#Had he not been swept into the dance of battle he might have stopped to marvel at them. — The Darghan

[acourtofquestions]

Kingdom of Ash Chapter 59

Chapter; Highlights

His ears still rang with the din of battle, his breath a rasping beat echoed by Aelin.

Atop the blood-slick battlements, their allies and companions around them, Rowan wordlessly passed Aelin the waterskin. She drank deeply, then handed it to Fenrys.

An unleashing and release. That's what the battle had been for his mate.

Hasar at last looked Aelin over. "I heard you put on a show today."

Rowan braced himself.

Aelin turned from the battlefield and inclined her head. "You look as if you did, too." Indeed, Hasar's ornate armor was splattered with black blood. She'd been in the thick of it, atop her Muniqi horse, and had ridden right up to the gates. But the princess made no further comment.

Irritation, deep and nearly hidden, flashed in Aelin's eyes. Yet she didn't speak again-didn't push the princess about their next steps. She just watched the battlefield once more, chewing on her lip.

She'd barely stopped during the battle, halting only when there had been no more Valg left to kill. And in the minutes since the walls had been cleared, she'd remained quiet— distant. As if she was still climbing out of that calm, calculating place she'd descended into while fighting. She hadn't bothered to remove any of her armor. The bronze battle-crown was caked with blood, her hair matted with it.

Chaol's father had taken one look at her armor, at Rowan's, and gone white with rage.

For now. They had bigger things to consider. Things that drove his mate to gnaw on her lip. When Prince Kashin's army might arrive, if they would indeed head northward to Terrasen. If today had been enough to win them over.

"Any nearby are to run here. Those farthest out will have to flee for the forest." Rowan met Aelin's stare. Her hands began shaking.

This cannot end here, she seemed to say.

Panic—panic indeed flared in her eyes. Rowan gripped her trembling hand and squeezed.

But there was no truth or lie that might soothe her. No truth or lie to save the army on the plain.

Something had gone wrong. Something was wrong.

The battlefield stretched into the distance, healers darting amongst the felled bodies with white banners high to indicate their locations. So many. So many dead and wounded. A sea of them.

Elide reached Chaol's side just as Nesryn Faliq leaped atop her beautiful ruk, launching into a dive for the army below. No-the other ruks.

Elide laid a hand on Lord Chaol's shoulder, drawing his attention from where he watched Nesryn fly off. Blood-splattered, but his bronze eyes were clear. And full of terror.

Any message that Yrene had given Elide faded from her memory. "What's wrong?"

It was Aelin who answered, her bloodied armor strange and ancient. A vision of old. "The dam is going to break," the queen said hoarsely. "And wipe away anyone on the plain."

Oh gods. Oh gods.

Elide glanced between them, and knew the answer to her next question: What can be done?

Nothing.

Ruks took to the skies, flapping toward them, soldiers in their talons and clinging to their backs.

"Has anyone warned the healers?" Elide pointed to the white banners waving so far out into the plain. "The Healer on High?" Hafiza was down there, Yrene had said.

Silence. Then Prince Sartaq swore in his own tongue, and sprinted for his golden ruk. He was spearing for the battlefield within seconds, his shouts ringing out. Kadara dipped every few moments, and when she rose again, another small figure was in her talons. Healers. Grabbing as many of them as he could.

Elide whirled to her companions as soldiers began running for the keep, trampling corpse and injured alike. Orders went out in the language of the southern continent, and more soldiers on the battlefield leaped into action.

"What elsewhat else can we do?" Elide demanded. Aelin and Rowan only stared toward the battlefield, watching with Fenrys and Gavriel as the ruks raced to save as many as they could. Behind them, Princess Hasar paced, and Chaol and his father murmured about where they might fit everyone in the keep. Those who survived.

Elide looked at them again. Looked at all of them.

And then asked quietly, "Where is Lorcan?" None of them turned. Elide asked, louder, "Where is Lorcan?" Gavriel's tawny eyes scanned hers, confusion dancing there. "He ... he went out onto the battlefield during the fighting. I saw him just before the khagan's troops reached him."

"Where is he?" Elide's voice broke. Fenrys faced her now. Then Rowan and Aelin. Elide begged, voice breaking, "Where is Lorcan?" From their stunned silence, she knew they hadn't so much as wondered.

Elide whirled to the battlefield. To that endless stretch of fallen bodies. Soldiers fleeing. Many of the wounded being abandoned where they lay. So many bodies. So, so many soldiers down there.

"Where." No one answered. Elide pointed toward the battlefield and snarled at Gavriel, "Where did you see him join with the khagan's forces?"

"Nearly on the other side of the field," Gavriel answered, voice strained, and pointed across the plain. "I—I didn't see him after that."

"Shit," Fenrys breathed.

Rowan said to him, "Use your magic. Jump to the field, find him, and bring him back."

Relief crumpled Elide's chest.

Until Fenrys said, "I can't."

"You didn't use it once during the battle," Rowan challenged. "You should be fully primed to do it."

Fenrys blanched beneath the blood on his face, and cast pleading eyes to Elide. "I can't."

Silence fell on the battlements.

Then Rowan growled, "You won't." He pointed with a bloody finger to the battlefield.

"You'd let him die, and for what? Aelin forgave him." His tattoo scrunched as he snarled again.

"Save him."

Fenrys swallowed. But Aelin said, "Leave it, Rowan." Rowan snarled at her too. She snarled right back. "Leave it."

Some unspoken conversation passed between them, and the hope flaring in Elide's chest went out as Rowan backed down. Gave Fenrys an apologetic nod. Fenrys, looking like he was going to be sick, just faced the battlefield again.

Elide backed away a step. Then another.

Lorcan couldn't be dead.

She would know if he were dead. She would know it, in her heart, her soul, if he were gone.

He was down there. He was down there, in that army, perhaps injured and bleeding out — No one stopped her as Elide raced inside the keep. Each step limped, pain cracking through her leg, but she didn't falter as she hit the interior stairwell and plunged into the chaos.

She had made him a promise.

She had sworn him an oath, all those months ago.

I will always find you.

Soldiers and healers fled up the stairs, shoving past Elide. The shouting was near-deafening, bouncing off the ancient stones. She battled her way down, sobbing through her teeth.

I will always find you.

Pushing, elbowing, bellowing at the frantic people who ran past her, Elide fought for each step downward. Toward the gates.

People screamed, a never-ending flood surging up the stairs. Still Elide pushed her way down, losing a step here, another there. They did not even look at her, even try to clear a way as they flowed upward. It was only when Elide lost another step that she roared into the stairwell, "Clear a path for the queen!"

No one listened, so she did it again. She filled her voice with command, with every ounce of power that she'd seen the Fae males use to intimidate their opponents. "Clear a path for the queen!"

This time, people pressed against the walls.

Elide took the small opening, and screamed her order again and again, ankle barking with every step down.

But she made it. Made it to the chaotic lower level, to the open gates teeming with soldiers. Beyond them, bodies stretched into the horizon. Warriors and healers and those bearing the wounded rushed toward any stairwell they could find.

Elide managed all of five limping steps toward the open gate before she knew it would be impossible. To cross the field, to find him on the endless plain, before that dam burst and he was swept away. Before he was gone forever.

He was not dead.

He was not dead.

I will always find you.

Elide scanned the gates, the skies for any sign of a ruk that might carry her. But they soared to the upper levels, crawling with soldiers and healers, some even depositing their charges onto the mountain face itself. And at ground level, none would hear her cries for help.

No soldiers would stop, either.

Elide scanned the other end of the gates' entryway.

Beheld the horses being led out from their stables by frantic handlers, the beasts bucking at the panic around them as they were hauled toward the teeming ramps.

A black mare reared, her cry a sharp warning before she slashed her hooves at the handler. Lord Chaol's horse. The handler shrieked and fell back, barely grasping the reins as the horse stomped, her ears flat to her head.

Elide did not think. Did not reconsider. She limped for the horses and the stables.

She said to the frantic handler, still backing away from the half-wild horse, "I'll get her." The man, white-faced, threw her the reins.

"Good luck." Then he, too, ran.

The mare Farasha-yanked so hard on the reins that Elide was nearly hurled across the stones. But she planted her feet, leg screaming, and said to the horse, "I have need of you, fierce-heart." She met Farasha's dark, raging eyes. "I have need of you." Her voice broke.

"Please."

And gods above, that horse stilled. Blinked.

