#'dream a little dream of me' is their song

[em1i2a3]

Idk if you’re taking requests but can you do Bob x reader where the reader has powers like Rogue. Bob has the biggest fattest crush on reader, reader is oblivious (but the crush is mutual), and angst angst ANGST

Sailor Song

Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynolds/Sentry/The Void x Rogue Inspired!Fem!Reader

Summary: Bob is in love with you, but you can’t be what he wants.

Warnings: Semi-Spoilers for Thunderbolts as Bob is the main character here. There is a whole boat of angst in here, and it’s a bit heartbreaking, and really frickin sad (don’t worry y’all not too sad…Hopefully lol) but I do like the character of Rogue, and this Inbox Request really sparked a lot of inspiration in me to write for an idea like this!

Author’s Note: I love where I got to go with these two characters and how it played out in the end. I added something to the reader's little arsenal of powers by the way, but it is for the plot. I hope it meets expectations. I kinda wrote this really late at night (01:49am over here lol)

Word Count: 5,477

Bob remembers the first night he saw you in his dreams.

Not when he first met you–no. That had been a tense mission briefing, it was your first introduction to the team. You had barely spoken, and Bob had sat two chairs away from you and tried not to stare. It was like he was enchanted by you– the way you held yourself, the way you stood and said your name, the little wave you gave to everyone with your gloved hands before sitting down. He remembered everything about that day.

But the dream–God the dream was so different.

It started with darkness. Not shadows, not dusk–just a smothering kind of black, like he was trapped in the deepest part of his mind. There was no floor beneath him. No air in his lungs. Just coldness. He was clawing at it. His fingers were raw and bleeding, his breath was ragged, and there was this panic that curled tight in his chest like he had swallowed barbed wire.

There was no sense of direction but all he knew was that he needed to get out, but the darkness fought back. It dragged him down, swallowed his screams, twisted his thoughts into screeching noises. It was his personal version of hell…Then…There was light.

It was just a sliver. A violent, beautiful tear right down the middle of the darkness, like someone had reached in and split the fabric with their bare hands.

Then suddenly the darkness was gone, and he found himself in the middle of a glowing field. The air was thick with warmth and the scent of something sweet–jasmine, maybe. Or lavender. He couldn’t tell. The grass around him was tall and pale, not green, but something softer–sun-bleached gold, silver at the tips like it had caught the moonlight. The sky above him was an endless stretch of colour, he couldn’t tell if it was day or night, but it was a bruised blue-purple, with streaks of rose and gold that bled through like watercolour.

It was quiet…For once it was quiet.

There was no wind. No movement. No screaming. Just breathing–his own, slow and steady. He could feel his pulse slowing down, and his skin didn’t hurt, and his hands weren’t bleeding anymore. There was no evidence of the fight he had put up in the darkness.

Confused, he turned in place slowly, trying to understand where he was–trying to find the edges of the dream. Nothing like this had ever come to him in his dreams, not when sleep was usually a war zone. A collapsing cathedral of his own mind.

Then he saw you.

You were standing a few yards away, at the center of the field, bathed in the low light. You weren’t wearing your gloves, you weren’t armored or distant, you looked happy, something he had never seen. You were smiling, and barefoot, your hair lifted slightly from the breeze that blew by you–something he hadn’t felt until that moment.

Bob froze in his spot, and your name left his mouth before he even realized he was speaking. You looked up at the sound, and turned towards it. Your eyes met him at that moment, and something in his chest cracked wide open. He was shocked that you heard him, let alone looked at him.

And then-just as his feet moved forward, just as his hand twitched at his side with the desperate, gut-deep urge to reach for you…He had woken up.

Ever since that night he would pray that he would see you again in the landscape of his dreams.

And he always did.

Each time he closed his eyes, you were there–waiting for him in that glowing field, barefoot and smiling. There was no fear or sharp intake of breath when he reached for you. It was just you, and him, in a version of the world that didn’t punish either of you for wanting something tender.

During the day, he kept his distance from you. He respected the rules you had– the ones that kept everyone safe. But in his mind he was hyper aware of everything you would do. He learned your habits, the way you avoided tight corridors, how you sat far away from people during movie night, how you always wore long sleeves no matter the weather, and how you pulled away when things became crowded.

But at night, in that field of light and silence, he didn’t have to pretend, even though he knew it wasn’t really you.

He could stand beside you without seeing you run off. He could sit close to you, close enough to touch your arm, close enough to feel your breath when you spoke. Sometimes, you would laugh and throw your head back like you weren’t scared of yourself. Sometimes you would lean into him, like it was easy…Like it was allowed.

In the dream, he wasn’t broken, and you weren’t dangerous, and that was all that mattered.

Then like always, Bob would wake up and land back in a body full of restraint. In a world full of barriers. In a life where the one person he wanted, didn’t truly want him.

Or at least, that’s what he told himself.

Because you never looked at him the way you did in the dream. You never touched him, never lingered near him too long. You were careful with everyone–but with him, there was something more than just caution. It felt like avoidance to him, and he couldn’t figure out if it was because you felt something too, or if it was just the shape of his own delusion.

—————-

“Valentina has planned a retreat for all of us this weekend.” Bucky announced, his voice even but authoritative in the way that warned everyone that nobody was going to be getting out of this, “She says it’s for ‘team bonding,’ so there are no exceptions.”

An array of groans echoed through the common room, and everyone exchanged glances at one another. You were at the kitchen island eating cereal, picking around the marshmallows, leaving them floating in the milk. Your spoon clinked gently against the bowl as you did it, moving slowly and methodically, not looking up to the chaos that was going on around you.

Across from you, Bob sat with his own bowl–one hand wrapped loosely around the ceramic, while the other one rested on the counter beside it. It wasn’t on purpose that he sat across from you, he had just walked in–wearing a baggy hoodie and matching sweatpants–poured his cereal in a sleepy haze and plopped himself down, still rubbing the dreams of you out of his eyes.

”Well why the hell do we need to go on a retreat if we literally already live together? Isn’t doing that enough?” Walker asked loudly, half-laughing, half-serious, his tone teetering on the edge of defiance. Bucky didn’t even flinch at the question because he already knew it was coming.

”Because Val said so, and because you guys don’t know how to wait until after briefings to snap at one another.” Bucky replied, not even looking up from the papers in his hands, “Just a reminder you’re the one who almost got into a fight with Yelena because she accidentally handed you the wrong clip for your gun…So…Maybe that’ll give you another reason why they want us to go into the a cabin in the woods together.” Bucky finished, his tone flat but edged with exhaustion.

A few chuckles rippled through the room, and Ava didn’t miss a beat.

”Yeah, it’s to make it easier to hide the bodies.” She said coolly, reaching for her coffee. Yelena grinned over her mug.

”I don’t need a cabin in the woods. I’d bury Walker deep enough that nobody would ever find him.” Laughter broke out, bouncing off the walls of the compound like someone had opened a valve and let the pressure spill. They all needed it, just to take the edge off the impending doom that was the forced retreat.

You glanced up at Bob who was staring down at his bowl, picking around at the contents like he was distracted. But you saw the way his jaw tensed slightly. The way his hand hovered just a second too long before plunging the spoon back into the milk. He looked up only when the laughter swelled again, and with the most practiced casualness, shoved a spoonful of soggy marshmallows into his mouth.

You glanced down at your own bowl, watching as the marshmallows drifted aimlessly, softening at the edges, bleeding their artificial colors into the milk in soft pinks and greens and blues. They didn’t look real. Like tiny ghosts of something sweet you’d never let yourself want.

A pang stirred in your chest.

Not because of the marshmallows. Not even because of the retreat. But because this was a rare moment–an opportunity to offer him something, anything, that didn’t come off as cold or standoffish. Something that didn’t feel like a wall.

You hadn’t meant for your past interactions with Bob to be sharp. But they had been. Unintentionally. A result of instinct, of fear, of that constant need to protect others from you, and maybe to protect yourself from what you knew you couldn’t have.

You let out a soft sigh, and reached out before you could talk yourself out of it, tapping on the counter in front of him. He had flinched, almost like you had reached out and smacked him. It was the smallest jerk in his shoulder but you saw it. His eyes flicked over to yours, wide and uncertain, like maybe he didn’t believe you were actually trying to get his attention.

“Do you want these?” You whispered, nodding towards your bowl. His eyebrows drew together, confused at your offer, and at the fact you were the one speaking first, when it had always been him to do that. Bob, stumbling through conversation starters. Bob, trying to make you smile. Bob, desperately trying to pretend that he wasn’t dreaming about you every night and waking up lonelier than the day before. His blue eyes glanced down at the bowl for a moment, then raised back to yours. You could see the way he was contemplating. There wasn’t calculation behind his eyes, there was conflict, like he couldn’t tell if this was real, or if he’d finally blurred the line between the waking world and the place where he only ever touched you in dreams.

You watched his mouth part–just barely, like he wanted to say really solid yes, but instead he gave a small nod.

And then–barely audible–he whispered, “Y-Yeah…I mean…If you don’t w-want them of course.” You shook your head at him, then without a word, you slid the bowl toward him. The motion was smooth and steady, but Bob noticed everything. He saw the subtle tension in your shoulders, the way your gloved fingers were barely touching the bowl, like you thought he was going to try to touch you, even the look on your face was telling him that you thought he was going to do something.

He swallowed, sitting up a little straighter, feeling his stomach twisting, as he met you halfway and dragged the bowl away from you, pulling it close to him.

Bob was going to say something, not anything huge, just something that could keep the interaction going.

But before he could get any words out–

”Wait, wait, wait, hold on–we’re all sleeping in the same room?!” Yelena's voice cut across the kitchen like a record scratch. That sentence alone made the both of you draw your attention back to what was happening, surprised by the new information.

”It’s a small cabin,” Bucky said flatly, “One open concept floor. Living room turns into a sleeping area, so bring your own blanket.”

“Oh, this is just great,” Walker muttered, “Can’t wait to wake up to Alexei’s snoring…”

”I do not snore.” Alexei replied.

Bob tuned out of the conversation after hearing the fact that you would all be shoved into one room together to sleep. He could feel a pit of dread settling in his stomach, because he knew what that meant for you. What it would feel like to be surrounded by everyone, pressed into a shared space with no safety net, and no room for distance. He could already see the cogs turning in your head, like the weekend was a minefield and you were the innocent person dropped in the middle of it to try and navigate around the impossible.

Even worse though–he knew what it would mean for him, if he had to fall asleep knowing you were just a few feet away. Close enough to touch. Close enough to hear you breathe. Close enough that when he opened his eyes he would see you, after spending the entire night dreaming of you. It made him ill, and he didn’t know how the hell he was going to handle it when the time came.

———————

The night before the trip, everyone had gathered in the common room to sort out who was bringing what, how many bags were going to fit in the back of the van, who was on snack duty, and who was going to sit where. It had been a loud, chaotic and predictably annoying back and forth, and all you wanted to do was retreat and go to sleep, but you knew that you were going to be a subject that was going to be brought up, so it would be easier to be there.

Bob on the other hand had turned in early.

Said he wasn’t feeling great, a headache according to him. He mentioned he just needed rest.

You overheard him murmur it to Yelena when she passed him in the hallway, and she didn’t push for any information, she just gave him a nod and let him go. It was something that he was doing frequently these days, ducking out of night events to go to bed, and there was always a convenient excuse for him. It was either a headache, lack of sleep, or just not feeling good, and it got him out of everything, including this conversation.

“Okay, okay!” Bucky exclaimed, raising his voice just enough to cut through the arguing, “Even if everyone brings only one bag, we’re still going to be short on space in the van. So we need to figure out how to get everyone there safely without anything happening.” There was a pause in the chatter, the kind that signaled the shift that you were anticipating–the part where you became the logistical variable.

Nobody said your name though.

Instead, there was some fumbling. Alexei muttered something about using the roof racks to tie Walker up onto it. Ava agreed with the suggestion. And Yelena was looking at you out of the corner of her eye like she was waiting for you to offer a solution before anyone else tried to come up with one on your behalf.

”I can drive myself…I have my car,” You said, eyes glancing down at the laminated packing list in your lap, “I can just meet all of you there.” You added. There was a small shift in the atmosphere, like you had immediately taken the tension out of the room. Bucky looked up from the clipboard he was holding, his expression unreadable but focused.

“Thank you, Y/N. That helps more than you realize…But we still won’t have enough space to fit everyone comfortably, would you be able to take someone else with you?” Your eyes flicked up to him.

”Sure.” Bucky bit the inner side of his cheek, like he was contemplating who he was going to send with you. Knowing that you would have final say regardless of the suggestion he gave.

”Would you be able to take…Bob?”

For a moment, all you could think about was how Bob had looked that morning when you offered him your marshmallows. The way he hesitated, and flinched when you tapped the counter, the way his eyes lingered on your gloves.

You thought about how he didn’t look at you again after that, and it made your throat tighten slightly.

Not because you were offended…But because it hurt.

Because there was something about Bob Reynolds that made your chest ache in ways you didn’t know how to soothe. Something about his silence–gentle, tentative, never invasive–that made you feel seen even when you couldn’t be touched. And the worst part was knowing that he wanted to. Not just physically. Not just a hand on your wrist or a brush of fingers. But all of it. The closeness. The company. The conversation that didn’t come laced with protocols.

That’s why you tried to build walls around you as much as possible…Because you knew Bob would never try to scale them. He respected you too much to ignore the rules. Yet you still found yourself thinking that one day he would try to cross the line.

”That’s fine.” You said. It came out even, and controlled, but inside you were anything but.

Bucky gave you a small nod and marked it down with the click of his pen. The others went back to their tasks, but your fingers were stiff against your lap–your gloves creasing every so faintly from how tightly you were gripping the paper.

You left the room not long after, and nobody stopped you.

————-

The next morning came quickly.

Your bag was already packed, and your car was fully prepared for the ride up. You had checked yourself–the gas tank was full, the heat was working, and the backseat was empty. You even shifted the passenger seat back to accommodate Bob’s knees so he didn’t slam them into the glove compartment when he stepped in.

The sky was still a dull blue-gray when you stepped outside, and you could see your breath puffing out in front of you in soft white clouds. The compound behind you was buzzing faintly with the chaos of people double-checking their bags and fighting over seat assignment, but out here in the quietness of the early morning, it almost felt peaceful.

You stood by your car, leaning against the driver’s side door, gloved fingers curled around your thermos. You took slow sips of your coffee–not because you needed it, but because the warmth gave you something to focus on–a distraction from the impending drive. It was only going to be three hours, but you could tell it would be the longest three hours you had ever experienced.

Each passing second was a breath you didn’t want to admit you were holding. Part of you hoped Bob wouldn’t show up–that he would decide last-minute to ride in the van instead and send someone else, to spare you both the awkwardness of being locked in such a small space with nothing but music, the road, and the weight of every unspoken thing between you.

But the other part of you–the one buried deep beneath layers of self-preservation and fear–hoped he would. Hoped he would sit in your passenger seat and glance over at you, and maybe this time…He wouldn’t look away.

The front doors of the compound hissed open.

You didn’t have to look to know it was him. You felt it. The shift. That subtle pressure in your chest like gravity had tilted slightly in his direction. You turned your head just enough to catch him walking across the lot, backpack slung low over his shoulder and a tupperware container cradled in his arms. His hoodie was pulled over his head, and his coat was zipped all the way up, making him look smaller than usual despite the broadness of his shoulders.

He spotted you and slowed.

Bob always slowed when he saw you. Like he needed an extra second to brace himself.

He adjusted the container in his grip and gave a shy, uncertain wave. You lifted your thermos in return.

”Morning,” You said quietly.

”Morning,” He echoed, voice hoarse like he hadn’t spoken to anyone yet today, “I uh…I brought that banana bread that I made yesterday evening. It’s not…I mean. It’s not good, but Yelena tried it last night and didn’t die, so…” You let out a small breath, as a smirk slowly tugged up on your lips.

”Low bar, but I guess it’ll do.” That made him laugh a bit, like he was a little embarrassed, but it was something. He moved towards the passenger door, shifting from foot to foot. You reached into your pocket, clicked the fob and unlocked the doors.

