hand around your neck.

He had more adrenaline after that, seeing his cum drip and spill out of your sopping hole. He pushed it back in with his pointer finger, smirking when you whimpered, collapsed over the vanity, cheek pressed to the marble countertop of the bathroom.

Four weeks later, you were sure you'd caught a virus. Stomach lurching and exhausted beyond belief.

Eight months later, that 'virus' was crowning, pushing out of you while you swore and threatened Eddie.

Kensington Klein Munson was born on August 3rd, 1995.

February 1998 - Milan, Italy

You'd been reluctant to go. You knew getting invited to Fashion Week in Milan was a big deal, especially since your long time friend was showcasing his line there, fresh new styles curated for the runway.

"Button, just go," Your mother sighed. "Daddy and I have it covered. We've raised a baby before, and look at you, you turned out just divine."

Still, you were hesitant to leave. You never left your babies often, hating the feeling- it was one you knew all too well. It was only a few days after Persephone's birthday, it felt too soon. And Kensington was going through a particularly nasty clinging stage with you, wailing and sobbing herself to near hyperventilation when you weren't in her sight.

Eddie had coaxed you sweetly, reminding you it's only be for a few days. He knew you didn't want to travel alone, and he too had been invited, so he offered to come with you, leaving your babies with your mom and dad.

You could hardly sit through the plane ride, guilt and nerves making you tight and irritable the entire time.

Eddie pressed sweet kisses into your skin, muttering that it would be ok. You were tense with every passing second. Tense during the pre-show dinner the night before, tight lipped smile and clutching your cell phone tightly. You'd given your hotel number to your parents, and instructed the concierge to forward it to the restaurant immediately if they called.

Even the wine, your favorite from Tuscany, didn't help soothe your nerves. Pouty the whole night, ignoring Eddie's sweet touches. You'd scurried to the phone when they said there was a call for you, nearly knocking over a waitress in the process.

It was your parents calling with the girls, ready to say goodnight. "Oh, Kensie, I know, sweet girl," You cooed sweetly, and Eddie could see your own heart breaking through the phone. "Mama and Daddy will be back so soon, baby angel, I promise."

Eddie rubbed your back soothingly. He could hear Kensie's wails and blubbering over the phone, through the noise of the restaurant. "You're with sissy, and Glammy," You sucked in a breath, fighting an eye roll at your mother's outrageous name she'd chosen for her grand babies to call her. You pulled the phone away, another heart wrenching wail, making your face crumble.

Eddie wrenched the phone out of your grasp lightly, pressing it to his ear. "Is that my sweet Kensie crying?" He cooed lowly into the phone. You pressed closer to hear. Her cries stuttered, shushing temporarily at her father's voice. "That can't be my sweet Kensie crying, is it?"

"It is, dad." Persephone's grumbled voice came from the background. "She hasn't stopped crying." Even at four, she was all attitude. She might have gotten Eddie's look, but he swore she got all your sass.

Eddie bit back a grin. "Sephy, can you hear me too?" He asked. She confirmed. "I need you to be extra sweet to your sister, ok? Mommy and Daddy will be back soon."

"And we'll bring you gifts back if you're good!" You added, yelling into the phone.

Eddie glared at you lightly, rolling his eyes. Persephone seemed excited at the promise. "Kens, Seph, can you both be good for Glammy and Pop-Pop?" His younger self would be raging at the nicknames.

"We'll be good, Daddy, prowmise." Persephone said sweetly through the phone. Eddie's heart swelled.

"Good." He grinned back. "You have good dreams, ok? Call us in the morning." You reached for the phone, pulling it away from his ear.

"Have sweet dreams, my angel babies." You cooed. "Daddy and Mommy love you so much. We miss you so much."

Your mother took the phone, chatting with you for a moment before you hung up, hesitantly, shoulder's deflating in defeat. You looked tired, dull, so unlike yourself. Eddie frowned, his hand circling your waist, pulling you close.

"C'mon," He nodded, pulling you towards the door. "Let's go back to the hotel."

"But-"

"-Tell them I got sick." Eddie shrugged. "I wanna spend some time with you. It's the first night alone we've had in a while."

You smiled gently, wrapping your arms around his torso. He shielded you from the paparazzi, ringed hand shoving cameras when they crowded outside your hotel, shouting at them all the way to the elevator.

When he got you back into the hotel, his hands on your back, smoothing over the fabric of your dress. "You know what we haven't done in a while?" Eddie grinned lightly. You hummed. "You haven't let me tie you up and have my way with you in a while."

Your thighs twitched, pressing together under the dress. "Ed," You let out a breathy sigh, squealing when he pinched the fat of your ass. "Kinda hard to do that when the kids are around."

"Well, the kids aren't around now." Eddie smirked, squeezing and kneading your cheeks. "No one to bother us all week. C'mon..." He was already moving towards you, lips slotting over yours to capture your lips in a sweet kiss, tongue sliding easily into your mouth.

You melted into the kiss, relaxing for the first time since you stepped off the plane. Eddie pulled you closer, fingers splayed out on the small of your back, pressing you farther into him. His lips pulled apart from yours, soft lips pressing into your cheek gently. "C'mon, baby," He rasped into your ear. "Be my good girl."

You perked, eyes meeting his, dark, hungry eyes shining back down at you. You rolled your lips like you were really thinking it over, but your hand was already reaching for your zipper.

"Fine, but only your hand if you spank me." You warned, pointing at him sternly. "We have to sit like all day tomorrow, and I better be able to sit." You glared at him, letting the slinky dress fall to your ankles.

Eddie's grin widened, eyes lighting up with excitement. You smirked, rolling your eyes, climbing on the bed. He fumbled through his bag, pulling out the leather cuffs. You lifted a brow. "So you were planning this?"

Eddie shrugged. "Maybe. Knew we'd be alone. Figured I might as well take advantage of my opportunity." He grinned.

You snorted, rolling on your stomach and letting him cuff you behind your back. Eddie hauled you into his lap, spanking you until your ass blossomed with red splotches and you were crying out. He fucked you hard into the mattress, skin burning and nails raked down his back and shoulder.

You were limping to the show next week, only sitting through your friend's show before disappearing back to the hotel, judgmental looks be damned. Eddie had his way with you the rest of the trip, the two of you refusing to leave the hotel room, fucking hard and nasty like you used to before; before the kids and before the marriage, before you two even liked each other.

You squirmed the entire plane ride home, finding refuge in Eddie's lap while he let you curl up into his chest. You ached between your legs, ass burning, chest littered in hickies you hoped the girls wouldn't see.

Nine months later, you were back in a familiar position, screaming in pain while you pushed out not one, but two babies; twin girls. Eddie nearly fainted at the ultrasound.

Sicily Giselle and Sienna Noelle Munson were born December 1st, 1998.

June 1999 - Sharm El Sheikh, Egypt

It was an anniversary gift, celebrating your wedding date from Farrah. You loved to travel, you and Eddie both, and since you saw the feature on Egypt, you'd wanted to go.

Farrah offered to watch the kids while you and Eddie had a get away, a romantic trip to the beautiful El Fanar Beach. "Just bring me back something nice, ok?" She winked playfully.

Eddie was in paradise, literally. You, him, and a private resort a haven for just the two of you. He'd taken you shopping to the local vendors, and you knew you had to pick up a bottle of perfume. Everyone raved about the fragrance, how decadent and strong it was- one of a kind. You'd fallen in love with one, dousing yourself in it during the trip.

Eddie seemed to like it too, burying his face in your neck, wrists, chest wherever you sprayed it, nuzzling need and sweet into you, inhaling you deeply like he might lose the scent if he didn't. You giggled when he nipped at your neck, loose, flowing linen dress flying around you in the breeze of the balcony.

The water was a gorgeous turquoise, but you hadn't managed to get in it yet. Every time you changed into your swimsuit, Eddie had you crowded around whatever was nearest, bending you over or pushing you against the surface, fucking you deep and slow.

"Ed, please," You whined, his crotch digging mercilessly into you, lips sucking and nipping at the skin of your neck, still raw from earlier. "Please, I-I wanna go to the beach."

"We'll go," Eddie hummed, lips ghosting down your collarbones. "We'll go after, I promise."

"You said that yesterday." You whined, huffing when he toyed with your clit through your swimsuit. "Ed, please-"

"-You just look too good, baby, fuck." Eddie groaned. "Smell too good. They put crack in that perfume. Made you irresistible." He growled, nipping at your ear.

You giggled, relenting when he dropped to his knees, licking you slowly until you were a puddle, sliding down the wall and further onto his tongue, hands gripping his curls.

Eddie went out and bought every bottle they had of that perfume, packing it back over on the plane, his nose still buried deep in your neck.

You blamed the perfume on why you were ringing in the millennium heavily pregnant, sipping soda water instead of champagne with your friends. That damn perfume, but it had a beautiful name, one you passed on to your daughter a month later, saving the original bottle in your safe just for her one day.

Zahra Wayne Munson was born on January 19th, 2000.

March 2007- Las Vegas, Nevada

You felt a little tipsy, stumbling in your stilettos across the marbled floors backstage. It was easier these days to get drunk. Younger you would never believe that you lose your tolerance when you get older, yet here you were thirty-seven, stumbling through The Colosseum at Caesar's Palace.

Corroded Coffin had been retired for years now, since the twins, really. Eddie had agreed to do a few shows, but hung up his guitar, trading it over to be a family man instead. He still dabbled in projects, produced, and some other things to occupy his time, but he wanted to be present with the girls, with you. It shocked the world that the both of you were as dedicated parents as you were.

Now, your oldest was thirteen, your youngest seven. Your little family complete and perfect. You were still reluctant leaving them, even if they were older, but it was a special event. Corroded Coffin live in concert at Caesar's, Eddie couldn't turn it down. And the two of you would never turn down Vegas, no matter how mature you were.

"Hey there, sexy mama." Eddie slurred, drunk and flirty. You giggled, gripping onto this leather clad arm. The show had ended hours ago, the after party raging on into the early morning.

"What're you doin'?" You giggled, watching him grab at your ass, hand ducking under your dress to squeeze your cheeks harsh.

"You just look so fuckin' good baby, goddam," Eddie grinned, swaying with you in his arms. "You're so pretty. So pretty."

You snorted. "You're horny." You grinned, feeling his half hard dick against you.

Eddie rolled his tongue over his cheek. "You're right. Can you blame me? With how good you look?"

You blushed, arms circling around his neck, pulling him closer to you. "I think-I think you look really pretty too." You smiled, nuzzling your nose against the scruff of his cheeks.

He pulled you in closer at the waist, hands still firm on your ass. You knew you were too old to be acting like this, you were parents and adults, you should behave. But you couldn't get enough of him. A little over fifteen years together, five babies, and you still couldn't get enough; that might be why you had the five babies.

"I think," Eddie whispered into your ear. "I think we should go to the bathroom." His eyes lit up suggestively.