Horses and handlers streamed past them, but Elide held firm. Waited until Farasha lowered her head, as if in permission.

The stirrups were low enough thanks to Lord Chaol's long legs that Elide could reach them. She still bit down on her shout as her weight settled on her bad ankle, as she pushed, and heaved herself into Farasha's fine saddle. A small mercy, that they had not even had time to unsaddle the horses after battle. A set of what seemed to be braces hung from its sides, surely to keep Lord Chaol stabilized, and Elide unhooked them. Any weight, anything to slow her, had to be discarded.

Elide gathered the reins. "To the battlefield, Farasha."

With a whinnying cry, Farasha plunged into the fray.

Soldiers leaped from their path, and Elide did not stop to apologize, did not stop for anyone, as she and the black mare charged toward the gates. Then through them.

And onto the plain.

[poppitron360]

Digging through my old fanfics, and I forgot I wrote this one based on a conversation I had with @four-leafed-queer-gal ages ago in this post

I wasn’t really confident posting fics at the time, and this technically never got finished, but I thought I’d post it anyway.

——————

“Hey, you weren’t at Lunch?” Jason asked.

Leo turned around to look at Jason, brushing a curtain of curly hair over the left side of his face. Jason thought that was odd- Leo hated his hair in his face.

“Oh… yeah- I was busy. Argo II stuff.”

“Leo, I know the other campers have been giving you weird looks ever since you revealed your powers-“

“It’s fine, Jason, don’t worry about it.”

A warm spring breeze danced around them. Leo put a hand on his curtain of hair, desperately trying to keep it over his face. Jason moved closer, and swept those curls out of the way behind Leo’s ear.

Leo had a black eye- his skin was purple and bruised. There was a cut on his cheek. Jason reached up to touch it but Leo grabbed his wrist and pulled his hand away.

“Who did this to you?” Jason snarled, his voice low and deadly serious.

“It’s nothing- a- an accident at the workshop. Yes. Nothing to worry about.”

“Who. Did this?” Jason said again.

Leo looked flustered, obviously trying to hide his panic.

“Was it one of the other campers?” Jason asked, “It was, wasn’t it?”

“It- it’s nothing, Jason, really. I’m fine,” Leo’s voice was high pitched and a little hysterical.

“Tell me.”

“I- I… You know I’m not good with names. Plus, I didn’t really see their faces,” Leo stammered.

“Leo-“

“Look, just drop it, okay!!!” Leo yelled, “It’s not a big deal. Besides, it was worse in the Foster Homes…”

Leo was not at dinner. Jason was worried. He said goodnight to Piper and decided to go look for him. He searched Cabin 9- not there. The forges- not there.

As he approached the basketball courts, he heard voices.

“Look, guys, I don’t want any trouble,” It was Leo. He was using his whole suave-jokester voice, but Jason could hear the fear and panic underneath it.

Jason ran towards the voice.

He heard a scuffle, and yelling. When he walked onto the court he saw two Ares kids, punching and kicking Leo. Leo was curled up on the ground, whimpering.

“Freak! Monster! Arsonist!” One of them, Marcus, yelled.

Jason wondered why Leo wasn’t fighting back. He’d seen Leo in battle, he could do more than hold his own, but he was just taking it lying down, completely defenseless.

Jason rushed forward, grabbed the two oafs by the shoulders and pushed them away. Then he drew his sword, and held it at their throats.

“If you EVER hurt my friend again, I swear to my father-“

They got the message. They ran for the exit of the basketball courts. Jason wanted to chase after them, but thought better of it. He turned to Leo. He was still curled up in a ball, trembling and sobbing. His nose was bleeding. His hands and knees were bruised where they had been covering his head. His face was grazed and covered in dirt. Jason crouched down, and tilted his head sideways to get a better look at Leo’s face. He reached out and put a hand on his shoulder. Leo flinched.

“Leo…”

He looked up at Jason, his tears mixing with the blood and the grime on his face. Jason grabbed his shoulders and sat him up against the fence. He really was shaking quite a lot. His breathing was shallow and raspy, and he clutched his side as he breathed. Jason figured one of his ribs might be broken.

“Oh my gods… what did they do to you?”

“It- it’s nothing, Jason, I’m fine,” then he got hit with a coughing fit, while simultaneously wheezing in pain and clutching his side.

“We need to get you to the infirmary.”

“I’m good. Really. ‘Tis but a scratch!” He stood up, but his knees buckled and Jason had to catch him and steady him.

“You could’ve stopped them…” Jason said, his voice low, and serious, “Why… Why didn’t you?”

Leo shook his head. “I couldn’t… not again…”

“Leo-“

“If I lashed out, Jason, if- if I lost control…”

He didn’t need to finish the sentence. Jason understood. Leo could not fight back, because if he used his fire, then someone could’ve gotten seriously hurt. Marcus was a dick, but Leo didn’t wish the fate of his mother on anyone else. So he had to just take it.

“Thanks… for helping me…” Leo said.

“We have to tell Chiron what happened.”

“I’ve dealt with bullies before, Jason, this isn’t new.”

“But camp is meant to be a safe space! For you to be accepted for who you are- for your powers.”

Leo laughed. A painful, raspy laugh, Then he clutched his side, his face contorting in agony.

“Bullshit,” he said.

It made Jason’s heart break seeing Leo like this. He wanted to yell at Leo for pretending like this was nothing. But instead, he reached into Leo’s tool belt and pulled out an antiseptic wipe.

He moved to wipe the cut on Leo’s cheek, but Leo flinched and pulled back.

“Hey, hold still,” Jason instructed. He put a hand on Leo’s waist and pulled him closer, steadying his shaking body, “Now this might sting a bit-“ He said, softly. He dabbed at the cut, and Leo winced in pain but he didn’t pull away this time.

——————

Baby boyy…

[incandescentlysomething]

Lady of the Ashes: Chapter 3

House of the Dragon Season 1

Aemond x TargaryenOC

Chapter Word Count: 3763

She was his everything… For her…he would do anything.

From the moment of her birth, Aemond Targaryen swore himself to the protection of his niece Aelinor Velaryon. As the two grew up inseparable, they find themselves entangled in the Dance of Dragons, battling to stay together even as their families try to pull them apart.

IMPORTANT: Instead of the six year time jump we saw in the show, we're doing a nine-year time jump. I was in no way comfortable building toward future events with Aelinor only fifteen years old. Here is a list of current ages. Aemond: 24 Aelinor: 18 Jacaerys: 19 Lucerys: 15

Let me know what you think!

Masterlist A03

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 P.1 P.2 Chapter 3

Nine Years Later

The citizens of Dragonstone felt the dragon before they saw it. The fishermen working at their boats, the merchants unloading their hauls from the ships, all felt the world swallowed by shadow as the sun above them was blocked out. The first time it happened, as the shadow of dragon wings passed overhead and the heat of the day was blocked, some of them had screamed that it was Balerion, returned from the dead. There had been chaos in the streets.

But now they knew better, and some of them even lifted their arms to wave at the young Princess as she flew by.

Aelinor Velaryon Targaryen laughed when she saw a few scattered expressions of fear below her, pulling hard on the handle to draw Darrax away from the shore. He’d been known to swoop down and steep the catches of unlucky fishermen, but now he was so large that he would destroy everything in his path if he tried.

“Come, Darrax,” she leaned forward to pat his neck. “Let us carry on.”

The girl was a sight to behold, and many people from the harbor and the castle both stopped their tasks to watch her and her mighty dragon turn toward the sea.

Darrax had not slown in his growing, now with a wingspan rivaled only by Vhagar and a body only slightly smaller than that of Vermithor. His obsidian scales sparkled a million shades of blue and green as the light of the sun reflected off of the waves. He was fast, carried by his large wings, and it was easy to see why the people of Dragonstone had shouted ‘monster’ the first time he flew above them.

But he was also gentle, for he had his rider to care for.

Aelinor had grown much since her childhood, though those that truly knew her would have said that she had not changed at all. She wore her hair in a long plait down her back, and it flapped behind her in the wind, a streak of brilliant silver against the sky. Her reins were modified with a single handle, so that she might be able to command Darrax with only one hand. She rarely needed to, however, as the bond between dragon and rider was so close that she could command him with just Valyrian.

“We aren’t fishing today, Darrax,” she called. “Just stretching our wings.”

The young woman had been stretching her wings more and more often as of late, as she found it suffocating to be in the presence of her parents. Her mother was pregnant with her fourth child by Prince Daemon, and while Aelinor wouldn’t mind supporting her mother in such a time, it was difficult to do so without encountering her father. He had been growing ever more persistent in his desire to train her and Darrax, and she was beginning to run out of excuses.