”I adjusted the seat already for you,” You mentioned, opening your own door, slipping in and putting your thermos into the cup holder, while he did the same on his side, “Didn’t want you cramped the whole drive.” You added, when he was able to hear you.

”Oh…Uh…Thanks.” He said after a beat, sliding his backpack off his shoulder, before easing himself into the seat beside you, and shutting the door. The quiet that followed wasn’t uncomfortable, but it settled between you like mist–thick with things that neither of you wanted to say to one another. You didn’t look at him right away. You focused on adjusting the heat, on clicking your seatbelt into place, on the scrape of your thermos as you nudged it deeper into the cup holder. Anything to keep your hands busy.

But the air had already changed.

The moment he sat down, you could feel it. The warmth of his body chased out the cold that had lingered in the space all morning. He smelled like laundry soap and something sweet–vanilla, maybe. Cinnamon. The faintest trace of sleep still clung to him, and something about that undid you a little. He had clearly just rolled out of bed, eyes still rimmed with the softness of sleep, his hair slightly mussed beneath his hood.

And worse–there was a part of you that wanted to lean closer, just to breathe him in.

Bob didn’t move much, but you could feel the tension radiating off him. His shoulders were rigid, like he was afraid to take up too much space. His hands stayed clasped around the tupperware in his lap, like he needed something to hold onto–some anchor to keep him from saying something he shouldn’t. Like, I dreamt about you again last night. Like, You touched my face and nothing happened. Like, I don’t know how to sit next to you now without wanting things I can’t ask for.

“Did you sleep well?” You asked quietly, putting the car in drive, almost like you were asking for him to tell him about what he had been dreaming about, “I heard you mention to Yelena that you weren’t feeling too well.” Bob looked over at you fast, like he hadn’t expected you to say anything to him for the drive. He was thankful that the hoodie over his head hid his flushed ears, but his face wasn’t shielded from your gaze, and you could see the way the red creeped up on his cheeks.

”Uh…Yeah. Yeah I slept well…Feeling much better.” You nodded once, lips pressing together in a way that wasn’t quite a smile, nor a frown. You didn’t believe him, not fully at least. His voice was too soft, and too careful, like he was picking his words carefully. And maybe that’s what hurt you the most–how gentle he was even when he was lying.

“Oh. Good.” You said simply, eyes fixated on the road ahead as you pressed on the gas, pulling out of the parking lot. Bob sank into the passenger seat, still tasting the ghost of your name on his tongue from the dream he’d barely left behind.

The field had been brighter last night. You laughed at something he said. The kind of laugh that made him feel like the world wasn’t so sharp anymore. Like maybe it didn’t hurt to breathe when you were near. You’d touched his face in the dream–cupped his cheek like he was breakable and safe all at once–and he’d felt it linger long after his eyes opened. He was surprised you didn’t notice how red his eyes were from crying, but then again why would you be concerned with that.

Now he sat here, beside the real you, and he couldn’t even meet your eyes for more than a second.

You glanced at him, catching the way he clutched the tupperware container like it was the only thing anchoring him to the moment, the way he fiddled with the edges, the nervous twitching he always did that you couldn’t help but notice. It was one of his many tells that something was bothering him, but you didn’t push, your eyes just returned to what was in front of you.

The highway stretched ahead like a ribbon of grey silk, unraveling beneath your tires. The sun hadn’t quite risen yet, and the pale light bleeding through the windshield was casting a bluish tint over Bob’s face. You kept your eyes on the road, but you could feel his presence like heat on your skin.

“You really didn’t have to bring anything,” You murmured after a stretch of quiet, nodding toward the banana bread.

Bob looked over at you quickly, then back down at the container like it had surprised him to still be there. “I… I just thought it might be nice. For the cabin. It’s dumb, but I—uh—sometimes baking helps when I can’t sleep.”

Your grip on the wheel tightened slightly. “It’s not dumb to want to do something nice…I wasn’t saying it to be…Cold or anything. It’s just a nice thing to do.”

He looked at you then. Really looked. Just for a moment. And for the first time in what felt like ages, you looked at him.

A breath passed between you. Heavy. Loaded.

But it didn’t last. Bob glanced back down at the container again and shifted in his seat. The tension in his shoulders softened marginally, and you could tell the lull of the ride was beginning to get to him. The rhythm of the road, the warmth of the heater. You caught the slow, unconscious twitch of his fingers against the plastic lid before he rested the tupperware gently on the floor by his feet and leaned his head back against the headrest.

“I think…I’m going to close my eyes for a bit,” He said, voice barely above a whisper.

“Are you alright?” You asked, concerned about the sudden change in his demeanor.

“Yeah…J-Just tired.” He murmured, his lashes fluttering once before settling. You didn’t push. You didn’t ask if he was sure. You just adjusted the heat a little higher and turned the radio down low, giving him the space he always gave you.

The car fell into a soft hush, broken only by the low hum of the engine and the distant thump of tires over uneven pavement. Bob’s breathing slowed next to you. Gradually. Unevenly at first. Then steadily.

And then it was silent.

Until.

“…Y/N.”

Your name. Whispered like a secret. Like a prayer.

It wasn’t loud, but it wasn’t quiet either. Just clear enough to freeze your hands on the wheel.

You glanced over at him, and his face was tilted toward you now, not fully, but just enough to expose the vulnerability in his features. His brows were drawn slightly together, lips parted, and the softest tremble lingered on the edge of them–like he was mid-sentence in a conversation he couldn’t have while awake.

“…M-Miss y-you.” You didn’t mean to slam on the brakes.

Technically you didn’t–but your foot did twitch hard enough on the pedal to make the car lurch slightly, just enough that your coffee sloshed in the cupholder and Bob stirred in the passenger seat with a soft grunt. But he didn’t wake–not fully. He just shifted his head slightly against the seat, curling further toward the door like he was bracing himself for something, the way someone does when they expect to wake up heartbroken.

You stared at him for a long, stunned second. Your fingers had gone numb around the wheel. You weren’t even sure you were breathing. All you knew was you had to pull over to try and regain some sense of stability before continuing, because your thoughts were derailing and spinning out of control.

You pulled off to the shoulder as smoothly as you could, but your hands were trembling too much to hide it. The car dipped slightly as it slowed to a crawl, the crunch of gravel beneath your tires filling the sudden silence now that the radio had gone quiet. You didn’t turn the engine off. You didn’t unbuckle your seatbelt. You just sat there, staring at your own reflection in the faint gleam of the windshield, breathing like someone who’d just run a marathon.

Bob shifted again beside you in his sleep, brow creasing like he was trying to hold onto something—some fragile thread of whatever dream he was caught inside. But all you could hear was your name, still echoing softly in the air between you.

Y/N.

Miss you.

Your throat tightened so hard it hurt.

Because no one missed you. Not like that.

You didn’t let them.

You couldn’t.

Not when the cost of closeness was something you couldn’t afford. One wrong brush of skin, one slip in control, one heartbeat too fast, one lapse of judgment–and everything you cared about could shatter. You had spent years learning how to exist at arm’s length, how to keep every tender instinct buried beneath gloves, sleeves, distance, and detachment. You had become an expert at denial. At convincing yourself that loneliness was better than guilt.

But Bob Reynolds–quiet, sweet, trembling Bob–was dreaming about you like you were something he had lost. Like he’d had you once. Touched you once. Held you once.

And the worst part? You believed him.

Because deep in your bones, somewhere beneath the power that was humming like electricity in your bloodstream, you felt it. That dream wasn’t just a dream. You knew what it felt like when someone’s subconscious pressed into your atmosphere–when they wanted you so badly that even your powers couldn’t keep them out. And if he’d been dreaming of you enough, if he’d carried that version of you with him night after night…There was a chance his dreams had reached into yours too.

That would explain the phantom warmth you sometimes woke up with. The laughter you’d hear in your sleep and never understand. The way your chest had started to ache when he walked into a room.

“Oh my god…” You breathed, so softly it barely counted as sound.

Your gloved hand hovered, trembling slightly, before you set it down in your lap again. You couldn’t reach out. You wouldn’t. But your heart was thudding so violently in your chest now that you could feel it behind your eyes.

You turned to look at him again.

His lashes were still down, mouth parted slightly in sleep, but the edges of his expression were laced with pain. It wasn’t rest he was getting–it was longing. A quiet, desperate kind. And if you listened carefully, you could hear the tiniest whisper leave his mouth again–like a plea caught in the middle of a storm.

“…Don’t go…Please d-don’t go.”

And your heart broke into a million pieces, because as much as you wanted to reach out to comfort him, there would be no use. It would only draw you in deeper, and somehow you would end up losing him, and that was something you couldn’t risk, something you wouldn’t risk. Bob was part of your constant whether you liked it or not, but you couldn’t be what he needed, or what he wanted, not with the powers you held, and you knew that right from the start.

You just didn’t realize how hard it would be to suppress everything and bury it, but now was just the beginning of the pain.

[pukefactory]

its me the eternal sugar lover again if the fan theory about eternal sugar is true and she has failed motherhood I make this ask

ETERNAL SUGAR X FEMALE READER where they get the child they deserve :)

₊˚⊹⋆ ♡〜 THE STARS COLLIDE 〜♡ ₊˚⊹⋆

˗ˏˋ ♡ Summary: A Compilation of Headcanons Featuring Eternal Sugar Cookie X Female Reader Where You Finally Have A Child Together

˗ˏˋ ♡ Character(s): Eternal Sugar Cookie (Cookie Run Kingdom)

˗ˏˋ ♡ Genre: Headcanons, SFW

˗ˏˋ ♡ Warning(s): None - Completely Safe!

˗ˏˋ ♡ Image Credits: @Devsisters

❤︎ “Just for you,” she’d whispered the first time you mentioned wanting a family— not because she believed it possible for her, but because she would bleed herself dry trying. There is something about you, sweetheart, that tempts her to pick up the shattered lyre of her old dreams, even if it means remembering what they sounded like the moment they broke.

❤︎ Eternal Sugar never cries. Never. She’s too divine, too intoxicating, too busy promising joy with that low purr of a voice and half-lidded gaze. Until your child—her child, your child, the child she swore she didn’t deserve—draws a picture of “Mama, Mommy, and Me,” and calls it their Happy Family. You catch her alone that night, facing the mirror, wings trembling, tears sliding down her cheeks like syrup.

❤︎ Your child asks why Eternal Sugar’s wings don’t always glow. “Because Mama’s tired, sweet one,” she replies with a honeyed laugh. “Sometimes joy burns so brightly it dims… just so it doesn’t burn you up.” You see her eyes flick to yours. It’s an apology, and a warning. But your child just giggles and places a candy sticker on her halo.

❤︎ She spoils your child rotten—luxury confections, enchanted toys, lullabies plucked on celestial strings. But there are lines she won’t cross. No lyres that play illusions. No gardens that lie about what’s real. She knows what it’s like to grow up in a dream that hurts. And she’d rather die than let her little one carry that kind of sweetness.

❤︎ You catch her cradling your child after a nightmare, whispering old celestial lullabies in a dialect you don’t recognize. It’s not just comfort. It's a confession—of the babies she failed, the joy she faked, the wings that couldn’t carry anyone to safety but still dared to try. Your child curls closer. And Sugar smiles. Just a little. “This one… this one won’t be like the others. Because you’re here.”

❤︎ She calls you “darling,” “sweetheart,” “my light.” But when the child gets a fever, when their lips tremble and their eyes search the room in fear— She drops the act. “My love, I—I don’t know what to do, they’re hurting and I—” You steady her. “We’ll do it together.” That’s when she starts calling you “My wife.”

❤︎ Sometimes, Eternal Sugar disappears. Guilt, shame, the old songs of Sloth and sugar-coated corruption pull her away from you both. But she always returns with her halo cracked, her voice hoarse, arms full of apology and devotion. Your child doesn’t scold her. Just climbs into her lap and says, “Don’t leave again, Mama Sugar.” And for once, she swears she won’t.

❤︎ She teaches your child dangerous things: How to charm a crowd. How to lie sweetly and mean none of it. How to recognize the moment someone tries to take your joy and smile as you crush them with it. But you temper it. Together, you raise a child who is clever and kind, ruthless and radiant. A perfect blend of sin and sanctuary.

❤︎ In the Garden of Delights, there is now a hidden alcove. Only you, Sugar, and your child know about it. No illusions, no false promises. Just grass, light, wildflowers, and a hand-painted sign that reads: “Real Joy Only.” When the Beast Cookies grow restless or the world turns cold, Eternal Sugar brings you both here, heart beating like a war drum beneath silk. “This… this is what I was meant to protect.”

❤︎ She used to believe she’d never deserve this. Not you. Not the child. Not happiness that didn’t come with a price. But when your child wraps sticky fingers around her pinky and says, “Mama Sugar, I love you the most,” Eternal Sugar doesn’t flinch. She bends down, their hand, and finally allows herself to say it back. Not with a smirk. Not with a tease. But with her whole ruined, redeemed, radiant heart.

[ce1estiall]

fall in love again

summary you saw paige, your ex, at the bar.

warnings drinking, angst, sexual tension

celestial notes thought about that one pazzi clip and a twice song at the same time... anyways send me some ideas if you guys have any. also im really trying my best to write longer, please bare with me! im trying my best!

“we are at a dead end, oh no, here we go again

tonight the stars out, lights flash thinking i was gonna dance. but rewind, playback now you got me in a trance

tonight we fall in love again.” - fila (fall in love again) - twice

paige bueckers, a name you’ve known since forever. she was the next best thing in the name of basketball, her name always headlining articles, newspapers, magazines, or even social media.

you dated paige during your sophomore year of college. you were in love with her, or at least you thought you were.

paige did show love and affection to you. she would sleep with you, go out on dates and even cook in the beginning of your relationship. it felt like everything you ever wanted in a relationship, what you dreamed of. however, things got rocky when she got an ankle injury. she was sidelined from the rest of her season, feeling the an outsider. her emotions immediately became taken out in you. she became mad instantly. constant arguments filled the apartment, arguing over stupid shit like what you were making for dinner. she would snap at you and blame you, saying everything was your fault. you were on thin ice when her behavior kept happening, as it started to question your commitment towards her.

one evening, you returned to your apartment from studying in the library most of the night. you had a final exam later in the week that was worth 50% of your grade. you put your keys on the counter, took of your shoes, and placed your bag on the couch. “paige, i’m home.” you spoke. however, you didn’t see her in the shared bedroom you had together. you checked the bathroom and living room, but nothing. no sight or scent of paige. a random instinct told you to check the guest bedroom, which was closed. it was always open.

you opened the door. your eyes immediately saw paige sleeping with another girl. you tried to gaslight yourself thinking studying was starting to fry your brain. but nope, this was real after you rubbed your eyes. her black wavy hair on paige's shoulder, as you noticed paige’s hands under her pants. you were pissed, anger flowing throughout your veins. “get the fuck out of my apartment. both of you.” you screamed, very sternly. paige woke up, seeing you. she got scared. she got out of bed to face you. “baby its not what it looks like.”

“bull fucking shit paige. i’m fucking breaking up with you. get the fuck out of my house, now. take your little side bitch too.” you wanted to kill her right then and there. "not only are you sleeping with her, but you're fucking her? are you fucking serious?" paige immediately woke up the girl. she woke up looking confused at what the yelling was about until her eyes darted to you, then paige, signaling that they had to leave. when paige left, a weight was lifted off your chest. you were done with paige, and it felt relieving that you broke that connection. it felt one-sided, like you were the only one who was trying to keep the relationship alive before it all went downhill.

