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nouearth · 8 months

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an internship at wayne interprises. (part ii)

bruce wayne x male reader headcanons

part i.

warnings: smut, age gap, bottom reader, breeding, virgin!reader, top!bruce, established relationship, lowkey kind of fluffy, bruce is falling in love.

a/n: aaaand it's finally here! i hope you all enjoy the long awaited part two! i was watching american psycho recently and bruh, i forgot how hot he looked in it. like. i want to run my tongue all over him.

—as intimidating as bruce was, he never found the courage, or time really, to isolate you from your responsibilities.

—was it cowardliness that he was faced with? or was it that returning feeling that churned in his stomach, swelled in his chest, until it made him rethink the thoughts he’s had of you?

—guilt. he never felt it when he was jerking off to your pictures, which have become a daily routine now.

—but it returned in powerful marches, ached at the center of his heart, ridiculing him for thinking about his employee in such a crude, exploitive way.

—he always felt it when he saw you first thing in the morning, working quietly, mindlessly as your body had begun to become used to the caffeine.

—like wind chimes, you moved around people - around the wind - not with them, as you made your way to the break room.

—three packets of sugar and two spoons of creamer normally kept you awake, but the frozen pocket pizza in the toaster oven was the real source of your energy.

—bruce winced as he silently watched you from afar. you yawned, rubbed your eyes as the heat from the toaster oven warmed the surrounding area.

—jesus, no wonder you’re always so tired. look at the shit you’re eating.

—the march of soldiers, rioting against guilt, roared, and he was reminded of his privilege immediately after. a butler that had been providing him three nutritious meals a day since birth, and a garden of wealth that allowed him to afford a home gym with the best equipment; it was all handed to him and while he did his best to give back to the city, it was never enough to pacify the war zone of his chest. he was a person, a wealthy person, but a person nonetheless.

—you were a person.

—though ironically enough, he came to the the image of you hungrily licking the grease off your fingers when you were finished with breakfast later that night.

—there was always something new about you that he would fixate on when his hand met his cock, stroking it with a glorious amount of lube until it dried.

—though he never fretted, because your lips, your face, your nose - everything about you - milked him until the fresh stock of cum had become the only slime that layered his softening erection.

—like bruce’s nights, you’ve begun infiltrating the routine of his mornings now.

—or rather, bruce began infiltrating yours after he visited you in the break room for the first time.

—good morning, mister wayne…

—oh, new intern, right? your name was…?

—he always feigned his disinterest because he liked hearing your name come out of your handsome mouth.

—(m/n), sir…

—it sounded beautiful. the softness of your voice kindled a tenderness in bruce and it could’ve cradled him to sleep had the coffee from the break room not been so disgusting and cheap.

—the third time, he memorized the pattern you spoke in. your voice always trailed off at the end of a sentence as if it had been stolen by a criminal.

—it’s (m/n), sir…

—he wished he could be that somebody.

—the fifth time, he’d gotten used to the watery aftertaste of the coffee.

—wait, don’t tell me. your name rhymes with…

—and when you laughed because bruce was completely off by a mile, he saw a glimpse of your soul that had been sheltered by intimidation and anxiety.

—he learned he wanted to become a part of your life when he took you out for lunch.

—long overdue, but i usually take my interns out for lunch.

—bruce usually didn’t.

—oh—mister wayne, i don’t think that’s necessary… i already packed lunch.

—great! you don’t have to pack for tomorrow then.

—wait, but i haven’t set up the meeting with—

—i’ll get someone on it—already made reservations, c’mon.

—he’d learned so much about you that day, then the following, and the next; your upbringing, your hopes and dreams, your downfalls, it felt like he was walking on water with the way you willingly opened more of yourself every consecutive day.

—he could listen to you talk for hours, become poisoned by it if your voice was liquid, and bruce accepted that risk when he made another routine to invite you for lunch.

—previous nights were as followed: he stroked his cock to you, breathing heavily into the memory of your cologne, the wrinkles of your shirt, the curl of your lips when he made a joke.

—since he’d gotten to know you as more than a stained selfie, more than the meek statue that stood in the corner; instead of feeding himself with the thoughts of you that derived from pure lust, the reality of his nights had shifted.

—he stroked himself, that never changed. but he closed his eyes, breathing until he could see the ghost of you by his side.

—your shared bodies tensed into one another as his body curved forward into the arc of your back when he pushed in for the first time. you reached back to hold his thigh, pausing his thrusts because you needed to adjust, because you wanted to feel all of him in complete comfort.

—it was intimacy.

—it only melted - your body - when bruce kissed the shell of your ear, telling you that he’ll continue once you were ready. you let him in, sprouted for him like a bud in spring, and felt all of him swell larger inside of you with a whimper.

—it was vulnerability.

—he made sure you were touched, palming your erection as he rocked his own into your bud. from the nape of your neck to the hill of your back, he blessed you in the wet of his mouth, battling the sweat that had gathered on your body to see who would claim the vacancy of your body.

—he made sure to make you feel safe, drowning you in affection with his low voice, with the bridge that had constructed between your soul and his as he thrusted deeper, connected into you when he pressed into a spot that had the heavy air memorize every letter of bruce’s name.

—and finally crossed when he filled you with all of his endearment towards you, heavy and thick in combative sequence. he never pulled away in fret of losing the sentiment—in fret of losing you.

—it was love.

—from then on, bruce was devoted to melt the frost that had shielded you, just as you had melted his.

—because he was going to protect you now.

—the guilt that had been egging the shelter of his heart wilted in the pit of his stomach when he kissed you for the first time.

—and then completely died when you kissed him back.

—your arms were around his neck, and his were around your waist. you and bruce slow danced to the tune of his favorite song, in the middle of his living room, and so did your lips when he leaned in again.

—it never progressed further than that, despite the ache in bruce’s pants yelling at him to. he wanted to savor every moment with you, in case he happened to chase you away like he did with the others.

—you were special, and bruce held you like the rarest gem on earth for the first time that night.

—again, when he visited you in mornings to drive you to work.

—again, on nights where you were too tired to drive back to your apartment.

—again, after morning meetings were over and every businessmen and women left the vicinity upon the announcement of food catering a few floors down.

—and then again, when bruce’s thoughts had become a reality.

—b-bruce, ngh…

—you reached back to his thigh like in his thoughts, carefully maneuvering and pacing his thrusts into you. your breath stained deep into the cover of his pillow when bruce applied his weight into you, fitting his broad body to the dip of your back.

—i got you, hm? —nice and slow…

—his voice tickled your nape, soothing it with chaste kisses when your muscles tensed, and you breathed harder into the pillow when you let his thigh go, freeing him to do as he pleased. the warmth of your breath fogged your skin as his girth opened you to a profound feeling you’ve been too intimidated to discover

—faster, please…

—he was humored, not because you were embarrassing like the flush of your skin thought, but because you were still the same person he’d met months ago, appeased by it. you were calmed by an assurance, a kiss to your shoulder then your lips, yet your body only continued to bloom with roses.

—you’re still so polite even when we’ve done so many things together…

—bruce pressed deeper into you, panting in your ear as he delivered on your timid demands. he knew you now—read you like a book. you were too afraid to ask for anything despite becoming so vulnerable with each other, and he made sure that you were safe with him.

—your requests were silent sans the moans that have escaped, but he heard every single one of them. his hips drove into you harder for a few rhythms, then excruciating slower to coerce a plea out of you—to pull your beautiful moans along with desperation.

—he wanted to hear you, pulling himself completely out of your bud.

—f-fuuuuck, bruce! please—i need you, please.

—more, he needed to hear you want him as much as he’d been wanting you. his arms wrapped around your waist, and his fingers curled over your cock. it provided a friction, a hole for you to press into as his fist was sandwiched between your body and the bed, and you took the opportunity to desperately thrust into it.

—secretly, you’d hope to thrust yourself back onto his cock.

—but again, he knew you; silently observant and logical, and he raised his hips back, avoiding the desperate grinds of your bottom.

—how badly do you need me, hm? —how bad do you want me?

—bruce needed to hear it, to compel a truth to his prophecy. his hand unwrapped around you and you were left desperately grinding into the soft fabric of his sheets with a whine. they were music to his ears, and the drips of his cock dribbled over the curve of your bottom as if they were notes to a stave, to the sound of your torment.

—i-i need you, please…

—he exhaled.

—so bad.

—he gulped.

—so fucking bad…

—he throbbed.

—mister wayne… —please…

—bruce’s two worlds had collided: his previous thoughts of you rocketed into the current with a cloudy explosion, and he succumbed. you looked back at him with glassy orbs, sweat running down the side of your face, and bruce was overwhelmed by the beauty our deepest desires. how quickly it could destroy the barrier that we’ve built, how quickly he could destroy yours and unfurl your vulnerabilities when he finally drove himself back in one long and smooth thrust.

—f-fuuuuck...

—it was continuous. you wouldn’t admit it, but he knew you preferred being filled like this. he notified the curl of your fingers, clutching at whatever you could to fulfill the aching need to grasp onto something.

—god—

—hard when bruce came down, but slow and affectionate when he pulled out. you felt every thick inch sliding in and out of you. at times, you would purposely tighten in fear of losing bruce, but his thrusts reminded you that you wouldn’t.

—bruce reminded you again when his lips suckled on your shoulder.

—i’m close, (m/n)…

—when his hand stroked your aching cock.

—m-me too…

—and when bruce pushed all of his sweaty weight onto you with one hard thrust.

—shit, shit—

—the boiling feeling in his stomach unfurled inside of you to release his devotion in heavy, white loads. they filled you with heat, spreading thick within you as bruce slowly rocked himself weakly, squeezing every ounce of his love into you until you could feel it yourself.

—bruce—

—your eyes rolled back and you could feel the thick of his cum dripping out of you and down your legs the more he plunged into your hole, and it didn’t take very long for you to come undone yourself. the seam of your mouth kept your moans contained as you blasted bruce’s fist and the sheets with your affection, and it wasn’t until his hand came down to pump you that you exhaled a staggered, breathless groan. the drips came out heavy, sticky, and you rocked into bruce’s fist until they spread themselves thin onto your pelvis, over your cock, and stained deep into the sheets.

—as you both lay breathless, bruce remained on top, puzzled into you as he found comfort in your muscles loosening like the flaccid of your length. he continued playing with your soft flesh, squeezing and spreading the layer of seed that covered his hand, and chuckled when you silently squirmed.

—not away from him like he’d thought, but back into him.

—because he was your guardian now.

nouearth. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works. and if you like this story, please reblog and leave a like!

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y0urzayn3 · 2 months

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Genshin Men finally Confess

For everyone who’s still single, (like me) enjoy valentines with these Genshin men

Characters - Zhongli, Ayato, Wriothesley, Diluc, Alhaitham x GN! Reader (separately)

Tw- Kaveh’s is suggestive, but the rest are fluff

⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣ ‧₊˚✧

He was the lord of geo, and you assured him throughout the course of the archon war. You helped him carefully strategise and plan his attacks, just as a good adviser should. Like Zhongli, you too dawn a geo vision, one that is tied around your neck with an amber ribbon made of nothing but the finest silk in all of Liyue.

Of course he was aware of the day known as Valentine’s Day, that celebrated nothing but love and bonds.

This, he thought, was the perfect day to confess to you the secrets he had held for so long.

On that day, he calls you to a cliff overlooking the entirety of Liyue, right at the time of dusk.

“Y/n,” he says holding a bouquet of your favourite flowers and a box of chocolates, “will you make me the happiest man alive and become my significant other?”

He was prepared for rejection, but what he didn’t expect was for you to jump into his arms with an excited squeal and a loud yes.

As the sun set in the background, you two shared your first kiss.

⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣ ‧₊˚✧

As the Yashiro Commissioner walked down the familiar roads of Inazuma city, he noticed the heart decorations and couples roaming around, evidently on dates. He tried to picture himself and you, his assistant, as some of them but quickly snapped out of it when he noticed what he was doing. Then he thought, why shouldn’t he spend Valentine’s Day with you? So, as soon as he finished his patrolling, he rushed to you. “Y/n, clear my and your entire schedules for tomorrow, we’re going on a date.” He then practically ran out of the room in embarrassment and left you blushing. Everything after that happened so fast that he didn’t even realise it and now here he is on his first ever date with you. You are at a small boba shop and Ayato decided to tease you by stealing some from your lips. Ayato knows that work is going to pile up after this, but seeing your flustered face makes so worth it.

⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣ ‧₊˚✧

Kaveh, a masterful achietect, whose only formidable opponent in the field was you. Although everyone knew you two despised each other, the acting grand sage decided having you two work on a project together might just help you get closer. (He had enough of Kaveh cribbing about something you said or did) To make matters worse, he had you two share the same dorm! Thus, the tedious project began. As you started working with Kaveh, you realised he wasn’t so bad after all. The insults you threw at him each other soon turned to words of affirmation and some flirtatious lines in private. At last, after many months, the project was completed on Valentine’s Day. The two of you decided to go out for a drink to celebrate. The night ended with lipstick marks and hickeys, looks like you two got a lot closer than the grand sage intended huh 👀.

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As the Duke of the Fortress of Meropide, Wriothesley occasionally makes his visits to the surface, to ensure that everything is in order. On one of his visits, he came across your small cafe. As he entered, he was greeted by a homely decor and you, who were standing at the counter. Blissfully unaware of his post, you casually asked him what he would like. It was love at first sight for him. After the incident, he often visited your cafe and the two of you became good friends. He actually loved the dishes you served him so much, he asked you to teach him. So here he was, on the day before Valentine’s, helping you prepare what you would need the next day. Unbeknownst to you, he only insisted as he wanted to whip up a little something for you too— a box of macaroons iced with hearts.

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Alhaitham often looked down on people, he found them to be much less intellectual than he preferred. That was until he met you, someone who was on par with him in academics. But what he truly loved about you, was your bubbly nature. He found himself looking forward to your untimely visits. Then it hit him. Like a downpour of bricks on his head. He liked you, romantically. Luckily for him, he’s read countless romance novels, and already had something in mind. On Valentine’s evening, he took you to Mawtiyima Forest for some stargazing. As the two of you admired the intricate constellations, he whispered a subtle “Isn’t the moon beautiful today?” in your ear. He knew you understood.

⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣ ‧₊˚✧

a/n- for those confused, the phrase “isn’t the moon beautiful today?” is a poetic way of saying I love you.

belongs to @y0urzayn3, please don’t steal my work.

#zhongli x reader #ayato x reader #alhaitham x reader #kaveh x reader #wriothesley x reader #genshin x reader #genshin fluff #genshin wriothesley #Genshin ayato #genshin zhongli #Genshin Kaveh #Genshin Alhaitham #Wriothesley fluff #ayato fluff #zhongli fluff #kaveh fluff #alhaitham fluff

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kaleldobrev · 7 months

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A Small Favor In Return

Pairing: Soldier Boy (Ben) x Fem!Reader

Summary: Finding out you’re dating Soldier Boy, your graduate school professor asks you for a small favor. When you tell Ben about it he agrees (much to your surprise) but the only way he’ll do it is if you do a small favor for him in return.

Word Count: 4.8k

Warnings: Cursing (20x), Fluff, Drug Use, Smut (Fingering, Oral - M&F receiving, Anal), Use of handcuffs & blindfolds

Authors Note: So this came out a lot longer than I thought it would but I’m happy with the way this came out | If you liked this, don’t forget to like & reblog. I really appreciate it! Feedback is always welcome ♡

"Alright class, as a quick reminder, your ten-page essays on World War Two are due next Tuesday," your professor said, audible groans came from a majority of your peers, and you couldn't help but snicker at their response. "Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know, I know. I'm such a horrible person for assigning a ten-page paper in graduate school," his tone sarcastic. "But, I may have something special for you all on Tuesday," your peers suddenly all got quiet in anticipation of the news as there was a certain air of excitement. With a quick clap of his hands he said, "But! I'm not telling you now, you have to wait till Tuesday!" More groans. "Get on out of here and see you all next Tuesday! Y/N, can I talk to you before you head out?" Your professor asked as students started filing out of the room.

You looked up at him and gave a small smile. “Sure thing,” you said as you placed your laptop and textbook into your backpack.

Your friend turned to you once she was finished putting her own things into her backpack. “Want me to wait up for you?” She asked, slinging her backpack over her shoulder and standing up.

“No it’s okay,” you stated as you got up from your own chair, holding the straps of your backpack firmly in both of your hands, “I actually have to get home right after this.”

Your friend gave you a smirk. “Date night?”

“Something like that,” you gave her a wink.

“Okay, I wanna hear all about it tomorrow,” she gave you a wink before she made her way out of the classroom.

Walking over to your professor he started placing his papers that he had had on his desk into his briefcase. “You wanted to talk to me Professor?” You asked.

Your professor looked up and stopped what he was doing and gave you a small smile. “Yes, I was hoping I could ask for a favor.”

“A favor?” You gave him a slightly confused expression.

"As you know, I'm not usually one for gossip but, I wanted to know..." he began, clearly hesitant; but you already knew where this was going.

"If I'm actually dating Soldier Boy," you stated bluntly, your tone coming off slightly annoyed. "And the answer is yes," although it's none of your business, you had wanted to add. “I don’t mean to sound rude professor but, what does me dating Be—Soldier Boy, have to do with your favor?”

“Well,” he sounded so nervous, and you had almost felt bad giving him slight attitude — almost. But at the same time, you were getting tired of constantly being asked if it were true that you were dating America’s oldest Supe, as it was usually one of the first things you were almost always asked besides what your name was. “I was hoping that maybe you could ask him if he would be willing to come and talk to the class next Tuesday about his experiences during World War Two and maybe answer some peer questions.”

Your eyes went wide, and you had to actually hold back a laugh at your professors request as there were two major problems with it. The first: as much as Ben loved you (and that man loved you more than he’ll ever admit), the last thing he’d want to do was spend his time talking in front of your college classmates about his experiences during World War Two and answering questions. The second: the man never saw actual battle — it was all fabricated by Vought as a part of a marketing campaign because that’s who his character was. “Umm…” you didn’t know what to say, but you were proud of yourself for not laughing at least. “I think he might be busy that day but I can ask.”

Your professor seemed happy with your answer as he smiled. “Thanks Y/N I really appreciate it,” he said closing his briefcase

You fumbled with your keys as you went to unlock the door of yours and Ben’s shared apartment, but as you reached for the doorknob, you were a little surprised to see that it was unlocked. Odd, you thought. “Are you going to come in or just stand there in the hallway?” You heard Ben call out faintly from behind the door.

A part of you wanted to ask how he knew you were standing there but you knew better than to ask. Damn that super hearing of his, you thought. “Yeah I’m coming in,” you called out opening the door. “Um, why was the door unlocked?”

“It’s 4:30, your class ends at 4,” he said, the sounds of pounding coming from the kitchen — sounds that you assumed where of him using the handle of his hunting knife to crush pills on the wooden dining room table that your grandmother had given the two of you when you moved in. It was the one piece of furniture you had told him repeatedly not to crush his pills on. “I know it takes you half an hour to come home so I thought I’d be nice and actually have the door unlocked for you when you got home.” Your lips turned into a smile at the thoughtful gesture. “Plus, I hate hearing you fumbling with your keys.”

As you walked into the kitchen you saw that your suspicions were correct: Ben was crushing his bennies with the handle of his hunting knife on the wooden dining room table that your grandmother had given you. A piece of furniture that was probably the same age as your boyfriend. "It was a very nice gesture Ben thank you," you said, and gave him a kiss on the cheek before you stood behind him wrapping your arms around his neck and resting your chin on his shoulder.

He smirked and started using the blade to make his neat little lines. "What do I get for it?" He asked.

You wanted to roll your eyes. Did this man really want something for doing a nice and decent thing? "Did you want a medal? Or maybe one of those gold star good job stickers?" You asked, your tone sarcastic.

He let out a small chuckle. "No, but a blowjob wouldn't hurt," he smirked again. "Then again, you could give me one regardless if I open the door for you or not because I know how much you love my dick," he smirked.

"And you could not crush your pills on my grandmothers dining room table but we can't always have what we want Sweetie," you gave him another quick peck on the cheek before taking a spot in the chair across from him.

After snorting a line Ben looked at you as he wiped the excess powder from his nose. "What crawled up your ass today Princess? Cause it sure wasn't me," he said, his own tone sounding slightly annoyed.

You took a deep sigh. "I'm sorry I'm just...my professor asked me for a favor," you began.

"It wasn't a sexual favor was it?" He asked, and you just wanted to roll your eyes again, hating that that was the first thing he had thought of. "Cause if it was I have two questions. One, did you kick the guy in the balls, and two, do I need to kick the guy in the balls for you?"

“I’m just going to ignore that and —”

“What? It’s a valid fucking question,” he stated, his hunting knife slightly swinging around.

You rolled your eyes slightly. “Put your knife down before you hurt yourself,” he scoffed, “second, no, it wasn’t a sexual favor Ben, please get your mind out of the gutter even though I know that’s where it basically lives.” He smirked at your comment. “My professor asked me if you could come and speak in front of my class next Tuesday about your experiences during World War Two and answer some questions.”

You sounded silly asking your boyfriend this favor, because you already knew what his answer was going to be. He was going to laugh and say ‘as much as I love you that’s a hard pass.’ “Sure,” Ben said, “but you have to do something for me first.” You looked at him like you were a deer headlights, actually shocked that he had said yes. “You seem surprised Sweetheart.”

“Yeah…I am actually,” your voice a little hesitant sounding. “I uh, I genuinely thought you’d say no.” You let out a slightly nervous chuckle. “What’s the favor?”