They swept around the west side of the island, keeping low so that they both might enjoy the spray of the sea. If anyone had asked, Aelinor would have said that she went this way so that Darrax might rest on the cliffside that faced toward the west. But Darrax did not need any such rest, and there was only one reason that she always flew west.

This day, like all the rest of them, she looked west and found the skies empty.

Aelinor sighed, too used to the disappointment for it to sting much. It had been a long nine years, with no word save what came through official messages to the Princess Rhaenyra. She knew that Aegon and Helaena had wed, and that they now had two children. She could not imagine that to be a good match, struggling to reconcile the odd and insect-obsessed Helaena with an image of motherhood. Nor was the Aegon that she remembered the type of boy who should have been a father. Aemond…there was little news of Aemond. She knew it was no fault of his own, but she still found herself hoping to hear from him, even after all these years.

Darrax let out a huff, sensing his rider’s emotions, and then he dove.

“No! NO, Darrax! No!” Aelinor’s shouts were silenced as Darrax plunged beneath the waves.

For a few moments she was weightless, and then he was splashing back to the surface, his wings causing great waves around them as he launched himself back into the sky.

Aelinor sputtered and spat out water. She was completely soaked, but she was laughing. “Darrax!” She scolded, though they both knew she didn’t mean it. “You silly creature. Let’s go home then, so I can dry off.”

Darrax pumped his wings, driving himself up and over the cliff, cutting across the island to carry them back to Dragonstone.

An hour later, Aelinor was walking through the halls of the castle. She was no longer wet, though her leathers had pasted themselves uncomfortably tight against her skin. She had undone her long braid, letting her hair fall past her hips. A bath. A bath was what she needed after that sojourn into the sea.

She reached up with her bad hand, grabbing her glove with her teeth and pulling it free. Then she carefully stretched out each of her fingers, looking forward to warm water and bath salts.

“Aelinor,” her father’s voice echoed from in front of her, the man himself stepping out from an adjoining hall.

She didn’t slow her pace. “Price Daemon.”

He didn’t protest her use of the title. He had never been one to argue trivial matters, and he couldn’t care less whether she called him Father or not. For nine years, his eldest daughter had held him at arm’s length, resentment simmering between them like oil in a pan.

He knew she didn’t like him, but he just didn’t care.

“I wish to take you flying,” he fell into step, watching as she carefully tended to her crippled hand. “So that you might learn to—”

“To what? To fly into battle? Against who, Prince Daemon?” She demanded. “My mother might feign ignorance, but anyone can see that you are preparing for something. I will not be brought into your schemes.”

“You are your mother’s daughter, and with that comes specific—”

“Correct. I am my mother’s daughter. And the daughter of the man who raised me,” she didn’t say whom you murdered, though she had been tempted more than once over the years to confront him about the murder of Ser Laenor. “My loyalty is to them, and not to you.”

Daemon let out a scoff, but fell away, and Aelinor did not look back. 

She stepped into the warmth of her bedchamber, finding the bath already full and steaming.

“What did—” A girl stepped out from behind the dressing screen. “Rhaena!”

The two girls had grown closer in the years they had lived together on Dragonstone. Though not as close as sisters, they were dear friends. Aelinor decided not to wrap her in a hug, given that she still reeked of seawater, but she beamed at her cousin.

“I thought you might need it,” Rhaena laughed. “Darrax take you for a swim again?”

Aelinor was already stripping out of her leathers. “Of course he did. He’s positively impish.”

“I wonder where he gets that from,” Rhaena rolled her eyes, watching as Aelinor practically dived into the bathtub.

“It’s so warm. Thank you, Cousin.” They had never stopped calling each other that, all too aware of the boundaries that would be ripped down if they had to acknowledge what they were — sisters. But still, since the marriage of their parents a few years ago, they had been sisters in all but name, and Aelinor was eternally grateful for the female companionship.

“Your mother said that she wished to speak to you,” Rhaena said. “It sounded important.”

Aelinor gave a slight nod, dread already pooling in her gut. She knew what this was about, as did Rhaena. It was the same topic that had been haunting the halls of Dragonstone for months, casting a pall over everything Aelinor did.

“She knows my feelings on the subject,” she finally said. “But she is my mother, and the Princess of Dragonstone besides. My feelings have little relevance.”

Rhaena passed her a cloth, and Aelinor started to scrub some of the salt from her skin. “But shouldn’t your feelings matter? After all, it’s Jace, of all people.”

Rhaena’s expression was genuine, but Aelinor could hear the question she did not ask. Rhaena was, if not in love with, certainly interested in Jace. But it had never been a secret that, to secure Jace’s own place on the throne, he would marry Aelinor. With her pure Targaryen looks, they would be able to secure the claim of any of their future children. In recent months, Rhaenyra had begun making plans in earnest. After all, both Aelinor and Jace were older than Rhaenyra had been when she first wed Ser Laenor.

Aelinor sunk lower into the bathtub, letting the water lap over her mouth and nearly to her nose. She did not want to think about these things. She did not want to imagine having children with Jace, and certainly did not want to imagine what that would mean. Her brother was nice enough, having grown out of the worst of his childhood impulses, but he was still Jace. Luc would have been more agreeable, if he weren’t still a babe in her eyes.

At least she knew Jace felt the same way. They were not suited to each other.

But they would do whatever was required to win their mother the throne.

“It could be worse,” Aelinor sighed, trying to force some levity into the situation. “I could be marrying a Lannister.”

“At least they have gold,” Rhaena smiled. “What if it were Aegon, or worse, that rogue Aemond? When traders come from King’s Landing, they say that his face is—”

“I know what the traders say,” Aelinor snapped, biting her cheek to keep from cursing aloud. “I would like to bathe alone now, Rhaena. If you please.”

It was a dismissal as plain as any, but Rhaena did not fight it. She just said her farewell, stood, and walked to the door.

She should not have let it bother her so. It had been nine long years, and the rift between their families seemed more insurmountable than ever. But there was still that tiny part of her that sprang to attention whenever she heard even a whisper of Aemond. And too often, it was cruel, malicious whispers that her family seemed to take at face value.

The door creaked open, and Aelinor groaned. Gods be damned. Couldn’t she just have one bath in peace?

“Aelinor? May I come in?”

“Of course, Mother,” Feeling no shame at her own nakedness, Aelinor did not open her eyes as she heard her mother glide into the room and take a seat at her dressing table.

“Did you have a nice flight?” Rhaenyra asked, with almost forced politeness.

Aelinor shrugged. “As good as any. But I can confirm that the sea is quite frigid this morning.”

“Then perhaps you should not be swimming in it.” Her mother laughed.

Aelinor sighed, opening her eyes and moving to rest her chin on the side of the bath tub. “Out with it, Mother. I can see that it’s bothering you.”

Say it. Say that it is finally time for me to do my duty and wed Jacaerys. 

But that was not what Rhaenyra said. “Ser Vaemond moves to challenge Lucerys’ succession to the Driftwood Throne.”

“What?” Aelinor sat back. “But it’s settled. Why is Lord Corlys allowing it?”

“He isn’t. He’s been gravely injured in the Stepstones,” Rhaenyra gave her a sad look, appearing genuinely bereaved by the injury to a man they all admired. “Baela wrote. We must make for King’s Landing to defend Lucerys’ claim before the Iron Throne.”

Aelinor’s mouth dropped open. “When?”

“We will leave tomorrow,” her mother stood. “And Aelinor?”

“Yes?” Already her mind was awhirl with everything that this might mean.

“This is…” She watched as her mother searched for the words. “We need to present a united front. We’ll be bringing our dragons, and I…I ask you to remember who your true family is.”

It was both a warning and a scolding, all wrapped up in one. 

Aelinor nodded, and stared after her mother as she left the room.

She sat there for a long time, stewing in the bathwater. There was so much to think about. On one hand, she was more than a little relieved that she was not yet formally betrothed to her brother. But on the other, there was a genuine twinge of fear. She did not want the legitimacy of her brothers challenged, and she did not want their futures left uncertain. It was a settled succession, and Ser Vaemond was risking everything by drawing it into the open.

Her mother’s ascension to the throne would be questioned if her children were declared illegitimate, and Aelinor knew she would not be immune to that. She might look more Targaryen than Jace and Luc, but it was plain to see that she was not the daughter of Ser Laenor. Gods, this could ruin everything.