10 months later, you were at your happiest, hanging out with your friends, partying, drinking, and having the time of your life. your best friend was turning 22, and you and your best friend decided to go to a bar near storrs. partying and drinking was a rare occasion for you. you decided to go to celebrate your best friend, not wanting to bring her down or ruin her day.

you entered the bar. black leather tube top with a denim mini skirt and black boots, whole outfit complimenting your body as you held a blue gift bag. you did your makeup natural, with just a hint of glitter eyeshadow that reflected off of the colorful lights in the bar. you saw your friends already taking shots. you walked up to them and greeted them, then seeing your best friend. “happy birthday pretty girl! this is for you.” you greeted her with a hug and a smile, handing her the present. “thank you so much! so happy you could come. ready to get a little tipsy?”

you looked at her with excitement. “you’re lucky its friday and i have no exams next week. lets get this party started!”

about an hour goes by, you had a shit tone of drinks. champagne, wine, tequilla, margaritas, mojitos, you name it. shots were being passed around your friends like they were candy. you were dancing with your friends, having the time of your life. until you saw someone a little familiar in the corner of your eye. straight blonde hair, blue eyes, tall, abs showing underneath of her white compression shirt. you decided to ignore it, thinking the alcohol was effecting you. you decided to order another drink, specifically a mimosa. when you got your drink from the bar tender, you turned around and saw her. fuck, you though. it was paige. she examined you up and down. by the way her eyes looked up close and she was unable to control her balance, you knew she was drunk.

she started speaking, her words slurring. “hey pretty girl, i’ve missed you.” she tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

the alcohol was controlling you at this point from how many drinks you’ve had. you gave her a slight smile as awkwardness and tension were mixing together. “hey paige, how’ve you been?” she started placing her hands on your core, then fingers tingling down to your hips, feeling ticklish from her fingerprints. you became drunk in her touch. “i’ve been good, can’t stop thinking about you lately.”

you started laughing out of no where. you placed her hands on her shoulders, pretending this was a slow dance. the alcohol was 100% in control by now. you both laughed after what you just did, thinking it was the dumbest shit ever. "how's basketball?"

"man.." she said, backing up. "my ankle's healed but it's never the same." you saw her holding a red solo cup, wondering what she was drinking. "can't wait for this season to be over, so i can be with you." paige decided to play with fire this evening, she started flirting with you less than 5 minutes of you both talking. "i know you can't stop thinking about me, it's written all over your face." she placed her hands on your back. you saw what she was doing, it was now time to beat her at her own game.

"for someone who's missed me so much you don't come to me anymore." you said as you took a sip from your mimosa. your voice sounded so confident, like you were sure she would say something back to you.

she smiled. "you'd distract me in the season, i would be so focused on you."

"since when is that a bad thing, bueckers?" you gave her a seductive look, eyes seeming innocent. she was on the edge, now you were waiting for her fall.

"never said it was, nerd." she smirked. she knew how good you were at school. how you were always studying, always organized and your gpa higher than she was most of the time.

her eyes started to linger down your body. your body temperature rising. her body started to get closer to you, immediately feeling her abs from her shirt. her ocean eyes immediately staring at your lips. she rested one hand on your waist and one hand on your back. paige was just a few inches taller than you, but the height difference spoke loudly in that moment. you grabbed her neck and immediately pulled her in, lips darted to her like something was hypnotizing you or something possessed you in that moment.

the kiss was deep, you tasted cherry from her mouth by the amount of dirty shirely's she had this evening. your lipgloss transferred over to her lips by how deep the kiss was. now feeling tongues as moans filled the air. your moans felt like music to her ears, it was the best thing she could even listen to. her body throbbed hearing your affection. you felt like you could go to heaven just from her kissing you while she was drunk. heads immediately turned to face both of you in the middle on an intimate moment. but you and paige didn't care who was watching. you both were receiving something you haven't gotten in a long time, touch. you hands went to the back of her dirty-blonde straight hair. her hands went up to your moisturized arms that had some shine to them, feeling your softness. it was so, seductive. she released from you. "you don't know how much i fucking missed this." she grabbed your waist and pulled you in for another kiss, this time much longer. you eventually parted her lips from yours to take a sip from your drink. paige grabbed your wrist and took you outside, immediately to her car. cold air lingered on your body as you had no jacket, but that feeling immediately went away when she opened the door and pushed you in the backseat, getting on top of you.

a small inner voice entered you head as you listened to it "oh, no. here we go again."

you ignored it. you stared at her above. "knew i had you wrapped around my finger, bueckers."

[inwithrin]

⋆˚࿔ ellie loves your voice

imagine ellie being completely obsessed with the sound of your voice. it’s not just that she likes it—it’s that she lives for it.

cw: slight dumbification, fingering (r!receiving), soft dom!ellie, overstimulation. this was inspired by how, after my phonetics and phonology class, i began to pay much more attention to people's speech LOL

she’ll listen to you talk about anything, for as long as you want. doesn’t matter if you’re telling her about a weird dream you had, venting about someone you hate at work, or reading her the ingredients on a serum you bought—if it’s your voice, ellie is listening to every word.

you’re talking, and she’s sitting across from you, chin in her hand, just watching. not even pretending to be casual about it—she looks so in love it’s almost embarrassing.

“you have no idea how cute you sound right now,” she says, completely serious, as you ramble about some niche hyperfixation for the third time that week.

she knows the little inflections in your tone by memory. the way your intonation gets high and breathy when you’re excited. how it softens when you're being careful with your words. the fake, polite “customer service” tone you use when you're on the phone with strangers.

but what really makes her brain fuzzy, is the way you say her name when you’re under her. that fragile, airy whimper of “ellie” when she kisses the inside of your thigh, or the way you moan it like it’s the only word you know when her fingers are deep inside you.

ellie can tell exactly where you are by the sound of your voice, and she thinks there’s nothing more sacred than that—you, babbling and sweet, then broken and begging, all just for her.

ellie loves your voice like it’s a language only she was ever meant to learn.

she listens to you like it’s her favorite song—like she’s studying it. memorizing the lilt of it when you’re shy, the way it drops when you’re really tired. she’d take it in any form. your giggles, your sighs, your babbling rants. but when you’re like this—laid out for her, legs spread, her fingers knuckle-deep inside you and her face buried between your thighs—your voice becomes everything.

“c’mon,” she murmurs against the sensitive skin near your hip, her voice low, steady. “talk to me too, or i’ll stop.”

your breath catches. your hips twitch. you try to bite back the noise, but she drags her fingers just right, curling them up until you gasp. “ellie—fuck,” you whimper. “please, don't stop.”

“that’s better,” she says, curling her fingers again, her palm flat against your pussy. “don’t go quiet on me, baby. you know i love it when you talk.”

and you really try, but you can’t talk. not with the way she moves inside you. not when her mouth is brushing your thigh like she’s worshipping it, her eyes locked on your face like you’re her only focus in the world.

“feels—feels so good, ellie,” you try again—whimpering as you close your eyes.

“yeah?” she breathes. “tell me more, pretty.”

you stutter through the heat in your stomach, breathless and helpless. “fuck, ellie. i—i—”

she’s so far gone, so focused on you, her fingers slick and steady as she fucks you slow, deep, perfect. 

“you’re s-so deep,” you whimper, clutching the sheets. “i—i can’t think.”

she smiles against your skin, and it’s evil. “good,” she says, dragging her mouth up your thigh, leaving soft kisses against your skin. “you don’t need to think. just keep that pretty mouth going for me.”

and when you whine, when your voice cracks around her name again—ellie moans like you’ve given her something sacred. her fingers pick up a rhythm that feels like heaven to you.

“that’s my girl,” she whispers. “so fuckin’ perfect like this. all dumb, sweet, and noisy just for me.”

and you are—you really are noisy. babbling now, voice wrecked, and ellie keeps going like she wants to wring every word from your lungs.

she needs your voice like air. and you? you’d give her every breath you had.

────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────

you don’t know how long she’s been at it—all you know is that your thighs are trembling and your brain is gone. everything feels thick, hot, and heavy. her fingers are fucking you open, slow, and deep, like she’s trying to carve her name inside you. you’re soaked. dizzy. lips parted, barely able to form a single word that isn’t her name and ellie is eating it up.

“what’s that?” she asks, low and breathy, her fingers curling just right again. “you trying to say something, baby?”

you whimper, trying to close your legs, but she pushes one thigh open, spreading you wider for her. "i'm gonna cum, el—"

“nuh-uh,” she interrupts, voice almost teasing. “not until you ask.”

you blink up at her, lashes wet with frustrated tears, swollen lips trembling. “please,” you gasp. “ellie—please let me come. please. please. please.”

her breath hitches, and she stills her fingers—barely, but enough for you to cry out at the loss of friction. “fuck, look at you,” she murmurs, leaning in close, her nose brushing yours. “you sound so cute when you beg.”

her thumb presses gently against your clit, not moving, just enough to make you ache.

“c’mon,” she says, voice thick and low now, dripping with want. “say it again. nice and slow for me.”

you can’t breathe—you can’t—but you nod, already whimpering out the words she wants. “please, ellie,” you say, your voice high and broken. “please let me come, i’ve been so good, i just—i need it so bad, please—”

and she groans, like she’s the one who’s about to cum. “yeah,” she breathes, mouth brushing your skin as her fingers move again, hard and fast now. “that’s it. good fucking girl. come for me, baby.”

[keithyp00]

The Very First Night

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x f!reader

Warnings/Tags: longing, nostalgia, reconnection, second chances, bittersweet joy, soft reunion, emotional intimacy, kissing, implications of sex

Song Inspiration: The Very First Night by Taylor Swift

Word Count: 824

Author Note: Hi again! Hopefully I'll be able to keep a schedule going with posting but I have my APUSH exam for school tomorrow so this is my good luck post to myself to make me feel better. Hope you enjoy and thanks for the continued support!

Please do not copy or translate any of my works. Thank you!

You hadn't seen Bucky Barnes in two years.

Not since the mission that split everything apart. Not since you chose separate paths- different coasts, different causes, different people- because neither of you were ready to stay still. Or maybe, because you were both too afraid to try.

But here you were now, standing in a hallway that buzzed with bad overhead lighting and too many memories, waiting for a man you tried desperately to forget.

Until you couldn't anymore.

The door opened.

And just like that- two years collapsed.

He looked the same. A little more tired around the eyes. A little scruffier. Broader, maybe. Still devastatingly handsome.

"Hey," he said softly.

Your throat was too full to answer. So you just smiled.

______________________________________________________________

Two Years Ago- The Very First Night

The hotel room in Belgium was nothing special. Beige walls, humming radiator, one flickering lamp.

But you still remembered everything about that night.

The way Bucky looked at you from across the room- half smile, hair wet from the shower he had taken, feet bare on the worn carpet.

The quiet conversation shared over whiskey and strawberries that were bought from the hotel's little corner store in the lobby.

The way his laugh- low and rare- filled up the space like music. You'd leaned into him, arms brushing, knees touching.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" You'd whispered.

"Because I know," he replied.

"Know what?"

"That this'll be the night I'll think about when I miss you."

You'd kissed him then. Soft, slow, and unforgettable.

The rest was a blur of heat and tenderness, hands memorizing each other like it would have to last a lifetime. Because, deep down, maybe you both knew it might.

______________________________________________________________

It wasn't messy when you parted.

No fights. Just two soldiers fighting different wars.

He was rebuilding in New York. You were chasing ghosts in Europe. You promised to stay in touch. But promise like that rarely survive the drastically different time zones and aching hearts that came from late nights alone.

Still, on certain nights, you'd pull out your phone. Reread old texts. Replay voicemails. Watch the grainy video you took of him singing off-key at 2AM when you were both drunk off your minds.

Once, you even dreamed he was beside you- his hand on your hip, whispering stupid jokes into your hair into the late hours of the night.

You woke up crying the following morning.

______________________________________________________________

Now, back in the present, you sat across from him in a quiet cafe.

Everything around you felt too loud.

"I didn't think you'd come," Bucky said, his voice low.

"I almost didn't," you admitted. "Thought maybe it'd hurt too much."

He nodded. "It does. But not seeing you again? That hurts more."

You looked at him then, really looked- at the man who still carried the weight of the world, but now sat with shoulders that were just a bit looser.

"I missed you," you stated. A breath. Then two. "I missed us."

His hand reached across the table, slow and steady. "I still think about that night," he said. "The very first one. The real one. It ruined me, you know."

You laughed, soft and fond. "Why?"

"Because no one else ever felt like that. Like home."

______________________________________________________________

You walked the city together after that.

Passed the old record shop you once ducked into during a thunderstorm. The bookstore where he read you poetry in a gruff whisper. The street corner where he kissed you like the world was ending.

He turned to you once you both reached the park, stopping in your tracks collectively.

"I thought maybe, if I saw you again, I could be just... your friend. But I can't."

"Bucky-"

"I don't want to forget. I don't want something new. I want you."

And despite everything- the time, the pain, the years apart- your heart whispered the same truth it had screamed in silence every night. I want you too.

You kissed him under the streetlight.

Slow. Hopeful. Like you'd been waiting two years just to remember how it felt.

And he held you like he'd never let go again. And this time- he didn't.

______________________________________________________________

Months later, you were in a new apartment. Shared. Full of photos and plants you kept forgetting to water. Bucky was sprawled on the couch, reading a book that you didn't recognize, most likely from a period you didn't really know.

"You know," he murmured, catching you staring, "we never really got another 'first night.'"

You smiled. "Maybe not. But we got a second chance."

He grinned. "And I'm not going to waste it."

You joined him on the couch, curled into his side, heart full with love for the boy you really got to know in a hotel room in Belgium and the man he grew into.

And this time, there was no leaving. Because now- you had a love worth staying for.

[dramagodesss]

seventeen : old love

playin' the players

a/n : slowly getting my inspiration back— to my winscam girlies, this is for you. and for my winsbank girlies... stay tuned. next chapters boutta be... well i aint gon say it. you'll see when i post it 😛

The sun's still high in the sky, casting everything in a buttery gold glow. The beach is quiet, just the whisper of waves and the crunch of sand under bare feet. The crew’s a few yards off, cameras ready, but out of frame it feels like it’s just you two. or them.

Josie’s already laughing — something about Eddie’s attempt at skipping rocks turning into a full-on splash.

“you’re so bad at that,” she grins, shielding her eyes from the sun as she watches him fumble with another stone.

“you wound me,” eddie says, mock-offended. “i was trying to impress you.”

“well, try twirling me around or something,” she teases. “you’re better at that.”

so he does.

he catches her hand and spins her gently, her laugh catching the morning air like music. she nearly stumbles into him, and he steadies her with a hand at her waist.

they’re close now. breathing the same soft, salty air. she looks up at him, cheeks warm, and the sunlight catches in her hair like fire.

“you’re kinda dangerous when you’re like this,” josie murmurs.

“like what?”

“like… happy.”

eddie blinks. “you make me happy.”

her smile falters for just a second — something unspoken passes between them — but then he leans down and kisses her. slow. sure. like he’s sealing the moment in time.

it tastes like sunshine and sea spray and something that hasn’t fallen apart yet.

and the cameras keep rolling.

not that you two notice.

the day passes quickly.

on the picnic scene, eddie and josie sit tangled in blankets and pillows, sharing strawberries from a plastic container. they talk about nothing — books, dumb dreams, their favorite songs — but it's the way they look at each other that says everything. josie confesses she's scared of how much she feels for him, and eddie, half-laughing but sincere, tells her: “good. that means it’s real.”

later that day, they both find each other being filmed in the early afternoon, light pouring through the white curtains, josie wakes up first. she watches eddie sleeping beside her, peaceful and soft. there’s a brief, quiet moment where she touches his hair, smiles, then tucks herself closer. he stirs, murmurs something sleepily, and pulls her in without opening his eyes. it’s tender. intimate. real.

like that day when you climbed up to rafe's window.

the breakup is shot last, just before sunset — the same apartment, but now it feels colder, dimmer. the bed is unmade behind them. josie stands with her arms crossed while eddie, pacing, tries to explain himself. there's no yelling. no big fight. just raw emotion. she says she can’t trust him anymore. he says he wishes she could. when she walks out, eddie doesn’t stop her. the door clicks shut, and the camera lingers on his face — wrecked, silent, still.

and after all that long day of filming, rafe keeps his word and takes you out to dinner.

when you two get out of the restaurant, he asks you if you wanna come over to the aparment, where you've filmed all those scenes.

and, ofcourse, you can't say no.

so you end up curled on the apartment’s worn couch, shoeless, jackets tossed somewhere by the door. you’re both full, warm from food and the low hum of some old movie you’re not even watching.

when you shift to grab your phone from the coffee table, he stops you gently—fingers brushing your wrist.

you turn, brows raised. “what?”

he looks nervous. like something in his chest is rattling loose and he doesn’t know how to hold it in.