“Unlike your professors favor mine is a sexual one,” he smirked.

“Wouldn’t expect anything less from you,” you grinned. “So, what’s the favor?”

“I can’t believe I’m letting you do this,” you stated, “you know how I feel about blindfolds.” You heard him chuckle a little. You didn’t need to see his face to know the way he was looking at you right now. You were completely naked lying on your back, your hands were handcuffed to the headboard and you were blindfolded. The only part of your body that was free to move around were your legs. This wasn’t an unusual position for you to be in as you and Ben did use handcuffs during sex on the regular, but the blindfold was a new addition as of today.

“Sweetheart the only reason you don’t like blindfolds is because you hate surprises,” which was true, and you could hear a slight attitude in his tone. “You know my usual moves, shouldn’t be that surprising.”

You let out a little laugh. “To be fair, you do look at some weird porn so I wouldn’t be surprised if you found something new you had wanted to try out.”

He scoffed, sounding slightly offended. “I don’t look at weird porn. The porn being made now is fucking weird,” he stated. “Back in my day it wasn’t all this fancy shit and storylines. People just fucked in pornos.”

Thank goodness you had your blindfold on because of the intense eye rolling you just did at his comment. “But I thought you liked a good storyline Ben,” you slightly teased.

“In movies, not in pornos,” he clarified.

“Technically a porno is a movie,” your voice with a slight air of sass to it.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he mumbled under his breath. “Don’t make me use a gag on you Sweetheart.”

You started grinning. “Wouldn’t be the first time!” Your voice almost sing song. “So are we actually going to have sex or are you just going to talk my ear off all night?”

Ben rolled his eyes. “You’re the one being mouthy right now, not me.”

“I’m not the one talking about porno—” before you could finish your statement, you felt the bed dip, one hand was on each thigh spreading your legs apart slightly aggressive (which was considered gentle in his eyes). Nothing happened as you were waiting for him to do something, anything. You knew he was still there as you could still felt the grip he had on your thighs. “Ben?” You asked, a little confusion in your voice.

“What did I say about having a little patience?” He said, his question rhetorical. When it came to sex with Ben you were far from patient (and to be fair, he was far from patient too), but the two of you had tried to be patient with each other in your sex life just as much as you tried to be patient with each other out of the bedroom. All things considered, Ben’s patience had grown since the time you had known him, but there were times when you knew you pushed his buttons just a little too far (which may or may not be on purpose).

“Sorry,” you said, not really meaning it.

“I know you don’t mean it, but I’ll pretend you did,” he stated. “Now,” he began, his arms going underneath your thighs as your legs went over his shoulders, “don’t you dare fucking move,” his tone controlling, but you loved whenever he used this voice; there was just something about it that turned you on like nothing else. To be fair though, you did love his voice in general.

“Okay,” you said, slightly bracing yourself.

“That’s not really the answer I’m going for Princess,” he stated.

“Yes, Sir,” you said, making sure you really emphasized the word.

“That’s better,” you could hear the smirk on his lips. He started kissing your inner thighs, slightly nipping at the skin. The kisses on your inner thighs lasted longer than usual, and you were surprised it lasted this long as he was usually the impatient one when it came to wanting to go down on you. Without any kind of warning he licked a long strip on your clit and you let out a low moan. You felt the urge to arch your back. “Remember don’t fucking move,” he repeated, using the same controlling tone as he did before.

“Yes Sir,” you reply automatic.

With another long and slow lick he started to actually eat you out now like he normally did, and now, you were really fighting the urge to arch your back. Your hands gently moved against the handcuffs, wanting to run your fingers through his hair as you normally did. You felt a small chuckle against your pussy as he knew how hard it was for you not to touch him and to barely move. As much as he loved how responsive you got because of him, he wanted to challenge you not to move — he knew it was going to be hard for you for sure. “Ben, shit,” you moaned, his tongue starting to move in circles on your folds before he delved his tongue inside you.

As if your moan was an encouragement, he took one of his fingers and started circling your clit, adding that extra layer of pleasure. Letting out yet another moan he removed his tongue and replaced it with his two fingers as he started pumping them in and out of you. You wanted to protest at the loss of his mouth but were thankful he replaced that loss so quickly. “How you doin’ Princess?” He asked as he felt you starting to clench around his fingers, causing him to smirk.

“I’m close,” your answer barely audible. He started to pick up the pace slightly with his fingers, and you knew you weren’t going to make it much longer. Removing his fingers, he replaced it with his tongue. Again, you had wanted to arch, but you were really trying not to, but you felt your body wanting to betray you. You started to arch your back slowly, almost automatic and a firm hand was on your stomach.

“What did I say?” His voice just as firm as his hand.

“Fuck, Ben…” you moaned, and you wanted to continue to try and arch but you couldn’t — thankful that your boyfriend did have the strength that he did as he was able to keep you from arching. With the one hand he did have free he placed two fingers back inside of you and started moving them in and out of you at a slightly rapid pace. You clenched around him, and you felt the smirk on his lips. He heard your heart starting to pick up and he knew that you were close. With a few more pumps of his fingers and a few more circles from his tongue you came around his tongue and fingers. As you came, your words started to blend together, not even sounding like remotely anything — mainly gibberish.

Coming down from your orgasm, he removed himself from you and you heard him licking his fingers, a small pop coming from his lips. “Always so fucking sweet,” he commented, slightly amused.

“And this is why I always eat fruit,” you said, almost too proudly. “And reasons why I convinced you too.”

Ben was happy that you had the blindfold on as he gave one of the biggest eye-rolls. “You didn’t…convince me,” he said, knowing that he was lying, as you were the one that did convince him.

“Okay Ben, whatever you say,” your voice going back to that sing song like tone that he secretly loved.

“Ready for me to remove the blindfold Sweetheart?” He asked as he positioned himself between your thighs, still fully clothed.

You nodded your head. “Yes please.” You wanted this blindfold off more than anything. As you felt his hand touch your face to remove the blindfold, his hand wasn’t there just as quick and you frowned. “Ben?”

“I’ll remove it on one condition,” he began. “I went down on you, you do the same for me.”

“I kind of need to see to suck you off Sweetheart,” you commented.

“Hmmm, not unless I fuck that throat of yours you don’t,” the smirk on his voice returning.

“Fuck me,” you mumbled under your breath.

“Later Princess,” you knew he winked. “Besides, you like when I fuck your throat. What did you say the other day about it? Oh yeah, you said it practically makes you cum.” You hated that he was using your words against you, because that’s exactly how you felt about it. The way he did it was slightly rough, but it was also weirdly gentle at the same time.

“Christ on a Cross,” you mumbled.

A chuckle left him. “That’s my line,” he replied. “Alright Sweetheart, open that pretty mouth of yours.”

With some slight hesitation you opened up your mouth and waited for his cock to enter your mouth. The sounds of his pants and boxers fell to the floor. “You ready?” He asked, his hand moving up and down the length of his cock to slightly prep.

“Yes Sir,” you responded. You felt the tip of his cock on your lips, a slight feeling of pre-cum on them. He started moving his cock between your lips and you started tasting the pre-cum on your tongue now. A part of Ben wished you were able to fit his entire length inside of your mouth like your pussy did, but he absolutely loved the sight of you being blindfolded as you took him — he felt himself starting to get harder at the thought.

“You always take my cock so well,” he slightly praised, knowing how much you adored being praised. His hand found it’s way in your hair as he started messing it up (he always thought you were sexier with messed up hair — although he found you gorgeous and sexy no matter what you looked like). Once praising you and satisfied with your slightly messed up hair he started moving his cock in and out of your throat as your tongue started licking him as he did so. You loved the feeling of him fucking your throat but at the same time you loved being able to use your hands as you had the ability to do just a bit more — but you knew having your hands restrained made him feel a little bit more in control, something you were willing to give up once in a while during sex.

His pace started to pick up a bit more, and it was a tad aggressive (not that you minded of course). His hand started playing with your hair and you felt yourself starting to get wet. You started to rub your thighs together, trying to get some sort of release as his cock moved in and out of your mouth. “You wet Sweetheart?” He asked, already knowing the answer. He moved his free hand and a finger dipped ever so slightly into your now soaked pussy. “This really does do it for you huh?” He mused.

He started playing with your clit now lazily with two fingers as he was still too focused of the feeling of your mouth and tongue working his cock like the pro he knew you were. He shut his eyes and removed his fingers so he could bring you to your side more, giving him a better angle. Your tongue worked circles around his cock, and he was starting to miss the handwork you usually do whenever you sucked him off. He placed his fingers on your clit again, and then dipped two fingers inside of you again, moving lazily. Despite it being lazy, the feeling was just enough that you had felt like you were about to cum just like he was about to. “Fuck Sweetheart,” he moaned out. He clenched his jaw and shut his eyes, slightly throwing his head back as he started to release himself down the back of your throat. Midway through, his fingers went a tad faster and you felt your own orgasm coming to you now. Moaning into his cock you came around his fingers again. “Christ,” he almost sounded impressed.

Removing his cock from your mouth and his fingers from your pussy, you started to breath just a tad heavier as you weren’t expecting another orgasm so soon. Your pussy was sensitive and you weren’t remotely sure if you could handle another orgasm.

You felt his hand on the side of your head as he started removing the blindfold from your eyes. As he removed it, he had the biggest smile on his face. You gave him the same kind of smile back, happy to finally be seeing his face. “Hey,” you said, your voice a little breathy sounding.

“Hey,” he responded back, tossing the blindfold onto the floor. He placed his hand on your thigh, gently rubbing it with his thumb. “As much as I wanna wreck that pussy of yours, I know how sensitive it is right now,” he said, and you couldn’t believe how logical he was sounding right now. You simply just nodded in agreement. “So I’m gonna wreck this pretty ass of yours first.” Anal was something that you never really did before with Ben, as you felt that he was probably going to be too big for you. The closest you’ve ever gotten was him using his fingers and tongue on occasion.

“Babe, I don’t think your dick is going to fit in my ass,” you stated.

A grin formed on his lips, “We’ll see about that.”

You were now lying on your stomach, the handcuffs no longer on your wrists, but your arms were underneath a pillow; your face slightly buried in it. “Just relax,” Ben said, his hand smoothing over your ass. “I’ve done this before.”

“Not with me you haven’t!” You exclaimed.

“If you’re that freaked out we don’t have to do it.” His tone was calm.

“I’m not…freaked out it’s just…I’m nervous,” you mumbled the last few words.

“Aw Sweetheart,” he placed a few kisses along your spine, “you know I always take good care of you right?”

You nodded. “I know. I know you wouldn’t hurt me on purpose Ben.”

“Exactly, cause consent and all that,” he said. You had wanted to laugh a little at his comment, proud that he even mentioned the word consent — as consent was something that he had a very hard grasping when you had first met him. “Alright,” Ben started to spread your cheeks apart and you felt the tip of his cock against you. You felt your body start to tense up and you knew he could feel it too. “You gotta relax for me Y/N,” you couldn’t believe how calm his voice sounded right now, all of a sudden there seemed to be so much patience with him. You felt more kisses along your spine and they felt almost comforting. The tip of his cock started to enter you now, and you couldn’t help but be tense. It was a new kind of pressure and sensation that you weren’t really used to. Yes, you and Ben had done things involving your ass before but this was a new level to it.

“Fuckkk,” you breathed out, and you weren’t sure if it was a pleasure sound or an uncomfortable one. You shut your eyes and buried your face into the pillow, your voice sounding muffled now.

“Doing so well Sweetheart,” he praised, the feeling of his cock getting deeper and deeper inside of you. “I think I’m gonna fit just fine.” You didn’t like the sound of ‘I think.’

There was a slight pressure inside of you, and it was a much different kind of fullness than what you were used to. He somehow managed to fit himself completely inside of you and you knew he was extremely giddy about it (a word that you wouldn’t normally use to describe your boyfriend). “How do you feel?” He asked, seeming concerned.

“Great. Fucking fantastic,” you said, your voice slightly radiating sarcasm.

Giving your ass a small smack you let out a tiny sounding yelp, and you felt part of his body on top of your back now. He kissed your neck and leaned into your ear. “Love taking you from behind Sweetheart,” he whispered, placing a small kiss on your shoulder and nipping at it gently. You let out a small moan, closing your eyes at the contact. “Ready?” He asked, and you nodded. “Good,” he kissed your lips quickly before adjusting himself back behind you again as he started moving his dick in and out of your ass.

It was a weird kind of pressure, but also a strangely pleasurable one. You couldn’t help but let out moan after moan and some random gibberish sounding curse words. He didn’t pull himself completely out of you, but he went half way and that was just enough for you. You already felt so full with his very above average cock inside of you, you couldn’t imagine what it would feel like once he came inside.

You bit the pillow as one of his hands splayed across your spine holding you down in place on the bed. “What a fucking view,” he slightly mumbled, “and the sounds you’re making, woo.” He couldn’t help himself but give your ass yet another smack. You were thankful he wasn’t doing it constantly as you knew you wouldn’t have been able to sit down afterward (a feeling that you were relatively used to).

You weren’t sure if you were actually going to cum or not, but you knew that he was at least going to. “Ben, fuck,” your words almost inaudible.

“You’re going to look even more beautiful with my cum inside this ass of yours,” he said, and his words actually started making your heart race. “Someone sounds excited about that,” he smirked. With a new more pumps, he started to release himself and you couldn’t help but let out a guttural type of noise that managed to get muffled by the sounds of the pillow.

You stayed on your stomach as Ben found himself lying down next to you on his back, the biggest grin on his face. You felt exhausted, and wished you had the kind of stamina your boyfriend had. You turned to face each other and he kissed your forehead. “What?” You asked, your voice sounding a little weak.

“Ready for my cock Sweetheart?” He asked, no hint of tiredness in his voice.

“Ben, I don’t have your stamina,” you stated, and you moved your body so your head was now resting on his chest while your legs were intertwined with his. He brought his arms around you, pulling you close.

“I know that,” he said, stating the obvious. His voice sounding a little disappointed.

“Either let me take a little nap or make me a sandwich and I’ll be good to go,” you said, nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck and shutting your eyes.

“Your nap will be quicker than me trying to fix you up a sandwich,” he admitted, closing his eyes too.

A Week Later…

“Thank you so much for doing this Mister —”

“You can just call me Ben,” he said, shaking your professors' hand. God his hand is so fucking sweaty, he thought.

“Ben,” your professor nodded. “Of course." Your professor wasn't usually the nervous type, but for some reason when it came to the topic of Soldier Boy he was like some nervous teenager. "I really do appreciate you taking the time to come out and do this really, and uh," your professor pointed at Ben, "coming in your uniform too. I just know the students are going to be really receptive of you."

"It's honestly not a problem," Ben said, wrapping an arm around your shoulder.

"I'm glad, because the way Y/N made it seem last week was that this was something you'd rather not be doing," he let out a nervous chuckle.

"To be fair, I did say he might of been busy," you chimed in, correcting your professors words. "Private contractor and all that," you smiled.

"She's also a wonderful convincer," he smirked. "Aren't you Sweetheart?"

"Yep, I practically have him wrapped around my finger," you grinned, wrapping your arm around his waist and giving him a small squeeze.

"She's funny this one," Ben let out a chuckle — a fake one — but he knew how much you truly did have him wrapped around your fingers, something he never thought a woman would ever be able to do to him. You may not be a Supe, but you did have one superpower, and that power was somehow making him fall in love with you.

Tag List: @jackles010378 @syrma-sensei @k-slla @justletmereadfanfic @zombie-freak @waywardlatina @zepskies

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#soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x you #the boys #the boys imagine #the boys one shot #ben x you #ben x reader #reader insert #female reader #the boys amazon

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sinkovia · 2 months

Text

Futile Effort

Simon Riley x GN!Reader

Angst, mention of blood and death.

As you stood by the firing range, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the compound, the distant cracks of gunfire creating a rhythmic backdrop to the conversation you were trying to have with Simon.

Trying.

You couldn't help but feel a sense of frustration building up inside you. Simon was sitting next to you, lost in his own thoughts as he absentmindedly smoked a cigarette. It was a scene you had grown all too familiar with.

"Hey" you began, trying to engage him in conversation about your day. "I was thinking, are you planning to work out tomorrow morning?"

You waited for a response, but it was as if your words had fallen on deaf ears. His eyes were fixed on some distant point, his expression unreadable. This wasn't the first time he'd tuned you out like this, and it was starting to wear on your nerves.

"Simon?" you prodded, your voice tinged with irritation.

Finally, he seemed to snap back to reality, his gaze shifting to you. "Sorry love, what were you saying?"

You couldn't help the frustration that welled up inside you. "I was asking if you're going to work out tomorrow morning," you repeated, your tone a bit sharper now.

He took a drag from his cigarette, his eyes narrowing slightly as he exhaled a plume of smoke. "Yeah, probably," he mumbled, his attention already drifting away again.

It felt like a slap in the face, his indifference and lack of interest in your conversation. You tried to push past the hurt that was creeping in and forced a smile. "Alright, just let me know if you want me to spot you,"

You doubted he'd even heard you.

You turned away, the weight of his inattention heavy on your shoulders. It wasn't the first time you felt like you were talking to a brick wall, and it certainly wouldn't be the last. It wasn't always like this. In the early months of your relationship, Simon had been attentive, hanging on your every word.

After the initial honeymoon phase of your romance, he gradually stopped listening to you. It felt as though the effort he had once put into your relationship had faded away with time, leaving you feeling unimportant and unheard. You had brought up the issue multiple times.

He tells you he'll be more present, more attentive, that he'll make an effort. But every time, it's the same story. Nothing changes, and you're left feeling hurt and ignored. You know it's not entirely his fault. Simon carries the weight of the world on his shoulders, and his mind is still at war with his past. Still, that doesn't justify his constant zoning out when you're trying to talk to him.

You wish he would just communicate with you.

This morning, as the mission loomed ahead, you decided to test the waters one more time, asking him a simple question about using the shower first, and he didn't even acknowledge it, not even bothering to ask for clarification. He didn’t even ask where you were going when you left for your equipment check.

It's as if you were dead to him and it stung.

You wondered if he even loved you anymore. You doubt it.

Bullets were whizzing past your face and the explosion of a nearby grenade had made your ears ring. You had called out to Simon who was a few steps ahead of you trying to tell him that you couldn't hear.

But of course he didn't hear you.

If he had then he would have turned around and noticed the man that was creeping up behind you. The enemy operator came up behind you dragging his knife across your throat. Simon who was a couple of steps ahead of you only happened to glance back.

He turned around his eyes wide at the sight before him. He was quick to put a bullet in the operator's head. As you lay there, choking on your blood, your eyes locked onto his, you desperately attempt to convey your final message.

It's ironic, really, how he's never truly listened before, how your words have always seemed to fall on deaf ears. But now, in this moment of sheer desperation, he's straining to hear you, hanging onto your every choked breath.

You're struggling to speak, your voice choked by the crimson fluid gushing from your lips. Each word is a struggling effort, each breath is agony. Your hand trembles on your neck as he wraps his own around it, a poor attempt to keep the blood from spilling out. But it's too late. The world around you begins to blur, your vision fading into the distance. Your hand goes limp against his, and your once-stern gaze becomes distant, unseeing. You're gone, and yet Simon doesn't realize it.

He keeps trying, leaning in closer, straining his ears, his heart pounding in his chest. But the words never come, and there's nothing left to say. You were already dead, and no amount of listening could change that. The battle rages on around him, but he remains frozen in that moment, lost in the futile effort to understand your last words.

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daisies-daydreams · 7 months

Text

Office Hours - Chapter 1 (Professor!Miguel x F!College Student!Reader)

Pairing: Professor!Miguel O’Hara x CollegeStudent!F!Reader Category: Semi-Angst (Smut begins next chapter 😉) Warnings: Swearing, Suggestive Content, Romantic/Sexual Tension Word Count: 1.1k+

Summary: Your grades have been slipping, prompting your physics professor, Miguel O'Hara, to suggest that you see him during his office hours...

A/N: Ahhh I'm so excited to finally post this! I've literally been working on this off and on since I started studying for my exams (aka a long ass time). I hope you all enjoy this roller-coaster of a story! Side Note: This is a college AU. All characters have been aged up.

-> Ch. 2

MINORS/AGELESS BLOGS DNI

It’s not your fault your physics professor had a body like a Greek god and a voice smoother than silk. Or that he offers you an uncharacteristically kind smile every time you tell him to have a good day. Or that your grades have been slipping because you’ve been getting a little…distracted lately.

“…(Y/N)? (Y/N)?” your name echoed inside your ears. Your friend and classmate, Miles, nudged your arm with his elbow. You shook your head and blinked a few times, your heart sinking when you saw a small smirk on his face.

“I’m sorry, what was the question?” you asked as you turned towards your professor. A few snickers were heard around the lecture hall, causing you to shrink into your seat. Professor O’Hara sighed as he pinched the bridge of his nose and murmured something under his breath. His large shadow was suddenly over you, his dark eyes meeting yours through his reading glasses. You wanted to shrink even more as he tapped his thick fingers against his taut forearm.

“I asked: what happens when a clock gets closer to the source of gravitation?” he questioned, his voice husked as he leaned forward ever so slightly. You felt your face heat up as you eyed his parted, plump lips. You swallowed thickly.

“U-Um…time becomes slower?” you said hesitantly. Your professor's eyes softened as he leaned back.