"The bathroom?" You asked, giggling.

He was already waltzing you through the crowd, towards the private restrooms in the back. He'd had you already in the dressing room, you dropped to your knees when he came in, sucking him off until he fucked you hard over the table. Just like when you were younger, when everything was new and exciting.

He was insatiable then and still now, that never changed.

The bathroom door clicked with a lock, spacious and extravagant like the rest of the room was. Eddie hoisted you up on the bathroom counter, hands roaming every square inch of your body, needy and slipping under the fabric of your dress. You giggled, throwing your head back on the mirror, letting his fingers work you open.

He pulled your thong down, black lace with 'CC' crocheted on the front; a true artifact, made in 1992 when you went to your first Corroded Coffin concert. He fucked you back stage, and you surprised him with it. Somehow, your panties made their way into the lyric pages of their next CD.

Eddie laughed, holding them up by the band, eyes widening back at you. You blushed, shrugging gently. "Surprise, baby." You giggled. "I thought you'd see them earlier."

Eddie groaned loudly, tying his hair up with the thong before plunging head first between your legs. You squealed and gasped and writhed on the counter, his hands gripping your waist hard holding you into place.

He fucked you in the bathroom, trapping you against the wall, hips snapping into yours while you grabbed at his ass. There was no need for birth control, condoms, or having him pull out. He'd gotten a vasectomy after Zahra, you were done having babies, giving up on having your boy and accepting having all beautiful girls.

Or so you thought.

You returned to Los Angeles with more than just a hangover. The Las Vegas night was truly one you'd never forget, even if you didn't exactly remember everything, because- to both of your surprises, your urine test came back positive.

Vega Jo Munson was born October 29th, 2007.

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trickphotography2 · 28 days

Text

D-Day by TrickPhotography | Chapter 18 - Jake's POV

Thank you for the prompt @beyondthesefourwalls. Here's 4.8K words of Jake's POV - it got way more angsty than anticipated...

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“Pick up,” Jake growled. “Pick up, pick up. Damn it!” When the call rolled to voicemail again, he hung up before you’d even finished saying, ‘Hi, you’ve reached - ’

Walking the halls in the carrier wasn’t the smartest thing to do when making a call. There were dead spots everywhere, not to mention the higher-ranking officers he’d have to stop and salute. But it didn’t matter. Jake needed to talk to you somewhere he wouldn’t be interrupted. With Fritz hanging out in the room, his best bet was to find an empty lounge or meeting room.

Those two texts had nearly made his heart stop.

Prents here

What did the ‘U’ mean? His parents? Did he need to call ASAP? Did you just accidentally hit a button? Fuck. If it was your parents visiting, all the better. He could hear in your voice that you were tired, as much as you tried to hide it. And it killed him not to be there to help you more. Jake knew how much you were looking forward to having a long weekend to relax, and he wanted you to be as well-rested as possible for your trip to see him.

Guilt still gnawed at him at the thought of you flying 40 hours round trip to see him, but he wanted to see you so badly.

The next call went to voicemail as he walked into the officer lounge and saw a group loudly laughing. Biting back a growl of frustration, he shut the door and continued down the hall. Of course, this would happen when most people were off-duty, and it’d be hard to find somewhere quiet.

When his fifth call went to voicemail, Jake had to stop himself from turning and punching the wall. Not only would that hurt him more than do any damage, but he couldn’t end up at Captain’s Mast for something stupid when he was so close to getting liberty. He wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize seeing you.

On the sixth call, you finally picked up. Before you could say a word, he asked, “What do you mean, ‘u’?”

“Your parents are here.”

“My - ” Shock rooted him to the spot. “My parents are there?”

“Your father currently has his shoes on my coffee table and wants a beer, and your mother is in the pantry making him sweet tea as a substitute until she goes out to get some.” Your voice was stressed, and Jake hated it.

The idea of his parents being anywhere near you pissed him off and terrified him. He’d made it clear to his family that being around you and the baby was on his terms.

And, to be honest, he was pissed at himself for not realizing this would happen. After Lina had gotten on his case about not calling his parents once during the deployment, he’d finally caved and called Mama. While she’d been happy to hear from him, Jake had also gotten an earful from his father about waiting over two months to call. Knowing it wouldn't do any good, it had taken all his self-control not to hang up.

But now, knowing that they’d made the effort to go from Texas to California, Jake wished he’d paid more attention to that one fucking sentence his father had said. Should have known it hadn’t only been meant for him - “A man’s gotta keep tabs on his family, and you’re doing a piss poor job of it.”

When it came to Mark Seresin, he’d always been suspicious of his family. For a man who cared so little about his own marriage vows or how his constant infidelity would impact his family, he was always suspicious of people stepping out on him.

“Did he say why they came?” He tried to keep his tone even but knew he failed spectacularly.

“He said he wanted to keep an eye on me, and - ”

“That son of a bitch,” he snapped. Two men looked at him, and he glared back while looking into another occupied meeting room. You inhaled sharply, and he felt a spike of regret that was quickly smothered by rage.

“Jake?”

“Put him on the phone.” He would tell them to leave - they weren’t welcome in his home. Jake was nearing the commissary and spun on his heel. He didn’t want to be near anyone right now.

“I’m in our bathroom. Talk to me.”

“I can’t believe… how long are they staying?”

“The weekend, apparently. And they’re expecting to stay here.” He stopped walking, thrusting a hand into his hair and tugging.

“Absolutely not.” Jake knew he shouldn’t be taking his anger out on you, but it was hard to contain. When someone called his name, he glanced over his shoulder to see Rooster coming out of the store, a plastic bag swinging from his hand. Holding up a finger to the other man, he hissed, “I told him he wouldn’t step foot in our house, and he waited for me to be out of the fuckin’ country to do it.”

“You - ”

“I want you to call Coyote and get him there - now. And then you’re gonna call me back and stay on the phone until he gets there.”

Rooster’s eyebrows shot up, mouthing, “Everything okay?” He shook his head.

“Jake, you’re scaring me,” you said, and he hated that. He didn’t want to scare you, but he couldn’t have you near his father without someone to keep the other man in line. His mama wouldn’t do it. “Tell me what’s going on?”

“I don’t want him near you, not when I’m not there. I don’t trust him.” A phone was thrust into his face, and Jake looked up to see Rooster frowning at him. It was unlocked and opened to the Dagger text thread. Their eyes met momentarily before Jake held his phone against his shoulder and typed out a quick message as he heard you exhale.

Need someone to go to my house ASAP - H

“Babe,” you said, voice even as he returned the phone. “I understand you’re upset, but I don’t need Javy here to help manage this. I can - ”

He hissed your name, ignoring the look Rooster gave him. “You don’t know him. He’s not a good person.” When he turned away, he felt a tug at his elbow. Rooster nodded down the hall, and Jake followed.

“I know that, Jake. From the little you’ve told me about him, I know that he’s an asshole and that your mother is not my biggest fan. But I need you to please take a breath and tell me the context of why you told him he wouldn’t be in our house.” Forcing himself to take a deep breath, he heard you do the same. Rooster opened one of the classrooms and shut it. “You still there?” you asked.

“Yeah, tryin’ to find somewhere private. Hold on.” Rooster continued down the hall, checking rooms and glancing at his phone before handing it back to him. Jake glanced down at the texts from the Daggers — Javy confirmed that he was on his way with Payback, Phoenix was leaving the gym, and Bob the grocery store. Fanboy asked to be kept in the loop. Mav texted, asking where he was. Quickly, he typed that they were trying to find somewhere quiet.

“Sloane’s moving.” Your soft voice tried to distract him. As much as he appreciated it, he didn’t want that. He needed to be clear-headed right now — he needed to be Hangman when you clearly wanted Jake.

And, at that moment, he felt like he was failing at both.

Glancing down at the phone in his hand, he saw a new text from Mav on Rooster’s screen that was only two words: Ready room. Tapping his wingman on the shoulder, he handed the phone back to him. “Darlin’?”

“Yeah?”

“Can’t wait until I’m off this goddamn ship and can get some privacy.” The two men quickly changed direction, pushing through the crowded hallways and ignoring the people celebrating being off duty for the weekend. They were silent for a long time, Jake trying to push down his rising panic at his parents being there with the knowledge that his squad would arrive soon. “Do you trust me?” he asked, ignoring the look that Rooster shot him.

“Of course I do. Jake,” you sighed, exasperation sneaking into your tone. “If you don’t want them in our home, I’ll have them leave. I just… I need to have information so I can approach this the right way.”

“The right way is with Coyote there.”

“Why?” you demanded. “Why do I need your best friend here? Is your father going to be violent when I ask him to leave?”

“He better not be,” Jake growled. Unwanted memories of having to step between his parents when his father was drunk and angry threatened to swallow him. His tongue darted out, tasting the phantom coppery blood from a sucker punch he’d taken as a teen. Mark Seresin had always been a dictator in his home, and Jake had counted down the days until he could leave. He could take the yelling and name-calling - Jake had been told he was worthless more times than he could count - but as soon as he stood up and pushed back against his father, that was it. Mark expected to be the king in his castle and didn’t care if knocking around his sixteen-year-old son was the cost of enforcing that. After the school counselor called him in to ask about a black eye once, Mark had been careful to hit Jake where it wouldn’t show - where the bruises could be explained away with a rough football practice. It didn’t happen often, but when it did, it fucking hurt. Not only hearing his mama crying and promising that it wouldn’t happen again but knowing that he couldn’t trust a word that came out of her mouth.

It was a relief anytime Mark deployed. Not having to tiptoe around the house was almost worth the pain in his mama’s eyes, knowing her husband was probably unfaithful again. It was worth not hiding the marks from Lina, who grew up in blissful ignorance of the monster that lived down the hall from them. When he’d gotten into the Academy, Jake had hesitated a moment before accepting, afraid of what would happen if he left the house and wasn’t there to protect mama. But she was the one who told him he had to go - things would calm down once he was out of the house, she assured him.

Unwilling to examine the lie too closely, Jake went to Annapolis with freedom at his fingertips and never looked back.

Outside the Ready Room, Mav waited, the door already propped open for them. The older aviator dipped his chin and raised his eyebrows, silently asking if Jake was okay. He shook his head, ducking into the room as you sighed.

“Babe, please, I need you to focus because we have a situation, and I need to handle it in a minute. And to do that, I need you to be very honest with me right now about your concerns about me interacting with your father and answer a few questions for me.” He felt a flicker of annoyance at your tone - the one you used when working with a particularly difficult person. “First, why did you tell him he couldn’t step foot in our home?”

“Because he doesn’t deserve it. He doesn’t deserve to know you after what he said.” The two pilots stood at the back of the room, allowing him some privacy as they whispered. But he knew they could hear every word, and he didn’t want to face their pitying looks if they knew how he’d grown up.

“And what did he say?” you asked.

“I don’t - ”

“Jacob.”