But, there was one thing that stood out above all else. 

She was going back to King’s Landing.

She was going back to Aemond.

King’s Landing

“Get up!” Aemond snarled at the squire in front of him. “I thought you were here to train, not lie on your back like a whore!”

The boy scrambled to his feet, wiping mud off of his cheek. “Yes, my Prince.”

Aemond sighed. There were many young lords looking to squire for him, and so far none of them had impressed him at all. Most weren’t even worth using as training fodder. He had to give the Blackwood lad some credit — at least he hadn’t started crying yet.

“Keep your sword up,” Aemond rolled his eyes. “And maybe you’ll be able to stay upright.” It was as close as he would get to offering advice.

“Prince Aemond!” A voice called.

Aemond looked toward the walkway, seeing Ser Criston hurrying down the steps. “What is it, Cole?” He did not have much patience for his mother’s lackey, having always found Ser Criston to be a bit…well, if loyalty could be a fault, then it certainly was in Ser Criston.

Cole stopped, offering a curt nod that could perhaps pass as a bow. “Your mother The Queen bids you attend her. She is in her chambers.”

“Wonderful,” Aemond couldn’t imagine what his mother could have to say. He loved her well enough, and she him, but they never had much use for each other. She often scolded him, calling him too wild, too unruly, and yet he knew he did not get half the scoldings that his brother did. “Take care of this one.”

Ser Criston stared at the Blackwood boy in disdain, but nodded, shedding his white cloak and setting it away from the mud. 

Aemond sheathed his sword, removing his gloves and hurrying toward the stairs. His boots splashed through the dir, and he saw many curious eyes turn his way.

Only once he was inside the castle did he slow to a walk, making his way toward his mother’s chambers. He passed many groups of lords and ladies, all of whom bowed in greeting, but he did not acknowledge them. They weren’t with his time.

A group of ladies-in-waiting gathered by the stairs, meaning he would have to walk straight past them. He recognized one of them by her red hair: the Tully girl. He thought her name might have been Myria or Myra or something like that. She had been presented at court a few months prior, with it plain as day that her family was angling to make a match between the two of them.

Now, as she had when she had first seen him in the receiving hall, she did not meet his gaze, bobbing a curtsy without ever looking him in the eye. He hurried past, hearing them erupt into giggles when they thought he was out of earshot. 

It was always like that. Why shouldn’t they laugh at the maimed prince? He was practically a circus attraction. All he had to look forward to was a future married to some random lady who couldn’t look him in the eye, let alone work up the courage to speak to him. He tried not to let it bother him, after all, they weren’t worth his time.

His chambers were in the same tower as his mother’s, and he passed the closed door of his room as he knocked on her door. “Mother? You sent for me?” A maid swung open the door.

“Yes, Aemond,” his mother was seated on the sofa, his niece and nephew playing with a maid on the floor in front of her. “You can all leave us.”

Aemond stood with his hands behind his back, quirking a smile at his young niece as she was carried from the room.

“Sit, Aemond,” Alicent sighed. “We need to talk.”

“You make it sound very serious,” he dropped into the chair across from her. “How may I help.”

He swallowed nervously. Was this to be it then? Was today the day that he would be officially tied to one of the sycophants roaming around the castle? Gods, don’t let it be the Tully girl. Someone with some backbone, at least.

“I called for you because I think this is something that should be entrusted to your skills. You  know the dragon keepers better than anyone.”

That did catch his attention. “The dragon keepers? Is something wrong with the dragons?”

Alicent sighed again, and he realized suddenly that his mother looked worried. More worried than he could ever recall seeing her, except that day when he had lost his eye. Even his father’s declining health had never caused the dark circles that now surrounded her eyes, and he could see that the skin of her nails had been picked until it bled.

“The Princess Rhaenyra is coming to make a petition,” she said finally. “She brings with her all of her children, and all of their dragons. The Dragon Put must be made ready for her and her hoard, and I must prepare a feast and a ball and all the like.”

Aemond felt his mouth go dry. “Her children? All of them? It couldn’t be. It seemed almost impossible. Nine long years had passed since…since…

“All of them,” his mother confirmed. “Which is the other reason I needed to speak with you.”

More likely, it was the only reason she had asked to speak with him. Subtlety was not his mother’s strong suit, and there was no reason the dragon keepers could not be briefed through a simple message. She had wanted to speak to him about his half-sister’s family, in person, for a reason.

Alicent leaned forward. “Aelinor will be with them, Aemond. But she is not the girl you remember. It has been nearly ten years, and you must remember who she is, and who you are.”

“And who is that, mother?”

“You are the legitimate second son of the King,” Alicent said. “And she is the bastard daughter of a false heir, who has spent nine years being fed their lies and derision, far from any realm of reason. The Aelinor you knew is gone.”

Aemond tensed. “That seems….Father has settled his succession, and we should not—”

“I am not here to argue succession with you, Aemond!” His mother snapped. “I want to be sure that you understand. When they enter this hall, it must be us, and it must be them. The fate of our family may very well depend on it.”

He knew that the succession crisis was constant fodder for the King’s critics, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Blast the Seven Kingdoms, and damn the succession. He didn’t care if his half-sister or her bastards, or his own damn brother ascended the throne. He disliked them all equally. All he cared for was Aelinor.

“Besides,” his mother sat back, fanning herself weakly with her hand. “She is betrothed to Jacaerys.”

“What? Jace?” Aemond spat, unable to contain himself. “Why have I not heard of this?”

“They haven’t been to court to announce it.” Aliecent sighed. “Knowing Rhaenyra and Prince Daemon, Jacaerys has almost certainly bedded her already. What better way to secure their line?”

“That Strong boy will never—”

“Watch yourself, Aemond. Please.” His mother waved him away.

He didn’t want to draw out the conversation longer than necessary, and quickly stormed from the room. His mother had certainly achieved her objective, which was reminding him why he hated Jacaerys Velaryon so deeply. His own chambers were only a few doors away, and once he was there, he flung open the window and screamed into the open air. He didn’t give a damn if everyone in the courtyard could hear him.

For nine long years, he had stared across the sea toward Dragonstone. He had requested this chamber specifically because it faced south. And for the first few years, with decreasing frequency, he had begged his mother to grant him permission to fly that way. To where Aelinor was. To…he wasn’t quite sure what he had wanted to do. But he hadn’t wanted to leave her alone.

And now they had given her to Jace. Jace did not deserve her. That Strong boy did not deserve to breathe the same air as her.

Or, did he?

It had been many years since he had seen Aelinor, and she could have changed. She could be different to how he remembered her.

And she might not…

No, he wouldn’t let himself think about that. The truth was staring him in the face, the rage settling into his bones with every seething breath he took. Jace did not deserve Aelinor, but then, neither did he. He was just the scarred second son, after all, and she should be the lady of some great house. He wasn’t jealous, he was concerned for his childhood friend, who had been treated so carelessly by her family.

Given to Jace. He cursed aloud.

Still, his gaze drifted to his writing desk, and to the small box that sat in the top drawer. It had sat there for almost eight years, waiting.

And it had all been for nothing.

[tanoraqui]

inspired by Jailbird by @jaz-the-bard. I like it very much! But I can’t shake this vision of an alternate option for Maglor in the Battle of the Black Gate...

[ao3]

The Lords of the West were fully surrounded. Aragorn, Eomer, and the others barely had time to position their banners before the orcs advanced, jeering and clashing swords on shields as they came. The great Easterling oliphants bellowed. Out of the shrouding darkness over Mordor flew the Nazgúl, with their shrill shrieks that stole all hope.

Maglor set his hands once more to the harp Elrond's sons had brought south with them, which had survived dragonfire, Úmaiar, the end of a world and two Ages after that, and raised his voice and his Music in reply.

He did not Sing the Black Gates down (though he could have; they were strong but shatterable, to his keen eye). He did not Sing in direct counter to the Ringwraiths and their flying terrorbeasts.

He Sang the refrains which had once guarded Lothlann's wide plains and the battle cries which had once swept before the great Host of Eastern Beleriand faster and farther than the greatest arrow. He sang fear into the hearts of the enemy and courage into the hearts of his allies.

He Sang of the unstoppable valor and might of the House of Fëanor as it could have been, should have been, never was—still alight with the glory of Aman yet all the lessons hard-learned in Beleriand in the dauntless determination of their steps and the savage skill of their arms.