“stay,” he says quietly. “tonight.”

your breath catches.

he sees it, quickly adds, “i don’t wanna do anything. i just…” he trails off, then exhales, softer, more certain: “i wanna fall asleep with you by my side.”

you search his face. it’s open. tired. a little scared.

but there’s no expectation in his voice—just hope.

you nod slowly. “okay.”

his shoulders drop with relief, the tiniest smile tugging at his mouth.

and then—before you can think twice—he leans in and kisses you. slow and unhurried. not for the camera, not for the characters.

it's not josie and eddie.

it's just rafe and you.

his hand finds your cheek. yours tangle in his hoodie. the kiss deepens just a bit—warm and familiar.

when you pull back, his forehead rests against yours.

“you sure?” he murmurs, eyes closed.

you nod again. “yeah. i’m sure.”

and his biceps wrap around your body, pulling you close to his warm frame as he leaves a soft kiss on the crown of your head.

was this still all about that stupid bet?

taglist : @beewritess @davinashifts333 @lanasangelsz @littlefreak-liz @drewstarkeyswife0 @lalaloopsieparty @ethanthequeefqueen @wtfisastiles @angelicameron @moth-feeet @drewstarkeyswife-7 @hiphopstar @cokewithcameron @cameronsbabydoll @chillgal135 @ayy1234567 @pogueprincesa @isinpfortvdmen @iheartrosalia @luvrclub @yesshewrites1 @sideboobrry11 @espressh0e @mysticbby2009 @arianagreenblattfanxx10 @hwaaholic @aves05 @thecolorpearl05 @dreamybabbyy @wintercrows @lesbiana2 @chillgal135 @verycherryblossomhideout @daddyrafeslittleslut @pillowprincess4him @xoxobellamy @dylsdaily @at-todds-heart @nonbeliever1@rafes-honey @lilithblackkk @isktfguhn @rafecamssfavgirl @mirellef2001 @jennieonline

[daxisyzz]

𝑶𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝒖𝒑𝒐𝒏 𝒂 𝒅𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒎

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: In dreams, you danced with him beneath the glow of a 1940s jazz bar—Bucky Barnes, a stranger who felt like home. The world called it a vision; you knew it was a memory reborn. Drawn across lifetimes, you find him in Bucharest, where love awakens, and fate begins again.

Warnings and tags: post avengers-aou, no civil war in this universe, 40s!Bucky, Civil War!Bucky, the reader has powers like mind manipulation and dream walking, the reader has been reincarnated in the present, was alive in the 40s in her previous life, implied "death".

Lyrics for the song are in italics

Word count: 3.7k+

A/n: Happy birthday to me ✨️ it's my birthday today!! this is a special I've written for my birthday. Hope you all like it<3. divider creds: @strangergraphics

Your powers were slipping again.

You had always known how to tiptoe the line between dreams and waking, could soothe nightmares, slip into someone’s subconscious like dipping a hand into water. You had control. Precision. Boundaries.

But ever since Bucky Barnes had vanished gone off-grid without warning after the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D. something inside you had begun to fray. You didn’t even know him. Not really. Just a face you’d seen in passing in the Smithsonian. A few mentions of him from Steve. Still, his absence clawed at you like a wound you didn’t remember receiving.

The rest of the team noticed. Wanda placed a hand on your shoulder more often. Steve asked you if you were sleeping enough. Sam hovered like he was waiting for you to crumble. You hated it. Hated the way your grip on reality was starting to blur at the edges. Your dreams bled into waking life, and your waking life kept warping into something unreal.

And then, one evening, everything shattered.

You had been meditating in your room, trying to ground yourself, when your vision went black.

No warning. No sound.

Just the sudden sense of falling into something deep and endless, like a void.

When your eyes opened, you were no longer in the compound.

The air smelled like smoke and perfume. Jazz music hummed through the floorboards beneath your shoes. The room swayed with movement, laughter, and golden light. You blinked at the wood bar, the soft glow of the lamps, the sway of dresses and the crisp cut of coats.

It was the 1940s.

Your mind tried to escape the illusion, but everything was too real, the warmth of the room, the scratch of your dress’s lace, the way your heels pinched slightly, under your toes. Your breath hitched.

You were dreaming, and you weren’t.

“Miss?”

You turned. A man stood near the bar, handsome in a pressed suit, tie loosened just enough to look charming. His smile was a little cocky, a little too familiar. Your heart stopped.

“Dance with me?” he asked, voice smooth, warm.

Your fingers twitched.

You knew that face. Younger, softer. Before the Winter Soldier. Before the war carved grief into his bones.

Bucky Barnes.

But he didn’t know you.

And yet—he looked at you like he did.

You took his hand.

The crowd faded. The band played a soft melody. He pulled you close, one hand at your waist, the other cradling your hand like it was something normal.

You moved together like you had done this before. Like your bodies remembered even if your minds didn’t.

You laid your head against his shoulder, eyes fluttering shut as warmth washed over you.

Your thoughts whispered like wind through trees:

I know you. I walked with you once upon a dream.

I know you. The gleam in your eyes is so familiar a gleam.

A part of your soul clicked into place.

You swayed gently, chest to chest, the world shrinking down to just you, warm hands, and the kind of quiet that holds weight. Your cheek brushed against the lapel of his suit, the scent of him grounding you. You could feel his heartbeat through his shirt.

Then it all started dawning on you.

The music slowed, muffled, like it was coming from far away. The warm golden glow of the jazz bar dimmed. Your stomach turned. A faint pressure built behind your eyes. You blinked once, twice and the weight of everything crashed into you.

The dream faltered. No.

Not a dream.

A memory.

Your body stiffened in his arms.

Bucky felt it instantly. “Hey. What’s wrong, doll?”

You looked up at him with wide, wet eyes, breath caught somewhere between your lungs and throat. “I remember you.”

His brow furrowed, in confusion. “What are you talking about, sweetheart? You feeling okay?”

You stared at him. Your fingers curled into his jacket, gripping tight. “This isn’t just a dream. You…”

You didn’t get to finish.

Your breath caught in your throat as the room began to wither around you. The warmth of Bucky’s embrace vanished, replaced by a suffocating emptiness. The music, the laughter, the lights—they all dimmed, dissolving into still hum.

You gasped, struggling to keep steady, but the world slipped through your fingers like sand. Your heartbeat sped up in your chest, faster and faster, and then, it was gone.

You blinked back into existence with a gasp not in the dim warmth of the bar, but into something colder, heavier.

An alley. Slick cobblestones beneath your shoes. The muted rumble of a city alive just beyond the shadows. Rain dripped from a fire escape. The scent of tobacco, engine smoke, and something faintly floral clung to the air.

You knew this place.

Your body remembered before your brain caught up.

You weren’t in the compound. You were in another dream.

You were back. In your body. In the 1940s.

And he was there.

“Hey,” came a low whisper from your back.

You turned just in time to see Bucky Barnes slip around the corner, hair slick, kakhi jacket hugging his shoulders like he’d walked out of an old movie. The way he looked at you half smile, half mischief, stole the air from your lungs.

“Thought I lost you in the crowd,” he said, voice barely above the rain.

You swallowed. “You didn’t.”

You meant it in more ways than one.

He stepped closer, close enough that his fingers brushed yours. “You’re shaking,” he murmured, brows drawing together.

“I’m fine,” you lied. You weren’t. Not even close.

Because you knew what was coming. You remembered this moment before it happened. You remembered how your heart had felt like it would shatter from how much you wanted him, how much you couldn’t tell him. And now you were living it again, with the weight of the future crushing your chest.

Bucky reached up, cupping your cheek like you were something fragile. “You sure?” he asked gently.

You leaned into his touch, closing your eyes. “No.”

“Talk to me.”

You looked up at him. Your Bucky. But not yet. Not quite. He didn’t know what would be stolen from him. He didn’t know he’d leave you.

“I’m scared,” you whispered.

“Of what?” he asked, thumb brushing your cheekbone.

“Of how much I already need you.”

That pulled something out of him. His breath hitched, and he tilted his head, eyes searching yours for any sign you didn’t mean it.

But you did.

You always had.

And then—it happened.

He leaned in.

So did you.

The kiss was soft. Hesitant, at first. Like the two of you were testing the shape of something you didn’t quite know how to hold.

Then it deepened.

Slowly, his hands found your waist, and yours tangled in the lapels of his jacket. He kissed you like you were a all thathe wished for, like he’d been dying to for weeks but had waited for this exact moment. The press of his lips was warm, sure, and achingly new.

And your heart broke a little.

Because this was the first time for him.

And you remembered the last.

But if I know you, I know what you'll do

You'll love me at once, the way you did once upon a dream

When you finally pulled back, your breath caught. His forehead rested against yours.

“Wow,” Bucky murmured.

You laughed softly, dazed. “Yeah.”

“You okay?” he asked again, voice low.

You blinked, eyes glassy. “No. But this… this helps.”

He smiled, completely unaware of the storm behind your eyes. “I knew kissing you’d be good,” he teased.

You huffed a wet laugh and kissed him again before you could cry.

Because this was the beginning.

And you already knew the end.

You were still spinning, breathless, heart thudding with the ghost of his lips on yours. His hand had been warm on your waist, grounding you, and his eyes. God, those eyes—soft in a way that made you want to stay right there forever.

You barely had time to hold on to it. To even say a word.

And then the world snapped back.

The familiar tug pulled at you, stronger this time. The air thickened with the smell of smoke, the sharp scent of gunpowder in the air. Your shoes felt heavier, the weight of them an instant reminder of where you were, who you were.

The darkness around you closed in, and in an instant, the alley, the city, the moment you shared with Bucky all vanished, as if they were never real at all.

You blinked.

Screams echoed around you loud, painful, desperate. The air stung with the sharp smell of blood and antiseptic. People shouted over each other, voices rushed and panicked. You heard the hiss of bandages being pulled, the snap of needles, the clinking of metal tools. It was loud. It was messy. It was real. This was the battlefield. And you were right in the middle of it.

You were back in the war years. Or few months after the kiss had taken place.

Back where the world had crumbled. The weight of the memories hit you like a freight train.

You were in uniform, a nurse’s uniform, dust-streaked and bloodstained. The fabric was heavy against your chest, the worn apron crinkled at the edges. You had lived through this, survived it.

But this wasn’t your life anymore.

This life belonged to her—the woman who had tried to hold on to her humanity, who had tried to save as many as she could, even as she felt herself slowly breaking. She was the one who had run into the fire, who had patched up the wounded bodies, who had held their hands as they breathed their last breath.

You weren't her, and yet you were.

You were a nurse in the war, doing everything you could to hold it together in the middle of the chaos. But there was one thing—one person—that kept you tethered to this place.

Bucky.

He was there. His face still soft, but now tired, haunted. His eyes were harder now, his soul tarnished by the war, the loss. You could see it in the way he moved, the set of his jaw. The way he was trying so hard to keep it all together.

You remember seeing him more times than you could count back at camp, in the mess hall, during missions. And now, here he was again, coming through the swinging doors of the field hospital where you worked, his arms full of supplies.

You didn’t have time to process anything before chaos broke out.

A soldier had just come in, bleeding out, and you rushed to his side, pushing past Bucky, your hands already reaching for the tools you knew you’d need, as if it was second nature. You barely had a chance to look at him as you worked, stitching up the soldier’s wounds, trying to keep him alive.

It was only once you’d stabilized him that you met Bucky’s gaze across the room. His expression was unreadable, but there was something in his eyes a softness that betrayed the hardened soldier he had become.

It felt like everything stopped for just a second.

And then—An explosion.

The world around you shook violently, throwing you to the ground. The screams, the sounds of the explosion, the cries for help—they were all too much.

Before you could even move, Bucky was there. He grabbed you, pulling you to your feet, holding you close as the world spun around you. His arms were strong, steady, something to hold on to in the middle of all the noise and panic.

“We have to go!” he yelled, his voice barely cutting through the noise. “Now!”

You tried to focus, tried to keep your feet under you, but everything was loud and blurry. It was hard to breathe. Hard to think.

And then you saw her. A soldier who was caught in the crossfire. She was lying there, barely conscious, her leg shattered by the blast.

You ran toward her, but before you could reach her, a bullet tore into your side. The pain was instant—hot, sharp, and far too familiar. You gasped, your knees buckling, and everything around you tilted.

Bucky caught you before you hit the ground. His arms wrapped around you, holding you tight like he could keep you here just by not letting go.

“Stay with me,” he said, his voice cracking. “Please. Just stay with me.”

He pressed his hands to your side, trying to stop the bleeding, but you could feel it—you knew this was bad. Just like last time. Maybe worse.

Your vision started to fade. The sounds around you felt far away. You could still hear Bucky, but his voice was distant now, like he was underwater. And you couldn’t hold on much longer.

“Please, don’t go,” he whispered as you slipped, your body growing heavier in his arms.

“Bucky,” you whispered, though you weren’t sure if he could hear you. You tried to smile, to tell him that it would be okay, but the pain was too much.

“I can’t lose you. You still haveto meet Steve. We have to get married, after the war, live together in our home,” Bucky cried, holding you tighter, his voice breaking, desperation in every syllable.

And then everything went silent.

The voices, the screams, the gunshots, the explosions, they all faded. There was only Bucky’s voice, lingering in the distance.

His final plea.

And then—nothing.

You woke up with a start, gasping for air, the harsh light of the compound blinding you. Sweat clung to your skin, your heart still pounding as though you had just run a long marathon.

But your mind wasn’t here. Your mind was back.

Back with him.

Back in that life.

The memories crashed into you like a storm, vivid and unrelenting: Another life. Another version of yourself. You saw it all—flashes, pieces falling into place like the final turn of a puzzle box. You had been lovers in another time. A hidden corner of Brooklyn. A shared laugh over coffee. The weight of his dog tags pressing into your chest when he held you. The sound of a gunshot. A goodbye that ripped something from your soul. It wasn’t just a dream. It was real.

Your body shook as you pressed your hands to your face, choking on a sob as the weight of it all crashed over you.

I remember you, you thought, tears flooding your eyes, the ache in your chest too sharp to ignore.

In that life, you had been together. In another time, another version of yourself had loved him completely—had been his, and he had been yours. But now… now, he was lost to you. The years, the distance, the life you had been reborn into, none of it mattered. You could still feel him. You could still feel it all.

A broken, choked cry slipped out of you before you could stop it. You folded in on yourself, arms wrapped tight around your body as the grief crashed over you, wave after wave. The dream had pulled you in so deep, it felt like a part of him was still inside you even now, awake, you couldn’t shake him. Couldn’t let him go.

“Why didn’t I remember?” you whispered into the quiet, your voice barely holding together. “Why didn’t I know sooner?”

Your hands curled into fists, nails biting into your skin, trying to ground yourself. But the ache in your chest only grew heavier, pressing down with the truth you could no longer ignore.

You had to find him.

You couldn’t just stay here, pretending nothing had changed. Because everything had. He was out there somewhere. Bucky Barnes, your Bucky, had disappeared, and you couldn’t let him go. Not when you had shared so much. Not when the threads of your past still bound you to him.

You wiped your eyes, the determination sparking to life behind your tears.

“I’ll find you,” you whispered, voice full of unshakable resolve. “I will find you, Bucky.”

And nothing—not the past, not the present—was going to keep you from bringing him back into your life.

The team had gathered, though they were all confused about why you called them. Steve, Natasha, Sam, Wanda… even Tony, arms crossed, looking skeptical.

Your heart was racing, like it wanted to jump out of your chest. The words stuck in your throat, but you made yourself speak anyway.

“I remembered him,” you said, voice shaking. “I remembered everything.”

Steve blinked. “Who?”

“Bucky,” you whispered. “I knew him. I loved him. Not here. Not in this life. In the one before.”

Silence.

Sam frowned, leaning forward. “You mean like… a past life?”