“You heard him call you a tag chaser,” he said after a moment. “You didn’t hear him say…he said some pretty terrible things about you.” Running a hand down his face, he paced the front of the classroom, remembering the disgusting accusations Mark had thrown when he’d called to let his parents know that you were getting married and having a baby. Mama had cried when Jake finally yelled back that he would be damned if Mark Seresin ever laid eyes on his daughter-in-law or grandkid, which had only made the man laugh. “He said the baby probably wasn’t mine and that you’d cheat on me the moment you had the chance if you hadn’t already. And that… that you would leave me as soon as you got tired of military life, just like my ex did.”

“I…” Jake knew the words hurt and hated himself for sharing them. But you had to know what you were facing. Clearing your throat, you asked, “W-what are your concerns with me confronting him alone?”

“Darlin’,” Jake groaned. When you hummed, he cursed under his breath. “I never saw him hit ma, but it was close. And I don’t… I can’t have that happen. Not with you.” He could feel eyes on him. Ignoring them, he pulled up one of the desks and collapsed into the chair, dropping his head into a hand.

After a moment, you sighed, “Javy’s on his way. I won’t do anything until he gets here. Do I need to find a way to keep your mom away from him?”

Mama would take the brunt of this, and he wasn’t there to protect her. “I…I want to say yes, but you're my priority if it’s between you and her. Fuck!” Jake pulled at his hair, hating that you were being forced to deal with the situation. “Promise me you’ll call the cops if he does anything.”

“Of course. I love you.” There was movement in front of him, and he looked up to see Mav crouching, phone held out in front of him. Police? was typed into a note. Jake stared at it for a long moment before meeting the older man’s steady gaze. Slowly, he shook his head before lowering it and swiping at his eyes. Mav stood, squeezing his shoulder.

“I love you too, darlin’. I’m so sorry that - ”

“This isn’t on you. We can handle this. I’m gonna go check the mail to make sure that the door’s open for when Javy gets here. Do you want me to call you back when - ”

“Stay on the phone. Please, darlin’, don’t hang up.”

“I won’t.”

“Coyote and Payback are almost there,” Rooster said softly, and Jake turned to see both men watching him with concerned expressions. Nodding, he turned away from them.

His father’s voice nearly made him crack his phone with how tightly he held it. He was too far to hear what he said but snorted when you replied, “It is. He says hi.” He wanted to say many things to Mark, but 'hello' wasn’t it.

He’d apparently raised his voice to ensure he heard what he said. “Tell him I said hello, and he needs to call his mama more.” Jake bit his tongue. As much as he wanted to say something back, his wife would have to relay the message, and he didn’t want her to talk to his father more than necessary.

“I will. I’m gonna go grab the mail.” There was the sound of a door closing; he breathed a sigh of relief that you were out of the house. “Did you hear that?”

“Fuckin’ asshole,” he grunted. He could feel eyes on him but chose not to look.

“I’m gonna put my phone in my pocket for a second.”

“Darlin’, don’t - ” he said, but the line was muffled. “Darlin’, I need to hear what’s goin’ on. Pick up your phone.” But when he heard you speak next, the disbelief in your voice was unmistakable.

“Excuse me?” Jake felt his hackles rise, pushing to his feet and pacing the front of the classroom. His heart dropped to the floor when you spoke again. “I’ll have you know that I was also raised in the military, so I’m not a civilian going through their first deployment. I know how this works because my dad deployed a lot when I was growing up, and it was just my mom and me,” you snapped. “And my house is not perfect, but I had no idea I’d have guests coming, I work full time, and I’m pregnant. So when it comes to dividing my time, I will pick my career and take care of myself over doing housework, especially when I’m mostly here by myself. And Jake knew how I cleaned before we got married.”

“Don’t push him, baby,” he groaned, tugging at his hair as he pressed his phone tightly against his ear to try and hear better. “Be smart, darlin’.” He fell silent when he heard his father speak.

“I am not, and never have been, a tag chaser, so I’d appreciate it if you stopped calling me that. If anything, I married your son despite him being in the military.” You paused, then said, “Tricare’s just not worth it.”

At any other time, Jake would find that funny. But not when his father was close enough for him to finally hear what he said. “You got a smart mouth on you, you know that?”

“Get away from her,” he growled.

“It’s one of the things Jake loves about me.”

“Your daddy shoulda tanned your hide for that and taught you some manners.” He knew that tone and felt the blood leaving his face.

“We’ll agree to disagree on that.”

“Stop, darlin’. Don’t say anything.”

“Take your hand off of me. Now.”

Rage blinded him. “Take your fucking hands off my wife!” Jake yelled, balling his fist. He felt so useless, halfway across the world and unable to do anything. “I’ll fuckin’ kill you if you touch her, you bastard!”

Someone touched his shoulder, and Jake whirled to see Mav standing behind him, hands raised. “It’s just me,” he said, and it took Jake a heartbeat to realize he’d raised his fist to the other man. Quickly, he dropped his arm, unable to keep the stricken look from his face.

“Coyote’s almost there,” Rooster called from the door, phone pressed to his ear.

“Tell him to hurry,” Mav said, not removing his eyes from Jake’s face. “I need you to focus, Hangman.”

But Jake was past hearing him when his father’s voice was clearer. “An’ what’s he gonna do for you when you’re here all alone? Clearly, you need a man to teach you a lesson, and if my son isn’t up to the task - ”

“Do it and pull back a bloody stump.”

“Don’t fucking touch her!” Jake yelled.

“They’re pulling in, Jake.”

“I’ll make sure you spend the nice, long holiday weekend in jail, and I’m pretty sure those assault charges would have more consequences since I’m pregnant.”

Jake loved you to the point that it sometimes hurt, but he wanted nothing more than to cover your mouth at that moment. He could imagine Mark Seresin’s look, the fury at being challenged like that.

“You little bit - ”

He braced himself, muscles tensing futilely to throw himself in front of the blow. There was nothing he could do to protect you. Fury and horror nearly choked him as he gripped his phone and tugged at his hair, swallowing his screams to try and hear what was going on.

“Come in! We’re in the kitchen.” Jake collapsed at the sound of his best friend’s voice, knees slamming into the steel floor. “Everything’s fine,” you said. “He was just going to wait outside for his wife to come back and then find a hotel for the weekend.”

A hand rested on his shoulder, squeezing tightly. “You can’t kick me out of my son’s house,” Mark snapped, and his mouth moved wordlessly to tell him to get the fuck out.

“This is my house just as much as it’s Jake’s,” you said. “And if you don’t leave, I’ll call the police and have them remove you.”

“Let’s not get the cops involved if we don’t have to,” Javy said, attempting to play the peacekeeper.

“Call them,” Jake managed to croak. The phone was hot against his ear, and he felt disgusted when his father tried to pull rank.

“Then it’s Lieutenant Machado to you. Now, she said to get out, so let’s go.” A heartbeat later, he growled, “Back up.”

A small part of Jake wanted Mark to push. Wanted to have a reason to have Javy lay the man out - if he wasn’t there to defend his wife, he knew his best friend would do it. “You and my pussy of a son deserve each other.”

“Get. The fuck. Out of my house,” you ordered, and Jake heard a scuffle.

“Darlin’? What’s happening?” he demanded. “Talk to me, please, baby.”

Rooster hurried down the classroom steps, holding his phone up with the call on speaker. “ - inside if I don’t - ” Payback cut himself off.

“You wanna lay hands on a woman?” Jake heard Javy snarl, looking up as he listened to your ragged breathing.

“Get your hands off me, boy,” Mark hissed.

“Oh, hell no,” Payback snapped.

“Watch him. I’ve got her,” Javy ordered.

“Try something. I’m begging you,” Payback said, and Jake turned his attention back to your call, pressing a hand to his ear to try and block out everything but your breathing.

Finally, after an eternity, you sobbed his name into the phone. “Fuck, darlin’, are you okay?” he demanded, voice rough with swallowed tears. When you said you were, he squeezed his eyes shut. “I can’t believe that fuckin’ asshole touched you. I’m gonna kill him.

“I’m okay,” you promised.

“She’s a little pale but looks good, Hangman.”

“Jesus, Javy - I…” Jake seemed to choke on his words. “Thank you, man. I - ”

“No thanks necessary; I'm just glad you texted me. Payback’s outside keeping an eye on the situation.” Jake glanced up at his spot from the floor, eyes darting to where Rooster was collapsed in one of the chairs, phone cradled between his knees.

“Nat’s there,” he said, noticing his wingman looking at him. “They’ve got her, man.”

Jake could hear you fighting against crying when Nat offered to take you to the hospital and would have traded anything to be there to hold you. To be the one to take you and make sure that you and the baby were alright. Knowing that someone had bruised you made him want to burn the world down.

But the hardest part, which almost succeeded in shattering him, was hearing your heartbreak while asking, “But what if they tell me I can’t come to see you?”

Breathing your name, he felt his stomach drop. He wanted to see you, to hold you tight and promise that nothing like this would ever happen again. But that wasn’t the priority right now. “I’d rather know that you and Sloane will be okay than see you in two weeks. That’s all that matters.”

Mav pulled Jake to his feet and gently pushed him into one of the desk chairs, collapsing beside him. The older pilot rested a hand on Jake’s shoulder as he listened to you crying softly when Phoenix drove you to the hospital. Sloane hadn’t moved in a while, but he did his best to assure you everything would be okay.

Jake’s phone was about to die, and he had to hang up while you waited to be seen. Rooster left to retrieve a power bank and charging cord, leaving Jake with Mav. “Are you alright, kid?” he asked.

“Not really,” Jake admitted, clutching his phone tightly and feeling how warm it was.

“Your dad’s - ”

“Dead to me.” Nodding, Mav stretched out in his chair, folding his hands over his stomach. The silence stretched for a long time before he cleared his throat.

“My dad was an aviator. Shot down in Vietnam. And my mom… well,” he huffed, smiling without humor. “She picked some real winners after he died. One of the worst, though… he’d get drunk and knock her around. I was too young to do much about it, and she told me to stay out of the way because I was making it worse.”

When Jake glanced at Mav, the other man was staring up at the ceiling, expression tense. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Unfortunately, he stuck around. And no matter how much I tried to tell Mom he needed to go, she wouldn’t listen. And when I turned 18, he kicked me out of the house. A couple of my friends' parents let me stay with them until I graduated high school, and they helped me figure things out when I was turned down from the Academy. She ended up staying with him right up until he dropped dead of a heart attack. Couldn’t’ve happened to a better person,” he chuckled darkly. “Didn’t really have a family until Goose, Carole, and Bradley.”

“So you’re sayin’ I can’t help my mama until Mark drops dead?”

“I’m saying that you can’t help someone who doesn’t want help, Jake.” Their eyes met, and Mav could see the argument in the younger man’s eyes. “You’ve got a wife and a kid on the way to think about now. All you can do is be there whenever your mom needs help, but you need to focus on your family.”