The army of darkened Men swept in from the north and Ambarussar darted and leapt through them with utter unpredictability, until you saw that no matter how far apart, they moved as one. Amrod shot how crossbow while Amras reloaded; Amras ran up an oliphant's tusk and took a gouging knife to its eye while Amrod stole a horse and hacked through its hamstrings.

Orcs came like a black flood from east and west. On one flank, Curufin wielded a slim duelist's blade that moved like lightning and an endless stream of knives, for blocking and throwing. Every one found their perfect mark. Celebrimbor stood back to back with his father, with his great two-hander and three shining rings upon his fingers. Sauron's creatures burned before they touched him.

Caranthir met the other flood with the eclectic, deadly style he'd created himself, with moves from dwarves and men as well as every kind of elf. He fought with twin short-swords and brutal efficiency.

Trolls roared and wargs howled. Celegorm leapt toward his favorite foes with not just Treelight in his eyes, but the extra shine of one beloved of a Vala. In his right hand he wielded his great war-spear and at his left came Huan Lúthiendil, greatest of Oromë's Hounds.

Maedhros fought one-handed toward the Black Gate itself, the only irreconcilable fact—but Maedhros had never truly fought one-handed. The shield strapped to his right arm smashed into an orc's face as his sword swept another through the belly. His copper curls were the streaming banner under which East Beleriand had united time and time again, and he was alight with a flame that Dagor Bragollach itself had never matched.

And Maglor himself moved among them, of course. One hand on his battle-harp and one on his blade, and Song on his lips. It is said that the great elven-bards of old could conjure images with their song, and here one was one of the greatest. He poured millennia of bitter grief and unexpected hope into his memories of what had never been, and they did more than dance to his Song—they fought. Curufin's knives and the twins' arrows both flickered and faded after they found their marks, but they left blood and torn flesh when they did. Two of the Nazgúl dove for Huan, recognizing their master's ancient foe; with a savage trill of notes, he and Celegorm beheaded the first beast and the second ghost. Caranthir shoulder-checked a falling troll so that it toppled sideways rather than forward onto young Pippin.

...and there Maglor stopped, in summoning the House of Fëanor to the field. Let them fight in the following of Aragorn son of Arathorn, Isildur's heir and Elros's!

Still, he was nearly exhausted by the time the Eagles came, and the dark tower began to shake.

[ofthepuzzle]

@txmefxll​ said: ∗ 96﹕ sender  tackles  receiver  out  of  the  way  of  danger . 𝟏𝟎𝟎 𝑵𝑶𝑵𝑽𝑬𝑹𝑩𝑨𝑳 𝑷𝑹𝑶𝑴𝑷𝑻𝑺 .

       With peeling paint and red-brown rust, the pipes cascade down the walls of the buildings that narrow the space in the alleyway. Out of all places, this had to be the one that he was challenged to a duel at late hours. Battle City began and there’s been all kinds of duelists roaming in all the places of Domino City. But normally, Yami sees them at the Plaza and not at secluded areas like this. But whatever, an environment like this isn’t scaring him. The man who challenged him, however, isn’t playing fair. Instead of betting their locator cards and rarest card, the man insists that they hand over their whole deck. At that second, steps can be heard from behind the dumpsters as two more men appear in ragged outfits and join the first one. The first man also adds that they might need an additional duel disk as well with an impudent grin on his face.

       “That’s against the rules!” Yami snaps, his hands balling into a fist and his gaze cast into a glare. But that doesn’t seem to faze the men. They corner him until he accepts to duel. Well, if he plays his cards right, he will win the duel. He won’t want the other’s whole deck, however.

       “Fine then. Let’s get this over with.” Seeing as how they won’t let him go that easily, the pharaoh agrees. He’s not one to run from a challenge either. Even if the bet is absurd. Mist dances upon shoes, reaching above the ankles. In this eerie scene there is a chance to learn how to silence fear and for one to see into the weakness of the opponent. And that’s what Yami is striving for. This man believes he will be in the finals in a jiffy. But the pharaoh smirks and voices, “Not with that attitude.” This creates pulsating tension in the atmosphere as the duel begins.

       Halfway through the duel, the man realizes he’s losing the upper hand. His strategy is figured out and his traps are harpooned away in an instant, giving priority to Yami’s monsters to attack and wipe out the ones on the opposing end. The man is terrified, refusing the idea of losing. Not only that but he assumes he’ll end up having to give away his deck as he betted. For that, he is prompted into aggression, telling his companions to strip Yami away from his deck and duel disk. How unfair that is.

       As the men come running, for a split second an iridescent eye manifests on the pharaoh’s forehead. Their attempt will be stopped, albeit not in the way Yami plans to. Before the foes could reach, Yami feels himself being swept away. The men land in the same spot where he was on previously. Everything happens within an instant that the pharaoh needs a moment to perceive the information from his eyes. Magic on pause, eyes widened, one hand holding the cards he was going to use. He quickly retrieves them inside his pocket on his belt before they fall out. The rest of his deck is still placed within the duel disk.

      “Yuusei—“ He whispers under his shallow breath. It’s like for a second there he forgot to breathe. As he inhales, his one hand is instinctively clutching on Yuusei’s arm. He exhales softly, his heart is racing and the glowing eye disappears from his forehead. The men are asking each other who might the newcomer be. They show visible displeasure that their target have been moved away.

      “When did you—“ Yami is too stunned to speak but glad to see the other. “Thank you.” He adds.

[treatian]

The Chronicles of the Dark One: Domestic Battles

Chapter 43: The Danger of Dark Magic

"Now keep watch, I'll call out to you if I need your help," Belle had insisted before leaving him alone outside.

He didn't fight it. He was useless to give in to that command not because she had the dagger, because she most certainly did not have the dagger, but rather, because he finally found himself unable to overcome the shock the last few minutes.

Fuck!

He was an idiot.

This was a new feeling for him, a new position. He'd always been so careful in all his planning, meticulous in knowing what was coming and who he was dealing with. But he hadn't seen this coming. How could he? He'd lost that power of foresight right inside this very cave in the Underworld! He'd traded it in the hope of getting back to this land, back to Belle and Bae and Henry. What had it gotten him?

Imprisonment. Slavery. Betrayal.

He paced. Walked back and forth before the yawning mouth of the lair, his fingers twitching and itching and snapping.

This was new to him too. He didn't pace. He didn't have nervous ticks because he'd never needed to be this nervous. Everything he'd been working on, it all suddenly hung by a single, poorly spun thread that seemed to be unraveling before his very eyes.

He wasn't sure he could stop it.

He could let Belle explore and let her realize the hat was not with the Ice Queen, but what was he to do when she demanded that he take her to the hat itself? Or the Ice Queen herself? Belle was relentless with things like this; she wouldn't stop just because she didn't find the hat, and he couldn't let her walk into danger! Hell, the only reason he'd brought her here was that it bought him time! Time to come up with something that didn't potentially end every fucking plan that he had for freedom!

He could go inside and fetch Belle back, take her back to the safety of the shop where they could discuss whatever the fuck was happening in her head. But to do that would be to give himself up; she'd realize that the dagger she held wasn't her own. And smart as she was she'd put two and two together, that's why he couldn't erase or alter her fucking memories! If he erased them, she'd know there was time missing and could simply demand he restore them. If he refused, she'd have questions and could always use the "dagger" on him. And if he altered her memories, then whatever the fuck had caused her to do this would still exist, and they might end up here again but this time with the Ice Queen actually here.

If the Ice Queen was here…

He stopped pacing and looked into the cavern Belle had disappeared into.

The command that she had given him was to keep watch. He needed to get a grip. If she had the dagger, the real dagger, then he'd have already seen a dozen ways to manipulate a loophole like that! The possibilities were endless. But what was the safest way?

He could tell her the Ice Queen was coming, but if she demanded that he allow her to stay and face the Ice Queen…

She would be doing exactly what Zelena had done with him. Using him as a weapon. And he wouldn't hesitate to bring that up. She'd hate him for a statement like that. Hell, he hated her for using the fake dagger as if it was real in the first place. This was going to culminate into a very loud screaming match, probably a few slammed doors, but-

Suddenly, something rolled almost lazily out of the cave. It was chilly and cold, like an invisible fog had just swept over the land. It was magic. Something magical was happening inside. It was happening inside the place that Belle was supposed to be alone!

He sent a quick pulse of his own energy through the cave, which signaled back that Belle was the only living body within it. But the magic, the very active magic…that hadn't been there before.