You nodded slowly, your hands trembling.

“There was a jazz bar. The 40s. I remembered the way he smiled at me like I was his whole damn world. We danced, and I—God, I felt it. Our shared times, the end of it all. It was real. All of it. I don’t know how or why I forgot, but when I woke up, it was like losing him all over again.”

Steve’s mouth parted, stunned. “He never… he never told me he was seeing anyone back then.”

"He wouldn’t have. She... I died young. Before hydra took him. But it was real. We were real." you said.

Wanda stepped closer, gently. “And you think we can find him out there?”

You nodded, suddenly fierce. “I don’t think. I know. And I’m going to find him.”

There was a pause. Then Tony let out a low whistle. “Well. That’s one hell of a love story.”

Steve’s expression had shifted—no longer confused, but grave. “Let's bring him home.”

Five Months Later – Bucharest

You’d gone through every old file, every false lead, every sleepless night with his voice in your head, his warmth on your skin like a ghost. But now, standing outside the apartment building, your hands balled into fists in your coat pockets, it was real. He was real.

Steve looked at you once, like he was checking in, and you nodded. The hallway was narrow and dim, peeling wallpaper, faded lightbulbs. You could hear the soft hum of life behind closed doors—someone cooking, a baby crying, a radio playing softly.

But you only heard your heartbeat.

The door creaked open under Steve’s hand. The apartment was dark, sparse. The door shut behind you. You stepped inside slowly, looking around at the almost empty unit. It had an old mattress on the ground, a small kitchen and some random trinkets here and there.

And then, footsteps on the stairs. The creak of the floorboards. Keys in the lock.

You froze.

The door opened.

Bucky walked in.

He was older now, harder, with shaggy hair and a scruff-lined jaw, but his eyes—those same eyes you saw in that dream—landed on you and stopped.

He dropped the grocery bag in his hand.

You didn’t move.

And then it happened—his body swayed, just a little, his eyes wide and distant, like something inside him snapped. You saw it, all of it the memories coming back, sharp and clear, like shattered glass reforming. Your laughter, your hand in his at the bar, the soft way you whispered his name as his lips met yours, the way he held you like he didn’t know how to let you go.

He remembered.

He remembered everything.

“No…” he breathed, stumbling back, shaking his head. “No, this isn’t real.”

“Bucky,” you whispered, your own tears rising fast. “It is.”

He turned like he was going to bolt.

“Don’t,” Steve said, stepping between him and the door. “Don’t run.”

“I can’t—I can’t—” Bucky’s voice cracked. “This isn’t supposed to happen. You were—you were gone.”

“I came back,” you said, stepping forward slowly, hands raised like you were approaching a wounded animal.

His breath hitched. His fists clenched at his sides. He was shaking all over.

“Do you remember?” you asked hesitantly. He looked at you, and in the dim light, you saw the truth break through. He had. And it hurt. It hurt.

His voice was raw. “You died in my arms. I held you while you—while you bled out.”

Tears spilled down your cheeks. “And now I’m here.”

“I can’t do that again,” he whispered.

“I’m not asking you to,” you said gently, voice cracking. “I’m asking you to come home. With me. Let’s remember it together.”

Steve placed a hand on Bucky’s shoulder, quiet and steady. “You don’t have to run anymore, Buck. We found you.”

And that’s when Bucky broke.

He dropped to his knees.

You caught him.

His arms wrapped around you so tightly it stole the air from your lungs. His face buried in your neck as he trembled, sobbing—not like a soldier, but like a man who had carried a century of grief with no place to put it.

“I missed you,” he choked. “I saw you. Every time they wiped me. Every time they dragged me back. I saw your face." He pulled back just far enough to look at you, his eyes swimming with tears.

"I forgot who I was—but I never forgot you."

You clung to him like you’d never let go again.

"I thought… maybe I imagined you so I’d have a reason not to die," he whispered. "But you were real. You’re real."

“I’m here now,” you whispered. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

They held each other, the world outside fading into silence. There were no words between them—just the sound of their breathing. His was shaky, uneven, like he couldn’t quite catch his breath. Hers was steady, but you could feel the weight of everything they’d been through in each inhale, each exhale.

She wasn’t here by accident, not by fate, but by something deeper. Something that had always been there, hidden in the fabric of who they were. She hadn’t come back just to live again, she’d come back to find him, to remember everything they had, and to give it another shot.

And as they held each other, their hearts beating together in a way time couldn’t touch, they both knew something for sure: some loves are too strong to be torn apart by anything life, death, time itself. Their love had survived it all, and no matter what came next, it would always find its way back to them.

Together, they had become something that couldn’t be undone.

And this, this was their second chance. Their rebirth.

This was their beginning

[maddiebabydaugther]

!𝑱𝑰𝑵𝑿 𝑿 𝑭𝑬𝑴 𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒅𝒆𝒓 & 💕𝒃𝒂𝒃𝒚 𝒅𝒂𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒄𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒏𝒔💣💥 (𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐡 𝐬𝐮𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝)

(Artist: 𝑲𝒂𝒕𝒎𝒐𝒄𝒉𝒊𝒎𝒊𝒏♥)

Jinx x F!Reader – First Daughter Headcanons

1. Pregnancy & The Build-Up

Jinx absolutely panics when she finds out you're pregnant. She's excited, terrified, overjoyed, and suspicious that someone pranked her—all within five minutes.

Once it sinks in, she starts painting the nursery in neon colors and adding glow-in-the-dark stars. “She’s gonna be cool. None of that boring beige stuff.”

She talks to your belly constantly. “Hey, peanut, it’s me. Your awesome, chaotic, explosive mom.”

2. When the Baby Is Born

Jinx is shockingly quiet the first time she holds her daughter. Her hands shake, but she won’t let go.

She stares at her baby’s tiny face like it’s the most precious thing she’s ever seen. “She’s so small. Like... bee-sized.”

Immediately nicknames her something ridiculous like “Boomlet” or “Mini-Mayhem.”

3. Parenting Style

Jinx is chaotic, impulsive, and unconventional—but so in love with her kid.

She builds weird baby toys out of scrap and hextech. Some are adorable. Some explode. You confiscate those.

Bedtime stories are made up on the spot and involve wild space pirates, laser cats, and a main character suspiciously like Jinx herself.

4. Domestic Chaos

Your daughter ends up with blue hair streaks by age two because Jinx thinks “she needs the vibe.”

Jinx forgets baby wipes but remembers a flamethrower for a picnic. Priorities.

She invents a lullaby that sounds like a punk song, but your daughter falls asleep to it every time.

5. Soft Moments (Yes, Jinx Has Them)

Sometimes Jinx sneaks into the nursery late at night just to watch her daughter sleep, whispering, “I won’t mess this up. I won’t.”

When your daughter has nightmares, Jinx stays up with her all night, drawing pictures of dream-eating monsters they “defeated.”

Your little girl draws a family portrait of all three of you—with you holding her hand, and Jinx with a big cannon. Jinx hangs it on the wall with pride.

6. Protective & Unstable Side

Jinx will go feral if anyone threatens her baby. Doesn’t matter if it’s a toddler stealing her toy or a real threat—she’s ready.

You have to be the calming voice when Jinx goes overboard. “Babe, you can’t hexbomb the preschool.”

Despite her wildness, she teaches your daughter loyalty, creativity, and how to survive in a world that can be cruel.

7. Deep Love

Jinx often wonders if she’s too broken to be a good mom. You’re the one who constantly grounds her, reminding her she’s not alone.

She tells your daughter, “You’re the best thing I’ve ever made. And I’ve made a lot of things that go boom.”

You catch Jinx crying quietly when your daughter calls her “Mama Jinx” for the first time.

𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐭: 𝐯𝐢

[tullipsoftheearth]

Part 2: “So, This Is a Thing Now?”

Dealer ellie x fem reader (college au )

An: this is part 2 to "Introvert’s dream” don’t hate me .. it’s lowkey slow burn enjoy :)

Ellie showed up at your door in a giant grey hoodie, a beanie she clearly didn’t try that hard with, and holding a crumpled paper bag like it owed her money.

“Brought snacks. Don’t ask questions,” she said, deadpan, like this was a hostage drop-off and not her idea of hanging out.

You took it. “What is it?”

“Two cookies and a caprisun. I panicked.”

You laughed. “This is honestly the most romantic thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Low bar?”

“Very.”

You ended up on your bed, side by side, not quite touching but definitely aware of it. You had music playing off your phone, the kind of songs you don’t really skip through, just let run in the background. Ellie was analysing your bookshelf like it was a personality test.

“Okay, serious question,” she said. “Why do you have four copies of the same book?”

You shrugged. “Different vibes. Different annotations. One of them has tear stains.”

Ellie turned to look at you, amused. “You scare me a little.”

You smiled. “Thank you.”

⸻

You spent a solid twenty minutes watching stupid TikToks, sharing earbuds, sometimes saying something dumb just to make the other laugh. Every now and then, your knees would bump, and neither of you moved away.

At one point, she handed you her hoodie with zero explanation.

You blinked. “You cold?”

“No, but you keep pulling your sleeves over your hands like a homeless orphan.”

You slid it on. “Wow. And they say romance is dead.”

“It looks better on you. That’s kinda criminal.”

You didn’t say anything. Just grinned down into the hoodie, sleeves past your fingertips.

⸻

Later, when she was about to leave, you walked her to the door and stood there like an idiot, trying to think of something smooth to say.

Ellie beat you to it.

“This was nice,” she said. “Like… actually nice.”

You nodded, playing it cool. “Yeah. We should do it again. Next time I’ll supply the snacks. And better taste in cookies.”

Ellie smiled, leaning slightly closer. “Don’t push it. The crumbl cookies were elite.”

You didn’t kiss or hug or say anything dramatic.

You just stood there for a second, both pretending not to be staring, both quietly smiling, like:

Okay. This might be something.

[leatherfaceologist]

To Feed the Flame

Remmick x Vampire Wife

Part 1 of 2. 18+ only.

Why does Remmick wear a golden band on his wedding finger? How was Remmick turned, so many ages ago, into the immortal beast he's become? Was he alone in his transformation? Love, memory, blood, and lust coalesce in this swamp-set gothic tale.

Themes & Warnings: vampirism, southern gothic, explicit sexual content, blood drinking, telepathy/hivemind, canon typical violence, love, romance, blood kink, worship kink, trauma, slight angst, brief origin story, singing

words: 4,705

notes: Remmick x OC. I poured a lot of love into this, and I hope some of y'all enjoy it. there's smut in this part, and will be even more in part 2. likes, comments, reblogs + any and all feedback is very appreciated! <3

Irish Words: an tine: meaning 'the fire'. Éirinn: Ireland. sidhe: the term for both a mound and a type of supernatural being. bean sidhe: translates as 'fairy woman'; a death omen; the original spelling of 'banshee'. Seaghdha: what is most likely the original name that was then anglicized into 'Shaylene'.

part 2 coming soon.

Part 1: O Death

“…the reason for living, was to get ready to stay dead a long time.” -Faulkner

Bones - heavy, hollow, and ancient. Weighted down with centuries of memory, coursing like blood through the marrow of a god-like creature. An archaic patchwork of recollection lay knitted there, the mobile grave of countless ages. Though the surrounding muscles rarely felt the ache of human fatigue, another pain was nestled deep within the unyielding bone. 

An tine… 

A longing for the flame, a furnace licking at his heart from beneath. Like a frog in a pot, the heat had been slowly rising up within the undead fragment of Remmick’s soul for near 3 years. The longest stretch without his fire. 

It’s been a while, darlin’… Is tonight the night I’ll see yer smilin’ face?

All around, the swamp was singing its nocturnal lullaby. Cicadas chirped, a blip to the human ear but waves of buzzing pleasure to the amplified senses of the undead. Their nighttime blessing lulled him, soundwaves pulsing like the comfort of a mother’s arms against Remmick’s sweat-tinged skin.   

Here, beneath the lazing cypress, nestled under the twinkling lanterns in the darksome blanket of sky - Remmick could slip into his waking dream. In this place - in their place - the chorus of cricket frogs and Fowler’s toads could lull him back to any era, sinking deep into the pyre of his remembrance. Here, he could burn. 

The whisper of a voice beneath the chorus of the swamp - a quick caress at the base of his skull. Like wind through magnolia trees, perfumed and murmuring above the drone of nocturnal song and subtle mist of voices of his night children. 

What was that, darlin’? Coulda swore ya said somethin’. 

The gentle, buttery teasing of his mind-voice, softly focused upon the secret place at the back of his brain. The night children - his immortal offspring - couldn’t touch that spot. It was the pocket room, reserved only for him and an tine. Like two eager parents, exchanging quiet flirtations as they passed each other in the hallway before putting the babies to bed. A special corner of the cosmos, his own little universe with her.

…sing…

The word was felt more than heard, a sensual brush against the outer realms of his secret galaxy with Shay. It had been so long since she’d answered him - or did it only feel like an aeon to Remmick? Sure, he’d felt her across the miles listening in to his poetry recitations and attempts at luring tunes. At times he swore he could see a flash of her crooked smirk - the snippet of dangerous canines, white and clean and unblooded when he’d send a playful string of sentences her way through their bond. Perhaps it was only his yearning, or the distance between them for the better part of 3 years, that only made it seem her words were few and far between. 

…sing for me, Remmy. 

The immortal’s eyes flew open, crimson lanterns softly burning in the dark. Remmick remained where he was on his back, the impish curl at his mouth moving upward. There was no doubt - she was speaking to him. Ever-coaxing, her desires the eternal siren song of his heart. Whatever he need do to stoke the fire - he would. 

“O Death. 

O Death, won’t ya spare me o’er til another year?

Well what is this, that I can’t see

With ice cold hands takin’ over me…”

Undeniable now, the twin of his own thoughts as he felt her smirk and what could only be the familiar shaking of Shaylene’s head. The sensations were thicker, more tangible - she must be closer than she’d been before. Amusement colored her mind-voice as the thought was carried to Remmick’s head between the song’s mournful verse. 

…morbid man. Always have been. 

Remmick’s gaze remained fixed upon the sky’s twinkling lamp lights, knowing she could see the same stars as he. In all their countless years, through all their shared memories of the world’s different eras - the stars would always stay the same. Just like him and Shay. 

“Well I am Death, none can excel. 

I’ll open the door to heaven or hell 

Woah Death, someone would pray

Could you wait to call me another day?”

Remmick’s voice continued, resonant waves of song brushing up against the other night creatures’ timbre. He sang for her, an tine, the everlasting kindling to her distant passions. The loathsome sky became as a scrying mirror, the veins of Remmick’s memory coursing with both pleasure and pain…

Before Remmick’s eyes swam images of an age near-forgotten, before the Long Death and Eternal Night. A time when life still coursed through his veins, and the veins of his bride. Outside the humble place of dwelling spanned miles of emerald, tucked beneath a sky of softly weeping grey. Éirinn was her own still then - the Isle belonged only to herself, though like any nation its grasses watered with the blood of human conflict. 

The hut overlooked a sidhe - one of the mounds, dwelling place of Those Most Fair. It had always made him uneasy, but Shay’s reassurances that her alliance to the People of the Mound would keep them safe brought an ounce of comfort. And asides - the presence of Na Sidhe or not, it was his father’s land. To tend the mounds was a job of great honor - though thankless still, and his beloved wife’s skills of seership would always garner suspicion. 

Back then, she was still Seaghdha. His wife had been blessed with a gift - and with it, a number of curses. Folk came to her for their troubles, or to beg the gods for succor. Only the brave implored Remmick’s wife to pact with the Good Neighbors on their behalf - the brave or the stupid. All who came to the hut left with hope, and while the gifts of the gods and ungods were not always what they seemed, none could deny that they’d been given exactly what they’d asked for. 

When an tine had shared with Remmick that she was with child, a streak of fear had slit his guts beneath the fires of joy. What if Na Sidhe took their child? It was known - the People of the Mounds loved the little ones. Coveted them, and stole them away. Sometimes a changeling was left behind - an improper exchange of old or sickly fae with the human baby. 

‘They’ll no’ take ‘er, Remmy. I’ve a bargain with the Neighbors. Ye know that.”