Jake was saved from replying when the door opened, and Rooster walked back in, kicking the door closed behind him. After handing him the power bank, he glanced at Mav before twisting off a beer bottle cap. “You don’t see shit, Captain.” Jake raised an eyebrow, accepting the room-temperature beer.

Smirking, Mav held up his hands. “Not gonna question how you got contraband alcohol outside of beer day.”

“Good,” Rooster smirked back, handing his godfather his bottle before collapsing into the chair on Jake’s other side. Resting his beer on his stomach, he sighed. “You got everything set up for liberty, Hangman?”

“Plane tickets and hotel are booked. Don’t have many other plans for when she gets there… if she gets there.”

“She will,” Mav assured him. “You been to Yokosuka before?”

“Not in a couple years. Her family was stationed outside Tokyo for a few years when she was a kid, so she’s excited to come back for a little while.”

“Any suggestions on shit to do?” Rooster asked, peeling the label from his bottle. While Jake knew they were trying to distract him, he couldn’t help but feel thankful for it as he watched his phone battery level rise. Finally, you texted that you were being brought back to an exam room.

When Jake put his phone on speaker, he bit the inside of his cheek when he heard Sloane’s strong heartbeat. “Everything looks good,” the PA said. “Baby’s heartbeat sounds good; Mom’s blood pressure is slightly elevated but is headed back to normal range.”

“They’re both okay?” Jake asked, wishing the internet signal in the classroom was strong enough to do a video call.

“Yes. Just watch the stress levels and take it easy for a bit.” After you agreed to do that, Jake reluctantly hung up after promising a video call tomorrow.

Later, Jake stood in the shower, his head tilted back so the spray hit his face and washed away his tears. He could hear Rooster and Fritz talking in the room and knew that they would soon be headed to the mess for dinner. He’d decided against going with them, needing some time alone.

Two knocks on the bathroom door let him know they were leaving and the room was empty. He waited another minute before getting out, quickly dressed in basketball shorts, and retreated to his bunk.

Lina had called, probably in response to the text he’d sent before showering. But he didn’t want to talk to anyone right now. He’d made it clear to his mama and sister - he was done with Mark. If he so much as looked at his wife or kid, Jake would end him. He was not going to stand for raising a hand to his wife. And if they wanted anything to do with Jake or his family, they wouldn’t mention Mark or bring him anywhere near them. If they did, they would be just as dead to Jake as Mark was.

Ignoring Lina's text demanding a call, Jake retrieved his laptop and pulled up your flight itinerary. With a few clicks, he upgraded your tickets to Japan and back home. He knew you wouldn’t be happy to see the price on the next credit card statement, but it didn’t matter. He would deal with your upset if it meant that you were comfortable while flying.

Two weeks, Jake thought, setting aside his laptop and turning in his small bunk. Two weeks until he could stretch out on a proper bed with his wife by his side. Two weeks until he could feel his daughter move.

Two weeks until he had the only family that mattered.

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

Author's Note: Not technically a chapter, but including the tag list because this provides a lot of backstory for Jake. And I am definitely in agreement with the comparison of Hangman being Mav, and Rooster being Ice.

Tag list: @mamachasesmayhem; @memeorydotcom; @alldaysdreamers; @kmc1989; @djs8891; @caitsymichelle13; @dempy; @midnightmagpiemama; @lovelyladymayyyy; @caidi-paris; @a-court-of-roscoe-and-baby; @bellaireland1981; @lethargicluv; @tenderclio; @lucypaulette; @abaker74; @trhett21; @misshoneypaper; @schreksdoubledeckerhomechecker; @eternallyvenus; @mavrellover91; @chloeforde; @thatbitcily; @rest-of-brazilian-wax; @percysaidnever; @harperdoodle; @hardballoonlove; @maeleeme; @emma8895eb; @xoxabs88xox; @queenslandlover-93; @memoriesat30; @queerqueenlynn; @capswife; @regsg18; @boisewaffles; @fudge13; @starkleila

#hangman seresin x reader #jake seresin x reader #top gun fic #top gun maverick #jake seresin #Hangman top gun #soft!Jake Seresin #hangman smut #hangman fic #D-Day fic #jake hangman seresin

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cambion-companion · 7 months

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Hey. Hey. Hey there, pretty miss.

A RaphaelxTav prompt, if you're feeling up to it. We usually have Raph as the suave, sexy, giant devil. Scenario is up to you, but. Tav just gives him a little smooch. Doesn't even think of it, they're just used to travelling with their friends and all those horny freaks are touchy by default. How does the lad react? (I'm real bad at this, I'm sorry).

HI DARLING!

Thank you for indulging me and sending over a lil prompt, I appreciate you!!

I am totally open for more prompts, if I receive none I will still write more drabbles. This one is short, but to the, ehm, point hehe

It was a combination of the wine and the sleep deprivation…and the Illithid parasite writhing in your head. You were so used to the company of friends such as Astarion or Karlach, so easy to lose your social decorum with.

You quickly pressed your lips to the side of his head, only realizing your blunder when sharp claws bit into the skin of your jaw, Raphael’s burning eyes suddenly all-too-sharp upon your blushing face.

“And just what…” His voice was a deadly purr. “…gave you the impression I’d welcome such a gesture?”

It took several tense moments for your throat muscles to relax enough for the words to come out. The amount of his red wine you’d imbibed was not helping. “I…sorry, Raph.”

Raphael’s already arched brow raised even higher, his initial anger giving way to amusement. “My, if I’d known we had become so familiar I would’ve taken far greater liberties with you.”

“Such as?” You met his challenge with a tipsy grin and your eyes roved over his cambion form, so much larger than yourself.

His hand tightened as you admired him: Ridged horns so much like an arching crown gleaming darkly in the dancing firelight casting shadows that accentuated his sharp features. His broad sweeping wings illuminated and slowly spreading, growing with the devious smile tugging up his lips.

“Such as…acts of such heat that would leave you crawling back to me, begging to sign your very soul over to experience again.” Raphael lent down; your noses brushed. You closed your eyes. His hand tightened on your chin. “However, I like my playthings fully cognizant, able to feel the delicious intermingling of pain and pleasure.”

Your eyes snapped back open, hazing before finally refocusing on his tight smile just as he released you and stepped back. His flaming eyes roved your form once. “Now, get thee hence ere I regret my restraint.”

#raphael bg3 #baldurs gate 3 drabble #raphael x tav #raphael x reader #raphael baldur's gate 3 #bg3 drabble

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onlycosmere · 2 months

Text

REGARDING AUDIBLE

Brandon Sanderson: Hey, all. Brandon here, with what I consider to be some pretty exciting news. Many of you may remember when I wrote last year about my worries regarding audiobook royalties (particularly for independent authors). You can read it HERE, but some of the main bullet points are as follows:

I seriously worried about the opacity of reporting to authors about audio sales. We didn’t know what a sale meant, how much of an Audible credit was given to authors when a book sold via one, and how royalties were being accounted.

I felt that the industry was taking advantage of authors because of their lack of powerful corporate interests to advocate for them. While video game creators and musicians get 70–80% (88%, in fact, on two major platforms) of a sale of their products in a digital platform, Audible was paying as low as 25%–with the high end being instead 40%.

I felt I could have gotten a better deal for myself, but the entire state of this industry was seriously concerning to me. So, I made the difficult decision NOT to release the four Secret Projects on Audible, costing me a large number of sales, to instead try to bolster healthy competition in the space, highlighting some of the smaller Audible competitors.

I hoped this wake-up call would prompt change. I didn’t refuse to put my books on Audible out of retribution or to declare war; I did it because I wanted to shine as powerful a light as I knew how on a system that highly favored the audio distributors over the authors. I was convinced that the people at Audible really did love books and writers, and that with the right stand taken, I could encourage them toward positive change.

I’m happy to say that this stand has borne some fruit. I’ve spent this last year in contact with Audible and other audio distributors, and have pushed carefully–but forcefully–for them to step up. A few weeks ago, three key officers high in Audible’s structure flew to Dragonsteel offices and presented for us a new royalty structure they intend to offer to independent writers and smaller publishers.

This new structure doesn’t give everything I’ve wanted, and there is still work to do, but it is encouraging. They showed me new minimum royalty rates for authors–and they are, as per my suggestions, improved over the previous ones. Moreover, this structure will move to a system like I have requested: a system that pays more predictably on each credit spent, and that is more transparent for authors. Audible will be paying royalties monthly, instead of quarterly, and will provide a spreadsheet that better shows how they split up the money received with their authors.

This part looked really good to me, as I understand their decisions. I tried poking holes in the system, looking for ways it could be exploited, and found each issue I raised had already been considered. This doesn’t mean it’s going to be perfect, and people smarter than me might still find problems that I didn’t. However, I think everyone is going to agree the new system IS better. We will better be able to track, for example, how Audible is dividing money between books purchased with a credit and books listened to as part of their Audible Plus program.

It’s all very technical, but I have to say I’m impressed with the effort they have made. The people there listened to my complaints, and have tried to improve. I’m not at liberty to explain in its entirety their new structure right now, as they’re still tweaking it, but they did say I could announce its existence–and that I could promise new, improved royalties are on the horizon.

Now, before we go too far, I do anticipate a few continuing issues with the final product. I want to manage expectations by talking about those below.

What I’ve seen doesn’t yet bring us to the 70% royalty I think is fair, and which other, similar industries get.

Audible continues to reserve the best royalties for those authors who are exclusive to their platform, which I consider bad for consumers, as it stifles competition. In the new structure, both exclusive and non-exclusive authors will see an increase, but the gap is staying about the same.

Authors continue to have very little (basically no) control over pricing. Whatever the “cover price” of books is largely doesn’t matter–books actually sell for the price of a credit in an Audible subscription. Authors can never raise prices alongside inflation. An Audible credit costs the same as it did almost two decades ago–with no incentive for Audible to raise it, lest it lose customers to other services willing to loss-lead to draw customers over.

These are things I’d love to see change. However, this deal IS a step forward, and IS an attempt to meet me partway. Indeed, even incremental changes can mean a lot. When I was new in this business, my agent spent months arguing for a two-percent change in one of my print royalties–because every little bit helps. These improvements are going to be larger than two-percent increases.

Because of this, I will be bringing the Secret Projects to Audible very soon. I consider Audible to again be a positive force for the industry, and I have decided to shake hands with them. Audible has promised to release their new royalty system for all authors sometime in 2024, though I should be testing it in the next month or so.

And…if you’ll allow me a moment, I’d like to say that this feels good. It isn’t what I wanted, but I’d begun to think that nothing would ever change–that even my voice, loud though it can be, wouldn’t be enough. Yet change IS possible.

I know that there are plenty of people out there who are tired of hearing about me and my works (I’m sorry–I do have quite the group of evangelists, and we can be an enthusiastic lot). However, for better or for worse, I am one of the bestselling authors in the world. Historically, one of the best ways to change things in my industry is for authors like myself to force it to happen.