“Correct,” he replied with a small grin. Your head perked up just as he turned to walk back to his desk. “As (Y/N) said, time becomes slower. Now, gravitational time dilation…” his voice began to trail off as you observed the way his muscles flexed beneath his tight-fitting sweater. You quickly shifted your gaze back to your dim laptop screen, biting your bottom lip all the while.

The rest of class was a tug-of-war of attention, your mind shifting like sand between fantasy and reality. The knowing stares and occasional nudges from Miles didn’t help much, either.

“Alright, that’s it for today’s lesson. Any questions?” he asked. The room was dead silent. The massive man at the front of the room scanned his audience before sighing. “Okay, then. Please have Module 6 done by midnight tomorrow,” Professor O’Hara said. Everyone shifted out of their chairs as they began to pack up. You rubbed your eyes before sliding your laptop into your bag.

“A little distracted during class today?” Miles nudged again while wiggling his brows. You rolled your eyes as you slung your bag over your shoulder.

"You're worse than Hobie, I swear," you groaned. He chuckled as the two of you began to make your way out of the room.

“(Y/N),” your professor called. You instantly froze in place, your feet stuck to the floor like velcro. You slightly turned your face to see Professor O'Hara leaning against his desk.

“Yes, Professor O’Hara?” you asked. He tilted his head down slightly, the rims of his spectacles catching the dim lighting of the room.

“A word,” he continued, motioning you to come towards him with his index finger. Your cheeks filled with heat as Miles leaned over.

“Good luck,” your friend snickered. You shot him a deadly glare before he chuckled and walked into the hallway. You bit the inside of your cheek as you turned around and shuffled forward, desperately trying to keep any illicit thoughts from clawing their way to the front of your mind. Professor O’Hara gazed at you with half-lidded eyes as he tilted his head to the side, his knuckles paling against the edge of his wooden desk.

“(Y/N), I'm starting to become concerned about your performance in this class,” he said. You looked up, your heart racing beneath your goose-bump ridden chest.

“Sir?” you asked. Your professor’s brows scrunched together before he took off his glasses and folded them on the neck of his sweater.

“You’re smart, (Y/N). We both know that,” he spoke. Your cheeks felt hot as your chest grew tight.

“Thank you, Professor O’Hara,” you said. His shoulders relaxed a little.

“Call me Miguel," he murmured as he flashed you a small smile. Your breath stuttered.

"Oh, um, thank you...Miguel," you squeaked, his name feeling unfamiliar as it fell from your lips. Your professor hummed as he pushed himself off the desk. Your mouth grew dry as he lumbered towards you, his body soon within a mere foot from yours.

"I’ve been noticing your attention during class has been slipping lately,” he stated. You felt like you were floating as you felt his hot breath fall across your face, your eyes glued to the way his Adam's apple bobbed. “Hey, look at me...please,” he said sternly. You shook your head and focused on his eyes. His features were soft despite his firm tone, his body leaning slightly towards you.

“(Y/N), I don’t want to see you fail because I know you’ve worked too hard to get this far,” he explained with a gentle tone. Your heart felt like it was going to explode at his words combined with his tender, caring eyes. You clenched and unclenched your hands.

“I-I understand,” you said. Professor O’Hara leaned back, his gaze glued to your lips before he shifted them back to your eyes.

“Good. Now, I recommend that you come see me during my office hours where I can personally review the material with you,” he explained. Your heart stopped at the thought of being alone with him. You swallowed thickly and nodded.

“T-That sounds good,” you replied. The corner of his eyes crinkled ever so slightly.

“Will tomorrow at 6 PM work for you?” he asked, tilting his head to the side a little as he looked down at you. You parted your lips as you squeaked out a quiet “yes”. He nodded.

“Good,” he replied. You could've sworn you saw him wink as he pulled his jacket over his wide shoulders, though you quickly dismissed it as a result of sleep deprivation. Even still, your core began to swell with heat as you watched his thick, deft fingers graze over his buttons.

“Oh, and one more thing…is there anything in particular you find distracting during class?” he asked, the corners of his mouth curved a little more into a smirk than a simple grin. You felt all color drain from your face as you clutched the bottom of your shirt.

“Just some...personal things,” you muttered. You could feel his gaze intensify, shining against you like the heat of the sun.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry,” he apologized. You waved your hand.

“No, no, it’s okay,” you flushed. He cracked a small grin: such a simple gesture that quickly unraveled you from the inside out.

“Right,” he hummed before moving back to his desk. You shuffled in place as you lingered in the threshold of the lecture hall.

“Could you move a little to the left, please?” he chuckled, his husky voice snapping you out of your thoughts. You blinked a few times before looking into his deep, brown eyes.

“Sorry,” you mumbled as you took a step over. Miguel grinned again as he took a step forward. You raised your brows when he suddenly paused and turned towards you. You could hear your heartbeat pounding in your ears as he took a step forward, causing your back to become flush with the wall. Your breath hitched as he cupped your cheek with his massive, warm hand.

"This can't be real," you thought as your eyes widened. But the feeling of his palm against your cheek told you this was very much your reality. You sighed as you mindlessly leaned into his touch. He leaned forward as he smoothed his calloused thumb over your skin.

“(Y/N), I-"

“U-Um, Professor O’Hara?” a voice piped up. He rolled his head over as his hand immediately fell to his side. You shuffled awkwardly as the student's gaze shifted between the two of you.

“What?” he asked, his tone having a noticeable edge to it. The other student swallowed before tugging on the strings of their backpack.

"I-I had some questions about today's lecture," they said. Miguel clenched his jaw.

"My office will be open in thirty minutes. You can come ask me then," he replied curtly. They nodded before scurrying away, leaving the two of you alone once more. Your heart stopped as he leaned in, his lips brushing over your ear.

"Remember, 6 PM tomorrow," he husked. You bit your lip and nodded as he leaned back. You shuddered as he tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

"Professor?"

Miguel rolled his eyes and groaned quietly.

"Sí," he called as another student hovered in the doorway. They came inside before asking him a million questions in a matter of five seconds. Miguel blinked before gazing over at you and tilting his head towards the door. You gave him a small smile before hurrying outside, your heart glowing more than ever as you made your way back to your dorm.

---

“So, how was your ‘talk’ with Old Man O’Hara,” Hobie smirked. You scoffed and poked at your dinner with a fork. Miles and Pav were “busy” playing a video game as the rest of you lounged around your living room.

“Hobie, don’t be gross,” your roommate, Gwen, playfully flicked his arm as she slid onto the couch next to you.

“Yes, mum,” he sang. Your friend simply shook her head as she tossed some popcorn into her mouth.

“He’s not that old…” you muttered. Miles immediately turned his head while Hobie burst out into laughter.

“So you do have something for the geezer,” the Brit said while wiggling his brows.

“OHHH! I KNEW IT!” Pav beamed excitedly as he quickly paused the game and spun around to meet your gaze. Your face grew hot as everyone’s eyes suddenly glued onto you. You took a deep breath.

“Migu-Professor O’Hara is my instructor. Nothing more,” you said with a firm nod. All the guy’s exchanged glances before turning back to you.

“What?” you asked in an annoyed tone.

“Oh, come on,” Miles sighed.

“It’s so obvious!” Pav said innocently. You grumbled as you threw your head back and ran your hands down your face.

“Is it really?” you groaned. Everyone chuckled.

“Yeah,” Miles shrugged. You shook your head, glancing down at your plate.

“He’s like thirty-something. He’s not that old...” you muttered.

“So about ten years is your limit?” Hobie asked. You snatched a piece of popcorn from Gwen’s bowl and chucked it at one of his wicks.

“Hey!” she frowned. Hobie gave a wry grin as he plucked it from his hair before locking eyes with you. He smirked as he slid it past his plump lips and slowly chewed it. You narrowed your eyes as the Brit swallowed it with an audible gulp. Your cheeks flushed as you scoffed.

“Okay, I'm done with this conversation," you replied as you held up your hands. Hobie chuckled before quickly shifting his attention to Gwen. They began to talk about their next band practice while Miles and Pav went back to playing their game.

Meanwhile, your mind began to drift as you anxiously wondered what tomorrow would bring...

----

Thank you for reading! ❤️

Taglist: @maybethatfanfictionwriter @depressesoespressorat @yuhhtricki999

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peterparkersnose · 1 year

Text

Sucks to Suck

pairing: Din Djarin x senator!reader

word count: 2.7k

warnings: near death experience, sexual references, sexual thots, not smut but sensual i guess?, alcohol consumption and drunk reader, respect of consent, SEXUAL TENSION and description of weaponds and snakes, tiny bit of body dysmorphia, swearing, takes place in between S2 of the Mandalorian and The Book of Boba Fett

The Mandalorian Airs Tomorrow!

a/n you guys see my padme reference there? huh? enjoy the tension the not angst but angst i loved writing this (it is 1am help i started writing this at 10pm) the sighing gif is literally din giving into his intrusive thoughts this whole story it was too perfect not to use (also i make up star wars planets lmao wut) my favorite mandalorian fic of mine besides secret

summary Din is Senator Y/N’s bodyguard and helps her after an attack

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read time: 10 mins 1 seconds

The Mandalorian your father hired to protect you while you were visiting planet Elaeia was less than ideal.

The same one who also came back to accompany you to a senate meet where there was a threat made against your life.

And the same one that followed you around your whole beach vacation.

Somehow he turned in to an on call babysitter for you. Every time you saw him waiting outside your ship you began to loathe the trip. And soon, he began to show up around your house. Didn’t your father trust you? You were way past the age for need of a babysitter. You were a young adult, you could be the babysitter. And you were a damn senator. But as always, you sucked it up and tried to make the best of the situation.

“Don’t you ever get tired of the suit?” you asked, trudging up the stairs of your luxury apartment you rented for the week.

“Never.” Din lied. He couldn’t count the countless times he had wanted to rip it off and spent a night with you. Chills sent down his spine as he tried to think of something different to ease himself into the long week ahead.

But you were work. Your powerful father was paying him more than any bounty could. He needed the credits more than he needed you, right?

“What do you wear under there anyways?”

He hesitated to answer. “Clothes.”

“Really?” you asked sarcastically.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” he muttered, almost barely enough for you to hear.

“Where are you going to crash tonight?” you asked him, placing your bag on the ottoman in front of your bed. “Not tired,” he lied again. The way he wanted to hold you in that comfortable bed was-

He had to stop his thoughts there.

“What time is it?” you asked him. “Around 7.”

“Shit! I’m going to be late.” you panicked. “I’m sorry, I thought we had some time to rest.” you apologized, knowing Din was exhausted from the trip.

The dress that was already hung in the closet for you was what you were going to wear to the banquet tonight. Without even caring, you opened your bag and pulled out the bra you were going to wear for the night. Without hesitation, Din stepped out of the room. Not today.

The dress was a deep blue and was form fitted. It jutted out at the bottom, complimenting your shape. It had long sleeves and a low neckline where your necklace was going to rest that night. You tied your hair up into a large bun with a braid around the base.

“Your train is here…” Din said, stepping in the room carefully. “Thank you. Wait- Mando?”

His heart skipped a beat when you said his nickname. You had known his name for a while, but he still enjoyed it when you called him Mando. Din was stunned at how you looked. I mean, you always looked good. But he could imagine standing next to you at the banquet in a suit, your arm draped over his and a ring on your finger.

The armor didn’t exist in that world.

“Yeah?” he asked. “Can you get this for me?” you asked, handing him the necklace you were going to wear that night. It was gold. Large and resembled tree roots. It was to sit along your chest and clip under your breasts along with behind your neck to stay put.

He handled the necklace carefully. His arms reached up and placed the necklace in front of you as his fingers trailed up the back to clasp the neck clasp.

“Dank farrik,” he sighed. His gloves were in the way of handling the tiny clasp. “Hold it for a second,” he told you. Din sighed as he made the decision. He slowly slipped off each glove and set them down on the bed.

You seemed to tense when his hands brushed your shoulders. You turned your head and saw his gloves sitting at the edge of your bed. The skin was cold and his hands were surprisingly soft.

Din hadn’t touched a woman with his bare hands well… ever. Sure he had brought in bounties who could identify as female. But nobody as elegant and beautiful as you. He would never forget the oddly intimate encounter.

“Thank you,” you said smoothly, adjusting the necklace around your ribcage. “You could call this more of a corset,” you huffed, smiling as you caught a glimpse of his skin as he slipped his gloves back on.

Standing in the mirror, you struggled getting the bottom clasp closed. You turned your body, trying to see if you had gained a bit of weight since you last wore this piece.

“Din,” you called sweetly, almost with a bit of song in your voice. He turned around on his heel as you saw from the mirror and it made you smile. “Yes?” he asked in the same tone you called him.

The way you called for him made him think about one of the rare memories he had of his parents. How one called out to the other. It was a brief moment but gave him deja vu when he heard you speak his name. Speak his name like a wife would call to her husband.

“It won’t-”

The sigh from his modulator was hard to miss.

“Can you help?” you asked, eyes looking up into his viser.

“I’ll hold them, don’t worry.” you smiled, your hands branching down lifting up your breasts.

Under the mask his eyes widened at the comment.

Din got down on his knees to try to get a better angle of the clasp. No other reason. He tried his best to focus on the clip but he couldn’t keep his eyes off the way you held yourself. Thank the gods for the viser, or he would have died of embarrassment.

“How’s it going?” you asked him. You could feel him struggling again with the gloves.

“What if I…”

You attempted to hold your breasts with one arm and had the other hand come down to help him, but the plan failed. Your boobs folded over on his hands without fail.

His hands quickly retreated from your ribcage. You noticed the stress in his demeanor, his breathing quickened.

You thought he was upset with you. Possibly disrespecting his creed, you felt horrible. Guilt knit tightly in your stomach as you knew you were going to think about this event the whole night. The embarrassment was enough for a lifetime.

Din couldn’t care less about his creed at the moment. He had never felt boobs before.

“Oh god! I am so sorry,” you said in horror.

“I can have someone at the banquet do it, let’s just forget-”

You were silenced by the sound of his gloves hitting the ground. Once again, his hands were at your service.

“Let’s get this done. We’re going to be late.” he said.

Grabbing the chain once again, he clasped it on the first try.

He escorted you to the train silently. He held one of your hands in his. The other hand held his pair of gloves.

Din hadn’t even notice you grabbed his hand. And to be honest, you didn’t really either. It was an instinct. Trains always freaked you out and he knew that. The gap between the ground and the train car, the speed they went at. Commercial trains were filled with unsuspecting people. Thankfully, the banquet event sent out personal trains for some of the local senators.

Finally you only noticed when he pulled away to put his gloves back on as you pulled closer to the event.

Had he really been holding your hand the whole time?

Meanwhile back at the apartment you had rented, you expected it to be empty. There was no need for a guard, you had only just arrived. Your location to be revealed to possible rebels wasn’t likely, you were stationed there for only a short time. A guard would follow you home along with Din.

You knew Din was capable of protecting you, he had every time. Something about a man in armor killing in your name just did something to you. But the uncertainty of almost everything about him made you push that idea to the back of your mind. And anyways, you were bound to marry for a political reason some day. It was coming eventually you assumed. Dates were never nearly as exciting as an adventure with Din.

The guard honestly was a joke at this point. It gave your advisors a piece of mind though, so you allowed it.

The seemingly empty apartment was carefully broken into. The sliding glass door from the balcony was opened, no fingerprints left and promptly shut as the rebel left.

Poisonous snakes were left slithering in your sheets.

It was something you would later recognize as a similar thing had happened to a senator many years ago. Poisonous bugs left to crawl in her bed.

Din walked you off the train platform and back to your apartment as quickly as he could. You, on the other hand, we’re being difficult.

“Don’t you ever take vacations?” you asked him, barely able to stand upright. He ignored your strange drunken question and kept holding on to you. “You didn’t answer meee!” you yelled, breaking free from his grasp and raising your hands to the air. The mist had accumulated from the oncoming storm.

“No. I don’t.” he sighed, grabbing your arm gently and guiding you back to the lobby with a hand placed on your lower back.

“Din,” you slurred, holding on to his armor in the elevator. Your fingers marched up his beskar chest plate as you asked him this.

“You ever had a girlfriend before?”

He blinked furiously under his helmet. What the fuck?

“Y/N, let’s get you to bed. Hm?”

“But Dinnn,”

“Come on,” he sighed, placing his hand on your back. The guard was stationed at the door. Din gave him a nod.

“I’m not sleepy!” you insisted, angered that you were being forced to end this wonderful night.

Din threw his gloves on the kitchen counter. He was getting sick of the things. After all these years in gloves, his hands never felt as uncomfortable and sweaty as they did that night.

“Here,” he sighed, steadying you by the shoulder and unclasping the clasp by your neck. The heavy necklace seemed to fall off yourself, only slightly catching at the waist.

“Thank you mister.” you said, letting it drop to the floor with a shake of your hips. Along with that you left your heels.

He saw you face dive into your bed and chuckled a bit as he was picking up after you. That necklace was probably worth more than the beskar he was wearing.

Din eyed up the couch, exhausted after watching you all night. He stood in the balcony of the event and watched you drink yourself almost to the point of embarrassment until he decided it was time for you to return home.

He had just began to settle in when he heard you scream.

It wasn’t like he had heard you scream before. He was used to all the rage screams when an article came out portraying you negatively. He was used to all the screams over the phone with your friends. He was used to the muffled screams he heard as he hid in his quarters when you would have dates over and prayed it would end.

But he would never forget this one.

He knocked over the vase on the coffee table, but didn’t really care.

The prolonged scream attracted the interest of the guard who busted in, spear ready.

Din had made it in the room first. He drew his blaster watched as you simultaneously chucked a snake in his direction. His blaster shot, killing the thing.

“Are you okay?” he asked, grabbing you immediately. You wrapped your arms around his neck and cried into his armor.

The guard ripped back the sheets and found three more slithering in the sheets. The sight of that made you shriek more.

Din’s hand ran across the back of your head. His fingers hadn’t felt hair like that in forever. His own locks didn’t match up to your softness.

The guard removed each snake and silently killed them.

“Cardillian Greybecks,” the guard sighed, now bagging the snake carcasses. “I’m going to bring these down to the base, are you two all right alone or should I call someone?”

“We’re fine.” Din said sternly, praying for the man to leave.

He calmed you enough to sit you back down on the edge of the bed. “Everything is okay. No more snakes, see?” he says, shaking out a blanket.

“Fuck,” you sighed, your hand running down the side of your leg. “You alright?” Din asked, shaking out the pillows just in case.

“I must have scratched my leg in the scuffle, it really fucking hurts.” you slurred, rubbing the side of your leg. Of course the alcohol was still there.

“Oh gods,” Din sighed, asking for your leg immediately. Laying back against the bed, you lifted your right leg in the air for him to inspect. If he wasn’t so worried he would have thought the pose was somewhat provocative.

“Shit,” he sighed. You were bitten.

“What?” you asked eagerly, pulling your leg back. He held on to it though, staring at the festering wound on your leg.

“It hurts. Please,” you begged, pulling your leg back. Din was scrambling on what to do.

“This…” he sighed, hating the only option available. There wasn’t enough time to get you to a proper medic.

“Hold still.”

He slowly lifted his helmet up to the bottom of his nose to reveal his mouth and chin.

“Din!” you yelled as his lips made contact with your skin. “What the-” you began, but immediately soothed as you felt the venom leaving your bite. A needy moan escaped from your lips.

Din spat out the first round of venom. It stung his lips. It wasn’t enough to kill him, it wasn’t in his bloodstream. It tasted bitter and artificial.

“Oh my god,” you whined as his lips continued to suck on the wound. “Din, holy fuck.” you moaned, squirming in his grasp.

Even though you just had been on the brink of death, this was one of the most sensual things you had ever experienced in your opinion. The thought of his lips teasing you drove you up the walls.

He spit out another round. “One more, I’m sorry.”

You gasped at his voice. No mask, no modulator. “Oh gods, don’t stop.” you begged. Your back arched as he took in the final round, finally tasting blood to indicate the venom was gone.

He spit it out on the ground and slipped his mask back on.

“What?” he asked out of breathe. He had convinced himself he didn’t just hear what he thought he did. His ears were muffled by the mask in its awkward position.

Sitting up in bed, you patted the mattress. He sat down.

“That was so hot,” you whispered near his ear.

He didn’t say anything to you. You had prayed he would rip off his mask and take you then and there. Din wanted the same thing too, he would feverishly re play this night over and over in his mind for years.

But you were wasted. And he had a creed.

Even though after each passing day without Grogu his allegiance to his creed drew weaker, he still had his limits.

Din knew you would regret those words in the morning. But the phrase Cara told him many moons ago rung in his brain.

“Drunk words are sober thoughts.”

“Talk to me when your sober.” he replied. He stood up and removed the base of the helmet once again. You embraced his body as he kissed you on the top of your head.

“Din,” you feverishly whispered. Without a second thought, you stood up. His body pushed against yours as you passionately kissed his lips. Your nose bumped the mask up more, but neither of you cared. His nose brushed against yours as you kept your eyes shut. The urge to look was strong, but you respected him too much to take a peek.

“One day,” he smiled, breaking the kiss. “Are you sure I can’t see more?” you asked. He shook his head as he pulled the mask down again. “One day,” he repeated, his voice now modulated again.

“Thank you for saving my life.” you said. “Any day,” he said sarcastically.

He placed the blankets securely over you.

The room was dim enough where he was sure if he was ever caught he would have an excuse. And you would lie for him, he was certain of it.

“Just one more thing-” you asked as his silhouette made its way through your door. He turned and looked at you.

“What color are your eyes?”