He danced on his toes, looked back out over the forest and looked back into the cavern all over again, he tried weighing his options, but the scale hadn't quite settled yet when another flare of magic seeped out.

Fuck the dagger. He had at least half a plan in his back pocket. Angry as he was at Belle over this, he couldn't leave her in there.

"Belle!" he called, heading into the lair. "Belle…"

A big lair meant it wasn't difficult to lay eyes on her.

"Belle, the Snow Queen's approaching the cave!" he lied, tapping her on the back. But she didn't move. She was quiet and motionless, staring into…a mirror.

That was it! That was the source of the magic he'd felt wafting in the air outside, the thing hanging on the wall and covered up when he'd been here earlier. It was a mirror. Only now that he was seeing it clearly, able to look into it himself, he knew exactly what it was.

The Spell of Shattered Sight.

It was no ordinary-looking glass. If it were then when he looked inside of it, he'd have seen himself and his wife exactly as they were now. But instead, the image he saw before him…it was unfamiliar. It was grotesque. It was one of the reasons that he'd kept the mirrors in the Dark Castle always covered. Not just to keep others out but because-

"Careful, Dearie!" he giggled at himself with a little wave and a smile that was something to be desired.

His hair was wavy and greasy, his skin thick and scaled, his nails dark, and his teeth rotted.

"Just like your soul. You know what we say! 'When you look into a mirror, you should always keep in mind that you never know what might be looking back…'"

Indeed. The Dark One in the mirror, he, gave another laugh. The urge to stare was almost overwhelming.

Almost.

If it had been just him, then he'd have been left helpless to it, but because of the Dark One Curse, he managed to pry his gaze from it and turn to Belle. She wasn't as capable of turning away as he was. She was left staring into it, caught in its grip. He'd warned her once, a very long time ago, about mirrors. Clearly, she was going to need a reminder when they got back. He had to get her away. Now!

The mirror wasn't shattered, which meant it only worked on her only so long as she stared into it. If he couldn't make her get away, he'd make her look away.

He stepped in front of her as close as he could get to the mirror to block as much of it out as possible. Her eyes blurred, focusing and then unfocusing as they landed on him.

"Belle."

Fuck!

He'd hoped a word would help to ground her, but instead, she brandished the dagger in his direction. It had no power over him, true, but it was still a sharpened dagger that would work just as well to cut and stab and defend and Belle…

She looked at him with wide, angry eyes. What had the worst part of herself told her?

"Look at me!" he begged. He had to get her out of her head and back into reality, with him. "Don't look in the mirror! Look at me! We have to leave!"

She attacked. She swung the blade forward in his direction. To her credit, he was sure that she'd given it all her might, and as he dodged out of the way, he felt the sting of contact it had made. But he was a trained soldier. Dangerous as this entire situation was, there was no way she could best him.

It was quick, soldiers' instinct took over, and before she could bring the blade down for another blow, he'd lunged forward, took the wrist with the blade in her hand down away from her body, and held her at her waist impossibly tight.

"Let me go!" she cried, struggling uselessly against him.

"You don't know what you're doing!"

Because even if her gaze was broken, the magic of the damn mirror was too thick in the air. He had to do what he'd wanted to do originally, dagger be damned. He had to get her out of here.

"No!" she screamed, as if sensing his intention, but it was too late. He'd already used his magic to transport them back to the shop.

"Just let me go! Let me go!"

"We're back in the shop!"

"No!"

"You're back in the shop!"

"No! No!"

"It's okay!" he breathed, more for his own sake than her own, as he released a wave of calming magic over her, hoping it would help to wash away the Curse's residual magic that still clung to them. A minute. It would only take a minute if she'd just stop squirming!

"It's okay…" He eased the grip that he had on her. He didn't let her go as she wished, but he hoped that if he didn't restrain her, she might fight back a little less. The slower she could breathe, the more she could take in his magic and rid herself of the other magic…

It worked. Was working. She'd stepped away and stopped fighting but now she was looking around the room, her eyes focusing and her brow slowly unclenching. His heart was racing as he watched her, slowly counting the seconds. A moment. A moment was all she needed.

"No…you were outside the cave!" she realized suddenly. "I commanded that you wait there!"

She was coming back to her senses. And now he found himself in the battle he'd expected to find in the lair.

"You commanded that I keep watch. I sensed she was coming back; I came to find you, and I'm glad that I did!"

He squeezed the wrist that still held the dagger in her hand. Last time, that sent her wriggling and fighting more. This time…

This time her gaze moved down her arm to the fist she held the dagger in. She stared at it, her breath becoming longer, her heart slowing down until-

She looked up at him, her eyes unfocused but in a good way, a softer way that told him the danger was ending. Still, he didn't release her, didn't give an inch as she took in the scene around her.

Not until he heard the thump of the dagger falling from her hand and onto the floor.

[gav-san]

Queen of the King 8/15

Previous / Next

AO3 Link

You have a terrible dream that night.

The first thing she realizes is that she’s wearing silk. From head to toe that’s all there is, though there are generous segments cut out to reveal naked sections of rich, dark skin. Generous, because she could feel the hot breeze through the fabric, mimicked by the delicate lattice of the room, cut out to let the cool wind in, but keep the fierce sun at bay. 

The wind tickles her skin as she moves, the familiar dance she had danced before (with the Gerudo King last night?), but so much smoother, as if she has practiced it a thousand times, and she glides across the smooth limestone floors, the fabric twisting with her.

The scent of the scene is rich, decadently thick with sandalwood and amber, rich and unmistakable, though she knows she has never identified them so clearly before. 

Gold twists around her appendages, two thick bands for her arms, one for each ankle, and a delicately woven one encircling her neck, containing a large shimmering ruby. They flash in the dim light of the carpet-strewn courtyard, gleaming as she twists through the cut-out sunbeams.  

A marriage dance, she realized. She was dancing in an isolated celebration of her wedding, just for him. Your wedding, you realize, because you are she. 

And though she is wearing a misty veil, her sharp, kohl-lined eyes don’t miss a beat, though she knows she could easily be swept away by the rhythm echoing through the entire time. But she doesn’t want to lose herself. 

Not just yet.

Not as he watches, half-hidden behind the thick curtains leading into his rooms. Their future rooms, the woman realizes, as, after tonight, she shall be his. She thinks she knows him, but her mind is hazy, unable to do anything but focus on what already had been.

How long have they danced around one another, furtive glances, teasing battles, innuendo-laden meetings, stopping short of fiery kisses?

I don’t know, you think, how would I?

Because this isn’t you. You don’t possess this color, this limber body, nor this head full of tight curls, decedant and rich.

And you try to convince yourself that you don’t possess these obscene feelings burning in your chest.

You fight the urges in your chest to continue dancing, drunk on the thick jasmine scent from the flowers crawling up the lattice making you nauseous. 

You want to scream it is wrong but there it is again; that feeling. 

That bubbling, simmering, seething desire to stay and find out just what happens once this dance finishes. 

Your arms rise and fall, your body twirling like you are drowning. 

You think you just might be.

And then, there are hands on your waist.

“How dare you tempt me so close to our ceremony, my little moon.” A familiar, masculine voice chuckles, fingers pressing into soft flesh. “You think you shall go unpunished?”

You try and scream, but all that comes out is a throaty chuckle.

“My my,” You hear yourself say, though your voice seems deeper, and so much more salacious. “I like to see you bend like steel in fire, Sun of the Gerudo”

You hear a groan, feel his hot torso press against your back, face in your hair.

“Don’t tempt me, love. Those two old biddies said they’d curse me if I defiled you before we are properly wed.” You raise on of the man’s thick hands to your lips, placing a hot kiss that leaves red.

“Just a kiss?” You say and he groans, both knowing deep that it would never stop there- For too long you had danced around one another for it to end like this. You put a hand up, to touch his face. He rests in it, kissing it, groaning deeply.

“I suppose if we’re quick-” He says hotly, gripping your back. Only for a sharp voice to penetrate through the home, making you both startle.

“Don’t you two even think of doing anything indecent! You can WAIT two hours!” He jumps back, and you immediately miss the hot way he had pressed against you, the feel of his wild hair on your face.

But you still giggle, and he sighs, knowing you have teased him to his limits.

It is good he has dashed back, because not a moment later, two old women burst in, each grabbing one of you. You have yet to be able to tell the twins apart by mere sight, but by the way the first hustles you away rather kindly you know Kotake is the one screeching at Ganondorf, hitting his broad shoulder angrily.