Feeling this responsibility, when I was first talking to Audible about these issues in 2022, I made it very clear that I wasn’t just seeking some quiet deal that gave me an individual advantage. I wanted to see positive change for all authors. And while I don’t think I can take sole credit, I do feel like my efforts this year have had a significantly positive effect. Soon every independent author who publishes on Audible (and maybe, eventually, traditionally published authors with the huge publishers–depending on what New York decides) will be getting a larger cut of the profit, with more transparency about how that cut is allocated.

So, for those who have been waiting until Audible had the Secret Projects, you’ll get your chance soon. I hope you’ll support them, and support Audible for their decisions. And thank you to all of you who shared the news about my problems with the audio industry last year; I believe that pressure really did help. This is a victory for all of us, because happier authors able to make a better living (particularly those authors who are struggling in the midlist trenches) make for a more vibrant world for everyone.

#Brandon Sanderson #cfsbf #audible #branderson #root #wob #kind of #long post

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paymechildsupport · 6 days

Text

Puppet Boy // Suguru Geto x M!Cursed!Reader

In which: Reader is a cursed ‘puppet’, a product of another Cursed User’s CT that happens to end up in Geto's grasp.

-!! M!Reader (usage of the word, 'boy'), -- AMAB --> Reader as a dick (creative liberties can be taken though for any non-dick havers 😋)

--------

-!! explicit warnings: oral / praise / degradation / dacryphilia / coming in pants / shoe grinding

——✩‧˚︶꒦꒷꒷

'You were created to be used as a puppet, a tool of mass destruction. The creation of the same people that were the higher ups of Jujutsu Tech, (a government bio weapon, essentially) You were a masterpiece, on the road to becoming the most powerful cursed entity in the modern day of Jujutsu. However, once ‘refinements’ were beginning to be made you couldn’t help but question yourself, — your masters. You began to question: ‘why?’ Why must you follow their orders? Why must you accept sleeping on the cold floor while they get the nice beds? Why do you eat only scraps while they massive feasts? Why must you go back in your cage once your need for use is up while they get nice houses, nice beds,— nice lives?

You despised: and just as you began to refine your sense of self, your human consciousness— did they make a move to destroy you. Scrap you. You were a failed prototype,— a being that got just a lil’ too human for their comfort.

But you had just gotten your consciousness, and you’d be damned if you’d just lie there and let them take it away from you.

So you ran, shattered your chains,— and sprinted as fast as you could from jujutsu society.

And you ran, and ran and ran and ran and ran and ran,— far, far away. So far, in fact, you managed to find yourself in the domain of the most wanted man alive; ‘The Most Dangerous Curse User’— Suguru Geto.

He was entranced, completely infatuated with your existence, and charmed by your burning hatred for the same higher ups as he had.

Geto had to have you,— and you were half certain he would turn you into a nice compacted orb and swallow you whole— he sure looked like he wanted to. Yet he didn’t.

He had other plans for you…

——✩‧˚︶꒦꒷꒷

You choke pathetically, letting out a strangled whimper. The noise only prompts Geto to grab your hair harder, yanking your head upwards to meet his smirking face, a smug look plastered.

“You’re doing so good pretty darling,” he cooed, rich saccharine voice pushing you closer and closer to the edge, “c’mon, isn’t this what you were made for? To be used for?” His tone turned slightly condescending, only making your raging erection throb if anything.

How did you get here: a shiny tool, made by the greatest sorcerers of the century, a weapon of mass destruction, turned into a fleshlight by the most wanted man in the world?

Your determination to live, despite being scrapped and left for dead by your masters, sparked something within Suguru Geto. Something he had only ever seen in himself. He had to admit, the moment he laid eyes on you he had been dreaming of this, and not just as a ‘fuck you’ to those insufferable, monkey sympathizing higher-ups, —(well, maybe a big part of it was that— for both him and you)— but that so similar look of pure hatred and malice that Geto had only ever seen in the mirror caused something to stir. It seemed his teenage hormones had finally caught up with him.

You were left in nothing but your boxers, grinding pathetically on the Cursed User’s shoe. You were already soaking, as he was very aware.

“Fuck, oh just like that….— ha…., good boy” he groaned, the praise going straight to your cock. You moaned in response, the vibrations of your throat against his dick were almost enough to send Geto flying over the edge.

He paused, his iron grip slightly loosening on your head. You look up questioningly through your teary lashes, his cock still hanging in your mouth, rock hard.

Geto inhales sharply, “ha… did.. I say you could stop..?” His glare sends a shiver down your spine, “useless puppet, can’t even do a simple task on his own without orders from his master” he sneers, fisting a handful of your hair once again, this time moving your head up and down himself.

Your body went slack, pure bliss pumping through you to be used in such an erotic way. You grind yourself harder against his sandaled foot, abs flexing as you strain to milk as much pleasure as possible. A wet spot already forming on your boxers.

Geto was so close, his cock twitched uncomfortably in your mouth, precum crying from his tip, pooling and dribbling down your chin. He groaned at the absolute filth of the act, only turning him on even more, his movements sped up.

“What a good little whore,” he huffed, “just imagine the look on your masters’ faces if they were to ever see their— fuck,... hah… — tool used as a mere pleasure toy for such a disgraced individual such as myself….” his movements grew rapid as dirty talk and filthy words continued to flow from his lips, “huff, — they would be absolutely .. revolted at you whoring yourself out to me,..-- hah… hah,.... - my good, — good, boy” he moved at a grueling pace, desperately fucking himself into your mouth.

Your moans were almost pornographic, nearly causing Geto to paint your throat white right there. He carefully angled his foot upwards, hitting your obsessive rutting right on your prostate. You gasp as you come, hard, – soaking his throbbing cock even more with your spit as you choke. You look up with worship through your hooded, lust clouded eyes, tears streaming down your face.

You might just be the most beautiful thing Geto has ever seen. He’s never wanted someone else in such a way, but now, it dawned that he wanted you so much more passionately and desperately than any other person or worldly possession.

“Holy fuck,... baby, my beautiful baby-,” the praises tumble from his mouth before he even knew what he was doing, his mind turning to mush from how fucking well you took him. You really were made just for him.

“God, you… gasp… you—“ Geto starts to slur like a drunk, “I didn’t even need to touch you, and you, - ha-... came– aha.. Ah~.. - all on your own… g-god you’re so fucking perfect… mmmhmmmm~... my perfect, perfect little — oooOOH~.”

Geto is sent over the edge, moaning lewder than a fucking pornstar, his white hot cum shooting down your throat and painting your mouth white. You take it all, eagerly lapping him down, milking him for every last drop. Geto can only watch you in awe as you swallow every drop, some dribbling out of your mouth and down to your chin, mixing with heaps of your drool.

He huffs in amusement, reaching out and wiping your chin with his thumb.

God, you really were made for him, almost like it was prophesied and written in the stars.

“Fuck,.... did they make the biggest mistake letting you go, .. my pretty puppet. You’re mine..

… all mine.”

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

[A/N]: I had this is my drafts for a while so it's lowkey kinda old, -- still really like the idea of a cursed 'puppet' though: a curse that didn't stem from a human's negative emotions, -- but rather bioengineered by the higher-ups, -- who then went rogue / broke away after gaining consciousness. In this particular instance, the puppet was a very undercover top secret hush hush kinda thing, -- they didn't trust Gojo or really any of the other teachers -- but mainly Gojo, cuz well, he's a lil' goofball and who knows what kinda shenanigans he could get up to. (Plus, Geto would've been thinking of Gojo while smashing the puppet, you can't tell me otherwise 🥶

This was done at like 4am, -- I could definitely refine it a lot more -- lemme know if you want me to do more wit this. Like, have numerous characters x puppet!reader, -- I have a lot of ideas for Sukuna, Geto and Gojo (or even both, Satosugu).

( Srsly tho, i have a lot of ideas 🥶 just lmk :3 )

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buckets-and-trees · 11 months

Text

Out of These Waters

Fandom: MCU Characters/Pairings: Mer!Bucky x Princess!Reader Word Count: 7.6k

Summary: Fathoms below the surface, the tales of merfolk aren't mere tales, but a reality - a society sworn to secrecy, protecting themselves from the dangers of humans. But one of them with a yearning for what's out there keeps being drawn further and further into the places he should not go. A gender-bent adaptation of The Little Mermaid to be told in two parts.

Content/Concept Warnings: liberties taken with Hans Christian Andersen and Disney source materials, pining, magic

Additional Notes: Written for the @buckybarnesevents Connect4 Alternate June-iverse to fulfill my C3 "Gender Bend" square, looping in a number of dialogue prompts for Navy and Roo's May Challenge over at @the-slumberparty (designated in bold), my second square of @buckybarnesbingo B2 "Hidden," and MERMAY (shush, I know it's coming in at the absolute last seconds before the whistle blows). Thank you @navybrat817 and @rookthorne for letting me shout at you and go on at length riddling out this plot! A/N 2: This is part one of what needed to be split into two halves of a thorough adaptation/retelling. I had NO INTENTION of doing anything mermay. But a few weeks ago mermay art started surfacing on my dash... and I was enamored. And then some of Mindy Lee's art was shared in this post, and I thought... but what if Bucky were a merman with ridiculously long, dark, flowy hair like that... And then there was this merBucky art by @haflacky, and @navybrat817 sent me this one, and, and, and... and I realized the square I had been most perplexed about how I would find something to inspire a muse for could work if I made Bucky the protagonist of The Little Mermaid. So if you've noticed that I leaned heavy into the reblogging of mermay art, NOW YOU KNOW WHY.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

Steve shook his head. “I can’t keep saying the same thing again and again, Buck.”

“Then don’t.”

“You know you’re supposed to guard from below, not above. The whole point of our guarding is to maintain secrecy, ensure humans never get too close.”

“Is it not better to know exactly what’s going on than to wait and react?”

Steve’s tail lashed quickly forward and back again, a further show of the frustration already written on his face. “But we both know that’s not why you sit at the surface.”

“There’s a wide balcony built into the side of the cliff the castle rests upon that’s only just above where high tide hits with a stairway that leads straight into the waters,” the words rushed quickly out of Bucky’s mouth. “It’s old. Why would they have direct access into the sea at the royal palace if not to interact with us?”

“How do you – no, I don’t want to know how you know that.” Steve planted his hands on his hips, just above where his dark blue scales spread down below his abdomen. “If I don’t know, I don’t have to lie for you. Your shoulders are darker than they should be, and your face is too sun-kissed.”

With that, he turned and began to swim away. Bucky looked at the tiny octopus resting on his left shoulder, tentacles wrapped around his bicep and stretching over his chest and back. He stroked the top of one of the tentacles and the beast slipped one of its arms underneath its body and slid out the three small trinkets Bucky had hidden there. “If humans are so bad, why do they make and collect such interesting trinkets?”