He had the widest smile on his face. The thought of you trying to form his face in your mind was almost comical for him.

“Brown. Good night, Cyare.”

“I knew they were brown, I knew it.” you whispered to yourself, convinced Din couldn’t hear.

He smiled as he retreated to the couch, unsure if sleep would visit him after his eventful night.

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exitpursuedbyavulcan · 4 months

Text

After the War

The night before Tom is sent back to his ship, he spends one last night with his best girl and makes plans for what they'll do when the war is over.

Pairing: Tom Bennett x Reader (2nd person)

Warnings: kissing, fingering, Tom being a lil nasty but it's ok he's hot

This work is a part of my 12 Days of Smuff event! Read the rest here.

My Masterlist

After the War

Prompt: Dreams & Dirty Talk

Tom’s navy uniform had long been discarded on the floor beside the bed; no doubt it would be hopelessly wrinkled when he boarded his train the next day. But you couldn’t bring yourself to care about that at all.

Not when Tom was getting on a train tomorrow, one that would take him to war.

You hated him for getting arrested. You hated him for agreeing to join up to get out of jail. You hated him for going back on his promise to register as a conscientious objector. And you hated him most of all for having the gall to be excited about leaving.

“So, since I won’t need to use my wages on the ship, it’ll be sent back here to Dad. And Lois too, I guess.” Tom quirked his brows and took another puff of his cigarette – his fourth of the night so far – and idly played with your hair as your hair while you rested your head against his chest.

He’d been talking nonstop since he rolled off of you after your last round of lovemaking.

No, it wasn’t lovemaking. It was fucking. Frantic, desperate fucking in lieu of actually talking about what would happen tomorrow, or the next day, or even the next year.

“I told him he could use it if he needed it, but that I want to come home to at least a bit of a stash, you know?”

‘Come home.’

That is what broke you—those two little, uncertain words. There was every possibility that Tom wouldn’t come home, and this last night would be all you had.

You started crying, suddenly and fiercely, burying your face in the smattering of hair on his chest.

Tom instantly sat up, wrapping his arms around you and cradling you against him. “Hey, hey. None of that, love. Tonight’s a happy night, yeah?”

“It’s not!” you insisted through your tears. “It’s not happy at all, Tom!”

He tilted and shook his head in a way you knew meant he was about to argue with you, so you continued before he could. “You’re leaving tomorrow – to go to war! You aren’t going on a fucking holiday! You’ll be on a battleship, not a river cruise!”

“Love, I…”

“No,” you pled, burying yourself in his shoulder. “Don’t make promises we both know you won’t keep. Don’t give me that hope.”

Tom scoffed, “You want me to tell you I’m gonna die?”

You grabbed one of his nipples between your fingers and pinched. Hard.

“Fuckin’ hell, woman!” Tom shouted, gripping your wrist tightly and yanking your hand off his nipple. “I was joking!”

“Don’t joke then!” You were sure your face was red as you yelled at him.

He slapped a hand over your mouth and lowered his voice. “Your mum is gonna hear us if you don’t quiet down, love. I don’t want my last night here to be spent being chased down the street naked by your fuming mum.”

You moved to tear his hand away, but when you met his eyes, you saw that there was fear there. And sadness, longing, grief. He was just as terrified as you. More, even.

When he felt you relax, he removed his hand. “Now,” his voice had become gentle, if a little strained, “are you going to yell at me again? Or try to rip my nipple off?”

You shook your head.

“Good.” He pulled you into him again, and you let him. He held you with your back toward him, one of his large hands splayed on your stomach and the other stroking your hair. “Then… what do you want me to say?”

“I don’t know.” You leaned into his chest, resting your head against his shoulder. He did nothing to egg you on, only held you close as you thought. “Tell me about the future,” you finally said. “About our future.”

“Alright,” he took a deep breath before he began narrating. You may or may not have prayed to God to grant him the gift of prophecy.

“Well… tomorrow, I’m gonna climb down outta that window there,” he pointed to your bedroom window, “and I’m gonna run down the street and climb up into my own window. I’ll have breakfast with Lois and my dad. Then we’ll all go to the train station, and you’ll meet us there – no sailor can leave home without a goodbye kiss from his best girl.”

You blushed at that, then blushed further when he tweaked your nose.

“I’ll go to training. Obviously, they’ll recognize my amazing natural talents and promote me right off.” You made a snarky comment about his overwhelming humility that he quickly silenced by tickling you. “I think I’ll get a few days leave between training and shipping out, so I’ll come back here.”

The joking grin mostly faded from his face, his eyes focusing on your face as his voice lowered. “I’ll use my wages from training to buy a nice ring, or, as nice as I can afford. I’ll have you wear your best dress and take you to the Palais for a night of dancing. Then, I’ll take you to the register office and marry you.”

Your breath vanished from your lungs. “But, there’s a waiting period…”

“Nah,” he said all too quickly. He’d been thinking about this, you realized. Planning it. “They’re waving that for all the boys going to fight. And this way, you’ll get the marriage allowance. And the widow’s pension, if…”

Tears threatened to come to your eyes again, and Tom barreled on. “I expect a good amount of that allowance to go to buying yourself some lovely lingerie to entertain me whenever I get leave.”

“You’re disgusting,” you half-heartedly teased.

Tom began moving the hand he had on your stomach lower, drawing random circles and loops and other shapes you couldn’t identify. “Don’t pretend you don’t love it. Besides, I need something to motivate me to live, don’t I?”

Any protest you had to his dark humor died when his long fingers traveled lower, teasing you just enough to take your breath away. And to prove him right.

“Well, look what I found…” he whispered huskily in your ear. “A wanton young woman who loves it when her man is ‘disgusting?’ Lucky for you, I like my best gal a little loose.”

You moaned in both offense and pleasure as his thumb started rubbing soft circles on your pearl, and his middle finger began just barely dipping in and out of your entrance. Not enough. It wasn’t nearly enough.

“I’m going to write you letters every day when I’m at sea,” he promised. “Each day, I’ll give you new instructions. New little ways you can entertain me even when I’m half a world away.”

“Like what?” you managed to ask as his finger finally began to go deeper, but achingly slowly.

“Mmm… one day, I may ask you to do something as tame as leaving your panties at home. But when I’m really missing you, I’ll want you to be the biggest slut in Manchester. A faithful slut, mind you, but still.”

Something about his words, mixed with the way he began stroking that glorious rough patch inside you drove you absolutely wild. Seeking more speed, you began bucking your hips against his hand. But he only rested his other on your hips to keep you still.

“Maybe I’ll ask you to touch yourself in a particular way, and then tell me how much you liked it. Or maybe I’ll have you touch yourself somewhere new. Say, the Palais? Or your parents' kitchen table?”

You whimpered. This shouldn’t be as arousing as it was, you knew. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that these wicked things would be the only way you could get close to fucking him whenever he was away.

“I may even have you take some pictures to send in your letters. Didn’t you say your uncle offered you a job at his photography studio? Yeah, I think you need to take him up on that one.”

His musings seemed to fade as he moved his fingers faster, even slipping another into you. He no longer wanted just to tease you, but to satisfy you. “I’ll be desperate, love. Stuck in a tin can with a bunch of other blokes. And I know I can’t last with just the pin-ups. None of them come close to you.

“Will you do it for me? Will you buy the sluttiest lingerie you can find? Touch yourself for me? Whenever and wherever I want you to? Send my pictures like you’re no better than the whores who mail their photos for a couple pennies?”

You arched your back, feeling his words speed your climax along. “Yes, Tom. All of it. I’ll do anything for you.”

He leaned down and planted a sloppy kiss on your lips, swallowing your screams as he brought you to the edge, never stilling his fingers until you begged him to. “That’s my girl.”

You turned toward him, having felt his cock hard against your back. But he did not let you. He held you in place, not even griding into you.

“Not yet, greedy thing. I haven’t finished my story yet.” You fought him a little, but ended up lying back when he refused to relent. “Now, where was I?”

“I was being the most faithful slut in Manchester.”

“Oh yes, I love that part. But after that, once we defeat the Jerries and good triumphs, I’ll come home to you. We’ll both have saved enough to buy our own place, or at least rent a decent flat. And…”

Tom probably talked for hours until he fell asleep. You wondered if he ever took care of his erection. But you weren’t sure.

Not long after he started telling the rest of the story, you’d fallen asleep. Some part of you must have kept listening, though. Your dreams were full of visions of the life you and Tom would have.

A tearful reunion when he came home for good. Kissing at the train station so long that everyone else would leave and only you two would remain.

Him carrying you into your new home. Somehow, he’d managed to snag a gorgeous flat in the heart of the city, with grand windows that gave you a magnificent view of the sunset.

He’d find some job he loved (even in your dreams, you couldn’t imagine what job that would be) and make enough that you’d never have to worry about money again. Maybe you could even help your parents out.

Eventually, you’d have children. And since it was a dream, childbirth was a breeze, and the kids were perfectly behaved.

It was a perfect life.

A perfect dream.

But when you woke, you watched Tom climb out your window, and reality came crashing back down.

#tom bennett #tom bennett x reader #tom bennett fic #tom bennett fanfic #tom bennet fanfiction #tom bennet smut #tom bennett imagine #tom bennett x you #world on fire #ewan mitchell #12 days of smuff

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bensoloslover · 3 months

Text

Stolen Moment

Kylo Ren x Fem! Reader.

Word Count: 1,771.

Warning: Suggested Nuidty, Mild Kidnappings, Nothing Crazy.

*Reader and Kylo have a establsihed realtionship. Reader is kidnapepd and has a small meeting with an old friend.

Masterlsit

“Ky” Her voice felt shy as she spoke, which was contrasting to the normally warm and easy going personality she carried that he loved so much.

“Yes, (Y/N/N)?” She was laid on his chest, (Y/H/C) down for once and body nearly bare against his. They spent many nights like this. Ever since their days learning under his uncle, how he hated that many for everything, but her. He would thank him for the chance of meeting her.

“Does something feel…” the pause had the hair on his arms sticking up. “Out of place to you? Like something is going to happen? Something almost strange feeling?” She looked up at him now, eyes showing a fear he wished she didn't have to endure.

(Y/N) was force sensitive, in her own way. She had a harder time connecting with the physical side of things, but her connection to the force itself? He envied it. It spoke to her in ways that sounded almost surreal, even to a powerful force user like himself. Where he could bend the force to his will, move through peoples mind, bend will. She could get into the soul of the universe, tell stories of things that haven't even happened yet. Understand the world in a way one could only dream.

“I can have the Knights stand guard of you tomorrow, and you may even shadow me throughout the day if you’d like?” They had been at war with the rebellion for sometime now. He knew she had no interest in the fight, she’d made that very clear, but he knew she'd feel safer by his side as he went about his day then to be apart with these feelings.

“I don't know yet if it's that serious, I can't really get a grasp on what is going to happen. Just. Something.” She laid back down to his chest.

“Well maybe some sleep will clear your vision, after you meditate tomorrow morning come find me and we can spend the morning tomorrow. I only have a few meetings before training.” She hummed her reply, he knew she was in agreement, she came to find him almost every morning once she'd gotten through her routines.

“Goodnight my love.” Her voice was more velvety now, he knew she'd sleep soon, and he'd have the knights guard her till she woke.

—

When Kylo woke up his morning went as usual. Tuck (Y/N) back to bed, shower and change into his usual attire, meditate for a few minutes in his study, head to the bridge to meet Hux and start his day. Nothing seemed off yet. Rebels were still out of their reach currently, so nothing but trying to track them down was really important at the moment. Rey and his mother had been blocking any trace of them from him for weeks now.

They're here. They're on the ship, Ky.

He heard it loud and clear, his body running frigid at the panic in her tone. He could always feel her, she was like a constant warm aura around him, no matter the distance, and suddenly everything had run cold.

“Man the ships, all gun up. The rebels are on the ship.” He heard Hux start shouting commands as stormtroopers left and right started marching in groups around the ship in an instant. He ran down the halls as he made his way back to their living quarters. How they had even gotten on the ship he couldn't phantom.

Kylo Help. The Jedi. She’s here.

For the second time that day dread filled his core. Not her. Not now..

I’m on my way (Y/N)

His footsteps sped up, he was running now, sliding through turns and ripping the doors open with the force as he attempted to reach their quarters. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong. He got on the elevator to their floor, pacing the small room when it happened.

He felt nothing. For the first time since the first movements they met, he felt nothing of her presence. The elevator started to creak and groan as the force around him began to swell with his anger.

As the doors exploded open he ran down the hall. The knights he left to protect her laid on the ground, leading up to the room. He blew the doors straight through to the back wall tearing off his helmet as he looked for the worst imaginable. Their bed was made. A still hot cup of tea sat by her meditation seat in their living room. The breakfast cart still set up neatly by the dining room table, untouched.

But (Y/N)? Nowhere to be found. He ripped through every room twice. Then he broke. He felt his anger explode through the room. Felt the ship tremble as he screamed and slammed his helmet into every thing within arms reach.

They’d taken the one person on the ship he would break without, and they knew it.

—

(Y/N) remembered waking in a cold sweat. She remembered trying to get her morning started as normal.She remembered the fighting outside that broke her from her meditation. The rebels burst into her room. Her fear as she begged Kylo for help, though for the first time she couldn't feel if he was answering her or not. The silence. Cold.

Now she was here, wherever that was exactly. She couldn't feel Kylo. She couldn't remember how she had ended up. There was nothing in the room around her and there was no way she could escape the ropes bounding her to the chair she was in.

“You’ve grown into a marvelous young woman, (Y/N).” Chills ran up her neck. She could pick that voice in a chorus of millions.

“Mrs. Solo.” She felt it now, the force moving back through her. Her mother in law’s presence. Leia had always been warm, her aura like a blanket to whoever could feel it. She was strong, and easy to be around. She emerged from the shadows, pulling a chair with her to sit across from (Y/N).

“Oh no, we never married.” Her chuckle reminded her of her years at the Jedi Temple, she could never dislike Leia, no matter how much Kylo resented his mother, she was always a kind soul. “I'm still Organa, or Skywalker if you please, darling. Only Ben carries Han’s name.”

“Ben goes by Kylo Ren now.” Leia rolled her eyes at the announcement. As if she had just been told her son just broke another plate.

“Ah yes, Kylo Ren. I find it funny he chose a name that rhymes with Ben. Since he clearly hated the name so much.” She sipped on a cup of warm tea while speaking. “How is he?”

Her question was genuine, (Y/N) could feel it. She could feel him again, suddenly. Hot. Red hot with anger. Then he was gone, as quick as he was there. Cold again. She knew it had something to do with Leia and Rey, her lack of his connection with him. They were good at blocking him out, keeping their rebels safe at all cost.

“He’s quite angry right now.” She felt the ropes drop from her arms. The force.

“You just gave him my location, you do know that.” (Y/N) rolled her shoulders back. Neck cracking from the uncomfortable position she had been held in.

“I'd rather him come get you. You're more of a hazard to keep around, he’d mount every one of my soldiers head’s on his saber before he let a single hair on your head be harmed.” Leia chuckled. She knew her son had fancied (Y/N) since the day she dropped him off with Luke. She was beautiful. “I told them not to take you originally. These youths are far too ambitious though, not listening to their elders.”

“Am I a mother in law yet, or has he not made you empress of the new empire yet?” This time it was (Y/N)’s turn to laugh, she looked at the black kyber crystal on her ring finger.

“Engaged, not yet married. Said he'd like to have squashed out your rebales before we sat down to plan our future.” She held up her hand to show her the ring, Leia taking it into her own.

“What a beautiful kyber crystal, he must have looked far and wide for such a rare color.” She turned her hand to watch it sparkle.

“General Leia” a voice spoke up from behind the two. A man with curly brown hair and a warm complexion walked into (Y/N)’s eyeline. He was nervous, she could feel it. He looked at her then back to Leia, a allure of confidence she knew he didn't possess in his voice. “Everyone is either up in the air ready to go or on their way. Just us left.”

“I'll be ready in one moment Poe, let me have one more moment with my daughter.” (Y/N)’s heart warmed at the title. She knew Leia didn't agree with Kylo’s ambitions, neither did she honestly, but she knew she'd never be anywhere but his side.

“Tell my son I love him for me. No matter what.” Leia squeezed her hand. “It's time for us to leave before Kylo shish kebabs us. There's tea and some crackers on the table for you dear. I know you'll feel him as soon as we leave so no need to give you a eta I'm sure.”

“Thank you, please be safe.” (Y/N) leaned over and hugged her, taking in the warmth of her hold. She felt like Ben in a way, like mother like son she supposed.

“You too dear.” With that Leia walked out. (Y/N) felt no need to follow her. She heard her spacecraft leave the atmosphere as she sat and took in her empty surroundings. Standing up she walked to the table and took a bite of one of the sweet crackers Leia had left her. Taking her tea out the door.

She felt him then. He filled back into the coldness she felt all morning. Their connection was unblocked. She could tell he was close. She could feel the force around her again.

(Y/N) ? Can you hear me? Are you okay? You're calm. Are the rebels gone?

Yes love, I’m fine.

I’m on my way. I saw your location for a moment. Enough time to find you.

I know. I’m waiting.

She took a sip of her tea and chuckled, banthas milk and some sugar, just like how Ben likes it.

----

Just some Kylo Ren/ Ben Solo brain rot I've been thinking about.

#kylo ren #kylo ren imagine #kylo ren x reader #ben solo x you #ben solo deserved better #ben solo x reader #ben solo #star wars #star wars fanfiction

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acewritesfics · 3 months

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Past Love: Part 01 | Tommy Shelby

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader

Request: No

Fic Type: Imagine

Warnings: Angst, mentions of war, ptsd, miscarriage, assault caused by ptsd, swearing. Flashbacks in Italics.

Word Count: 1,061

PART 02 | PART 03

TOMMY SHELBY MASTERLIST || TAG LIST SIGN-UP

It's Friday evening when Y/N enters The Garrison for the first time in years. It's changed considerably since she last stepped inside the bar, yet she was still filled with a sense of nostalgia as she recalled some of her fondest memories of this place. From her first job as a barmaid when she was 18, to her first drink, beating several of the men at a game of cards, and losing her virginity to Thomas Shelby in the back room they used for storage.

But, of course, with the happy memories came the bad ones. A miscarriage, a wedding that never happened, reuniting only to be separated by war, and then nothing could bring them back together, not in the way they both so desperately desired.

Years have passed since she last saw Tommy, but they kept in touch through letters and telephone calls when one of them needed to hear the other's voice, comforting each other in a way that only they could.

He hasn't contacted her in months. It was not unusual for them to go months without speaking. It just how they are, so she doesn't think much of his lack of communication. Until she received a telephone call from the last person, she thought she would ever hear from.

"Did you know I was always jealous of you?" Lizzie questions her old friend turned foe.

Y/N is reminded of the petty feuds they used to have when they were just girls. The beginning of it all came when Tommy began to act romantically towards Y/N. Tommy was just as handsome as he is now when he was a boy and attracted the attention of all the girls. Most of them were not surprised when he began pursuing Y/N. Everyone could see their romantic connection, the two of them only having eyes and room in their hearts for each other.

Lizzie was the only one bold enough to risk Y/N and Tommy's wrath to come between the pair and gain Tommy's love. It wasn't until Tommy and Y/N's relationship took a turn for the worse, that she found her way in. By then, Lizzie was already getting paid for sex and her friendship with Y/N was long over.

"You and every other girl that fancied Tommy," Y/N responds calmly, ignoring the rapid beating of her heart. "But it all worked out for you in the end, didn't it, Mrs Shelby?"

"You do realise it's always been you, Y/N? He has always loved you and will continue to love you till the day he takes his last breath," Lizzie continues, ignoring Y/N's jab at her.

"He needs you, Y/N. He's gotten himself into some trouble; he's not thinking clearly, he's not eating right, and he's barely sleeping. Everyone is scared for him. I'm at a loss for what to do."

"Is he with you?" She asks, her heart overflowing with concern for her old love, the man she still loves dearly to this day.

"No, he'll return from London tomorrow. He should be here by the time you arrive."

"You're his wife, Lizzie. You're the one who's meant to help him," she says resisting the urge to end the call and begin packing her bag. She still loves Tommy, but she isn't his wife. Lizzie is.

"I am not you. I know about your telephone calls and letters, and I know that when you last saw him 6 years ago before he married Grace, you fucked him. Even then, he was still yours. He's told me several times that if you returned, he'd have you again."

"That's a good enough reason for me not to return." Those words shattered her heart. She's contemplated returning to Birmingham several times and almost did until she found out he had married Lizzie. "As much as it breaks my heart, I'm not going to let him leave you, Lizzie, because he made a promise to you. Just as he did with Grace."

"But he doesn't love me; he loves and needs you. Whatever else you have to say is irrelevant. I'm risking my marriage by asking you to come here to help him because I care about him enough to reach out to the only person he'll listen to," Lizzie says, her voice trembling as she holds back tears. "Now, I'll see you tomorrow." She hastily ends the call before Y/N can say anything else.

As she wanders further into the pub, she finds Lizzie and Tommy quietly conversing at one of the back tables.

As she takes in Tommy's looks, her breathing becomes strained. His skin is pale, he has dark circles under his eyes, his face is thinner than the last time she saw him, and his high cheek bones are more prominent. He looks exhausted, and the look in his beautiful blue eyes is unsettling, reminding her of how they appeared when he returned from the war. Cold and distant.