 Koume runs on a much cooler head, and has a soft spot for you, soft fingers leading you on, to be prepared. You grin, glancing back to see that your intended is gazing at you, not paying a wink of attention to the old woman’s end laughs.

You turn, pouting at your intended, fingers outreached as if to summon him. After all, it was only natural to rile him up when you intended to make him chase you.

The dream shifts.

The night air would be cold, except for the miles of warm flesh that surround you. Thick lips trail down your neck, more sweet than lecherous, and wholly uncomfortable, you tell yourself. Though the relaxed manner you are lounging in a man’s lap, assures you that your dreams are treacherous at best.

This must be a dream, you think, no matter how hot those lips and hands are, no matter how sweet the air smells, filled with the scent of Hydromelon, palm juice, and the most decedent of roasted meats. 

The taste of wild berries is still on your lips, stained dark with their heavy juices. And you know this, thanks to your marks left on the neck and arms of the man behind you.

“You should sleep, my moon,” The man says, and you chuckle. You turn, putting both hands on his chest, and he lets you push him down.

“Sleep, when I finally cornered you alone?” You say, biting your lip, hands twitching. “I can hardly stop myself”. Yes, you were sore and tired, but you weren’t done with him. 

He lets out a half pained, half joyful sound, eyes closed as if submitting. But his hands rest firmly on your waist.

“My moon.” He says, and you know he’s trying to find the words, but struggling with his control. “I worry for you, my love.”

And you know he is sincere and it makes you feel so wicked and good.

“I’m fine~,” you say, but when he shifts you can’t hide your wince.

He raises a brow.

“I have had more joy in this night than more men have in a century. Rest my darling, there is time tomorrow.” You pout.

You know he won’t easily back down when he has your health in mind. He lets his fingers dance down your spine, to rest on the small of your back. His lips and dark, stained as well, and for a moment you pause your disagreement to share a long kiss. 

After what feels like too short a time, you pull back. His eyes flash open, sharp again and he snorts.

“Temptress.”

“Perhaps. But there is a long day planned for tomorrow and no touching.” You say, knowing that the journey to the Spirit Temple was going to take a very long, blistering hot ride. 

He signs.

“And you have already done far too much for any bride. Don’t give me that face, I can tell you have it.” You let your pursed lips rest. “I know my people, my dear, and they are heavy in their celebrations, and they will demand you dance for hours again.” You tilt-up, amused. 

“They shall.” You agree.

“Rest for tomorrow. I shall keep you up all night after that.” He grins. 

“Did I not show how much stamina I possess?” You say, palms flat on his chest, teasing a gold piercing making red hair shift as he selfishly tries to hide his grin. “Let me have my way.” You say in that low voice.

“My moon-“ he says, grabbing your wayward hand, but you are slick with oil and sweat and manage to slip away, slithering down. “You must have drunk lake Hylia in wine. Rest-“

He doesn’t finish the words.

“Your queen commands her pleasure.” You order imperiously, pushing him down onto the soft silk rug.

 And like that, he bends to your will.

.

.

.

You wake up screaming.

.

.

.

“You don’t look so good.” The captain of the guard says, hitching his horse just close enough to annoy you. Enough that he can see the purple bruises under your eyes, and the gray pallor on your skin.

What you want to say isn’t polite, so you don’t say it.

Of course, you’re not okay, you think, mouth tense, not only were young plagued with salacious nightmares all night but of course, they had to be about that Gerudo.

Of all the self-fulfilling prophecies, this one had to be the one the Goddesses had chosen to entertain themselves with? Was it not enough that you had to run one kingdom, raise a queen, and regularly stop your destruction?

Now you had to deal with crude dreams like a thirteen-year-old boy?

You humph and refuse to answer the guard captain, letting him feel the cold air of your mood. Only to find yourself turning in the direction of the Gerudo delegation and their king with his giant dark stallion. 

At least it was the one you currently weren’t having nightmares about.

You clear your throat.

And frankly, it’s becoming hard to turn away from him in general. At least you had an excuse to stare today. This horse was quite impressive.

All of Hyrule had had never seen such a huge beast before, and many were gazing much more stupidity than your looks. Even the king was looking on, a bit huffy, ego already fragile-looking as he rode tenderly on his own white mare.

He had never been one for sports.

No, but the Gerudo couldn’t help themselves. Always they were the biggest and best in everything, and no doubt the forest wildlife would greatly suffer after today. You couldn’t help bemoan the poor little rabbits, not knowing what was coming for them.

Yes, it was quite easy to pretend to stare at the horse, and not the thick man buckling and adjusting his humongous saddle. The Gerudo King was surely the only man who was tall and wide enough to ride such a beast. And you were not jealous of the gentle way he rubbed the creature down with his giant hands, turning the mane into onyx silk.

The guard captain gives you a rather smarmy look that you don’t see, but Tapo gives him a firm smack, ever the faithful servant.

King Ganondorf raises his head as if sensing your gaze.

You think he must have magic to know where you sit because he looks up immediately in your direction. You curse yourself for your blatant staring and careless thoughts, turning away to pretend you are busy being too good for him.  

You can feel his grin.

It’s unbearable, the way your heart beats.

And before he can make his way over to once again embarrass you, you fumble the reins of your mare, uncareful to make sure your riding habit doesn’t flip up and reveal the brown trousers underneath.

But it’s no good.

“My lady-” Tapo starts, and you nod. There is no escape.

You can feel him, the heat of his body, and his spicy scent draws you into him, and there’s no ignoring the shadow he casts over you and your mare. You see Nabouroo behind him, with his horse, and Dinah in the distance.

You can hear your heartbeat.

“The moon is out today.” He says with a grin, and you turn, ready to spit venom. He was causing you an endless amount of trouble. In the court and your own head. “I am glad to see you well. You look as beautiful as ever.”

“Well.” You say, voice cool, even if your cheeks are warm. “I confess this moon hasn’t slept well, thanks to a certain debacle concerning the way she flashed the court last night. Perhaps the sun was too bright.”

He gives that wolfish grin from your dreams, and the hard lump in your throat grows.

“I think the court could use a bit more flashing if they find a ladies covered knee so scandalous.” You can’t help but give into his joviality. After all, you loved to spar with your words.

“Are you asking to see my stocking, my lord?” You don’t sound the least bit offended. He chuckles, not answering directly.

“I think whatever you have on under that garb will not do you justice.” He looks down to your skirts, slowly rising as if to see through everything. “But then again, my princess, nothing but the best would suit you.”

My princess.

You gulp, finding your mouth going a bit dry.

He hums a bit, pleased to have you at his mercy.

You’re surprised when he reaches into the satchel he has belted at his side, attached to his quiver, around his broad chest.

He grabs something out of it, laying it flat on his palm to present to you.

You gasp, back straightening.

It’s a necklace, one full of luminous stones near as big as your fist. Just like the ones your mother used to have, but this one is far bigger than any you’ve seen. 

“Let me.” He says and it takes you a moment to register what he is saying. 

“I-I can-no-” Your throat catches, as he moves in close. His fingers are soft as they brush against your skin, metal latching quick. He doesn’t linger long, moving back before you can voice your protest. 

“It suits your beauty. A moon for a moon.” He says, voice thick with something you’re trying hard to pin. 

And then, you realize something.

You swear could… understand him. 

You blink, swearing you can hear him use Gerudo, and that you understand it. You look up at him, blinking. Your voice hitches, but like you had much experience, the words come out of your mouth.

“It is too great a gift.” You say in perfect Gerudo.

He smiles, beautiful and wide and it makes your heart pump and stomach erupt in butterflies. 

“No gift is too great for you,” He replies, and even five feet apart, you can feel the energy between you both. 

“It is.” You say, torn. He just grins.

“If you ever want the matching tiara, let me know.”

Though you are confused and conflicted and confounded, the tension between you both is unmistakable;

And undeniable.

There is something between you both. You don’t just respect him. You don’t just admire him. You crave him, and his smiles and his closeness and his warmness.

And it scares you.

You must be staring because Tapo clears her throat and you jump, rearing back. The Gerudo King grins, gives a small bow to you both, and turns. Nabooru falls in step, both talking in low voices, leaving you to admire his broad back and everything underneath. 

Tapo clears her throat again, tightening the saddle and ‘accidentally’ smacking your leg. You give her the reigns and let her guide you away, behind the king who barely gives you a nod, past the men who sneer in your direction, and to the edge of the woods, in the section meant for ladies. 