Instead of following straight after Steve, Bucky headed further west instead of south to the kingdom, and it wasn’t long before he reached a cave near the reef on the edge of the kingdom he’d discovered long ago during his patrols of the outer regions. It was in an undisturbed area on the outskirts of the underwater kingdom of Asgard, a place of complete solitude for Bucky. He shared the existence of this place with no one, using it as an escape, then a retreat, and now a regular spot to not only be away from duty and his ties to others, but also a place to keep his growing collection of human artifacts.

A cautious visit to the surface to observe humans as a point of reference was part of ritual tradition for all Asgardian merfolk as they reached the age of adulthood. Many used it for what it was – the point of reference for the life they were not a part of, knowledge of the dangers of the surface world, and were happy to have it over and done with.

Not Bucky.

He wasn’t the only one who the visit struck a chord with. Many of the merfolk found a call to join the royal guard after their visits – some out of fear to keep the sea safe, some out of a reverent respect for what lay beyond the safe border of the underwater. Others were struck by their habits – so similar to the merfolk, and yet different – and became collectors of the oddities that sometimes found their way into the sea either by shipwreck or simply being tossed overboard.

Bucky had yearned for his visit to the surface for years before it was his time, spurred on by a fascination that had sprouted from hearing about humans and the surface from his father who had served in the royal guard for many years before Bucky was old enough to join. His visit split the curiosity from a small crack to a chasm of questions and desires. He wanted to know so much more about the people he saw, how they lived, and yearned to even experience it himself.

Joining the guard and taking regular rotations of duty for protection monitoring allowed him the opportunity to breach the surface and observe as long as he was careful, and he was. As Steve had rightly surmised, today had been another of those days. He kept to every other part of the code and did not speak or interact with the humans on any level, the directive put into place by Bor Burison early in his reign, maintained throughout the entirety of Odin’s reign, and continued by his son Thor, their current king.

But it wasn’t the only reason he had joined the royal guard. Bucky was an explorer by nature, so he also took satisfaction in the standard undersea outskirt patrols, mapping and surveying different parts of the kingdom, and – most importantly – felt a deep sense of duty to the kingdom and serving the king, whom he felt a great amount of loyalty and friendship toward after growing up on the same training grounds together and fighting alongside on a few occasions.

So Bucky’s cave was more than just a place to keep the trinkets and artifacts he found during his excursions, it was a place where he could be himself, think, rest, or just be without any distraction. The alcoves held his treasures, which included some maps of his own creation on the sheaves of seaweed, and some things made for him or given to him by his younger sisters.

This place was some three or four leagues from the coast, and Bucky often saw the shadows of boats sailing above it. It was growing dark, so tonight he wouldn’t lay and look up at the passing shades. It was only his intention to stow away his new findings – a silver ring with jade stones and another instrument, either a tool or an ornament, with a thin silver shaft a little longer than the palm of his hand holding a row of teeth with more jade embedded into the smooth back of the shaft. As he studied it, running his fingers over the smooth back and the bumps of the dull teeth, wondering what purpose it could serve or if it was purely decorative, it began to collect hues of muted but colorful light. He smiled and looked up through the hole of the roof of his cave.

“The booming fire lights,” he murmured to his shoulder octopus, placing the object on a shelf, and shooting quickly up and out of his cave for the surface. Within just a few moments he was near the surface, and so he slowed abruptly, knowing it was always safest to emerge slowly into the air rather than burst forth from below, even if he did benefit from the darkness of the night sky. With the booming fire lights flying above, Bucky knew there was an even smaller chance for any humans to notice him, but his adherence over the years to very basic strategies made his venturing beyond the established boundaries sustainable.

The wind danced across his face as he emerged from the water, cool and swift, but not unpleasant. Wind was such an anomaly to him, he wouldn’t have thought it unpleasant anyway. He watched the colorful lights dancing against the intensely dark sky, seemingly darker than others he’d seen before, but his attention was drawn by something else as well. Not far off from where he was treading at the surface a large sailing ship was gliding along with loads of music and laughter spilling over the sides. Ships in this area making their way to and from the docks of the surface kingdom were frequent, but not usually at the leisurely pace and with such clearly joyful revelry. His heart swelled just a little, and he couldn’t deny the pull toward the celebration. He slunk back down just below the surface, low enough he knew the rapid movements of his tailfins wouldn’t emerge or even disturb the water and swam toward the vessel.

Bucky had seen the ship on approach earlier during his surface patrol. It’s one that usually sat in the harbor, had been gone for a few weeks, and only returning now.

A few moments after he resurfaced, just at the base where the ship met the water, the booming fire lights in the sky ceased, and a shortly thereafter the music died down. The ship was not far off from land, so Bucky assumed the crew had stopped to celebrate with the fire lights and was now starting to make final preparations to conclude their voyage, but his curiosity was not disappointed in venturing closer. Two humans were at the side of the boat conversing directly above him, one leaning a little over the railing, looking out over the waters, and their voices rang out clearly for his ears.

“The people will be proud,” a male voice said.

“I hope so,” your voice drifted down to him.

“They will,” your companion insisted. “Your first royal tour, and you were able to make tremendous diplomatic overtures in many of the kingdoms we visited. In particular, the resurgence of a more active alliance with Wakanda and opening a trade route with them – we hoped for the former, but no one expected the latter. Wakanda hasn’t traded with other countries for generations!”

“With Shuri as the new queen, she was ready to make new inroads, I just happened to be the first delegation they received.”

“I’m sure that was by design.”

“Do you think they’re using us?”

“No, your majesty, as I told you before we set out, I think they were receptive to our diplomatic overtures because as a new queen, she saw you on equal footing as a princess who will soon inherit this kingdom.”

You didn’t respond immediately, and Bucky heard you heave a heavy sigh before speaking again. “Less than a year.”

“You will be ready. You are ready. Shuri initiated the trade negotiations only after she had judged your character, your intelligence, and your tenacity – characteristics noticed by her brother T’Challa, as well.”

“Are you my Prime Minister or my match maker?” you chided.

Your companion laughed, and replied, “As your Prime Minister I do know that the people would certainly rejoice at the prospect of a royal wedding, but I don’t think there will need to be any interference on my part, Princess.”

“The people would certainly rejoice?”

“They would, and of course a happy people makes doing my job easier, but I would also rejoice. I would not have you face the prospect of the crown alone, your highness.”

“I don’t need a husband to rule.”

“No, I know that – only a moment ago I just affirmed how strong your diplomatic skills are. I only say that because I believe you deserve to have a partner to share it with – the weight of the burdens as well as joy in the successes. I’ve always been grateful for my companion in those ways, and your kingdom has benefited from their wisdom as well, for they set me straight when I need to see something differently and everyone else will tell me what I want to hear and not what I need to hear.”

You didn’t respond immediately. Bucky imagined you may have been sharing a look of some sort with your Prime Minister. “T’Challa was someone who gained my respect very quickly and,” you hesitated for a moment, “he was also perhaps someone I began to grow fond of.”

Something burned in the back of Bucky’s throat. He didn’t like hearing you speak of this Wakandan prince. He didn’t like it because your voice was not that of a stranger to him. He had heard you – only a few times but heard you all the same – when he had ventured near the palace on the cliffside, discovering that sunken balcony with steps right into the sea, and other places along that part of the shore. He assumed you were part of the royal household, but this was the first conversation he’d heard indicating you were the crown princess and due to take the throne. He wanted to know more about everything on land, but he was particularly intrigued by what he was learning about you.

��I left with many indications that the Wakandans were interested in reciprocating a royal diplomatic visit presently, and that although Queen Shuri would be unable to leave in the near future, this was a priority moving forward to put stock in the alliance, and there is no one the Queen trusts more than her brother for matters of importance.”

“How conveniently fortuitous for your romantic hopes,” you responded, bracketing it with a soft, warm laugh.

The wind suddenly picked up, there was a deep rumble in the air, and then the sky began to release water down on them. A storm. Bucky had encountered a storm at the surface before, but never with such a heavy pelting of water. The folk on the boat began shouting, and he could hear a bit of their hustling about above the sounds of the storm, but only just. His ears began to buzz, and there was a sharp metallic taste hitting his tongue. Bucky put his hand on the side of the ship to steady himself, starting to feel a little dizzy. The next second there was a blinding light that engulfed everything, with a sharp crack, and an even larger almost deafening crash at the end of it, and then a roaring sound unlike anything Bucky had ever heard before, followed by screaming and shouts from the ship’s crew. Bucky’s heart beat erratically for a few moments, and though the brilliant white light had disappeared, there was now a red and orange glow radiating from the front of the ship.

The splintering of wood, more shouts, and then a boom as the mast of the ship tumbled over, and then fell over the side, and into the water, Bucky just swimming out of the way in time. The whipping of the wind increased even more, bringing big waves that began to beat against the side of the ship, causing it to rock and creak.

Bucky retreated below the surface, and looked up seeing other things beginning to fall into the water, boxes, row boats, a body swathed with swirling skirts. Bucky’s body was full of adrenaline already from that wicked flash of destructive light, body feeling out of sorts, but he was horrifically transfixed on that body, waiting for the limbs to react, to move, but they didn’t.

Someone from the ship’s crew would see, they would leap in after to retrieve the displaced human.

Any second.

But what continued to appear at the surface, after another flash of light, were more object, planks of wood, and the body remained motionless, continuing to sink.

He couldn’t leave the human helpless.

Surging upwards, Bucky snaked his arm around the torso of the human, tucking it against his side, and then rushed to the surface. He looked around, scoping out the situation, but found nothing but more chaos. The human crew on the deck of the ship were distracted entirely in what was happening immediately around them, no one seeming to look over the side at all in search of a missing body because now the small boats were being cast into the water and all the crew were calling out, “Abandon ship!”

Bucly looked down at the head that had lolled back to rest on his shoulder and his heart stuttered because though it was dark and stormy and he’d never been anywhere near this close, he was certain it was you, the crown princess in his arms. Bucky groaned in distress. He was already in a compromising position, he couldn’t leave you here with little assurance that you would be rescued – certainly not without him helping you in your unconscious state – and each passing second mounted his concern over if you were even still alive. He brought a trembling hand to the side of your neck to see if he could feel a heartbeat. Do humans have heartbeats? he wondered, but assumed they must since merfolk like himself did, and humans and merfolk seemed to share near identical bodies from the waist up. Detecting a heartbeat seemed futile at this moment, tossing about in the sea, with his own hand unsteady.

Without another thought, he tightened his hold beneath your arms, swirled to face land, and franticly beat his fins to take you away from the wreckage, realizing there was nothing left to do but swim you to the shore himself.

Bucky knew the shore too well for a merman, far better than he knew ever to admit to anyone in Asgard, but his extensive familiarity meant in this instant he had no question of where he needed to go, and time was precious. Grateful for the hightide of nighttime, Bucky had to make very little effort to get the two of you up onto the balcony that lay at the bottom of the cliffs just below the palace – the very one he had spoken to Steve about only an hour before. Bucky gently shifted you onto your back on the smooth granite, cradling your head in one of his large hands. His other hand furiously brushed his long hair out of his face, then came up to your neck, seeking signs of your heartbeat again. It was faint, but he could feel it consistently pulsing under his fingertips.