She recalls the night their relationship ended for the last time. Tommy had been tossing and turning and moaning in his sleep. When she woke him up, he panicked thinking he was back in France again. He had her on her back and was hovering over her, his hands firmly wrapped around her throat, preventing any air from entering her lungs. He didn't realise what he was doing until she was almost unconscious. He fled the house as quickly as he could, filled with shame and guilt. It was the first time Y/N had felt terrified of Tommy. Their relationship was never the same again. Even after he had regained her trust.

Knowing this was all a mistake, she rushed out the door, unknowingly attracting the attention of her ex-lover and his wife. She's ready to get into her car when she hears Tommy's voice.

She turns to face the man she can't stop herself from loving. "I apologise, Tommy; I shouldn't have come," She casts a brief glance behind him at Lizzie.

He surprises her by pulling her in for an embrace, wrapping his arms tightly around her waist as hers run over his shoulders and around his neck.

"I'm glad you're here." He whispers to her softly.

"So am I," she whispered back, peering over his shoulder at Lizzie, who mouths her thanks her before heading back inside the pub, allowing the former lovers to get reacquainted.

TAGGED: @chapter-in-my-old-diary - @hanawrites404 - goblinjnr - @halsteadbrasil - @forgottenpeakywriter - star-ggirl - @iceman-kazansky - @alexxavicry - @galactict3a - @crispynutella - @il0vebeingdelulu - @nicole-19s-world

Bold means your @ didn't come up when I tried to tag you. Here's a post I found that could help if your not able to be tagged: WHY OTHERS CAN'T TAG YOUR BLOG

Sometimes your blog will be linked after posted but I don't think you get the notification. Tags have been weird lately. I might start putting the tags in the comments. Let me know if you get the notification.

#acewritesfics repost #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby #tommy shelby #tommy shelby x reader #peaky blinders #peaky blinders x reader

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spectorcomplex · 1 year

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love and war ↝ aemond targaryen x reader

you treat marriage as if it is war. who’s to say it’s not?

pairing: aemond targaryen x fem!velaryon!reader (she/her pronouns)

warnings: cursing, targcest, reader is rhaenyra and laenor’s daughter but there are no physical descriptions. my first hotd fic pls be kind

word count: 5k words

my masterlist

You should be mourning. Truth be told, you were— an aching sadness that left you hollow as the adults paced around the room, grief heavy in the air with the loss of your Grandfather, the King. But the fear swirling in your gut overpowered sadness.

You were not oblivious to the opinions of the court, even if you yourself were not involved in it as much. Your mother’s rule has been challenged enough even when the King was alive and now the long awaited storm brewing from before might finally arrive to blow your family over.

Your mother is a strong woman, a true protector of the realm, but as you glance over at where she is stood by a window next to Alicent Hightower as they engage in a hushed conversation, you know that everyone, even her, is nervous for how the kingdoms may react to a woman ascending the Iron Throne.

She sent you and your brothers to your chambers after the funeral, heavy lidded and shoulders drooped, unfit for a royal, but she was not the Queen in that moment, but rather a grieving daughter. You hugged her good night and kissed her cheek as you often did as a child in her arms.

Sleep did not come to you yet and a history book written in High Valyrian kept you company. Until a knock echoed.

“Princess? I’m sorry to wake you but the Prince Daemon requests your presence,” The voice came from the guard stationed outside your door.

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. It was too late in the night and what would your step-father want from you at this hour?

Thankfully you had not changed into your night dress yet, still clad in your funeral attire, a high-neck black dress that had faint embroideries of dragons on the hem of the floor length skirt. Your heart grew heavy as you remembered the tales from your childhood when Viserys had time to indulge your requests in knowing more about Balerion.

The guard escorted you to the council chamber and you finally had a sense that this was an emergency meeting regarding the Crown.

“Sister,” Jace greeted you by the door. You glanced behind him to see your mother seated at the head of the table with a glum expression.

The sight of Queen Alicent in the room was no surprise to you, she was constantly in the presence of your family after she and your mother had rekindled their friendship. What did catch you off guard was the presence of her son, your uncle, Aemond. He was the only one of Viserys’ other children present in the room.

You wondered if Aemond too was feeling grief for his father but there he was seated, proper posture and a stoic face, the candlelight casting a sharp shadow over his features. The complete opposite of your plump cheeked younger brother Lucerys, who was slouched and yawning in his seat.

Jacaerys helped you into your seat and looked equally unnerved as you, though you were not sure if the reasons are the same.

Daemon entered after a few minutes of silence. You noted that only family was present in this room.

“Daemon, what is this about?” Your mother asked with a sigh.

“The coronation is tomorrow,” Daemon began to explain but your older brother interrupted with a scowl on his face.

“Exactly, which is why the Queen needs to be well rested for the ceremony,” Jace had been standing up to your step-father a lot more recently and you admired his ferocity.

Daemon glared back, “There’s already whispers. Unsatisfied, doubtful, craven Lords who may not fully cooperate in this reign.”

You could only frown. This exact scenario was what plagued your thoughts ever since you learned of the King’s passing. No one expects the passing of succession to go smoothly, but to be interrupted so soon?

There was a purpose as to why Daemon called this meeting; why only family was present. You racked your brain as to think of a way to help but none came to mind. You were a second child whose influence came in the form of what your dresses looked like instead of what you have to say.

“We need allies.”

All eyes turned to look at Aemond. His voice made it clear that he was speaking a matter of fact.

Your step-father looked hesitant to address the younger prince but this was no time for revisiting petty prejudices of the past.

“Precisely,” Daemon nodded. “And if I recall correctly, you’re already in the talks of a marriage pact to Storm’s End. We would have sent dear Y/N but there are no sons there to vie for her hand.”

The first part of his sentence went over your head as your nose flared in offense. “Is this why I was summoned here? To be shipped off to spend the rest of my life being miserable with some stupid Lord?”

“Watch your mouth,” Your mother finally spoke, though her words were not what you hoped for. You looked at her in despair and you were met with pity.

“I get to have a say how my life goes,” You stand up, furious. “I am a princess of this realm!”

“This realm you speak of will descend into chaos if you refuse to help your mother.”

His words were carefully curated, constructed together to hit the tender spot in your heart reserved for your mother. You were already defeated in the matter of your liberty despite your stubbornness to pursue an argument.

“I can help in other ways,” You said.

“How? By the way of the sword?” Daemon’s nature was to always pick a fight and even his children were of no exception.

“No need for violence all the time,” You match his scoff. “Diplomacy is an option and—“

“And diplomacy is to secure good relations with others, like marriage,” His tone was nearing a growl and you did not want the already exhaustive night to take a turn for the worse.

“Alright,” You clenched your jaw. “For my mother—for my Queen.”

You looked at her, a glint of what you hoped was admiration shining in her eyes. She mouthed a thank you.

Curious eyes followed you as you approached a guard stationed by the door. He nodded at your request and quickly returned to you with the item at hand.

You unfurled the map of Westeros on the table.

“Only if I get to choose which Lord I will be betrothed to,” You said. “It must be a very strategic alliance that will greatly benefit the Crown if it will cost me whatever joy I have left in this life.”

As everyone peered at the inky outlines of the seven Kingdoms, a rogue stare strayed from the map and settled on you.

“You look ready for battle, my Princess.”

Your uncle’s whispered quip startled you so much that a breathy laughter escaped your lips. His sour relationship with your brothers had strained your own relationship with him. As children you would even play games of chasing each other when your respective lessons were done for the day. A few hearty laughs were shared if you saw Aegon stumble down a set of stairs, both too young and naive to know about the sensation of drunkenness.

But now, years after the incident that forever changed the dynamics within the family, he seemed like a stranger. The boy you knew was gone and in his place stood a man with the mind of a scholar and the skills of a knight. You swallowed as your gaze met his.

“Is marriage not war, my Prince?”

His lips raised imperceptibly but you caught it. Though, you wish you hadn’t as your heart defied logic and started to race.

“Well?” Daemon’s voice sliced through the tension and even if he was irritating you, you were relieved for the interruption.

Your nimble finger pointed south. “There is a Martell son. Though they would see right through us if I was offered up to him. But if they did choose to look past that, we may even have the chance of strengthening the bond with Sunspear.”

“Wait-wait,” Alicent spoke, her motherly gaze meeting yours. “No need to treat this as if it were the Stepstones, sweet girl. We can arrange a tour and maybe a love match may—“

“With all due respect, Your Grace, but a tour requires weeks of planning for travel on all parties,” You gave her a grateful smile. “We do not have the privilege of time on our side regarding this matter.”

You were not the closest to Queen Alicent after all these years of animosity, but you could tell she was trying and these were her true colors that your mother cared for when they were young.

“And a love match is—“ You frowned. Even if marriage had always been a distant thought in your mind, you had always hoped that you would marry the one you love. But having that in this world is much rarer than dragons who breathe blue fire.

“A love match is not possible,” You breathed out. You cast a glance at Daemon, who was nodding in approval. You were on the path of making right decisions until your eyes landed on Aemond across from you and the mistake was letting his already-there stare have feelings rise within you.

You only shook your head before pointing back at the map.

“This one also seems feasible,” You say as you circled the shape of an archipelago with your finger.

“The Iron Islands, sister?” Lucerys, who had been awfully quiet for quite some time, finally spoke.

“I’m a Velaryon,” You spoke with pride, though a distant sadness ached at the memory of your late father. “And you, dear brother, are heir to Driftmark. Our family can have control over the great fleets in both seas surrounding Westeros.”

Mumbles of approval filled the air and you thought that, this is it, you’ll officially be surrendering to the water in which you came from.

“A Greyjoy?”

Prince Aemond is awfully opinionated tonight, it seems, and your fatigue was morphing into irritation.

“Is there a problem with them, my son?” Alicent asked.

Aemond scoffed, “The only eligible one for the Princess Y/N to marry is skilled at sea but useless on land.”

“What seems to be the problem with that?” You asked, always having had admiration for the skills it requires to be great in ships. Traces of the fond memories of your father and grandfather’s lessons.

But even if you were the one that spoke, Aemond refused to look at you. His gaze even seemed directed at your parents.

“The Greyjoy son is even more bunglesome than the lowliest tourney knight,” Aemond explained, voice cool and turned your temper to flare. “How will he protect his wife? With a knotted rope perhaps.”

And the most unexpected happened, both your brothers laughed at the remark. It was a sight from your childhood years that you never thought you’d get to see again. You elbow Jacaery’s side.

“As much as I would hate to agree with him,” Jace whispers in your ear. “He does not lie, sister. I’ve sparred with the Greyjoy boy before.”

“Well,” Your mother spoke, voice commanding the attention of the room. “We keep our options open.”

You sigh quietly, eyes starting to droop and eager to get this meeting over with. But you were determined to secure a stable turnover from King Viserys to Queen Rhaenyra.

“Alright,” You cleared your throat, feeling warmth slowly flood your cheeks as your finger pointed upwards of the map. “The North.”

“Not just the North, I think,” Lucerys piped in, a familiar mirth in his eyes. “You want to be Lady of Winterfell.”

“I do not!” You really wish you had composed yourself instead of succumbing to your sibling’s teasing because now all attention is on you. Except one, as you see in your periphery.

“Cregan Stark,” Daemon hummed in contemplation. “Not an awful choice.”

That’s basically a seal of approval coming from him.

“There’s no sense to a marriage pact with them. Northerners are honorable people, they won’t break faith to Rhaenyra even in doubtful times,” Alicent offered.

The conversation was slipping from your control and you need to grasp it back for this was your freedom as a woman at stake.

“Still wouldn’t hurt to have the largest region in Westeros, your Grace,” You said. “Plus, he is Jacaerys’ friend and I’ve met Cregan on quite a few occasions. He is… a gentleman.”

“You think he’s handsome.”

Oh, you were definitely going to smother your brothers in their sleeps tonight.

“He is smart,” You backtracked, the same rogue stare from earlier now back on you and burrowing deeper under your skin. “Already groomed to rule over his lands.”

“Alright, we start with the Starks,” Your mother said, the back of her hand rubbing over an eye. “His father will be at the coronation and if we’re lucky, Cregan will also be. But for tonight, we will all get rest.”

That would probably be your favorite order from the Queen.

“I am to fly to Storm’s End the day after tomorrow,” Aemond’s deep voice was like the thunder in the place he was to visit. “Your Grace.”

To anybody else, they would not be able to catch the subtle look of surprise on your mother’s face, but you could tell because you were probably mirroring her right now. Your uncle Aemond’s disdain for your side of the family had never been in question. To address your mother like that even if he’s made it so perfectly clear that the inheritance should pass onto Viserys’ sons was worthy of suspicion.

“Alright…” You saw your mother hesitate, “Brother. Good night, my family.”

That last interaction was what made you so sleepy at the celebration after your mother’s coronation for it kept you up the night before. You were restless after the cordiality your family presented each other and every now and then you think you’re a fool for hoping it would last for a long time.

But you were lying to yourself. You knew damn well the presence of Prince Aemond was what had you twisting and turning in your sheets. Your annoyance towards his incessant need to tap his fingers on the table, smug smirks, and opinions on your future marriage was a way to cope with the wave of nostalgia you felt every time you cast a glance at him.

Aemond had always known how the royal family is above others, even back when he still had both eyes and a childish grin. His words tonight reminded you of the time when you were seven and Aemond nearly growled at the Baker’s son who gave you a plucked flower from outside the castle.

You however found sleep after a few tears dropped at the loss of those innocent days, letting go of the prospect of Valyrian Dragonglass and finding marriage in another House.

—+—

Some Lords were confused at the serious faces of House Targaryen. Most of them were rowdily whooping and clapping after the coronation. But being a royal of this realm meant you had to be smart in assessing a massive gathering of all the nobility in Westeros.

Daemon had reminded the family in the morning to be wary of the doubtful Lords he had mentioned the night before.

You all had a better look at the attendees at the celebratory feast Alicent insisted on having in order to ‘lighten spirits.’ To no one’s surprise, the Martell son was nowhere in sight.

You sighed from your place at the table that was raised on the dais, overlooking all the nobility starting the night with wine filled cups. You grimaced as you heard your Uncle Aegon’s slurred words start already.

The poor dress that was custom made for you is currently suffering from scratch marks from your anxious fingers. The Greyjoy table was full of men who looked older than your own parents and the aforementioned weakling in swordsmanship is nowhere to be seen.

“Good eve, Princess Y/N. You look beautiful tonight.”

You startle as you see the Greyjoy you were looking for by the other end of the table.

“Just tonight, Sir Rickon?” You jest like old friends even though you knew nothing but his name and status.

He didn’t seem to think you meant no harm as he started stuttering, “No-I- you look beautiful all the- I’m terribly sorry.”

“I only jest, my Lord,” You say through gritted teeth and muster a convincing smile. Though your snickering elder brother at your left was seeing right through it.

“Yes, alright,” Rickon clears his throat. “May I dance with you, Princess?”

You sigh, the sound thankfully lost in the noise of the hall, and nod. You grabbed his outstretched hand, calloused and littered with small cuts.

“Have you sailed recently, my Lord?” You asked as the two of you got into position.

Rickon’s face seemed to lighten at this and you put all your Velaryon knowledge to the forefront of your mind.

“It has been two moons since then, Princess, we traveled to King’s Landing by road,” He explained.

That was pretty much the meat of your conversation with Rickon Grayjoy. He was an average dancer and a worse conversationalist. Not good for diplomatic relations.

Dornish wine had never been as appealing to you as it is now. As soon as the music ended, you rushed back to the family table and grabbed a goblet for yourself with enough quickness to even surprise your drunkard Uncle Aegon.

Unbeknownst to you, another uncle was watching warily.

“Slow down, niece,” Aemond’s voice broke through the noise of the hall.

You only roll your eyes and stumble back to the dance floor. Though you do get a sense of deja vu at Aemond’s words.

These were the times in which a listener would find this memory hard to believe to be true. Too fictional to believe— as if it is meant to be a story immortalized on a tapestry. A speck of a memory that is so different from how the Targaryen family is with each other now. But you remember; girlish giggles and scuffs of shoes echoed throughout the stone walls of the Keep.

You were summoned to the Dragonpit to start learning how to command your young dragon. Love for books had nothing against your excitement when Ser Harwin called for your attention. Your Uncle Aemond was in the library with you, equally enamored with his book about dragons of Valyria and you asked him to accompany you as to see the real thing compared to illustrations on paper.

“Slow down, Princess!”

You only snickered at Aemond’s warning. He only had a few years ahead of you and thought his prepubescent voice could scare you into submission.

Despite being born and raised in the Keep, you have not yet developed muscle memory for every crevice in the castle and your foot slipped on a crack in the pavement.

You plummeted to the ground, though your hands reached out to stop your face from colliding with the floor. Tears immediately flooded your eyes as your palms skidded on the gravel, following a sting and warm wetness which was most likely blood, and an ache surged in your twisted ankle. Stubbornness ran thick in Velaryon blood and you refused to cry in front of any of the boys but the pain was too much to hold it back.

‘What did I tell you?’ You expected Aemond to say with a disappointed tut. But he only knelt next to you, brows furrowed as he helped you sit upright and inspecting your bloodied hands.

He had one arm tucked under yours as he patiently helped you walk back to the main grounds of the Red Keep in which he then barked at Ser Criston to fetch a maester to tend to you.

Aemond sat next to you and rested a gentle hand, still free of callouses from handling swords, on your forearm as the maester applied ointment to your scratched palms.

He never told you how much it stung when you didn’t do the same for him on that fateful day in Driftmark.

“Princess.”

The firm voice broke you out of your wine-induced memories.

“Lord Cregan Stark,” You curtsied.

The smile you greeted him with was genuine compared to Lord Greyjoy. Though the conversation from last night put a falter in your grin.

You wanted to see Cregan as a friend, build a relationship on a foundation free of ulterior motives. But the plans made are needed to be put into motion to truly secure Queen Rhaenyra’s reign.

“May I have the pleasure of dancing with you?” He asked and you wordlessly nodded as you felt the warmth flood your cheeks. Though your recollection of that day in your childhood added to the dizziness from the wine.

Cregan was an excellent conversationalist, complimenting your dress and hair and still managed to verge into topics deeper than surface level small talk as you twirled to the music. He would make a good husband, you think. Though your heart dropped for a split second that this would not be a true love match if a wedding was to happen. He would be a good ally.

“Have you caught up with Jacaerys yet?” You inquire, looking him in the eye to keep his attention.

He started to answer enthusiastically and despite how much you complimented him the night before in front of your closest family, you could not fully appreciate Lord Stark and despite trying not to, you found yourself comparing him to the one eyed prince.

“…Like a brother to me,” Cregan finished with a smile.

Your eyes flickered to his mouth before returning to his sparkling brown eyes. He would make a good husband, you repeat in your head. Dark features and lips chapped from the harsh winds of winter.

“That is good to hear,” You nod, switching to diplomatic mode immediately. You had to seal this partnership tonight. “That our families have a bond with each other.”

A look of knowing flickered in Cregan’s eyes, almost as if he knew what you were insinuating or about to propose.

Cregan leaned in, too bold a move for a public dance between a Lord and a Lady, “Yes. A bond.”

Your breath hitched at his actions.

Someone cleared their throat and you nearly jumped in place.

“Lord Stark, would you mind dancing with the Lady Floris Baratheon?”

You huff when you turned in Cregan’s hold and saw Aemond standing there next to the two of you, lips in a fine line. Said Lady Floris was next to him, almost looking defeated. You had to hold the urge of cursing Aemond out. What he said was not an offer but a demand.

Cregan did not look phased but still obeyed the Prince after bowing, “I’d be honored to.”

When the dark haired pair drifted into the rest of the dancing crowd, you scowled at Aemond.

He was not bothered by this and placed a firm hand on your waist. You gulp.

“What are you doing?” You hiss. A defense mechanism to emotions beyond irritation towards the Prince swaying with you.

“Flirting is beneath you, niece,” He says in that low voice of his.

“You know my intentions with Lord Stark and why,” You answer, the grip you have on Aemond’s leather clad shoulders turning tighter in aggression. “And you should be with the Lady Floris to finally get Storm’s End’s approval.”

Aemond only hummed as he spins you out and pulls you back in, “I’d rather pluck my other eye out than to have Borros Baratheon as my father-in-law.”

As if on cue, the raucous laughter of the Lord of Storm’s End echoed in the hall. You both grimace.

“Then who do you wish?” You chuckle, though not lightheartedly. “Daemon?”

You scoff after saying your step father’s name. It was evident how much Aemond idolizes him despite his denial. All from the hair down to the ego.

Your knees weakened when Aemond didn’t look phased by your jab, he even rather looked amused and that was a dangerous thing.

“What are you saying?” He smirks and your blood runs cold when realization crept in.

“I only meant Baela or-“ You stutter.

“Who are both already betrothed to your brothers.��

Damn it! That smug smirk only seemed to grow wider and you swear you growled under your breath. You redirected the conversation.

“You have a choice, I do not,” You start. “I do not understand why you would say yes to a marriage pact when you could just forge an alliance over a goblet of wine.”

That seemed to put Aemond back into his stoic self. Despite the silence, you know he was forming an answer in his head.

“I have to protect my mother.”

Your cold facade melted a little bit. You understood where he was coming from with this.

“I do too,” You answer, making sure your voice was not as confrontational as it was a few seconds ago.

“You do not understand to what extent,” And with this, Aemond completely lets go of you even though the music was still playing.

He leaves you on the dance floor and you hate how it left you with a tinge of sadness.

But like children, you follow after him to pester more about his thoughts. This was how it was back then, you knew Aemond had the tendency to conceal his words but with a little push, he’d spill. Hopefully it will still work.