At the age of 4 their daughter - who had practically run before she could walk, inheritor of the same flaming locks as her mother - began to tell them of her dreams. Red milk on the mound, smoke from a large fire that covered up the sky. Shaylene had remained stark silent, and despite the way her eyes had glazed over like a mist upon the sidhe - Remmick knew. Even he, devoid of his wife and child’s prophetic night wanderings - could feel something terrible was coming. 

On the eve of invasion, to the sound of distant drumbeats and the haunting horns of war - Remmick and his family had climbed down to the mound together. A fire was lit, tendrils of smoke curling up into the sky, darkened with the balefires of their neighbors’ burning homes. Remmick pulled their child close to him, watching with widened eyes and hammering heart as Shay ran a dagger down the pale, calloused flesh of her palm. The gash blossomed, igniting the flames as blushing liquid dripped into the licking embers. Shay was calling to Them, reciting every name and pleading title that might please Those Most Fair. Remmick knew the dangers of giving the Good Neighbors blood that did not emerge from swine nor steer - but when would a family ever be more desperate, than when certain death was just over yonder hill?

Just when Remmick was about to grasp his wife’s hand and tell her they must flee - that the Good Folk weren’t going to help them - time lurched to a standstill. The sounds of distant violence, clashing of swords and screaming of innocents… was silenced. The blooded flames seemed to be suspended, the air around Remmick and his family thickening. He’d only felt it twice before - the unmistakable presence of Them. Remmick’s hair stood on end, a cold sweat breaking out upon the nape of his neck. The air itself was closing in upon him - heavy and choking in his lungs. 

“What wish ye, mortal?”

The lining of Remmick’s innards felt hollow, the thrumming of his heart sped to what felt like a fatal beat. The cold, sensual, ancient voice that had curled around him and his family chilled him blood to bone. He had never heard one of Them speak. 

Shaylene, her voice strange and faraway in the pocket reality they stood within, was imploring the Otherworldly being for aid. Remmick could only bring himself to glance at the creature - pallid as the dead, with a strange lunar glow that seemed to illuminate from within its humanoid shape. Man or woman? To Remmick’s eyes, it seemed to be a man - the most beautiful, terrifying man he’d ever laid eyes upon. Stark against the creature’s pallor was a gaze as black as night, with no trace of snowy white to distinguish its eyes as human. For despite the deceptions of its general shape, a palatable dread had filled the air - this being was not a child of Adam. 

“I’ve need o’ the strongest o’ magics. Give tae me, O Fair One. In exchange, ye’ll have me service in the next life.”

Remmick had chanced to gaze upon the creature’s face, unable to contain his stare as the luminous monster studied his wife. The being’s body was still as a corpse, its rib cage unmoving. Remmick realized with a shudder: it had no need of breath. 

“Grant us the power tae fight off Éirinn’s enemies… ‘n keep our child safe.”

Remmick had watched, his heart sinking as the Fair One’s pitch-dark gaze had slowly moved from Shaylene… down to their child. Sweaty arms clutched his offspring tighter to him, the chill of terror nearly buckling Remmick’s legs. He didn’t know that his body could take much more of the icy dread spiking his muscles - until the creature’s cruel mouth slowly curled to an insidious smile. Endless rows of pearly, sharpened teeth emerged - the uncanny nightmare froze the very blood in Remmick’s veins. 

“We have an accord.”

What happened next had become a blur in Remmick’s mind. Over myriad years, he’d sat and concentrated with pinpoint precision, straining to remember finer details. After a time, the immortal came to understand that his mind had blackened some specifics in order to protect whatever glimmer of sanity Remmick still grasped. What he did remember was pain, terror… and what felt to him as wading through an endless sea of blood. 

Faster than light, the Pale One was on him. Knocked clean to the hungry ground, it happened so quickly Remmick didn’t have time to grasp for their child. The shrill cry of Shaylene’s voice was ringing in his ear, a bean sidhe’s wailing for what was soon to be a dead husband. The creature’s body, though lithe and wiry in shape, had Remmick pinned to the soil with ease. Rows upon rows of razors were sunk into the carotid artery, hot streams of life force spraying from the wreckage of his throat to splash upon the dirts of Éirinn. Had the creature driven in any further with its lethal bite, Remmick’s head would’ve severed from his neck. 

Time no longer held meaning. Every moment leading up to Remmick’s inevitable death was happening all at once before his eyes, to the dirge of his wife’s screaming and involuntary gurgles that rippled from his opened throat. 

Life was fading swiftly from his body. All control upon his muscles had been given up unto the Pale One - Remmick himself the bloody altar upon the earthen burial shroud of his ancestors. Empty… so hollow. The feeling of his life’s blood draining into the creature’s mouth and dripping to the Isle would remain the queerest sensation Remmick would ever experience. Before the warm and roving black of surrender took him, there was only the round face of innocence staring up as she watched her father die. 

When Remmick woke, his body burned. A disintegrating pain that would soon pass into memory, replaced by flame of power in his blood. The sacrificial fire had been extinguished, but the light still burned his eyes somehow. He slowly moved his aching neck, craning to peer up at the heavens. A canopy of stars, glimpsed through a blanket of smoke, was pulsing fast with stellar light. Hypnotic and dancing, Remmick realized through the fog of his rebirth that the lamplights of the night were hurting his eyes. 

Wincing as he peered back down to the earth, a small cry choked forth from out his throat at the sight of Shaylene’s body sprawled upon the soil. A pool of shining crimson was leaking from her prone form, flaming strands of hair soaked and covering her face. Remmick’s horror was blessedly short lived - as though his cry had stirred her, a shudder ran through Shaylene’s form. Just as he, she began to move - the sickly crunch of bones moving back into their place, emphasized by the groans of pain in transformation. 

Husband and wife had steadied shaking limbs, emerging from the ground to stumble into one another’s arms. Remmick could remember the haunting glow, pinpoints of murderous light peering out at him from Shaylene’s face. Wreathed in blood, the couple embraced - bonded in their newly aching hunger. It was Shay first who glanced beside them - her crimson burning eyes widening at the sight that Remmick dazedly followed. 

The Fair One, stained with the vitality of Remmick and his bride, held their daughter’s hand. The child looked, for all intents and purposes, unscathed - a haunted look in her faraway eyes, wet and shining in the dark. The grip of fear tightened its claws in Remmick’s chest - but the fear was not his own. 

Ye gods…. No!

Remmick startled to hear his wife’s voice within his head, echoing off the walls of his skull with shocking resonance. A shaken glance was stolen to his wife, her newly taloned fingers covering her blood-speckled mouth with horror. Realization dawned, pale and cold as a winter’s sunrise in the fresh immortal’s heart. 

Another faded recollection, Remmick holding Shaylene as she near collapsed into his arms… her frail body wracked with sobs. The Fair One’s voice seemed to sing across the landscape, echoing through timelines both known and not yet unveiled. The being was already turning aside, gently leading their only child into a growing swath of light. 

“Ye requested she be kept safe… and so she shall. Away from earthly sorrows.”

-

“Oh the young, the rich or poor

Hunger like me you know

No wealth, no ruin, no silver no gold

Nothing satisfies me but your soul. 

O Death,

O Death.”

Remmick’s eyes fluttered closed, lips covering fang at the final tremor of his song. He savored the feeling of Shaylene’s attentions, her focus on him in the ether of their bonded thoughts sweet as a lover’s caress. No doubt she’d glimpsed the bitter memories that had threshed across his mind during the song’s recitation. It remained unspoken - they’d recounted their tragedy in every form of lamentation from thought to song too many times to count. Between them it passed now, thick as summer in the Delta - but unspoken like the breeze. 

I miss ya, darlin’.

Remmick shifted restlessly, pressing a new memory into the shared acreage of his universe with Shay. The last time they’d been in each other’s presence - the last time they’d made love. Remmick brushed against the memory, moving it toward his wife as gently as a paper boat upon the Mississippi. The feel of her marbled, tender flesh beneath his calloused fingers - the honeyed scent of her arousal, drawing him in and down to the burning core of her temple. There, he had worshipped… there, he had sinned. 

How bad ya miss me, sugar?

Shay’s drawl was low and liquid, like wine spilling over his cup. The caress of her witchcraft, licking at his mind and soul like the nails of a lover down Remmick’s back. The building tease between them, secret and sensuous beneath the starlit night, was his favorite part about their thought-bond. How he loved to sense the rush of blood within her veins, the heat between her legs building from afar. The stars would soon collide, to sate his need and quench the fire - it was so close, he could taste it. 

Remmick groaned, the echo of Shaylene’s purr in his thoughts and the vision of their lustrous fornication making heat rush to his groin. The immortal reached down to palm his growing erection, squeezing through the cotton slacks as he whispered back to his wife through their cosmic connection. 

My body’s achin’ for ya. ‘n it’s nothin’ to say for the hurt that’s in my heart. 

He could feel her smirk returning - he knew she loved it when he begged. 

Can’t ya feel it? I need ya so bad, darlin’. Been near 3 years now. Feels like forever. 

He could feel her giggle at that - the low, vibrating heat of subtle laughter like music to their shared thoughts. Remmick’s mouth opened in a slight sneer - self satisfied, razored canines flashing in the swampy dark. He squeezed himself tighter, the hardness pressing to his trousers twitching slightly at the laughter of his wife. 

Forever is a real long time.

Remmicked groaned once more, moving his fingers to the button of his trousers - the mind-voice of his wife was louder now, visceral and thick as though she stood beside him. He’d ask her now to talk him through it, plead like a dying beggar if she wanted him to. If he couldn’t touch the fire, at least he could hear its song…

“So… this party by invite only? Cuz I'd sure love to join."

Remmick startled from his reverie, excitement candied and pouring through his muscles like a flood. The scent of blood was in the air - some of it dead, and some still alive - but on from that was the cloying, lurid scent of his beloved wife. Cold violets, burning cloves, and flowering vine. 

In the darkened glade he saw her form - a shadow beneath the cypress, curved against the tree’s thick trunk. A pallid arm moved up, raising the clove to patient lips. The cherry burned, a pinpoint of sunset in the dark as Shay inhaled - framed beneath the burning coals of red in her eyes. 

A vital body’s heart would’ve rushed into a frantic thrum, but Remmick’s lay dead within his chest. Instead the blood began to move more quickly in his deadened veins - and a spark like fire being made passed between him and Shay. The red of blood, of love, of eyes shining in the dark - arose like a wave dashing on the rocks within his soul. 

“Hey there handsome.” The roughage of the clove’s hot smoke passed over Shay’s low voice, a grind that made Remmick’s cock jump in his pants. He’d stood at lightning fast speed, stance poised by instinct for danger - or for the hunt. 

“An tine… ain’t you a site for sore eyes.” Remmick’s clawed digits twitched at his side, excitement buzzing through his form like the flutter of a lightning bug. “Like heaven in a day dress.”

A grey cloud of smoke sheened in the starlight, dissipating as Shay chuckled low beneath her breath. “Charmin’ as ever… I just couldn’t stay away no more.” The redhead swiftly stuck the clove’s burning point out on her palm, the scent of singeing flesh rushing into Remmick’s nose with a hiss. “I just need my lovin’ man… so, so bad.”

Shaylene’s words were thick with honey, and though she dolloped them like cream upon her husband, the sincerity of her longing was like a cool caress within the bondage of their thoughts. He knew she loved to tease… but cushioned beneath their games was an endless font of love. 

Dizzy now with want, Remmick dropped down to his knees with a thud. He leaned forward slowly, palms touching the earthen floor as he moved his body towards her. Shaylene watched, and a flicker of heat passed between them like a flashing bulb. Remmick knew his wife loved to see him like this - and more than that, he loved to please her. To worship at the sacred fount of her cunt, to drink her lips and taste the venomous blood upon his tongue. Shay’s eyes, wet and shimmering in shadow, fixed upon her husband as the pink of her tongue darted out to brush her lip. The sight of Remmick’s sharp, toothy, deviant grin was seen from her eyes as he crawled, stalking as a bobcat in the swamp. 

A short length from the mud-ridden bare feet of his wife, Remmick paused as still as straw when he heard a whimper from behind the Cypress. The smell of pulsing, living blood seemed to hit him full force, his cock getting thicker with the ambrosial scent upon the air. “Ya brought company?”

Shaylene’s crooked grin revealed a double pair of fangs, twinned to Remmick’s and slick with saliva. Her body pushed away from the tree, reaching back and down behind the cypress. “Nah… I brought ya a present.”

Faster than a bullet, the man-shaped meat sack hit the ground just beside Remmick, a pale sliver of moonlight illuminating the injured human shape. Blood spurted out a wound in the man’s leg - the splintered bone of a fractured tibia, temporarily crippling the pitiable creature. Remmick felt the spit build up inside his mouth, swallowing once before his mouth hung open in hunger. “Oh sweetheart… ya shouldn’t have.”

The urge to rush upon the sobbing man and feast upon his fear was high - but Remmick was far too old to forget his manners. Burning gaze tore from the injured man, the vampire’s body slinking back towards his wife once more. Shaylene stood before him, looking down with love and voracity upon her beloved. Reverent fingers left the soil, placed upon Shay’s hips before squeezing the supple flesh beneath her thin cotton dress. The smell of fresh blood and the tender meat of Shaylene’s body beneath his fingers was a frenzy not easy to fend off. Remmick fondled at her thighs, the cotton creasing beneath his dirty hands. Let’s share ‘im. 

The frantic movements of his hands increased the pulse of energy between them, Shaylene’s lips parting to utter a lustful sigh. Remmick’s thought-words caused her head to fall back, taloned fingers carding through his dusky locks. The touch of her hands, sharpened nails raking across his scalp made Remmick loose a moan. A thick stream of drool beaded at the edge of his lips before trailing down and off his chin. 

The neck is yours, handsome. 

Remmick flew from his wife’s doting fingers, latching with a lethal bite to the injured man’s tender throat. Hot, vital, flowing liquid burst into his mouth immediately, leaking out the sides to chase the drool from his jawline. The man’s mournful cries turned to wailing, though the sound was quickly stifled by the gurgle of blood that filled his ravaged throat. A momentary clawing at Remmick was abruptly finished when Shay lunged upon him with a hiss. Her claws made quick work to secure the man’s hands at his sides before sinking her ravenous dentition to the flesh of his shoulder. A seizing twitch shook his body once, before all the fight leaked out with his fluids. 

From out the dizzying mania of his bloodlust, Remmick felt the wire of his bond to Shay undulate. He let his mind touch hers, relishing the savor of blood that rushed into her undead form, coalesced with the sensations of his own feeding. His cock was painfully hard now, and he thrust against the dirt to get some friction. He couldn’t help but moan, a gush of blood erupting out the side of his mouth with the sound. 

Remmick squirmed at the beastial growl let loose from Shaylene’s throat - as the thrust of his pleasure rippled through her mind. Death had nearly claimed their prize, the fluid of his vital force painting the immortals before flowing to the dirt. At the final breath, his wife disengaged with a humid gasp. Remmick swiftly followed, a passel of blood roiling in his mouth. Above the drained man, the dripping mouths of the vampires met, open in a frenzied kiss. The savored blood poured from Remmick’s tongue onto Shay’s, passing the final drops to her in frantic gratitude and love. A moan swept between them, fangs clashing as they devoured one another’s mouths. Three years of waiting, of wanting, of lust for the body and blood of their respective companions poured into each other like sweetest wine. Hands sharp and slick with blood were frantically running over Shay’s body as she clutched the sides of Remmick’s face to draw him closer. 

Sunlight and starshine constellated in their veins, the glowing force of vitality dancing between their bodies & minds. Remmick clambered over the nameless husk, intoxicated with the blood and lusting for his wife. Their lips barely separated, only when Remmick pressed his stained mouth to Shaylene’s throat, her jaw, her grasping fingers. Love ye. Need ye. An tine.

Shay was spread beneath him now, her parted thighs a bewitching invitation. Remmick’s cock engorged with his need, pulsed and straining against his pants with blood. The smell of his wife’s arousal hit his senses, sumptuous and sticky in his throat. Remmick growled, thrusting up against her heated core. 