Tension he didn’t realize he’d been carrying released in his chest.

You were still alive.

He’d felt dizzy with that streak of violent light, so perhaps you had been affected as well and may have also hit something in the water when you fell off the ship. He brushed his thumb softly over your cheek. “Come on, Princess, you need to wake up.”

Still unresponsive, he rubbed your cheek a little more firmly, then moved his hand down to squeeze your shoulder. He continued murmuring softly, trying to coax you back to consciousness. After a few more minutes, he finally felt you beginning to come around, noting the moment when instead of your head lying dormant in his hand, your muscles started to move and adjust. “That’s it, Princess,” he cooed.

You groaned and pressed your cheek into Bucky’s palm. His heart ached and raced, realizing the reality of his situation.

He hesitated for a split second, loathe to leave you, but he carefully eased your head onto the ground, removed his hands from you, and slipped away and back into the sea before you could see him.

As he swam as fast as he could, his heartbeat roaring in his ears, and he did not stop until he was home, only slowing to a speed that would not draw attention when he neared the outskirts of the underwater kingdom, knowing he could never even hint at his involvement in saving the life of a human. His mind raced with the enormity of what he’d done, and the only reason he slept at all that night was due to the exhaustion from maintaining such a high-speed swim over the long distance to return home.

His body was refreshed in the morning, but his mind was not. Bucky knew he had a day ahead of him filled with his duties as a royal guard, but every fiber of his being yearned to rise to the surface and seek you out – only to ensure you were safely recovering from the shipwreck ordeal.

“You’re not tricking anyone always taking the assignments to investigate new shipwrecks, patrol the outskirts, and monitor security near the surface,” Sam said as they left the command post for the guard in the golden palace of Asgard after the morning briefing and assignments.

Bucky shot him a sidelong glance. “What did Steve say to you.”

“Steve didn’t say anything to me,” Sam chuckled. “I know you, and this is becoming more frequent.”

“If someone has to take care of these responsibilities anyway, why not me?” Bucky tried to keep his tone casual, adding a shrug.

Sam didn’t respond. Bucky looked over at him.

Sam put up his hands nonchalantly. “If you say so.”

Bucky stopped and turned to face him. “Say what you feel so compelled to say.”

“I don’t think Thor will be as angry as Odin would have been about your human obsession, but he won’t be happy about it. The laws are there for a reason. You know that.”

Bucky shook his head in irritation. “I’m not in any danger.”

“I’m not scolding you, Buck, but Odin would have had your fins nailed to the floor.”

The little octopus on Bucky’s shoulder squirmed. Bucky stroked it soothingly. “Thor’s not Odin, but no one is going to tell Thor anything because there’s nothing to tell.”

“Just be careful.”

“You also volunteered to mapping part of the uncharted reef with me today,” Bucky reminded him.

“Someone’s gotta make sure you don’t get lost or lose track of time,” he said with a grin.

Bucky laughed. “Come on then, morning light is best for scoping out the reef.”

The day was spent adding to the empty edges of the map of the reef. Thor had commissioned further exploration and completion of the maps of their land and the surrounding seas, placing great importance on better knowing the kingdom and her neighbors. Scratching the new lines and shadings into the sheaves of seaweed brought its own sense of satisfaction, and it did fill his mind for the day and distract him for the most part. He returned to Asgard with Sam at the end of the day, no detours. He ate with other members of the guard before returning home. He slept, but then he woke before dawn, leaving in the darkness, and began swimming to the shore. Would you be at the seaside balcony at the crack of dawn? He didn’t expect so, but he would scope it out all the same, and he was sure if he did not see you he could safely sneak to the port docks and hear news of you – now that he knew you were the crown princess, any word regarding the return of a royal after a shipwreck and her wellbeing would be the gossip of the morning.

Merfolk and humans were no different in that way, Bucky thought with a smirk.

The sun was only just sending its rays over the edge of the horizon when he reached the shore. You were not at the seaside balcony of the palace, and he only lingered for a few minutes, eyes fixed on the spot where he’d held your face in his hands.

Two mornings after the shipwreck, the docks at the port were still busier than Bucky normally saw them. He had to stay further below and only came up to the surface twice, but that was all he needed to hear that the people’s princess was recovering without anything more than a nasty bump to the head and exhaustion.

He swam past and surfaced near the balcony again before heading back for another day of Asgardian life and duties. You weren’t there, of course.

But that night, you were.

He watched you watch the stars until you retired for the night.

Three mornings later Bucky was off for the day, so he ventured back to the shoreline mid-morning, hoping he would catch you at some point during the day. He had encountered you there a few times after all.

And you did not disappoint.

You sat on the top step that led from the balcony down into the water, pulled up your skirts, and began loosening the laces of your shoes. Soon you had them off along with whatever fabric was covering your feet beneath the shoes – he wondered what those were called. They looked delicate. Then you scooted down to sit a few steps lower, letting your feet dangle in the sea. Bucky dipped far below the surface and swam closer to the wall of the cliff. When he came up again, he slipped up onto an outcropping of rocks out of your view, leaning his bare back against the cliff face. He was only meters away from where you were still sitting. He could hear you idly raising and lowering your feet out of the waters as it was a very calm day for the tide.

After a long while, he heard you sigh. “Everyone thinks I’m crazy, but I know I didn’t make it up. You aren’t a miracle or a myth, you’re proof the merfolk aren’t extinct and that they’re not dangerous.”

Bucky’s heart leapt into his throat. He thought he’d been silent or quiet enough with the other sounds of the sea.

“You’re out there somewhere. I’ll find you.”

He did not move until he heard you leave, then he slipped into the deep blue, a rushing in his ears, heart pounding, resolved to keep his distance.

Only that resolve didn’t last long. He was drawn to you as much as he was to everything above water, and within a week he was back, but he came at the end of the day. You weren’t there, but he hoisted himself back up on the same outcropping of rock at the base of the cliff near but still out of view of the steps. The view of the sunset was stunning, steeped with deep reds and oranges, and sitting there taking in the sight you might have been able to see was enough.

And better.

This was safe.

Then he heard the faint sound of voices far off, steadily growing, then footsteps descending on the stairs. Two sets of footsteps, and then finally he could make out the voices, recognizing both – yours and that of your Prime Minister.

“Everything is ready to receive the royal envoy. Prince T’Challa sent this letter ahead for you.”

“Oh.”

Bucky registered a hint of something in your voice even in just that simple sound alone that pricked at him.

“Oh,” your tone was even warmer.

“A good letter?”

“That is not really your business, Prime Minister,” you laughed, and he chuckled.

“A royal alliance in absolutely my business,” he said, though the Prime Minister’s tone was clearly in jest, ultimately content in deferring to your rank and privacy.

“I will say it is certainly a letter anyone could be fond of,” you offered in a gentle voice.

That consumed Bucky immediately. He didn’t want this prince to lay claim to your heart and draw this kind of affection from you. He wanted that chance. His tail twitched with his impatience, splashing up some water. Bucky instantly stilled, pressing back against the cliff face.

But neither of you seemed not to notice.

The conversation turned to more business about the visit, and Bucky continued to listen, wanting to hear your voice, but none of the words registered in his head.

After a while, Bucky realized the voices had stopped, but he had no idea when that had happened. The sun had disappeared completely, the celestial bodies of the night sky had come out and were shining brightly against the darkness. The position of the moon indicated it must be near midnight. Bucky groaned, his shoulders and back a little stiff after sitting so long in one attitude against the rocks. You must have gone away and to sleep ages ago, and he ought to follow suit. He pushed up and off the perch, making a small dive into the sea to return home.

What he did not know was that you had stayed long after dismissing the Prime Minister, watching the sky until the very last rays of the sunset, but as you were about to retire had heard the twitching of fins against the water close at hand and out of curiosity climbed down the steps to the water’s edge to investigate. You had seen only the end of a set of large, shimmering black and gold fins and the lower part of a black-scaled tail. Your breath had stopped, and you’d had to stifle your sound of shock. You hadn’t dared to get to the bottom of the steps and look around the edge, certain that if it was one of the merfolk you’d heard the myths of your whole life that they would retreat immediately if they knew you’d seen them, but you had moved as far to the other end of the balcony as you could to see more of that glorious tail – but still not revealing much more to your view – and waited.

And all your patience had been rewarded when you saw the arms, head, shoulders, and torso of a man dive into the water, magnificent black and gold tail with intricate and powerful fins following him in all his glory.

Now you knew they still existed.

No, Bucky knew none of that.

Bucky’s mind is singularly fixed on all the things he can’t have – things he’s wondered about since hearing about the human surface world as a merchild, things he saw during his observatory rite of passage visit when he turned sixteen, things he’s seen over the years since then through his own exploration above and below the surface, and the everything just out of his reach now with you. He goes first to his grotto, and here the number of things he’s collected from the human world far surpass the number of things he knows about you, but he can’t deny the draw he feels. His chest aches, and yet he’s forbidden from doing anything – if there even were anything he could do.

Being among the relics of the human world only serves to agitate him more, and so he leaves and makes his way to his home cavern in the city of Asgard. Sleep is impossible. He swims short, agitated lengths back and forth within his humble dwelling.

He has a few relics here, too, but these are things passed down from his parents, including his grandfather’s combat spear. The royal armory holds weapons and all manner of protective outfitting for his majesty’s armies, but long past are the days when the kingdom issued gear to every soldier and officer. Many under the early days of Odin’s reign were issued personal pieces as a standard, but that ebbed away as the need and dangers faded or were conquered. The height of need had been in the early days of Bor Burison’s reign – Bor who had enacted the stringent regulations against fraternizing with the humans or spending any significant amount of time at the surface.

Bucky had naturally collected many pieces of the history of their people in relation to the humans, but he had never visited the royal archives. He’d always made at least a modicum of effort to keep his interest in everything looking exactly like that – an interest and not an obsession – and a visit to the archives to read and study the records of their interactions with the humans would not be seen as an idle interest.

Now he didn’t care. He needed to know everything; perception be damned.

He swam off some of his anxious energy making laps around the borders of the city surrounding the palace until dawn when the elders would open the archives. It was a collection that spanned art, statues, treasures, and artifacts, in addition to the records of the merfolk of Asgard. Some of their history had been created in murals along the walls of this hall, but there were also panes of etched glass and titanium for important long-term records, as well as various scrolls and sheaves of tough seaweed for maps and other documents. One of the elders pointed him to the area most applicable to their past dealings with the humans, and he started from the most recent records and started to make his way back through Asgard’s history. Bucky collection of events even more complex than he’d known began to coalesce as he combed through the accounts of things that played out over a few years, ending in a bloody battle between Buri – Thor’s great-grandfather – and the human king and his navy with many lives lost on both sides, including Buri, leading to Bor’s untimely ascension to the crown at an age earlier than anyone expected, and Bor instituting all the laws, principles, and practices to eliminate any contact with the surface world, deeming too much had been lost and that humans had become too dangerous to continue any dealings whatsoever if they wanted to keep the people of Asgard safe.