You follow him to the dark corners of the hall, ignoring the inquisitive stares of the others.

“Then make me understand,” You say. “Aemond.”

He only stops at the soft whisper of his name. Though he keeps his back to you, this does not deter you from moving closer. You knew he felt you, a tenseness in his body that an untrained eye wouldn’t notice. But this was Aemond, you just knew.

“It is not their loyalty to the Crown that is in question. It is their worries that there will be a civil war.”

He let you sit on the words. Aemond never underestimated your intelligence; he may have thrown shallow insults ever since the rift between your side of the family and his but he never doubted your intellect.

You sighed as it hits you. The atmosphere has now changed, yet you both are still players in the big picture. Even as royals, you are pawns in this game and the name one carries assures your survival. The loyalty to Targaryens is undeniable so now, who knows what they will do to a Hightower?

“Viserys is no longer alive, she is not Queen anymore,” He continues.

The son who took up ensuring the family honor. The eldest was never to be relied on and Aemond had made sure to be the child that would protect his mother. Rhaenyra was lucky to get sons and a daughter that will put her honor in mind before they act but the former Queen was not afforded that luxury.

Alicent was never the warmest towards your family, but she was faithful to duty and did her best to ensure the family survives especially in the final days leading to her husband’s death. Even through conspiracies and whispers, she focused on keeping her children well without subconsciously excluding you and your brothers.

This is what Daemon was pushing you for. Duty. To do right by your house and protect it to the death. You understand now.

Aemond is not the type to believe in baseless rumors. He approaches the thoughts of those fellow politics with a clear head and if this is what he deems as important then you’ll defy your side’s expectations and stand with him.

“We are Hightower and Velaryon,” You say. “But most importantly we are both made of fire and blood.”

He turns to you then. Once again, torches illuminating intimidating features. Lilac eye glowers at you but you stand ground. Like you said, the same magic swirls in both your veins.

“I understand,” You continue in his silence. “I understand what we need to do whatever it takes for the blood of Old Valyria to endure.”

Alliances with other regions would be great, but if Aemond’s word was to be trusted you know that it is not enough. Banners will be raised behind two women who have no intention of fighting because of men’s beliefs. You will not let this tempest sink your family under.

In order to protect the most important people in your life, enemies must be slain. A marriage bound by love is a rare gift— but a marriage for duty is a weapon.

Aemond shakes his head at you and despite the pull, you resist from having your shoulders drop in defeat. Your mother may have been called the realm’s delight as a little girl but she now sits the Iron Throne and it is inevitable for her to be called a cunt by those who refuses her reign.

“I know what must be done,” You take a step forward toward Aemond. This is it, he could either make or break a pact that will ensure House Targaryen’s stability and hold on the realm. The tension between these stone walls could rattle a dragon. But never the two of you. “Do you?”

“You know damn well,” Aemond whispers. You’d be a fool to deny how he’d look at your lips just then.

You raise your chin, “Pār gūrogon issa naejot zaldrīzesdōron se mazverdagon issa aōha ābrazȳrys.”

Then take me to Dragonstone and make me your wife.

aaaa hope you enjoyed! reblogs and comments are appreciated :) i’m not the biggest expert on asoiaf lore but im really spiraling into learning about it lol but pls feel free to drop a message anytime!

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x fem!reader #aemond targaryen x velaryon!reader #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen oneshot #aemond targaryen headcanon #aemond targaryen fluff #aemond targaryen angst #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen fic #house of the dragon #house of the dragon fanfiction #house of the dragon fanfic #hotd

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unmarlou · 2 months

Text

i know the end.

pairings. mattheo riddle x fem!reader.

summary. the end is here.

lacy says. if there’s one thing i love it’s the tragic wizarding war trope.

WARNING. !!!readers discretion is advised!!!

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today you would discover if there was a god in heaven. if he was merciful. and what he had in store for you.

each step you took rattled up the core of your bones. starting at your shins and ending at your ears.

time seemed so slow you wondered if you were already dead. kids ran past, disregarding you. these were faces you’d known well, you’d grown up with. they looked so determined, so sure of themselves and those around them, suddenly feeling like a spectator, you were almost proud - your friends, dare you say family, people you’d lived alongside for the last six years were rushing the front of the castle to fight.

reality didn’t let you feel for long. you knew your look didn’t resemble theirs.

the stairs stretched for forever. just stone after stone. the litters of people became scarce, just a few stranglers who couldn’t be bothered to look anywhere but ahead.

you took in the architecture. every few steps looking up to capture a new angle you’d never previously thought to admire. you wondered what it would look like tomorrow- what would remain and what would perish?

eventually you met your destination. the quad battlements greeted you with desertion, as you’d hoped. though your wand was in a tight grip, you didn’t wish to fight anybody. not if you didn’t have to.

the long wood platform stopped the ricocheting up your legs, replacing it with squeaking underneath your feet. the sweat on the back of your neck and the pit in the depth of your stomach was for some reason plaguing your mind, as if your brain was actively trying to distract you from the external world.

approaching one of many full length arches in the row, wood turned to stone. the lack of railing or glass had always spooked you, you thought back to your second year when you’d discovered this part of the castle - lorenzo had jokingly nudged you close enough for you to almost lose your balance. now, it was the least of your worries. maybe falling from this height would be a simpler fate.

looking above, the pit grew denser. violet light encompassed your being. you felt sick, and your body almost betrayed you. you watched as hundreds, maybe thousands, of shots were fired at the protective dome of the castle. time was no longer slow and you were very much alive - such a harsh truth.

spark after spark hit and you prayed it was a trick of the light but very clearly the forcefield began to falter. it almost looked like lightning bolts, you foolishly wished it was just a storm going to pass. soon those tiny, seemingly insignificant lights would become wounds to ground, wounds to your peers, and wounds to your home.

unable to look away despite the devastation building in your chest, your mind took over. thoughts of leaving - finding a new place to call home, far away from here, somewhere so different from this. your many discussions with mattheo about this very prospect played over and over in your mindseye. you saw his closed eyes, as if he needed to shut out the images what he was saying, you heard his whispering voice, and could almost feel his rough albeit lovely fingertips. no one wanted out more than him.

the creaking of wood behind you stopped your heart. you were quick to turn and raise your wand. inevitable. such a small word for such a big thing, you thought.

but once you set eyes on the reason for the sound, your wand was lowered just as fast. his hands were lazily up in surrender, as if he knew you were here, what your reaction would be, and how much he really didn’t need to be doing this.

“you wouldn’t crucio me, would you?” his voice was hoarse, unlike anything you’d ever heard from him which made you certain it was against his will he sounded this way.

without a second thought, you ran to him. wrapping your arms around his cortex and engulfing yourself in the only place that could possibly feel the slightest bit safe. his arms were immediately around you, like he’d waited his entire life for this moment. cradling your head close to his chest, he heaved a sigh that seemed to come from deep within himself.

his hand in your hair maneuvered to your cheek, bringing your face up to look at him. his darling eyes flicked back and forth between yours. unable to help yourself, you kissed him. it was filled with longing but still so innocent. his lips were soft just as you remembered and his hand held your face firmer than he had been, maybe to continue, maybe to keep you close.

you brought a hand to his. his knuckles were scabbed though you didn’t dwell on why. you’d learned not to. breaking away from him, his forehead rested against yours.

he began muttering, “i’m- i’m sorry, i would’ve come sooner but he made it damn near impossible to leave and-” you shook your head to cut him off. it was all unimportant now. he was here and that’s all you needed.

the loud distant explosion startled you. you’d forgotten that you and mattheo weren’t the only people in the world - a blissful moment gone. screams erupted from the same direction.

you stepped to the arch once again, though mattheo didn’t move. his arms dropped to his sides at the absence of your presence and you could feel him staring at you, even with your back turned.

your heart sunk. the barrier was disintegrating right in front of your eyes. without noticing, your breathing quickened. you watched the wooden bridge you’d walked across, lounged on, gazed out of for years, crumble. cloaked figures came in droves, shouting in the victory of passing the threshold, while simultaneously massacring those on the opposing side. your side.

your home was now haunted.

“mattheo,” you turned to look at him again. his face softened at your saying of his name, like it always did.

his voice was small and still strained, “we can’t stop it.” it was like he’d read your mind. he’d solved every other problem you’d ever had so why couldn’t he solve this one?

“if i could, i would.”

you cursed him for knowing you so well. and chided yourself for childish thoughts.

sounds of terror now came from everywhere. you couldn’t even begin to imagine what it must’ve looked like, and you suddenly felt stupidly selfish for standing here instead of helping. but mattheo words reverberated in your mind, we can’t stop it.

you searched his face. his beautifully scarred face that owned all your love. you saw past lovers that came together over millenniums to make that face.

“did i ever tell you i love you?”

you cracked a smile as a single tear fell down your cheek, “you didn’t have to.”

he watched you intensely. somewhere in time there was a version of yourself that couldn’t stand to hold his gaze for very long, with how nervous it made you. but here you were, staring right back at him.

his hand crept to his pocket, his eyes never leaving you, waiting for your disapproval. he pulled his wand out and had such a grip his scabbed knuckles turned white.

the end is near.

all those stories he’d read to you flooded your mind; tragedies about lovers who were never meant for greatness.

“i’m not afraid.” were you trying to convince him or yourself?

he nodded slowly, as if regarding a temperamental child, “i know you’re not.”

your heart pounded in your chest. everything you’d ever experienced in knowing mattheo had led up to this. he was waiting for you. it was all on your count, because whatever you wanted he’d do. that word made home in your mind again, inevitable.

you took fast and shallow breaths, feeling your lip quiver but refusing to let any more tears slip as you raised your wand hand. the sight of it pointed at mattheo was so foreign you had to tunnel vision on him.

he was slow to raise his, once again waiting for any sign of objection. when his arm was level with yours, the corner of his eye twitched, and you knew he could no longer hide from those images he tried so hard to all those times ago.

suddenly the sound of the large entrance door of the quad battlements being unlatched echoed off the floors. banging footsteps of many emitted. your eyes immediately shot to it, though you couldn’t see anything behind the stone wall. voices of familiar foe made your stomach churn.

“look at me.” it wasn’t a command, it was a plea.

coming back to him, his eyes were brimming with tears. in distraction your arm lowered, but you quickly replaced it. searching him a final time, you wondered what beautiful faces the two of you could’ve contributed to in the millenniums to come.

you gave a single nod.

the end is here.

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steppin-on-the-last-train · 7 months

Text

As it Comes Back to Me

Natasha Romanoff x WinterSoldier!Reader

Summary: Your whole life you'd been living for a mission, whether it be protecting your family or fighting just to see the next sunrise. If you didn’t slow down though, you stood to lose someone you couldn’t live without.

Takes place during the events of Captain America: Civil War.

Word Count: 8,000

A/N: I spent way too much time writing this instead of studying for class.

“Hey kids,” you said, walking up to wrap your arms around Steve and Bucky. You’d just been promoted to Major and had been sent back to the states to escort a fresh round of recruits to the front. There was a big event tonight though which begged for your attention. Howard Stark was showing some new invention or other of his. You’d never been too interested in what the scientists had to say, but there would be plenty of girls out looking to be asked to a dance.

Steve, your little brother–both in age and stature–looked less than thrilled at your return. “What’s wrong, buddy?” You asked, shaking his shoulder.

“It’s not fair,” he protested, shrugging out of your embrace. “I should be heading out with you and Buck tomorrow. I want to fight. I know I can help.” You felt for Steve. If it was him and Bucky standing in uniform and not you, you’re sure you’d be missing out on a whole lot.

“I know, I know. I’m sure you’d give them Nazis real cause to turn and run,” you said, knowing he wouldn’t be able to hold a rifle properly.

“Yeah,” Bucky added. “Ya know you should’ve seen him earlier today. Fought off some punk in an alleyway with a trash can lid. Kicked his ass real good if you ask me.”

“Bucky,” Steve said. “Ya said you wouldn’t tell.”

“Oh, right. Sorry, what I meant to say was that Steve got beat up and I had to come rescue him.” The soon to be sergeant ruffled your brother’s hair.

“No, I know what you’re really upset about is that I’m stealing your boy here,” you said, nodding at Bucky.

“Yeah, yeah, enough. Now come on, I wanna get a good look at the car. All the posters were sayin’ Stark could make it fly.” Steve began to weave his way through the crowd, giving you no choice but to follow.

“I’m worried about leaving him here all alone, ya know?” Bucky said, a crease forming between his brow.

“He’s tough, and he’s smart. Always has been, you know that. Honestly, if they should be sendin’ anyone to fight they should be sendin’ him instead of us. But spirit’s not gonna win a fight, ya gotta back it up with somethin’. Point is, he’ll be fine on his own. Maybe if we’re lucky when we get back he’ll have found himself a nice girl to care for.” You smirked at Bucky.

He ignored the jab as he waved at a group of nice looking girls. You waved too, flashing a smile and admiring the way their skirts fit. “Hey girls!” He shouted. As they made their way through the bustling crowd, he turned to you again. “I just worry about him. I care about him a lot and I can see how torn up he is about us gettin’ to go when he can’t.” A frown appeared to dim the light on his face. “What if he does something stupid while we’re off?”

You clapped him on the shoulder and said, “You worry too much Barnes. You ought to save some of that for the war.”

Giggling, the girls–the names of which Bucky had supplied earlier and which you had promptly forgotten–siddled up. The one nearest to you was a brunette with a yellow skirt and a white flower in her hair. She took your hand and pulled you right up to the front row. “Come on soldier, the show is startin’.”

You smiled and let yourself get lost among the din and the spectacle.

From beside you, Steve waved at you and said your name.

He said your name again, and again. You finally tore your gaze away from the TV monitor mounted in the corner of the room. Steve was much, much bigger now; even taller than you. You were still adjusting to the change. Although he still had the same kind gaze that came with naturally always wanting to do what was right, and believing others wanted the same. You wondered if you had been like that once too.

“We need to get him out of there,” he said. Your gaze flicked back over to the security footage that showed Bucky restrained in a mobile holding unit reinforced with metal supports and bullet proof glass. You had thought he was dead, and turns out Steve had thought the both of you were long gone. And apparently, fate wasn’t done with any of you yet. Bucky looked drastically different. His hair had grown out to his chin and he had lost the boyish swagger and proud glimmer in his eyes. But beneath the bulk and hardened exterior you still saw your friend.

“I know. Something doesn’t feel right about this,” you said. A year ago you had been similarly detained. But you were held in the Avengers Compound and were surrounded by friendly faces. The people here were not so sympathetic. You could feel the passing judgment not just on the Winter Soldier, but on you as well.

“Maybe we could talk to Tony again,” Steve said.

From his seat across the table Sam shook his head. “Did you not just hear him tell us he was fully committed to kissing the government’s ass? Steve, I understand this whole ‘peace at all costs’ approach, but I have a feeling we’re not going to get our way by talking this time.”

“Sam’s right,” you said, mouth twisting into a defeated frown. Through the glass wall of the office you were sitting in you watched a certain Avenger weave her way through the crowded room. You were torn, but Natasha had made her choice. “We’re going to have to consider punching our way out of this one. I got off lucky, but things are different now. The whole world is watching what will happen to him. Compromise isn’t an option anymore.”

Hands on his hips, Steve sighed. “Well, we aren’t going to be able to grab him and get out of here. And we need our gear back if we have any hopes of not getting locked up in a real cell.”

As if sensing your staring, Natasha looked over. Quickly you averted your eyes and suddenly found the tabletop very interesting. But you knew she had caught you. Just a couple of weeks ago you had been spending your mornings going out on runs with her and your evenings watching her try and fail to play chef. She could go on for hours talking about the world and bringing you up to speed. You didn’t know what was more interesting; that the world had turned upside down or the way her voice sounded as she helped you make sense of it all.

And you both enjoyed the newfound freedom neither of you believed you’d ever see nor deserved. You had thought you knew her well enough to predict which side of the so-called Sokovia Accords she would be on. Turned out maybe you didn’t.

Sharon Carter walked into the sound proofed room, hopefully bringing more news. She seemed to have a soft spot for Steve, and you and Sam by extension. She was also the only person here that seemed to want to communicate with the three of you.

On the screen a man sat down at a table across from Bucky. He shuffled some papers around and faced your friend as if in conversation. You stood with your hands braced on the table and watched intently. A glove covered the shiny metal of your right hand. Under your sleeve, the flexible steel plating melded with flesh just below your elbow.

You knew visual without audio would only get you so far, but you’d be damned if you could figure out how to turn it on.

“The receipt for your gear,” Sharon said, handing a slip of paper to Sam.

He took one look at it and scoffed. “Bird costume? Come on.”

“I didn’t write it,” she said, trying to hide a faint smile. Now was not the time for jokes. Noticing the attention on the TV screen she pushed some buttons on a control panel and the audio switched on.

The camera showed a modestly dressed middle-aged man. “I’m not here to judge you,” he told Bucky. “I just want to ask you a few questions. Do you know where you are, James?.” He glanced down at his notes and removed his glasses amicably. From another angle, part of the screen detailed an uncomfortably close profile of Bucky’s face. After a moment of silence, he went on. “I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me, James.”

“My name is Bucky,” he answered, still not making eye contact with the man.

“Who is that man?” You asked, wary of the stranger who was supposedly the only person authorized to make contact with the Winter Soldier.

“He’s a psychologist sent by the United Nations just to conduct a primary evaluation. I’m not familiar with him personally,” Sharon said.

Steve studied the blurry photograph of Bucky that had been taken after he set the bomb off in Vienna. “Why would the Task Force release this photo to begin with?”

“Get the word out, involve as many eyes as we can?” Sharon supplied.

“Right. It’s a good way to flush a guy out of hiding. Set off a bomb, get your picture taken. Get seven billion people looking for the Winter Soldier.” You could see the gears in his brain turning. Steve had always been the intuitive one.

“You’re saying someone framed him to find him,” Sharon said, catching on.

Sam spoke up, unsure of where your brother was going. “Steve, we looked for the guy for two years and found nothing.”

“Sam has a point,” you said. You were all too familiar with the Winter Soldier program. If you didn’t want to be found, you had the ability to make yourself dead to the world. “We were trained to blend in, to hide in plain sight. Even if he had to run, no one man would ever be able to find him.”

“We didn’t bomb the UN. That turns a lot of heads,” Steve asserted.

“Yeah, but to your point,” Sharon said, nodding at you. “That doesn’t guarantee that whoever framed him would get him. It guarantees that we would.”

“Yeah,” Steve breathed.

So there was a mole in the government, and he was probably in the building. Your gaze narrowed and you watched the people milling about outside your little bubble with a new suspicion. Whoever it was was obviously already ten steps ahead, you would have to wait until he made his next move. Beside you Sam stood from his seat, eyes similarly flicking from the screen to the windows and back. Steve looked like a racehorse ready to spring from its stall.

From the corner of the room, the conversation continued on through the speakers, even if no one was paying much attention any longer. “Tell me, Bucky. You’ve seen a great deal, haven’t you?” The man asked.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“You fear that…if you open your mouth, the horrors might never stop. Don’t worry.”

The CIA agent, Captain America, the Falcon, and the Wolf Spider were too busy looking for a threat aimed at themselves to notice what was going on before them.

In the secured, private room five levels below the surface, Helmut Zemo received a message on his phone. A package of his had been delivered. Looking up, he wiped the false pretenses of innocence from his face. “We only have to talk about one.”

For a moment the room was plunged in darkness before emergency lights bathed the building in a red glow. The monitor with the video footage remained black. You looked at Sam. Now was your chance.

Steve looked to Sharon and she spoke without hesitation. “Sub-level five, east wing.”

No sooner than she had finished were the three of you bolting from the office and back the way you had been escorted in. You flew down the stairwell, concerned only for Bucky and getting to him before it was too late. But even super soldiers could only descend a dozen floors so fast. Heart racing, you jumped down the last flight, only to be met with a sign on the wall that read ‘Sub-Level 5; West.’

Without pause you pushed through the nearest doorway and wound your way through the maze of hallways. “This way!” Sam shouted. You and Steve rounded on your heels and went sprinting after him down a narrow corridor that served as a connection between the two wings of the building. The soft glow of emergency lighting lit the way, but between flashes the basement levels were pitch black. In the final stretch you overtook him and spilled out into another landing.

The doors to the room on your right were destroyed. A dozen guards lay spread out on the floor unconscious. The chamber was completely silent, but you doubted the chase truly ended here. You knelt and checked the pulse of the agent at your feet. He was alive.

“Help me. Help,” a voice cried out from further in the room. You picked up a discarded pistol and tucked it into the back of your waistband.

Steve was closer to the man than you and wasted no time picking him up and pinning him against the wall by his jacket collar. “Get up.” You’d never heard him sound so furious. “Who are you? What do you want?”

“To see an empire fall,” the man replied vaguely. After staring down Steve he turned to face you with the gleam of a predator in his eyes.Your heart pounded in your chest.

“Steve, we need to find Bucky,” you said.

The echo of footsteps rang down the hall as Sam caught up. Right as he stepped through the door Bucky came lunging out of the shadows, metal fist swinging for Sam’s face. Sam ducked just in time to avoid getting his teeth knocked out. Instead, a fist-sized chunk of the concrete wall blew away into pulverized chunks. But by the time he righted himself Bucky had already launched another attack. This time he grabbed him by the jaw and threw him all the way across the room to crash into the holding unit. The impact was enough to knock him out cold.

Steve looked torn between chasing after Bucky, checking on Sam, and further interrogating the psychologist.