Remmy, please. Love… Want ya so bad. Please! 

“Ya have me, darlin’. I’m yours. I’m yours.” His guttural affections passed from out his lips, the echoes of Shaylene’s mind-pleadings shooting heat unto his groin. I’ll kiss yer pussy raw. 

A bead of sweat dropped from Remmick’s forehead, landing upon the newly-exposed flesh of Shaylene’s chest. Her husband had ripped the front of her dress open, a single claw tearing cotton down the front with a violent sound. Droplets of red fell to the pink and budded nipple, beading from the drooling point of Remmick’s chin. He set to licking, sucking, and moaning down into her breast - bloodied tongue circling the pebbled rosebud as Shaylene arched her back. The razored tips of Remmick’s claws circled the other breast, wishing not to neglect any mound of tender, willing flesh. A drawn out sigh emerged from out her lips, sweet and sumptuous as any swell of songbird’s tune. 

I love you. I love you. Kiss me, Remmick…

“I got ya, sweet thing.” He was kissing the line of her collarbone, relishing the sweetness of her flesh painted down with liquid life. No better combination, in this world or the next - that much he was sure of. ‘n I ain’t never lettin’ go… 

Remmick pressed his cock against Shay’s thigh, purposely avoiding the spot they both were aching for. To draw things out, to worship at the altar of a woman’s flesh and bones, was to carry her to heaven’s gate. No matter how long it took, he’d wing her to that sacred, flooding ecstasy. 

Panting breaths escaped Shay’s lips, moans becoming more frantic as her husband kissed his way to the curve of silky hips. The hem of her dress was pushed up past the pallid skin of her legs, bunched in haste above her navel. 

Remmick snarled at the sight of her pussy, open and exposed with nothing to cover his wife beneath the slip of a dress. A blood-spattered grin eased across his face as he lay belly-down into the dirt, inching eager lips to Shay’s waiting slit. The tips of needled talons pricked into the silken flesh of his wife’s thighs, the smallest beads of red forming there to trail down her leg, and into the pink folds that were already slick for him. 

“My turn to make ya sing, darlin’.”

In the next installment: earthbound gods collide to shake the earth with their lovemaking + a vampire’s lullaby. 

[hazymoonlinh]

(MDNI, smut, Mydei x reader.)

Pancakes, syrup and bed ~

(In which he devoured you.)

(I’m coping, trailer 3.3 did not happened)

The kitchen smelled like vanilla, butter, and the absolute end of your pride.

You have lost a bet, promised him pancakes.

You stood at the stove, flipping pancakes with shaky hands, cheeks blazing. Your face had been on fire since the moment he leaned against the counter, shirtless, grinning at you like a lion who caught the sweetest little rabbit.

“My girl making pancakes,” Mydei sing-songed behind you, stretching with a low, satisfied sound that made his muscles flex—and made you choke on your own breath. “Didn’t think I’d live long enough to see this.”

You spun around, scowling, spatula in hand. “Shut up.”

He raised his hands in mock surrender, though his eyes were dancing. “I’m just saying. Yesterday you were threatening to stab me with a fork, and today you’re making me breakfast. That’s, like—growth.”

“Eat this,” you muttered, shoving a hot pancake against his mouth just to shut him up. Your hand lingered there a second too long, fingers brushing his lips—and you yanked it back like you’d been burned. “You talk too much.”

He chewed slowly, deliberately, looking far too smug for someone who nearly gave you a heart attack a few hours ago. “You made it too sweet. Just like you.”

“Don’t make me pour syrup on your head.”

“Oh?” He stepped closer, cornering you against the counter. “Speaking of syrup…”

You watched, suspiciously, as he took the bottle, popped the cap, and—

Drip.

A single bead of syrup landed just at the top of your chest, warm and sticky. Your eyes widened. Slowly, your gaze flicked up to him.

“You did not just—”

“Oops,” he said, voice dripping with mock innocence. “Guess I have to clean it up.”

“Mydei—!”

But his head was already lowering, hands firm on your waist as his tongue followed the path of syrup, slow, teasing, maddening. You gasped, gripping the counter as he licked the sweetness from your skin like he meant it, like he was starved for more than just breakfast.

You shoved at his shoulder with a breathless sound, half-laugh, half-gasp. “We’re in the kitchen, you menace—!”

He pulled back slightly, licking his lips. “Yeah. And breakfast is the most important meal of the day.”

“Pervert.”

“Yours.”

You tried to look annoyed. You really did.

But the burn on your face, the way your fingers curled in his hair—yeah. He knew he won.

He barely gave you a chance to gasp before he was lifting you with those powerful arms, syrup bottle thunking to the floor, forgotten. Your robe slipped down your shoulders as he set you on the counter with practiced ease, spreading your thighs with a growl like it was instinct.

“Breakfast,” he muttered against your mouth, voice hoarse, starved. “Still not done.”

His hands were rough and reverent all at once, spreading over your hips, up your waist, tugging your robe until it pooled around your elbows. You whimpered, arching into him, and he caught the sound like a prize—like it was his.

“Look at you. All sweet and sticky and mine,” he said against your skin, licking another trail of syrup from your chest, lower, lower, until—

You clenched your fists in his hair, trying to suppress the noise that escaped you when his mouth closed over the spot just beneath your navel. “Mydei, y-you can’t—”

“I can,” he murmured darkly. “And I will.”

He spread you wider, dragging your hips to the edge of the counter, his breath hot against your core. “Been dreaming of this,” he rasped. “You, soft and shaking. Taste of pancakes and sin.”

His tongue found you, slow at first—agonizingly slow—until you bucked against his mouth with a gasp, and then he devoured you. Like a man lost. Like this was his last meal. The kitchen filled with the obscene, wet sounds of his mouth, your breathless cries, the desperate creak of the counter beneath you.

He wouldn’t stop.

Not even when your thighs shook around his head, not even when your hand gripped the edge of the table, then his shoulders blindly just to hold yourself up.

When you came, it was violent and full of syrup-slick heat. Your nails raked down his shoulders as you cried out his name like it was both a curse and a plea. He only chuckled against your thigh, lips sticky with sugar and victory.

Then, before you could even catch your breath, he stood, grabbing you beneath the knees and hoisting you against his chest like you weighed nothing. You wrapped your arms around his neck, dazed, flushed, still reeling—and he carried you like that, out of the kitchen.

“Wha—where are we going?”

He didn’t answer. Just dropped a soft kiss to your temple.

Then whispered, “Round two. Table’s too small.”

He kicked the bedroom door open with his foot, never loosening his grip on you. Your breath hitched when your back met the sheets, his body already crowding over you, syrup still clinging to your skin. He braced one hand beside your head, the other still holding your thigh open like a promise.

You looked up at him—flushed, panting, eyes glassy—and he paused just long enough to drink it in.

“You look wrecked,” he murmured, thumb stroking your cheek. “And I’ve barely even started.”

Then he bent down and kissed you—deep, slow, tongue tasting the inside of your mouth like he already owned it, like he always had. His body pressed against yours, hard and unyielding, the heat of him spreading everywhere.

You whimpered into the kiss, hips lifting for him, and he laughed softly, wicked and warm.

“Still hungry, sweetheart?” he teased, dragging the tip of his cock along your soaked slit. “After I’ve already fed you so good?”

You choked on a sound, trying to move, to pull him in—but he only held himself just out of reach.

“Say it,” he whispered into your throat. “Say you need me.”

“I—” you gasped as his tip nudged your entrance, shallow and cruel. “Damn you, Mydei—”

He bit your shoulder, enough to mark. “Try again.”

“I need you,” you finally groaned, voice cracking. “Fuck, I need you. Please—”

That was all it took.

With a low growl, he sank into you in one deep, dizzying thrust. You arched against him, head tossed back, fingers tangled in the sheets as your body swallowed him whole.

“Gods, you always—” he hissed, pulling back and slamming forward again. “—fit me like you were made for this.”

His pace was punishing. Dirty. Desperate. But his hands were gentle, tracing your skin, pushing your hair back from your face, kissing your eyelids between each thrust. He fucked you like a storm but touched you like a prayer. Your bodies moved in sync, grinding against each other like a song too obscene for words.

When your moans rose louder, when your nails raked down his back again and your legs locked around his waist, he leaned in close, lips brushing your ear.

“I’ll never stop giving you reasons to stay,” he whispered.

Then he pulled out only to flip you over, dragging your hips up as he slammed back in from behind, hand gripping your waist like a vice.

You screamed his name, broken and raw. And he kissed your spine, again and again, whispering it:

“Mine. Mine. Mine.”

Your hands slipped on the sheets, wrists caught in his grip, shoved against the headboard as your body rocked with his brutal rhythm. He didn’t hold back—couldn’t hold back—not when your body kept pulling him in like a drug, like you were crafted from his own ruin.

“Say it again,” he snarled, voice hoarse with need, sweat trailing down his temples as he pounded into you hard enough to make the bed creak violently.

“I—fuck—I need you, I need you, I need—” your voice shattered, high and wrecked, a litany of desperation.

“Louder,” he growled, grabbing your hips and dragging you back against him with every thrust. “You wanted rough. You wanted me, remember?”

You couldn’t speak. Just screamed his name when he angled just right, making you jerk, whole body trembling. His cock kissed your cervix in a way that makes you see star, filling you up completely that your brain turns to mush.

“Fuck,” he hissed. “You’re dripping for me—do you even know what you do to me?”

His fingers moved down, rubbing your clit in harsh circles while pounding into you, hips smacking against your thighs in a frenzy. Your eyes rolled back, stars bursting behind your eyelids as the pressure broke—your release hit like wildfire, and he kept going, not giving you a moment to recover.

“Not done. Not yet,” he growled into your neck, biting down hard. “You wanted this, baby. You asked for this.”

You whimpered, incoherent, and tried to crawl forward—but he yanked you back with a snarl, hands bruising your hips. “Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”

Then he lifted you—his strength unreal, terrifying—and sat back, spearing you down onto him. Your body convulsed, shaking, and he just held you there, impaled and helpless, lips brushing your ear.

“Say it.”

You could barely breathe. “I—I love you—”

“No.” He bounced you once, a cruel upward thrust that left you moaning brokenly. “Say you’ll stay with me forever.”

“I’ll—I’ll stay—fuck—Mydei—please—!”

That did it.

He kissed you like a madman, lips crashing against yours while he rutted up into you, brutal and deep. Each thrust wrung sobs from your throat. You clung to him, nails clawing his back, legs locked around his waist like you’d never let go again.

And he whispered through it all, even as your bodies broke apart and came together again and again:

“Mine. My girl. My madness. My fucking light.”

—————

(First time writing smut lol)

[introspectiveextrovertive-blog]

Part 2 - 10am Ice Cream

Summer/Fall - 2021

The practice court was glistening, looking polished and beautiful as ever.

Paige was absolutely gliding. Her long legs carried her from one side of the court to the other, the basketball and her hand acting like compatible magnets. Her smile was wide and her laugh echoed throughout the room.

Azzi watched her best friend practice out of the corner of her eye, trying to be present while her new coaches gathered her and the other freshmen together. She couldn’t help but smile to herself, feeling so elated to finally be here, finally be on the same team as Paige again since Team USA.

Geno finished his speech to the Freshman and told them to disperse accordingly, hooking a slight finger at Azzi, silently telling her to come speak with him one on one. She nervously obliged.

“Azzi,” Geno started, his stance wide with his clipboard under his armpit and arms crossed, “I see massive potential in you. Show me what you can do these next few weeks and we’ll talk again, alright?”

Azzi, stunned she was pulled aside and the words that Geno said, stayed quiet and nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, Coach.” With that, Geno nodded once and tapped her shoulder with his clipboard, silently telling her to get on with practice.

Although Paige was across the room with the other upperclassmen taking a water break, she caught Azzi’s interaction with Geno. She shook her head and couldn’t help the grin making its way onto her face.

“What?” Aaliyah asked, turning herself to see what Paige was staring at.

Paige nodded her head at Geno and Azzi. She took a swig of her water and said, “She’s been here for two seconds and Geno already loves her. Classic Fudd move.”

Aaliyah let out a short laugh, looking on at the pair as well, “I’m jealous. You think she’s gonna start?”

“No doubt,” Paige said confidently, feeling a large sense of pride for her best friend.

Practice flew by after that, the team running drills and acclimating the freshmen. Paige and Azzi played together like they were always meant to, reading each other effortlessly and being the backcourt team of any coach’s dreams. Every time Azzi made a bucket, you would be sure to hear Paige loudly cheer her on, causing Azzi to blush at the flamboyant praise. She would smile and shake her head, still a little unbelieving that this would be her new normal for the next few years.

When Paige was feeling hot, Azzi made sure to let her know too - subtly tapping her back and giving her a thumbs up with a smile, not yet comfortable enough with the team to be any more extroverted than that.

At the end, Paige realized her cheeks hurt from smiling so much. She didn’t realize she could be this happy, especially at 8am practice.

Later, Paige and Azzi walked out of the court together, their eyes instantly blinded by the sun and skin feeling stifled by what remained of the Connecticut summer heat. Paige looked to Azzi, “Ice cream?”

Azzi laughed, confused, “It’s 10am.”

All Paige did was raise her eyebrows as if to say So what? and lead them both to her car.

She immediately threw on her summer playlist, Mary J. Blige blasting through the speakers. “I love this song,” Azzi laughed, singing out of tune with Paige, the windows rolled down, both their arms sticking out to feel the late August wind.

Paige looked over, her right hand casually on the steering wheel. She smiled, “I know.”

Azzi looked over at her now, feeling her smile softening and her eyes wandering Paige’s profile. She wore her glasses now after practice, which sat at the end of the bridge of her nose. Her long arm was slightly flexed as she manoeuvered the steering wheel, and her head was leaned slightly towards the window, exposing her sharp jaw and long neck to Azzi.

Azzi blinked and turned back to the road.

They arrived at the ice cream shop a few minutes later, Paige promptly putting in their orders without asking Azzi what she wanted. Azzi didn’t mind; she would have done the same if Paige hadn’t beat her to it.

They sat outside in the sun, no umbrella at their table, strawberry and chocolate soft serves in their hands. Paige leaned her head back slightly, basking in the warmth.

“So”, she licked around her cone, chocolate slightly dripping down her hand. “What’d you think of Geno in practice mode?”

“He’s kind of intimidating but in a “I really want to impress him way”, you know?”

“Yeah,” Paige smiled, “Feeling good about committing here? About UConn?”

Azzi nodded with a soft smile. “It’s everything and more to be honest. Everyone so far has been so kind and welcoming, the facilities and staff are awesome, and my dorm only smells a little like mildew.” Paige scoffs at that, shaking her head.

Azzi stares at her for a moment before continuing, “And I guess it’s pretty cool to be playing together again for the next few years.” She says it casually, but Paige knows her well enough to know when she’s bluffing. She decides to not push her in this moment, a rarity. They stare at each other for a long beat.

Strawberry ice cream begins to trail its way down Azzi’s pointer finger, almost making it to her wrist. With no napkins, Azzi breaks their staring contest to lick it clean with her tongue.

Paige watches the entire thing, unblinking. She swallows without realizing. “Yeah,” she says finally, “It is.”