But Buri’s had inherited peaceful ties – positive ties even – with the folk on land, ties that had been forged by his father and grandfather before him. To say this was intriguing to Bucky would be an understatement. These ties were entwined with the selkies of Jotunheim.

Odin had beat back the selkies from their waters.

All except one.

Bucky knew of a selkie still in existence.

Exiled, but Bucky was fairly sure he knew where he could find the long-forgotten adopted brother of Thor, rumored now to be the warlock of the seven seas.

Bucky was questing for information, for answers, but tales of the things the former prince who had embraced his magic had done since leaving the gleaming halls of Asgard were whispered, and Bucky began to wonder if perhaps he could get more than he set out for by paying him a visit.

He need not have worried about finding him. As one of the pre-eminent cartographers on the royal guard, Bucky knew where to begin his search, but once he got to that point on the fringes, there seemed to be a myriad of elements to point him straight to Loki’s dark cavern.

There must have been enchantments to alert the sea warlock of his approach because Loki was waiting for him at the entrance to his lair. Bucky took in the sight of him as he drew near. Odin had invoked powers to conceal Loki’s true nature as a selkie and disguised him as a merman when he brought the infant into the royal family, and though Loki’s rebellion came during the early years of Bucky’s service in the king’s guard, Bucky had never seen him in his true form.

He was not that different from what Bucky had known him as before. The marked difference was that instead of scales and fins, his lower half was covered in the pelt of a seal, still beautiful and shiny in its own way, but with flippers instead of fins, and it was a skin that he could shed – for legs above ground. That and his flesh skin seemed sallow, but his eyes were still sharp.

“James, after all this time, and now you come to visit me,” he crooned. “You must be truly desperate to come to me for help.”

Bucky furrowed his brow, not anticipating this direct nature, and he was wary of what it meant.

In Bucky’s half-second of hesitation to answer, Loki’s face took on a dark grin and he continued his overture. “For that’s why you are here, is it not? No social calls on your part since I left the palace – not that we were particularly close. I didn’t expect overtures of our continued acquaintance since leaving Asgard, but seeing you swim into my waters at any point was certainly not something I ever predicted would happen.”

Bucky hovered near, but not within reach of the warlock. “It’s true I come to you with particular needs, but I harbor no bad blood for the past.”

Loki nodded, then turned and swam inside, calling, “Come in,” over his shoulder.

Bucky followed.

The circumstances surrounding the final confrontation that took place between Thor, Odin, and Loki during the latter’s rebellion were not public knowledge, and though Odin died that same day, Loki’s departure from the kingdom was a self-exile, and Thor and the then Queen Frigga maintained that Odin did not die at Loki’s hand and forbade anyone pursue the fallen prince. Thor had assumed the throne, Loki had wandered in mystery, as yet not returning to his once-home, and had settled now in this place.

They swam through a tunnel toward a faint glow ahead. Something continually reached out, whisping across Bucky’s skin as they passed, and he was unsure if it was plant or creature, but he had the distinct impression these were sentient and intentional touches. Bucky was forced to endure at the pace at which Loki progressed ahead of him.

They emerged into a massive cavern aglow with filtered light streaming in through gaps in the ceiling and glowing plants that cropped up in patches along the walls. One of the cavern’s faces was riddled with nooks and alcoves that were packed with bottles, pots, artifacts, tools, supplies – it was all an eerie collection Bucky imagined had been clearly amassed with meticulous obsession, knowing the habits of being a collector himself. Each spot his eyes darted to held both familiar and unfamiliar items.

Loki stopped, floating near the middle of the lair, and Bucky followed suit. The selkie swirled languidly around to look at him, and though his posture appeared relaxed, Bucky could see the true scrutiny in his eyes.

He kept the silence, eagerly sowing the anticipation, before he spoke again. “Know that I entertain you only for the sake of my own curiosity.”

Ah, he understood, at least I know the approach. He opened his mouth, ready to unfold his explanation, but Loki abruptly raised his hand, and Bucky thought it was only to stop him, but then something entwined both of his arms out of nowhere, gripping him and drawing him nearly chest to chest with the warlock.

“No, no. this will be more satisfying for me than your words,” Loki said, then put his nimble fingers to Bucky’s temples, and closed his eyes.

Bucky winced as almost immediately he wasn’t in physical pain, but he swore he could practically feel Loki sifting through his head, extracting what he wanted from the memories that flashed rapidly across his mind – Steve, maps, the records, conversations with his father, pieces of his artefact collection, his trips to the surface, the shipwreck, and you. So many thoughts of you. Bucky tried not to move, not wanting to show any weakness.

“Mmm, I see,” he said, finally releasing him both from his own touch and from the grip of the enchanted seaweed.

Bucky was only too glad that Loki retreated. It was only a meter, but any inch of distance was relished after feeling so exposed. There was no taking back the flashes, but at least most of the concentration had been on the human things, a few moments of you, but not every memory he had of you.

He let the quiet permeate the space between them again. Then he turned around, a smile on his face, and it was nothing but unsettling, too relaxed for Bucky’s liking.

He knew he was being toyed with, but he had to play whatever game Loki was setting up.

Finally, he spoke again. “Clearly the way to get what you want is to become a human yourself.”

“And you can do that?”

“I fortunately knew a little magic, and my talent and knowledge have only grown in my exile, so I could, but what in the vast ocean is in this for me?”

“The challenge,” Bucky responded, employing a slight incline of his chin – a tactic he had used with others to inspire or sway them over the years.

“Oh, but I want more than that, and so do you, you want this with everything in your soul.”

Bucky could feel how much Loki was enjoying this. Loki literally had the power, but that put him in a position that Bucky still knew he could use in this game.

“Here’s my offer: you’ll get your legs, you’ll be able to breathe on land – so not under the sea – and by the time the sun sets on the third day, if you haven’t procured true love’s kiss –“

“True love’s kiss?” Bucky interjected.

“But, of course! That’s what you want anyway, is it not?”

The smirk on his face riled Bucky even more, but he was determined to appear as unaffected as he could, even though he knew they both knew Bucky was keyed up to great heights.

“Yes, you are intrigued by the life on land, but you’re here because you want the heart of that princess.” Loki pauses and tilts his head, demanding the admission.

Bucky nodded.

That kindled a spark of something more in Loki’s eye.

“You said I have until sunset on the third day. What happens if I don’t succeed by then?”

Loki shrugged. “You turn back into a merman and you serve me for thirteen years.”

Bucky blinked before responding. He thought he would say for life, but only thirteen years?

Loki chuckled. “I know exactly what you’re thinking, but I may not want you longer than that. Now, if you succeed, you remain a human and live a human life up there with your beloved princess for the rest of your days,” he concludes, almost bored by the end.

“No interference from you in the future?”

Loki waved his hand as he replies, “No interference from me. But,” and his tone switched, fully engaged again, “we haven’t discussed the matter of payment.”

“You can have any of my gold or treasures.”

“I have enough of my own. I want something more unique. I’m not asking for much, just a token really, a trifle.

He paused.

“What I want from you is your voice.”

“My voice?” Bucky’s mind worked quickly, trying to work out what he was missing if he agred to give up his voice. Aside from the logistical inconvenience and disadvantage it would present on his part, he can’t imagine what Loki would gain by having it – it seemed to be an eccentric choice.

“Your voice.”

Why ask for that? Bucky’s eyes narrowed a fraction. Clearly it was something to further taunt Bucky and entertain Loki.

Then Loki unexpectedly seemed to soften, relaxing his posture. “I understand perhaps more than you anticipated. I empathize with your unrest, the way you yearn to know a part of you that’s been denied.”

They didn’t have the same circumstances, but Bucky sees where they could draw parallels with each other.

“What you’re asking would enormously alter your destiny. Your voice is almost nothing if what you truly want is to become human and live out your days with that princess your soul longs for.”

Those words were spoken without flair. Bucky only needed to agree to get what he wanted – he couldn’t have crafted a better scenario considering what any of the alternatives could have been. It was a bizarre barter – his voice for a chance at life out of these waters – but it did seem to fit the weight of what he was being offered.

“Now, do you agree to the terms?”

“I agree.”

Loki’s wide smile reappeared, and he turned away to fetch and summon different items from his wall of endless supplies, and soon there was a round glass jar between them, just larger than the size of a head with a small spout meant for pouring things in and out. Vials, jars, and some loose elements hovered near Loki’s shoulders, and he waved his hand twice in a circular motion beneath the glass jar. The water there continued to stir, and Bucky could feel the warmth it generated. Loki began to add ingredients into the spout, and they swirled in the orb. Loki murmured a few short incantations, and there were cracks and rumblings from the concoction.

“Put your palms against the glass and hum until you can’t hum anymore,” Loki instructed.

It was yet another peculiarity, but Bucky didn’t question. He placed both hands as indicated and started to hum. He could feel the heat immediately, and as he continued to hum, he could sense the exchange as his voice was drawn continuously from the depths of his chest and magic slithered through his veins. Once he felt it seep into every inch of him, the energy surged suddenly. His throat seized, there was a searing pain through his lower half, and he wanted to withdraw his hands to clutch at his neck, to kick away, but whatever magic was brewing prevented him from pulling back at all. His chest tightened painfully. There was a flash of light that rivaled the violent flash in the sky that struck the ship the night of the shipwreck, the searing pain burst in his tail, and then all at once he was released.

The discombobulation was overwhelming. His powerful tail and fins were gone, and he realized how unsuited for this setting he was, the new limbs altogether inadequate, and his lungs were desperate for air. He kicked and surged upward, but he’d even lost the slight webbing between his fingers that had helped him glide more quickly through the water.

Loki’s laughter followed him as he made his escape from the depths of the sea.

The octopus companion that had peculiarly clung to his shoulder on one chance expedition and rarely let go unfurled itself and diligently aided Bucky in swimming to reach the surface where he burst into the air, gulping in lungful’s of air. It was crisp and immediately quenched all of the dread and desperation that had filled his being.

Then the next breaths soothed and then invigorated him. He laughed with relief.

Only there was no sound.

For he had no voice.

to be continued...

A/N 3: SHUT UP, YOU GET A THIRD AND FINAL NOTE FROM ME TO YOU! This - clearly - is part one of two. I dove DEEP into this (shush, puns) and to tell the story I know I will feel satisfied with in the end, I got to this point and joked that maybe I should just stop here - who needs to resolve any plots, he got his legs, right? - but then the joke became the option I genuinely liked because I was getting overwhelmed by how this story had grown. And so, dear readers, keep a weather eye on the horizon for merBucky to reappear with the tide.

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