“Go,” you said, nodding toward Bucky. “I got him.”

Steve launched himself at Bucky and pushed him back out into the hall.

You pulled the gun and trained it on the guilty party. Outside the exaggerated sound of two super soldiers fighting reverberated back to you. The shuffle of quick footwork followed by the concerning crash of a metal fist colliding with a wall at inhuman speed.

“Your name. Now,” you demanded.

“My full title is Baron Helmut Zemo. But I think the more important question is, who are you?”

The brawl in the hallway had stopped, and the renewed silence made you uneasy. “Enough with the games.” You flicked the pistol toward the exit. “Move. I’m taking you upstairs.”

He began to pick his way slowly across the room. “Okay, you’ve got me beat. But I just need to know one thing. Steve seems to think you’ve miraculously been returned to him the same as before he became Captain America.” It bothered you, how Zemo felt he had the right to use your brother’s name. “Show me what you hide from them, Wolf Spider. Show me who you really are.”

“Shut up,” you said, annoyed with his riddled speech. But before you could make another move, Bucky came ramming back into the holding room, kicking right at your stomach. The impact forced you to take a knee and as you scrambled to stand up, Zemo pulled a slip of paper from his pocket and began to speak. “Мрамор.”

Even over the rushes of blood pumping through your veins and the stomp of Bucky’s boots on the ground, you still heard it. Like a heat-seeking missile the word wormed its way into your brain and you faltered.

Panic seized you. You needed to get to Zemo. “Bucky, stop!” You yelled, desperate for any way to get around him for even a second. As you tried to stand he planted a foot and your chest and pushed you to the floor. The air left your lungs in a gust as your back slammed into the cement. The gun went flying from your grip and skittering across the floor. “Dick move, Barnes,” you said in a strained whisper.

“Восемь,” Zemo said, sounding closer now even though you couldn’t see him. You clamped your hands over your ears and screamed. Taking a chance you bashed your metal fist into Bucky’s knee and charged for Zemo. “Жжение.” His voice sent you careening off course as if repelled by his words. Fighting for any last scrap of control you punched the wall until your knuckles left bloody streaks. You counted back from ten in your head, jaw clenched so tight it was close to shattering.

Your defenses broken, Bucky reengaged the fight. You scrambled, narrowly blocking his punches from beating your face in and counting you out. You reassessed and went on the offensive. You’d have to take him out before going for his handler.

Easier said than done.

“Рекрут.” You fought even harder, even as a fog crept up the back of your mind. Where was Steve?

“Снегопад.” Another nail in the coffin. He landed a punch to your face and a deep split opened on your cheek. You barely felt the blood run down to your chin.

“Пять.” You managed to land a right hook on Bucky’s weak side. You capitalized on the small victory. Seizing him by the shoulders you grappled with him for a moment before sweeping his leg from under him. He fell with a thud and you lined up a kick to the side of his head. You’d apologize later.

“Увядший.” The Wolf Spider crawled up the back of your spine, jaws gnashing at your brain for control. Your attention slipped for a fraction of a second. But that was all the time the Winter Soldier needed. He seized your ankle and pulled you to the ground. Before you could get your bearings he clamped his fist around your neck and threw you against the wall.

“послушный.” The Soldier rammed his knee into your stomach and you doubled over in an attempt to suck air back into your lungs. The room spun and the lights blurred together. A male Sokovian accented voice was all you could hear above the ringing in your ears.

An arm snaked around your throat from behind and forced you to stand.

“An impressive attempt to be sure. But I’ve found that dogs can always be tamed.”

A fading voice in the back of your mind yelled at you to fight. Halfheartedly you tried to twist out of the Soldier’s hold.

“Одиннадцать.” A dam had cemented itself and separated you from your body.

“Пекин.” Your breathing became even and you looked to the man before you for instruction.

“Солдат?” He asked.

“Я готов отвечать.”

—

Natasha Romanoff walked through the chaos-ridden office, catching up to Tony Stark. Your swift absence hadn’t escaped her notice. She had almost chased after you herself. She’d desperately been wanting to talk to you since the Accords had been dropped in the team’s lap, but you had made yourself scarce since. She could tell that her decision had upset you, even if you were as unlikely to tell her so as you were to turn your back on Steve and Bucky.

“Please tell me you brought a suit,” she said. Because a fight against three super soldiers would be much easier won with a trick of their own.

“Sure did,” the Iron Man replied. “It’s a lovely Tom Ford, three-piece, two-button.” He stopped his nervous rant. “I’m an active-duty non-combatant.” Fancy speak for the government not being comfortable with his access to the greatest weapon’s system on the planet.

Sharon Carter ran up to them, an earpiece providing information Natasha nor Tony were privy to. “Follow me,” she told them.

They made their way downstairs onto the ground level. “The Winter Soldier has been unleashed,” Agent Carter said. “He’s on this floor in the lobby, probably trying to escape.”

“That’s a no-can-do from Agent Ross. We need a plan. Nat?” Tony looked expectantly toward the Black Widow.

“Why is it always up to me?” She asked, even as a plan formed in her mind.

“Because everyone knows my job is to look good and provide charity for you free loaders.”

Natasha narrowed her gaze at Tony’s watch. “Which outfit is that a part of?”

“It is as practical as it is fashionable. Glasses too,” he said.

“Tony, you’ll come up on him from behind. Get his attention, and try to disarm him if you can. Carter and I will be right behind.”

“I don’t remember volunteering to be the bait, Romanoff.”

Natasha motioned for Sharon and they picked their way around the edge of the sun-lit lobby. Civilian workers fleeing for their lives rushed around them in a current, but the women stood as solid as stone. The sound of combat reached her ears before she was able to see into the main lobby. A metal fist pounded against flesh and man after man crumpled to the floor. The snap of a bone being broken and the subsequent screams.

Natasha rounded the corner into the foyer just as a terrible supersonic blast flooded the area. Tony had stunned the attacker if only for a moment. To her horror it wasn’t Barnes standing there, but you. She couldn’t see your face as you moved to pummel Tony, but she knew what she’d see. A figure of a ghost from the Red Room flashed before her eyes.

A gunshot shook her out of her stupor and she ran after Sharon into the fray. You elbowed Tony in the face before punching him in the gut hard enough to send him flying into a table several feet away.

Before you could finish the job Sharon ran at you, forcing you to block a kick and a jab. You wound up an answering punch that would’ve cracked her sternum but she ducked away and you missed. As you recovered, Natasha lodged a knee into your stomach before crouching down to jab you in the groin. She didn’t want to fight you, but she would. All it took was one look into your eyes to separate the Wolf Spider from the person she knew you were.

Sharon landed a roundhouse kick to the head but as she wound up for a second assault you caught her leg and hurled her down onto a table. The legs broke underneath with a clatter.

As you were turned around, Natasha took the opportunity to seize you from behind and flip herself up onto your shoulders. With anyone else she would’ve been able to floor them from this position. But the Wolf Spider intimately knew all of the Black Widow’s moves. All those years ago, you had taught her much of the combat she still used today.

She rained down blows on your head as you crossed the lobby. She grunted as she threw her fists down over and over in a vain attempt to get you to drop her. Instead you carried her to a table and slammed her down. Before she could recover, you clamped your hand around her neck and choked her out.

Scrabbling at your metal forearm, Natasha’s face burned red. She felt her windpipe being crushed under your grip. But even under the eclipse of death’s shadow, the scariest thing was what they’d done to you. She knew you’d tear yourself up about it later, and worse she knew no one here would understand.

On the verge of passing out, she managed one last choked whisper. “You could at least recognize me.” Maybe, as Natasha’s heart was shattered in two, she could pass some of that anguish onto you.

If anything you only squeezed harder and she felt the strength waste away from her muscles.

Seemingly out of nowhere you were shoved off of her. She gasped and pulled as much air in as she could through her bruised throat. All she could manage was to stare up at the ceiling and blink away the spots from her vision.

Rallying, Natasha pushed herself up and saw Tony standing over you with his mechanical gloved hand extended. She coughed and asked, “How?”

You were on your knees, hands clamped tightly over your ears and fingers digging into the back of your head.

“Lucky guess,” Tony said. “Think of it like a dog whistle, but for super soldiers. And also like blow your head off levels of loud. Had to estimate the frequency after getting beaten half to death. But it looks like I’ve outwitted the killing machine.”

Natasha was frozen. You’d just about suffocated her, but a large part of her still wanted to yell at Tony and tell him to cut it out. “Does it hurt?”

“Well, it’s no symphony, I can tell you that.”

She threw a glare in his direction.

“I don’t know. Ballpark? Somewhere between a migraine and an ice pick through the ear.”

A dozen more security personnel came flooding in. They rounded in a circle around you and half of them readied their guns. The rest assaulted you with tasers. You fell to the floor in a series of violent spasms and Natasha looked away.

“Let’s get this one ready for transport,” one barked.

“Natasha, are you okay?” Tony asked.

“I’m fine,” she said, voice still raw.

“That psycho almost killed you.” He always got assertive when he was worried. “You see, this is why we need the Accords. To keep chaos from breaking out in refuges of peace for godsake.”

Natasha looked back at where your limp body was being dragged away. She wished she could go back to before any of this started. She was terrified that she had missed her chance to tell you how she felt. “He’s not a psycho.”

“Then you and I have very different definitions of the word.”

“Stark.” The disappointed voice of Secretary Ross called.

“We have the Wolf Spider in custody sir.” Tony adjusted his tie.

“And Barnes, Wilson, and the other Rogers are all in the wind. One out of four is three less than I expected of you.”

But Natasha had had enough of Thadeus Ross for a lifetime. She walked away wishing that you were by her side instead. Isolated from the beaurucrats and politicians and the bridge with Steve having been thoroughly burned, she felt lost. All around her the pieces of the life she had worked so hard to build lay scattered. The overwhelming urge to hit something surged. How did she get here?

—

You sat by Natasha under a tree in the forest behind the Avengers’ Compound. The chirping birds and the rustle of wind through the leaves were the only sounds that broke the silence out here. Everything at the compound was a blur of light and rush of movement all the time. You couldn’t get two seconds without someone needing something from you. So you had developed the habit of sneaking out and picking a random direction to pass an afternoon.

Natasha had a book in her hands. Today her hair was pulled back in a braid and thrown over her shoulder. You liked when she put it up because you could see her face more clearly.

“He talked a lot about the past, and I gathered that he wanted to recover something, some idea of himself perhaps, that had gone into loving Daisy,” she read. You ran your hand through the grass and dirt absentmindedly. “Are you listening?”

“Yeah, of course.” You had been listening, but not to what she said, but how she spoke it. “It’s just I’ve read Gatsby before. Jay is a dreamer, but he still loses everything. It’s not fair. He didn’t know any better but to follow his heart.”

“That’s not how I see it,” she replied. “Listen. ‘His life had been confused and disordered since then, but if he could once return to a certain starting place and go over it all slowly, he could find out what that thing was’.” She shifted closer, leg almost bumping your own. Uncomfortable with the proximity bordering on affection you subtly moved away. “Jay is chasing a life that he can no longer have. And in the process he ruins himself, and the woman he loves. He should’ve known better.”

Overhead the branches had become indistinguishable from one another and instead blended together as one entrapment. The fading orange glow cast by the setting sun reminded you to start heading back. The woods would be near impossible to navigate without the light. You stood and reached a hand out to help Natasha up. She grasped it tightly and instead pulled you down to her.

“You should’ve known better.” A haunted despair paled her features.

“What?”

The crack of fracturing bones echoed throughout the lonely clearing and Natasha cried out. Your hand had begun to squeeze hers tight enough to crush it. You willed yourself to let go but your stubborn metal fist refused to obey.

“You destroy everything you love, even if you never say the words out loud.”

A bullet hole slowly materialized in the middle of her forehead. Blood seeped down her face and she smiled a bloody smile.

“You should’ve stayed dead.”

You jerked yourself awake with a gasp. The dream faded from your mind almost immediately, as had the once before where you’d been stuck in a cave, and the one before that where you’d slaughtered an entire family.

You took a second to examine the unfamiliar environment. The cell you were in was bright and clean, and the camera assured there was no privacy. Across from you was an identical unit. In fact, the entire room was just an octagon of prison cells.

You rubbed at your face, only for the movement to be followed by a metallic clanking. Both of your wrists were manacled with thick iron cuffs which were anchored to the wall with a chain. Your left wrist was chaffed and dried blood coated your hand. Alarm surged through you.

No, you would rather die than play prisoner and puppet for anyone else again.

You stood up, suddenly feeling claustrophobic. But when you tried to step away from the wall you were yanked back, not by your wrists, but by a chain around your neck. Coughing, you fell back against the wall and pulled at the tight restraint. All you succeeded in doing was irritating the inflamed skin underneath.

“Hey buddy, are you okay?”

You snapped your attention to the voice. You didn’t recognize the guy who had spoken, but the man in the cell next to him looked familiar. Your head throbbed as you tried to remember. He had short brown hair and sat hunched over on a bench, just watching.

“Fine,” you said. Your voice sounded about as shitty as the rest of your body felt. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Scott. You actually don’t know me cause we haven’t met, but I fought with your brother. He’s a really nice guy. Of course you know that.” You shot him a glare. “You know what, I’m just going to shut up now.”

Confusion spun your battered brain around even further. Your brother. You had a brother named Steve. Steve was small so you had to–wait, that wasn’t quite right. Steve’s strength had caught up to the size of his will. He was a soldier. The Soldier. Солдат. A fresh pang wracked your head. No. A captain. Captain America.

The room felt cold but your hand was clammy. Sweat dampened your hair as if you had caught a fever. You squeezed your eyes shut. Why were these lights so damn bright? Where were you?

“Hey, what’s going on? I can’t see into the cell. Is he back?”

You knew that voice. You trusted it as well as you may trust anyone. If only you could think harder. You opened your eyes and again saw the familiar-looking man. The name came to you this time. “Clint,” you said.

Hope cleared some of the melancholic fog that had marred his features.

“Where are we? What happened? Where’s Steve?”

When he spoke, it was reserved, but you could tell he was holding back. “Steve called me. The Avengers fought. Some of them are picking up the mess. The rest of us landed our asses in here. You though…you were already here when they brought us in. I wish I could tell you why.”

“It’s Sam,” the man in the unit directly to the right of yours said. He banged on the wall for effect. “You were with me and Steve back in Berlin. Bucky was controlled and he went after us. He knocked me out and by the time I woke everyone was gone. I met up with Steve and Bucky outside, but you were gone. I’m sorry. If we would have known…”

“It’ll come back eventually.” Even if you could barely remember your own name now, somehow you knew this. The memories always came back, especially the bad ones.

“I should tell you, this isn’t the first time you’ve woken up,” Clint said. Scott looked away. “The first two times you didn’t say anything or acknowledge us. You just pulled away as hard as you could until you made yourself pass out.”

“Great,” you muttered under your breath. So they had all received a front row view of the mindless monster you were. “What is this place, anyway?”

“They call it the Raft. It’s an American prison unit that they dropped into the middle of the Atlantic.” Barton’s voice had taken on an undercurrent of anger. “It’s where they stick the worst of the worst.”

“Is anyone else here?” You asked.

“Wanda. Probably. I don’t know, they put her in a separate transport.” Your heart dropped. Why would they bring her into this? She was just a kid. And with her powers, you could only imagine what they were doing to keep her locked up.

You didn’t ask if there was a plan. The atmosphere here wasn’t exactly revolutionary. You drew your knees up to your chest and rested as best as you could.

Sometime later–you were sure the room had been built to be purposefully disorienting–the door slid open with a whir. In walked Tony Stark, his left arm in a sling and sporting a terrible black eye.

Clint stood up and began to slowclap, finally finding a target to take his anger out on. “The Futurist, gentlemen! The Futurist is here! He sees all! He sknows what’s best for you, whether you like it or not.”

The goading worked, drawing Tony’s attention away from you. “Give me a break, Barton. I had no idea they would put you here. Come on.”

He spit on the ground in defiance. “Yeah, well, you knew they’d put us somewhere, Tony.”

“Yeah, but not some super-max floating ocean pokey.” Stark gestured at the barred cells, gaze catching on you for a moment. “You know, this place is for maniacs. This is a place for…”

“Criminals?” Clint walked closer to the glass of his cage. “Criminals, Tony. Think that’s the word you’re looking for. Right?” The two estranged teammates stood eye to eye. “That didn’t used to mean me. Or Sam, or Wanda. But here we are.” A long time ago that didn’t used to mean you either.

“Because you broke the law.”

“Yeah.”

“I didn’t make you.”

Clint turned his back on Tony. “La, la, la, la, la…”

“Alright, you’re all grown up, you got a wife and kids. I don’t understand, why didn’t you think about them before you chose the wrong side?” Realizing he wasn’t going to get anywhere with Clint he walked away.

Barton rounded on him. “You gotta watch your back with this guy. There’s a chance he’s gonna break it,” he said, slamming on the glass.

“Hank Pym always said, you never can trust a Stark,” Scott said with as much menace in his voice as he could conjure. You wondered how a civilian like him had gotten wrapped up in this fight.

“Who are you?” Stark walked right past him and onto Sam’s unit.

“Come on, man.”

“How’s Rhodes?” Wilson asked, not as willing to bite as Clint had been.

“They’re flying him to Columbia Medical tomrrow. So…fingers crossed. What do you need? They feed you yet?”

You couldn’t see Sam from your cell, but you hoped that he’d tell Stark off too.

“You’re the good cop now?” He asked sarcastically.

“I’m just the guy who needs to know where Steve went.”

“Well, you better go get a bad cop, because you’re gonna have to go Mark Fuhrman on my ass to get information out of me.”

Stark messed with his watch. “Oh, I just knocked the ‘A’ out of their ‘AV’. We got about thirty seconds before they realize it’s not their equipment.” You looked up at the security camera in the corner of your cell. Could he really do that? “Just look,” he went on. “Because that is the fellow who was supposed to interrogate Barnes.” A little picture of a clearly dead man appeared out of thin air. “Clealy, I made a mistake. Sam, I was wrong.”

“That’s a first.”

“Cap is definitely off the reservation but he’s about to need all the help he can get. We don’t know each other very well. You don’t have to…”

“Hey, it’s alright,” Sam interrupted. You wished you were in his eyeline so you could shake your head no in silent protest. But you didn’t have the energy or mental capacity to pick a verbal fight right now so you stayed quiet. “Look, I’ll tell you…but you have to go alone and as a friend.”

“Easy.”

Sam spoke so quietly you were sure without super hearing you wouldn’t have heard. “They went to an old Soviet-HYDRA bunker in Siberia. The fake doctor is going to unleash five more Winter Soldiers.”

“Okay. Wilson, I won’t forget this,” he said with fake malice in his voice to impress the cameras.

He turned to you next. “Rogers.” He saluted. Shame burned your face. You felt like a wild animal on display. And Tony Stark’s presence wasn’t exactly a comforting one since you presumed he was largely at fault for the team’s current predicament. “You’re not going to go all Terminator on me again, are you?”

You stared at him blankly, not moving from your place on the floor in the middle of the cell.

“Really? Nothing. I just came up with that one. Any messages from you to your brother I can deliver when I find him?”

“Tell him after all this he needs to get his ass as far from trouble as possible. Tell him I’m right where I should be.”

“How about I just say you’ll send him a postcard?” He quipped, walking away.

“Stark,” you called. “Lay a hand on Steve and I will find you.”

He didn’t turn back, but he gave a thumbs up on his way out.

—

You don’t think you could ever tire of the view before you. For most of your life you never believed you’d travel outside New York City, but here you were on the other side of the world. The waters below the ship were as blue and clean as great artists imagined in their scenes. The current lapped gently at the hull and you let the sound wash through you. Ahead, snow-capped mountains rose into the cloudy sky. The buildings and streets you were so used to being surrounded by in the city were replaced by miles of undisturbed woodland. The sky was overcast, but calm for now. Mist hung in the air and clung to your jacket. Maybe it would storm later, maybe it wouldn’t. You found peace in the apprehension.

“Hey,” Natasha said. You hadn’t heard her come up. She joined you at the railing and pushed a phone into the water.

“How’s the Good Secretary?”

“I’ve got him chasing his tail in D.C. We are officially in the wind.”

Steve and Natasha had broken you out of the Raft three days ago. Since then you’d decided to split up while the heat died down. He had wanted you to go with him, but you couldn’t look at your brother without feeling crushed by six decades worth of guilt. You still thought he would be safer without you, but you couldn’t escape the disappointed look on his face. Hurting him was like kicking a little puppy.

“Steve would love this place,” you said. Natasha took in the view while you admired her. Her hair was down and flowed past her shoulders. The wind blew strands of it about in a way that told you God indeed played favorites. “He loved to draw. And he was damn good at it too. Kid used to draw everything. Our old apartment, back alleys, the sky. He wouldn’t know what to do if he saw all of this.”

“You’re worried about him.”

“Really? Was I being that obvious?” You were tired, but you smiled anyway.

“The first time I met Steve he couldn’t make heads or tails of the shirt on his back, much less anything else humanity had changed. Yesterday, he was piloting the most advanced jet on the planet. Sounds like he’s the same resilient kid you grew up with. Except now he can throw a man a couple dozen yards.”

“I think he could literally be invincible and I’d still worry,” you admitted.

“I think that’s how family is supposed to work. And if it helps, he’s got Sam to watch his back.”