[theboytatu]

how was smtown???

it kept raining all throughout the hours previous to the concert starting. we were handed trash bags like katrina victims but luckily it ended right before the show started 👍

the venue was half empty so they relocated almost everyone and luckily it didn't look as empty in the end. i ended up with front row view so yay for smtown flopping ❤️

tvxq and key had THE single best performances of the night. by far. like oh my god. what a show. WHAT A GOOD FUCKING SHOW

the flops of the night were nct 127 and riize. even wish and dream had better performances than them like omfg? 127 were not even trying man. i've seen them before live and this performance was painful to see. they're clearly missing taeyong. plus haechan wasn't even trying he wasn't moving. johnny and jungwoo were a fucking mess. the only ones that sort of tried were yuta and doyoung. like i'm a yuta hater and i ended up thanking him for trying to pick up the pace. maybe it was the altitude but like. they also looked pissed idk there were weird vibes all around

WAYV PERFORMED LOVE TALK AND I PASSED AWAY. sadly i couldn't really see ten that much but honestly. seeing him on the big screen was enough. by god it was enough.

shinee were superb. sadly they had no group songs but minho and key were.... glowing. when they came together to do their ment key shouted in spanish SHINEE IS FOREVER and promised the full group will come back with a world tour!!! 🥺

also lowkey the chemistry between them is. honestly kinda crazy lmfao. minho was glued to key's waist the entire time like he was ON HIM like a man who just told you he wants to go steady and blew off all his side pieces. not to be a delusional motherfucker but i think key let him hit it before the show like jesus dude

SOMEHOW ENDED UP A SUJU STAN....? these men do not play about mexico. like oh god. eunhyuk and leeteuk were insane. kyuhyun is SO loved the entire stadium went BATSHIT every time he was the focus

exo. exo. EXO. 10/10. still can't believe they're real and that i saw them with my own two eyes. chanyeol is INSANE looking live. like he is drop dead gorgeous. and GIGANTIC?

also chanyeol came up to our side of the stage. i was wearing a cherry cap and he might have seen it. i know he pointed to our area and my lizard brain is choosing to believe that means we're destined to be together. best y/n moment of the night 10/10 no notes.

their performance of git it up was also top 3 of the night. like kai added so much flavor to it. they were insane. i did cry a little bit at their mention when they said they really couldn't believe they still had fans here. jesus christ i will petrol bomb sm hq one day i swear to god

we saved ourselves from an nct dream love me right cover and i thank every god above for that. they still managed to put on a better performance than the rest of nct (sans wayv) so like. that tells you where the whole group is at.

sadly the girl groups had little time to shine imo but we got an amazing performance of bad boy and red flavor by rv. i am not an rv stan but it was great to see tbh. im happy they could come here because they have a huge fanbase too

aespa were great!! it's just that i literally saw them already two months ago so it was like yay ❤️ my girls ❤️ they used handheld mics for their performances - thank GOD they sang live this time around instead of lipsyncing... sm doesn't let them sing live for some reason and they looked really happy to be able to actually sing the fucking songs. they gave us whiplash, next level and supernova. 10/10 no notes

also their outfits being miles better than the ones they wore at their own concert stop 😭 ningning looked ETHEREAL. holy fucking shit. her hair and makeup were flawless. people literally gasped when she came on the screen.

everybody looked really happy to be there except for half of nct riize and h2h lol. i think they're obviously pretty overworked and flying here less than 24 hours before the concert was such a shit idea.... like idols were literally saying we're still jetlagged we're still tired jfksjkdkf. the altitude is no joke!! </3

overall this was an AMAZING concert. like if you're any partially an sm group stan you will really enjoy it. they played the full four hour set too. i highly recommend anyone going if they still can. sadly i am in this pink blood shit for life i cannot lie to myself. this impact is different. these idols are simply built different sorry!!!! 💖💖💖

[the-ragbros-are-okay]

RAGBROS CODED SONGS

under the cut bc it’s a long post

Ribs by Lorde - this song has such a longing for the childhood and/or past

“you’re the only friend i need; sharing beds like little kids; we’ll laugh until our ribs get tired”

it makes me think of them staying up past their bedtime and telling stories under a blanket

Shots by Imagine Dragons - there are lyrics about reminiscence and places you used to go with someone

and then of course the obvious “i shot, shot, shot a hole through every single thing that i loved”

i’d say this song is more Diluc-centric for sure, focusing around him realizing “oh God, I fucked EVERYTHING up didn’t i?”

and maybe that realization hits him after he returns to Mondstadt and sees how different Kaeya is

Brother by Madds Buckley - this song was written for Touya and Shoto from BNHA, but it goes along with ragbros as well i think

“i left you alone, in a house and not a home”

“Brother, i watched the sky burn; and all i learned was smoke fills the lungs like a disease”

i want to CRY every single time i hear this song

What’s Wrong by half•alive - just the lyrics “time’s always right to fix what’s wrong”

and maybe both of them think “i should talk to him” every time they see each other but they don’t because they’re scared

also these lyrics are SO kaeya omg

had to take pics bc i wasn’t about to type out ALL of this:

Burning Down by Alex Warren - this ENTIRE song feels like diluc’s internal monologue right after kaeya told him the truth about his origins

once again, way too many lyrics to type out bc i would just be typing the entire song

Achilles Come Down by Gang of Youths - to me, this song feels like people talking to Kaeya after Diluc left

kind of asking for him to come back to them, bc even though he’s an expert at masking his emotions, i KNOW people like Jean and Adelinde would be able to tell that smth was wrong

Oysters in my Pocket by Royal Otis - when you’re young you think you have all the time in the world, and you think things will stay the same

you think you’ll always be with your childhood friends eating popsicles on the back porch and you don’t want to think about the future

and i think that’s what ragbros felt, they thought they would be best friends for the rest of their lives

Nobody’s Soldier by Hozier - both of them broke away from smth they were previously a part of: Kaeya with K’hanriah (probably spelled that wrong idc) and Diluc with the Knights

they’re forging their own paths from what their parents expected of them

Evelyn Evelyn by Evelyn Evelyn - this song is about two conjoined twins (Eve and Lyn) and how close they are, and then how they want to get away from each other

how one wants to separate and the other doesn’t know what they would do if separated

“We grew up so very close”

Harpy Hare by Yaelokre - just watch this:

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZP86yYPpJ/

crepus wanting to keep his kids safe and then everything happens on That Night :(

Wires by The Neighborhood - honestly i feel like this song can go both ways

either diluc about kaeya after his return, or kaeya about diluc after his return

Two Birds by Regina Spektor- this song just speaks for itself tbh

a lot of people use this for ragbros animatics and it 100% fits them

Seventeen by MARINA - just the lyrics “could never tell you what happened the day i turned seventeen”

(yes ik diluc was 18)

bc it seems so impossible for them to talk about, such a HUGE topic to tackle and they’re scared of it. scared of talking about it and everything going wrong

but anyway. diluc’s 18th bday is when their worlds crumbled around them. how are they supposed to explain that to anyone else but each other?

The Fall by half•alive - “it’s like sharing a dream with someone, once you say it out loud it can’t be undone. i cant trust the fall”

they would trust each other, but they can’t anymore

diluc thought they would always be brothers

kaeya didn’t know things would fall apart like that

they trust each other when it comes to things like work and keeping Mondstadt safe, but when it comes to each other? it’s just so hard

Traitor by Daughtry - another song that speaks for itself

“the only thing worse than a hater, is a traitor”

definitely diluc talking about kaeya here, probably in those years he was away

My Alcoholic Friends by The Dresden Dolls - kaeya. this song is kaeya. 100%, through and through, kaeya.

after diluc left, he feels lost. he’s trying to figure out what to do with his life now that the person he shared it with is gone

i know you guys have sent songs in my asks and i’ll def be looking through them!! i just moved back from uni and have been INSANELY busy unpacking and everything

[chunkypossum]

Delicate

Azriel x Eris

900 words

A little Drabble for a word prompt game.

The words were: chasm, ineffable, select, whimsically, peaceful

__________

A visitor in the night. Desires filled but never sated. Secrets, shame and unworthy claims.

*italics are lines from this song:

_____________

There was a certain grace to it. An art in how I sank down to settle against his firm and warm hips, the way I covered his eyes so he didn’t have to know, to see. Only flashes of red hair allowed in the shining moonlight so he could pretend. My skin was smooth and washed in soft, sweet-smelling oils so the illusion would hold.

Breathy sounds rose and fell from me, no heavier than the weight of a feather, tickling across his brow. My pleasure rolled against my lips, and as bitter as it tasted, I relished in the feel of it—my ineffable plan, beyond even my comprehension.

I just wanted a taste of what the wind had all to herself.

It was the most beautiful prison I had ever selected for myself.

When I was full, I would be gone, his shape fitted to me in the way I craved. It was enough. I never let myself find a way to my release until I was alone again; he didn’t need the reminder or the shame that would come after. I kept that for myself.

+++

I would wake to the night's peaceful warmth with the gentle sensation of hips rocking against my own—a flash of red hair, then darkness once more. In a space where sound was discouraged, I didn’t know how to say that it wasn’t what I wanted.

The sweet fantasy of floral-scented dreams and the swell of curves that I wouldn’t find if I ever let my hands roam was what I was given, and it’s what I let exist.

When I’m alone again, I will reach out to the space that used to be so warm and let the barest hint of a secret scent curl around my fingertips.

Tears welled hot in the corners of my eyes as I wished for a different outcome, an honest one. The thoughts passed, whimsical and useless. When I smiled, it wasn’t playful.

If I deserved it, it would be mine.

+++

Centuries of trysts in the demon hours of the night had prepared my mind to wake before he fully seated himself on my waiting eagerness. A body I knew without exploring, and a soft heat I dreamt of earning, wrapping around the most honest piece of me.

The faint scent of lilacs, which I had grown to hate, hid the stronger scent underneath, the one I needed. Long fingers lay gently across my eyes, and I nestled into them, falling into the role.

The chasm in me grew as the frenetic pace of my heart made it difficult to breathe. No more hiding. Even though I hesitated, I wanted to touch, to see. It wasn’t that I was scared, this was just delicate.

There was movement and before I could make sense of what I did, I saw the bright amber eyes that stared up at me in disbelief.

He was under me, panting, eyes wild with fear. Exposed and vulnerable, Eris tried to look away but I took his chin between my fingers and held him there. As we stared into each other, something settled into place between us.

It was a heavy feeling, like falling. My limbs were weighted down by the sight of him and as I fell I smiled, burying the emotion into the side of his neck.

“There you are.” I whispered when the scent of him snuck in with my inhale. Strong and musky like the forest after a good rain, like him. A scent that had begun to invade my dreams. Now that he was there with me, stripped of all the ways he could possibly hide, I was afraid that I had never felt more at home.

***

My breath caught in my throat. Azriel was on top of me, inside of me and looking at me with such an honest expression that I felt myself try to run from it.

The freckles in his hazel eyes spelled my name and hope rattled where it was caged in my chest.

I flinched when he touched me, fingers soft but unyielding on my chin. It’s not that I was scared, it’s just that this was delicate.

I exhaled when he breathed in and swallowed down his words as he whispered nonsense that melted into my name.

His hands roamed over me, unsure at first but my body moved with him, encouraging the exploration. The kiss to the corner of my mouth was my undoing.

I exhaled my want and it was a needy sound, deep and masculine. He answered my call, the growl vibrating in all the places we were still connected. I tightened at the feel of it and he twitched, his hips canting forward to feed me what I needed.

+++

Moonlight spilled in as the night wore on and pooled in gentle puddles of silver across our sweat slicked bodies. Eris’ pale skin wore it like he was made of starlight, made for me to look at.

I traced each divot of muscle on his chest with the tip of my finger and didn’t hide my smile as he purred at the touch.

He kissed the top of my head and I felt his smile branded there, shameless and open. A silent acceptance that I drank in, feeling somehow more worthy of it than I had of anything else in my entire life.

Holla at ya boi if you want on or off the Azris tag train :

@talibunny30 @iftheshoef1tz @born-to-riot @fieldofdaisiies @aktrain @honeysuckle-daydreams13 @secret-third-thing @acourtofladydeath @pippsmcgee @youvereachedthenearest-lovergirl @baileybird71 @skyesayshi @yams-77 @buffy-vanserra @areyoudreaminof @unanswered-stars @futurehunt @ninthcircleofprythian @matrixsss @going-through-shit @c-starstuff-man0 @jules-writes-stories @the-darkestminds @krowiathemythologynerd @cauldronblssd @hieragalbatorixdottir @yourlazykitkat @hellolordling @climbthemountain2020 @lilah-asteria @shadowsandlint @acourtofbatboydreams @theeternalstruggle @christeareads @molcat07 @mistandmemories @neciebee @dusk-muse @chairofchaos @amalhe-kofee @brunetterebel010 @astro-h0e-4azris @g00seg1rl @queercontrarian @neverendingstay @beppyd07 @ethereal-lionheart @ejkreader

[syndrossi]

Considering Rhaegar didn't initially like fighting and only decided to be a warrior after deciding that he must be a prophesied hero and would need the skills to back it up, now that he has Jon, a wonderful big brother who is the actual prophesied hero and they're in the past 200 years (200 years before the darkness is set to come forth from the far North), how does Rhaegar feel about practicing with the sword?

Is it still a responsibility he feels he must do, or has he come to enjoy it at all? Or will he keep it up because Jon likes it and shared activities are good for them? Or to avoid disappointing Daemon? When will Daemon get to learn more about Rhaegar's musically-inclined side, beyond the lullabies? He needs to hear that boy play a harp.

I just reminded myself that I want Rhaegar to sing a lullaby (the song of the seven!!) where Alicent overhears him... ahhhhhh.

Also: "In the moment, something about her had reminded him of his uncle for some reason. Her eyes, perhaps, which were a similar grey-blue." - Ch. 2

(Don't ask why I'm suddenly re-reading chapter two.) Anyway, do you see that? That CLEAR HINT??? Rhea reminds Jon of Benjen! Clearly, this is the Stark in her. From a Stark mother? Stark grandmother? Married into House Royce? Look, Jon and Rhaegar are clearly related to Cregan and that's all there is to it. They are cousins through Cregan's aunt. Great-aunt? I don't know, but the evidence is clear. They've got Stark blood in their veins SOMEHOW! 😂

Honestly, I think what bothered Rhaegar was less training in arms, but the implications: that there would be war, and he would be charged with leading it. He strikes me as someone who takes a lot of pride in excelling at what he does, and he did excel at arms. (And physical training can be a great time for creative thinking.)

It's an interesting dynamic now with Jon. He idolizes Jon to a degree, and aspires to be his equal. He can't be his equal without matching him in arms! I'm willing to bet that he had just started building a friendly competitive dynamic with Arthur before being Summerhalled, similar to Jon and Robb's. (A little taste of having a brother.) So I could see a playful version of that building with Jon instead, where he aims to match or surpass Jon, however impossible it feels at times.

Also there's an element of--not wanting to abdicate the heaviness of responsibility to Jon alone? He had been crown prince, and he had lived his whole life under the shadow of prophetic responsibility. Although the burden of it was lifted by hearing what Jon had accomplished, I don't think that mindset fully disappears. It's the promise of the birthday band, however much Jon conveniently ignores it to protect Rhaegar: we share our struggles together, we fight at one another's side.

Finally, we have Raymar. He and Jon would have dreamed of independence, of making a name for themselves. The most obvious way to do so it via knighthood. So although Raymar shared his love of books and learning, he also pushed himself in arms training for similar reasons: so that he and his brother could set out and perform heroic deeds together.

As for his musical side...Daemon still hasn't put two and two together here of "he has an incredibly beautiful voice" and "maybe singing/playing an instrument is something that he would love." 😂 It may honestly take the boys' things arriving with Ser Perkins for Daemon to have a meltdown about their "mysterious benefactor" (*cough* THAT RAT BASTARD HIGHTOWER *cough*) knowing more about his love for the harp than Daemon.

Or even something like your dream scenario, where he sings in front of Alicent and she arranges lessons for him with a harpist, and Daemon is ready to DAEMON SMASH for her presumptuousness but he can't because Rhaegar is deliriously happy about the harp he now has. (Yet ANOTHER Hightower's gifted harp... 😂)

But also, Daemon is not ready for Rhaegar to bust out the sorrowful songs he's drawn to. Pretty much all of his singing with both Jon and Daemon has been comforting lullabies. Rhaegar aiming to make someone weep is a godsdamned weapon.

And awww, the Benjen reference! That was added so much later than when I wrote the draft of the scene; I vividly remember editing it in. I forget if the goal had been to emphasize a potential Stark connection. (It's teased in another part as well with Elys's "touch of northern beauty" which is attributed to her mother.) It might also have been me showing that Jon has no great way of contextualizing a female/motherly relationship and so his default is to slot it into an uncle-style relationship instead.

I haven't done any family trees for the Royces/Starks yet to figure out how close or distant the boys' relation is.