“Why did you volunteer to come with me?” You asked. You bit your lip nervously and scanned the grayish-blue horizon. “I almost killed you. I mean I would have killed you if Stark hadn’t…” You’d opened Pandora’s Box and couldn’t stop all of the guilt from pouring out. “And all those years ago in the Red Room, what I did to you. Why don’t you hate me?”

“Because I know who you really are. And that wasn’t you. Never was.” She said it so fervently that you almost believed her.

“But that’s just the thing. It was me. All of that blood is on my hands. If something happened to you, that would be on me.” And I don’t think I would survive without you. You left the rest unsaid, but it hung in the air just out of reach. “All he had to do was say the goddamn words and I lost it.”

“And you came back.” You found your mind wandering off into the mountains afar. “Hey look at me.” She laid a hand on your shoulder and brought you back from your reverie. Her warm breath fanned across your cheek. “You’re okay. We’re okay.”

“I can’t shake this feeling, Nat.” You heaved a shuddering breath. “That horrible voice is always in the back of my head. I’m so scared that one day it’ll drown me out.” Your eyes hurt from the force of holding back tears. “Please don’t let it drown me.”

Natasha wrapped her arms around you in a supportive hug. “I’ll never give up on you,” she said. “You can always come back to me.” You cautiously hugged her back and draped yourself over her. You concentrated on what was around you. The smell of the sea-salted air, the warmth of her body, the churn of the boat's engine.

You let her go and cleared your throat, rubbing harshly at your eyes. “Me too,” you said. “I mean, I’m here for you. ‘Til kingdom come.” You’d always fight for her. Truth is you had been for a long time now, you just didn’t realize it.

“You’re not the only one who’s done unspeakable things,” she whispered, as if preoccupied with reliving some awful memory. You weren’t the only one with demons intent on ruining any scrap of peace.

“Aren’t we quite the pair?” You inspected her hoodie and all of its familiarity. “Is that my sweatshirt?”

“No,” she lied, even as she messed with the ends of the sleeves that went well past her hands.

“Mhm. So did you bring any of my clothes for me or…?”

“I didn’t know if I was ever going to see you again,” Natasha said. Her voice was shaky with frustration and pent-up anxiety. “I was so worried. I thought that this would be all I had left to remember you by. I kept thinking that we would get into the Raft and you wouldn’t be there.”

“I’m sorry,” you said. The week and a half you were locked up for you hadn’t thought about where she might be. You told yourself you were too preoccupied with Steve and Bucky to otherwise focus. But you knew to think about Natasha was to admit you cared deeply for her. That was a battle you weren’t ready to surrender. “I didn’t know.” But maybe now was the time to lay down arms.

“That’s right you didn’t know. You didn’t think. That’s the problem you think you’re invincible and you run headfirst into danger time and time again.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“Except it’s not just you anymore, Rogers. There are people that care about you and how you act affects them. When you make a stupid move it’s not just you who suffers the consequences.” Her voice cracked under the weight of the words.

“I can’t just sit around when something goes bad. You can’t ask me to do that.” You had so much time, so many lives to make up for. And that came about by means of action.

“I thought that you were dead. Don’t you understand that?” Natasha’s eyes were full of sorrow and accusation. Your cheeks flushed and you stared into the icy waters. She had every right to be mad. “When they dragged you away I was sure they were going to execute you. Again.”

The reference stung. When the Red Room found out you’d broken your programming they’d practically beaten you to death in front of Natasha before shipping you back to HYDRA. The scars still burned in your dreams.

An apology formed on your lips. “I know,” she said. The bitterness had burned itself out of her tone. What was left you couldn’t describe. A profound understanding, edges brightened by the hope of a fresh start.

An unspoken something lingered in the cool morning air.

Natasha grabbed your gloved hand and intertwined her fingers with yours. She leaned over and rested her head on your shoulder. A warmth bloomed in your chest.

You thought that, just maybe, you’d found where you were supposed to be.

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanov x reader

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sassypossumm · 25 days

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How I went this long before binging HOTD I don't know, but here we are!!! Aemond x Wife!Reader head canon...

Your marriage to Aemond was arranged. With whispers of war on the horizon, it seemed pertinent to make strategic allies.

Many expected a Baratheon match, or perhaps even a Lannister one to shore up support. However, no one was more surprised than Aemond when a Tyrell lady was suggested.

Otto High Tower himself had suggested the match. As daughter of one of the High Towers most loyal bannermen, you brought a disgusting degree of gold and resources from the reach.

To say it hadn't been love at first sight would be an understatement. The phrase 'indifference at first sight' seems more apt.

Neither you nor Aemond seemed overly impressed with each other. He found you a bit... bland if he was being honest. Your assessment of him wasn't much kinder, finding him a bit arrogant and aloof.

The months leading up to your wedding were spent in terse silence, each avoiding the other as much as humanly possible. Until atlast, the ceremony itself forced you together.

His skin had felt strikingly cool when you'd first taken his hand, and Aemond hadn't failed to notice the clammy texture of your own. His hands hadn't wavered when he'd placed a cloak bearing the Targaryen colors over your shoulders. And, for a moment, when he'd allowed his hands to rest lightly on your shoulders, you'd felt a modicum of security.

The wedding feast had passed in a blur. When someone called for the bedding ceremony in a bawdy voice, Aemond seemed to notice your discomfort and firmly declared that there would be no such thing.

Small comforts.

You allowed yourself to relax for a moment until it hit you...you were expected to bed this man. As he led the way towards his chambers, you found yourself cursing the fact that you hadn't at least gotten to know him a little bit, would he be gentle? Or would he be animalistic and rough?

Nerves of anxiety swirled in your gut, as you found yourself standing nervously in the center of his room, dread for what was to come filling your mind. The sound of the door shutting soundly jolted you out of your thoughts.

Aemond came to stand before you, and offered you a glass of wine. Taking it shakily, you drained the glass and offered it back to him. He drank his own slowly, observing your nervous state before placing both glasses back on the side table. You averted your eyes to the floor, and focused intently on his boots as he came back to stand infront of you.

"Are you willing?"

"What?" Your head shot up at his question. Aemond raised a brow and considered you soberly.

"I said, are you willing?" His voice lowered, as he took a step closer to you. Taking a step back, you hesitated and averted your eyes nervously.

"I- that is, I understand my obligations to," Aemond stopped your fumbling with a firm hand on your jaw.

"I didn't ask you to explain a wife's marital obligations." He hissed, turning your face up to meet his. You swallowed hard as his eye searched your own, and he narrowed his thoughtfully. "I asked, if you're willing." In your moment of hesitation, he didn't miss the flash of fear in your eyes. Stroking your jaw with his thumb, Aemond sighed and softened his voice. "I don't take women against their wills, my lady, you're free to speak plainly, I'll not be offended."

Taking a deep breath, you searched his features for any sign of deceit. Seeing none, you closed your eyes and shook your head. Aemond hummed thoughtfully and released you, stepping back slowly.

"Sleep here tonight, tomorrow we'll see to your quarters."

And so began the tentative armistice between Aemond, the dragon, and you, the rose.

#aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #hotd aemond #aemond fanfiction #aemond x reader #prince aemond targaryen #aemond x fem!reader #house of the dragon #house targaryen

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chadillacboseman · 2 months

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The Shepherd's Daughter - II

Pairing: Phillip Graves x F!Reader (Shepherd's daughter)

Warnings: Reader is a CIA agent. Mentions of terrorism, both foreign and domestic, blood, injury, guns, etc. Graves is a whiny, jealous little bitch boy, but when he gets his way OOOOOO. SPOILERS FOR MW2.

Summary: As punishment for the botched infiltration of a domestic terror cell, your father, General Shepherd, pairs you with Shadow Company to retrieve American war assets that have fallen into the wrong hands.

Word Count: 2k maybe?

Part ONE HERE

"Are you any closer to finding them?" Your father's voice was tense, on the verge of anger. You sensed that perhaps he had been into the whiskey he kept in his desk drawer ("for emergencies" as he so often joked).

There was no progress update to be given. Every lead you had chased with Shadow Company had been a dead end. You considered, for a moment, lying to him- spinning a tale and trying to make the situation less dire.

It would do you no good. He had an uncanny way of knowing when you were lying, even if all he had to go on was your voice.

"No, sir. We are not," the line was silent at that response and you instinctively tensed, awaiting the inevitable shouting that would come.

But it didn't.

Instead, his voice was even as he asked, "And how is Shadow Company performing?"

The question perplexed you. Did he think of you as his own personal spy? Had Graves been correct in his assumption that your father wanted someone to keep an eye on their operations?

"Well?" Impatient. Nothing the man hated more than waiting.

You took a quick glance around the room to make sure no Shadows had wandered in before answering, "They're...fine, sir. We just don't have many leads to go on."

"Fine?" His anger had finally bubbled to the surface, "What the hell is that supposed to mean? Are they doing their fucking job or not?"

You held the phone at arm's length until he had finished his tirade before bringing it back to your ear for a rebuttal, "They're well-equipped, efficient. My...reputation makes it difficult to earn their trust, but they are tireless in their efforts."

A grunt of approval on the other end of the line. The deity had been appeased.

"I expect a report at the same time tomorrow."

The line went dead.

Graves watched you from across the room, his blue eyes unwavering as he drummed his fingers impatiently on the body of his rifle. You were staring out the cracked window, your hair moving ever so slightly with the push of the salt-soaked breeze.

You were pretty, something that Graves had began to notice the more time he spent with you. Something that ate at him- frustrated him beyond reason.

He still didn't trust you fully. Hated the way you took phone calls from the general behind closed doors. Graves knew you were reporting back to Shepherd about them- on good days, funding poured in from their benefactor, and on bad ones they barely scraped by with their lives.

"The general giving you grief today?" Graves called across the room.

You shrugged and made a face that distorted your features in the dim lighting of the safehouse. He chuckled and bounced on the balls of his feet, waiting to see if you'd relinquish any further details.

You didn't.

Graves chewed the inside of his cheek and decided to press his luck-

"You been tellin' him how we're doin'? That what the phone calls are for?"

You shot him another look, this time laced with your obvious annoyance at the question; he smiled in return, that disarming smile full of too-white teeth that could almost be mistaken for a shark's maw.

"Just askin', princess. No need for the venom."

He drawled out the cutesy nickname that made your face heat; the other Shadows had dropped it after you'd proved yourself to their standards, but Graves still used it, much to your chagrin.

"I tell him what he asks for," you spat the words a little more harshly than you intended, and you almost felt a pang of guilt when Graves raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"And what does he ask for?" he cocked his head, blue eyes shining under the exposed bulb in the ceiling, "how his lapdog is performing?"

"Your words, not mine, Graves."

"Mhm," he took a step forward and the aging wooden floor creaked under the sole of his boots, "Do ya tell him how my boys are run ragged chasin' his fuck up? How we're stayin' in shitholes like this-" he jerked his head around the room at the cracked walls and exposed wiring, "while he sits in his office?"

"Where are you going with this, Graves?" you sighed through your nose and folded your arms across your chest, "What do you want from me? I've been with you for weeks- if you don't trust me, then-"

Graves cut you off and took another step toward you, his hands still clutching his rifle to the point of whitened knuckles, "I wanna know what the high and mighty Shepherd junior is feeding her daddy dearest when no one is listening."

Something in you snapped.

You shoved him, hard, and he stumbled backward, his eyes wide before he caught himself. An expression flashed across his face that made your stomach drop as he tossed his rifle to the floor.

"Try that again," Graves snarled, his face now twisted in an almost eager grin.

You could try to defuse the situation- tell him this was pointless bickering.

But that something inside you fought back against the urge, burning white hot like a branding iron.

"C'mon, princess. Try it again."

That was the final straw.

You leapt forward and tried to level a knee into his gut, but anger made you sloppy. Graves elbowed you in the middle of your back, nearly snatching the air from your lungs.

"Sloppy work, Shep," he sneered and you brought your head up quickly, making connection with his chin with a crack that radiated through your own skull.

Graves stumbled backward and spit, a splatter of crimson hitting the filthy wooden floor before wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. Before he could recover, you lunged at him again, grabbing him around the middle and shoving him to the floor.

Graves let out a muffled yelp of surprise as you pinned him, the sharp point of your knee keeping him flat on his back. You unsheathed your knife and pressed the razor edge to his throat, savoring the way his pulse raced under his sweat-soaked skin.

"Give me a reason, Graves," you hissed through gritted teeth, "I'll tell him you started it. Make sure there's only one story."

"You gonna cut my throat? Do it then," he was still grinning and a small trickle of blood ran down from the corner of his mouth, "C'mon!"

He shouted the last word and you jumped, nearly granting his wish.

"Not worth the paperwork," you sheathed your knife, satisfied with the small cut you'd left in your wake. You made to rise from him, but he clapped a hand onto your thigh, holding you there.

A strange expression passed over his features for just a moment, then disappeared along with the pressure of his hand on your leg. You rose to your feet and offered him a hand, which he took before orienting himself.

"You gonna tell the general about this little spat?" Graves cocked an eyebrow and brought his hand to his throat, swiping the still trickling blood from the wound.

"Maybe."

The fight was absent from the next call with your father. It didn't seem worth the effort to explain that you'd briefly thought of killing the commander over a childlike argument.

There was good news to pass on anyway- Shadow Company had landed in Las Almas and the Mexican Special Forces seemed far more competent than the US Military back home.

Colonel Alejandro Vargas, in particular, was impressive among them. He and his second in command had already had a run-in with Hassan and the taskforce they were working alongside had been chasing down leads left and right before Shadow Company arrived.

The 141 and the Special Forces treated you with more respect than the Shadows had- they even seemed to seek your input, which was more than you could say for Graves and his men.

It was easier to spend time at the Las Almas base- it was warm, and for once, you weren't sleeping on a bare floor next to a dozen snoring soldiers.

Graves seemed annoyed with your enjoyment of their hospitality, but never mentioned it directly.

"It's good to have you around here, hermosa," Alejandro was bent low over a map of Las Almas, studying it with intensity, "Sometimes these men forget the little details."

You smiled and he returned it, a genuine grin that accented his handsome features.

From across the room, Graves glared at him, his lip curled in a barely-concealed snarl of disdain. Why it upset him so much, he had no idea- that alone frustrated him more than Alejandro's blatant flirting.

He wanted more than anything to wipe that smile off of the colonel's face, preferably with his knuckles.

"Graves?" you cocked your head and the sound of your voice cut through the swirling white noise in his head, snapping him out of his rage-fueled trance.

"What?"

You furrowed your brows and gestured to the map, "Alejandro's plan?"

Alejandro. So quick to call him by his first name.

"Small teams are probably better for this," the colonel repeated the plan slowly, as if Graves was a child who had been caught daydreaming, "Shepherd and I could-"

"No," Graves cut him off and you raised a brow, "She comes with me, she doesn't work for you, Vargas."

Alejandro seemed to have made a connection in that moment and a smirk ghosted over his lips at the realization, "Far as I know, she doesn't work for you either, sombra."

You glanced between them, sensing some unspoken tension that seemed to have formed behind your back.

"I should go with Shadow Company," you murmured quietly. For a moment, Graves looked triumphant, until you continued, "The general wants regular reports on their performance."

Alejandro chuckled and shot the commander a look of victory, "Wouldn't want to disappoint your bankroll."

You spent the next miserable night in a decrepit safe house, staring up at the ceiling as Graves breathed softly next to you. He hadn't said a word since the spat with Alejandro, and he'd tossed you your duffel with such force it had nearly knocked you off your feet.

Your back ached from the hard floor, and the early sounds of a thunderstorm were brewing outside the thin walls. You sat up in the darkness and rubbed your temples, contemplating the series of life fuckups you'd had to make to get to this point.

A loud crescendo of thunder shook the house and you jumped, barely stifling a yelp of fear at the sudden sound.

"Scared of storms, princess?" Graves mumbled from his position on the floor.

"Will you give it a rest, Graves?" you snapped and he chuckled.

There was a long moment of silence before he spoke again.

"How come you don't call me Phillip?" he pushed himself up to a seated position, his eyes barley visible shining in the dark.

"Because you're the commander," you said with a shrug.

"You call the Colonel by his name. Seems a little too familiar."

"Are you jealous?" you asked incredulously and he huffed out a noncommittal response you couldn't catch, "What is going on with you? Three weeks ago, you'd have been happy to have me out of your hair! Hell, before we landed in Las Almas, we nearly killed one another-"

"Yeah? Maybe I just don't want you shacking up with a foreign military leader when we're supposed to be focused!"

You sputtered indignantly, feeling your face grow warm at the accusation, "Shacking up? Really?"

"Yeah, really."

You took a blind swat at his face in the dark and he grabbed your wrist yanking you toward him until your chest was flush with his. In the pitch blackness, his eyes shone like a predator as he stared down at you.

His face was so close to yours now that you could feel his breath as it fanned over you; he was nearly panting, and you could feel the thrum of his heart under his fatigues.

You tried to pull away, but Graves tightened his grip with a growl, "I sat back while you spied on my men, slowed us down, and reported back to your piece of shit father. Then we land in Las Almas and you may as well have sat on that fucking prick's lap while he planned-"

Your free hand connected with his face with a crisp -SMACK- that rang out in the silent room. If it had hurt him, he didn't show it. Instead, he grinned and took hold of your free hand with his own before moving, swiftly, and knocking you onto your back with your arms pinned above your head.

You tried to wriggle free, but he shoved a knee between your legs for leverage and you felt a sudden pang of heat at the contact.

"Didn't your daddy ever teach you any manners?" He hissed through gritted teeth.

"Fuck you, Phillip," you spat his name and he laughed, a hollow, mirthless sound that fell flat in the darkness.

"Ask me nicely."

"Get the fuck off of me!"

"Wrong answer, princess," he thrust his knee up into you and you let out a strained gasp that made him laugh again, "See, you're givin' me mixed signals here." He brought his mouth down to your ear and you felt a jolt of electricity run down your spine.

"You want me to stop? I'll stop, but I don't think that's what you really want."

You didn't answer, your attention now too focused on his mouth as it neared your neck, hot breath sending your hair on end. When his tongue finally hit your skin, you had to stifle the sound that threatened to tumble past your lips. Before you could stop yourself, you bucked your hips, desperate for friction against his knee.

"That's more like it," he purred; his teeth came down, suddenly, on your pulse point and you gasped, back arching off the cold floor and sending your chest against his. Tomorrow, there'd be a mark there, glaring and obvious for everyone to see.

"Can I let your hands go?" Graves panted, his mouth still close to your ear, "you gonna go smackin' me again?"

"No," you tried to focus through the haze of lust that had taken root in your mind.

"Promise?" He asked, his voice smug.

Before you could answer, he released your wrists and one of his hands snaked under the hem of your shirt, rough fingertips gliding across your sensitive skin. His hand found your bra, deftly moving it up to expose your breasts to his fingers. He wasted no time taking one of your nipples between them, rolling gently until you let out a pathetic whimper.

"Wondered how good you'd sound," Graves' mouth found yours and he nearly crashed into you, kissing you like the desperate man he'd been since landing in Las Almas, "He's never gonna fuckin' hear this."

Alejandro. He had been jealous.

"C'mon, let me hear that pretty sound again, baby," he murmured; his knee ground into you once more and you moaned his name, his first name, and it sent his head into a daze.

You heard him fumble with his belt for a moment, then he tapped your buckle expectantly, prompting you to wriggle your way out of your pants. You tossed them aside in the darkness and shivered against the cold night air as it hit your bare skin.

"This ain't the way I wanted it to happen," Graves whispered as he ran a gentle hand up your inner thigh.

How long had he been thinking about it?

Swiftly, he grabbed your thighs and pulled your legs around his waist, lining himself up with you. Slowly, agonizingly, he pushed himself inside you, hands grasping desperately at your hips to pull you flush with him.

Graves dropped his forehead to yours, panting quietly as he let you adjust to him. His first thrust was gentle, slow and easy, as if he was testing the water.

"You gonna tell your daddy about this?" Graves set a bruising pace, thrusting into you with less restraint than before.

You didn't answer, unable to speak as his cock hit every sensitive spot deep inside you over and over again. You wanted to hate him, wanted to tell him what an absolute bastard he was-

But the words wouldn't come.

Instead, you clutched at his shoulders, moaning and whining like an animal in heat as he fucked you on the filthy floor of the safehouse.

This was a bad idea, surely. Sleeping with the commander could only come back to haunt you.

Graves thrust, hard, and the thought was pushed from your mind entirely as he edged you closer to release. It was clear he wasn't far behind as he panted and let his movement grow sloppy and erratic.

"Gonna cum inside you, baby, that okay?" Graves' voice shook as he spoke.

"Yes-" you gasped out the words as he gave you one final push that had the tension inside you snapping like a taut cord.

He was close behind you, thrusting sloppily until he was spilling inside you with a weak grunt. He stayed like that for a moment, panting, as sweat dripped from his face and pattered down onto you.

Already, you could feel the gentle throb of the bruise that was forming on your neck where he had bitten you earlier.

To your left, a radio crackled to life and Graves scrambled to grab it, listening intently to the chatter from the Shadows on the other end.

"Shit-" he tossed the radio to the floor and searched for his pants.

"What is it?" You asked weakly, still lying on the floor where he'd left you.

"141 has movement, pretty sure it's Hassan," Graves threw your pants to you and you wiggled your way into them. It had to be at least 3am and you were exhausted.

You searched blindly for something to cover your neck, but to no avail. You weren't thrilled at the thought of Alejandro seeing it, but decided you didn't care.

Graves led the way and you followed him out the front door, rifles drawn.

#phillip graves x reader #phillip graves #COD mW2

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