“My Lady, let me remove it-” Tapo says, and you shake your head. 

“Don’t bother.” You say, moving to clutch your chest, and the necklace sitting heavy on your chest. “It has magic. It won’t come off.”

You turn to get off and she helps you down.

“I have to try, my lady.” She says. “To accept a gift- why, it’s paramount to-”

You breathe deep.

“- Being courted.” You finish. And she does try to remove the necklace, but can’t. You can hear her frustration, unable to find a latch, the silver cord smooth with no end or beginning. As if you were born bound in this chain.

Like a fox in a cage.

“My lady-” Tapo says, only for you both to stop.

“My my.”

You don’t seem to have any luck today, since it’s the High Priest who finds you, probably able to sniff your new perfume with his giant, spotty nose. 

“I can see that every day brings you closer to being a savage, Princess.” He says with glee. You have to motion Tapo to not charge in an attempt to ward off the spotty old pony the man has ridden in on.

At least he was going to give you a chance to take out your anger on something fitting, speaking with such rudeness. After all, it was another rude remark about your bosom that had turned you both into bitter enemies. 

“High Priest.” You say, moving your reigns to one hand, so you can gesticulate with fury. “I didn’t know you volunteered to be hunted today. They’re shooting down pigs in the southern part of the forest if you want a head start.”

The bright red on his cheeks is very gratifying, but he manages to swallow his pride, moving to ride next to you, voice low.

“You will regret every moment of your life after this hunt. I swear it.” He says with venom, and you giggle like he’s a petulant child. Unfortunately, your derision only spurs him on. He leans forward quickly, and taps the stone on your neck, making you reel back. He gives a dry laugh that could pass for a cough. 

You make a face, almost growling.

“How dare you.”

The priest circles you, a large smile set on his old, stony features. He’s far happier than you like to see any man.

“Just who will be hunted today, I wonder?” He says, moving past you in the direction of the King. You clench your teeth, not giving him the pleasure to see you watching him circling you like a vulture.

Like you are a fox in a cage.

Ready to be hunted.

[heloisedaphnebrightmore]

Possibilities [Tom Hiddleston x Reader]

Title: Possibilities Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x Female!Reader Word count: 3k Published: 6 July 2021 Author: Heloise Daphne Brightmore Warnings: Mention of food and alcohol Summary: Tom and you have been friends for a long time and because of that same reason you value your friendship more than to ruin it with some silly feelings. But the event you attend together offers you some surprises that might change your relationship forever.

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Events, galas, award ceremonies. You weren't a popular actress nor a famous singer, or social media influencer. You had a simple 9-5 job that would hardly ever get you into these events. But regardless of your status in society, you were known and not because of any talent you possessed that could have made you famous, but because your best friend was none-other than Tom Hiddleston.

You have been friends for years, you adored everything about the man. He was sweet and kind, always polite, but just as playful. It was a friendship you felt lucky to be in, a friendship that you held so close to your heart, it would have broken every little piece of you if it ever ended. Often, you found yourself staring at him with a little smile in the corner of your lips, watching his every move, the way he joked around with his co-stars on set, the way he exercised in the gym for a role, the way he winked at you with a mischievous smile as he caught your eyes on him.

"Do you need my autograph?" he asked with a wide grin as he opened the door of the luxurious car he booked for the event. Once again you have forgotten your eyes on him— his dashing looks, the perfectly fitted suit, the playful twinkle in his eyes. He never stopped teasing you about it.

"Shove off, Tom," you nudged him as he got out of the car and held out a hand for you, waiting for you to accept his help. So, you did. Wrapping your fingers around his hand, you let him help you out of the vehicle as you rearranged your stunning dress and ran your hand down its length to remove any creasing. Cameras were flashing, reporters' loud voices filled the pathway to the entrance, a long red carpet leading your way inside the building towering over you like a modern castle.

"If I didn't know better, I would think your interest in me goes beyond friendship," he chuckled as he held his arm out to you, waiting for yours to be placed over his, his eyes following every little movement of yours. A sudden rush of heat travelled up to your cheeks, your breathing slightly laboured as you tried to calm your heavily beating heart. He was not wrong after all. It's been years since you have been harbouring these feelings, but you hadn't had the heart to confess them. Tom was more important to you than to ruin it over some silly feelings.

Sometimes, when you caught Tom's eyes on you, watching you intently, a soft smile spread across his face, it made you think if maybe, just maybe he was harbouring similar feelings towards you. But the idea was quickly swept away by your doubts, the thought of such an amazing man falling for you seeming impossible. You knew your worth, you didn't write yourself down, but Tom has always been perfect in your eyes, and you couldn't imagine him wanting you even if at times a certain silly part of your brain whispered otherwise.

"I love your healthy self-confidence," you finally gathered your ability to be able to reply, earning a comical huff from him. You have been trying hard, to deny your romantic interest in him, but rumours about the two of you have become a reoccurring news and it didn't help your case to shove your feelings in the back of your mind.

"Ready?" He asked as his gaze turned towards the red carpet. Heaving a heavy sigh, you nodded and murmured a 'yes' as a response.

As soon as the cameras started flashing, hundreds of photos of Tom and you being taken, you conjured a sweet little smile that the tabloids loved. You were always nervous when it came to these events. It was Tom's job to answer some of the questions journalists asked of him, which meant they were to ask about your relationship. It was becoming repetitive, making you feel uncomfortable. The questions themselves didn't bother you but repeating over and over again that the man you have fallen for is merely a friend, felt like a stab in your heart, each time you responded.

"Tom! Tom!" One of the reporters shouted his name and he led you to the side of the red carpet, halting right beside the metal cordons. Questions were flying around, photos had been taken, but you didn't concentrate. Your senses were heightened as Tom pulled you in his side, his arm now wrapped around your waist, gently, but firmly holding onto you. Looking up at him, you studied his face, his ice-blue eyes focusing on the reporter, an excited smile across his face. He seemed so relaxed, so collected, meanwhile even events after events you were still nervous. As though he could feel it, he turned to you with a soft, reassuring smile, giving you a nod, silently asking if you were alright. For others, the movement could have easily been missed, but to you, it was like an earthquake, shaking your heart, making you fall even deeper for him. In a reply, you nodded and offered him a smile as you squeezed his hand that rested on your waist.

"So, Tom, this might be a bit more personal, but everyone has been talking about the two of you," he started, and your eyes immediately darted towards the man. You knew the question, heard it a thousand times already, so you prepared your heart to give the same reply as always. 'We are just friends,' you repeated time after time, hoping they would finally understand and let you be, but they didn't seem to budge. "You have been friends for a long time, and your fans have been talking about how close the two of you have become. Do you think, maybe in the future, there's a possibility for romance to blossom?" He asked with an expectant expression, a sly smile in the corner of his lips.

"As we have said before," you spoke up, ready to reply as you always did, "we—"

"You never know what the future holds for you, there are many possibilities" Tom cut in with a mischievous smile, your eyes growing wide as you looked up at him. Tom chuckled at your expression as he leaned down and kissed the top of your head. "Tell me I'm wrong," he arched a brow questioningly, his words starting your heart off at a faster pace, your cheeks feeling warmer under his intent gaze, those blue eyes you often found yourself lost in.

"Well—, I mean I can't argue with that statement," you replied, feeling slightly awkward. A confused smile started growing wider on your face as Tom led you away. "Why did you do that?" You asked as you finally stepped inside the building, his arm still resting around your waist as you headed towards a large room filled with all sorts of foods and drinks, people dancing in the middle, the dim lightning offering a rather intimate mood. "You just created even more gossip," you scolded him, but seemingly he didn't mind. He led you to a table where his name was printed on a nametag and pulled the chair out for you before he took his seat beside you.

"I didn't say anything," he smiled at you as innocently as he could manage, the corner of his eyes crinkling.

"You did. Exactly because you were so secretive, people will want to read between the lines. They will think there's more to us than friendship," you huffed as you hid your face in your palm and heaved a heavy sigh.

"And is that so bad?" He frowned, earning the same expression from you.

"What?" A silent scoff left your lungs. "What are you trying to say?"

"Is that such a big problem if people think we are together?" He asked, his confident tone stunning you.

"Of course, not. I don't care what rumours are being spread about me, but I don't want them to gossip about you," you reached for his hand on the table and wrapped your fingers around it, giving it a gentle squeeze. His expression stayed emotionless; you couldn't read him entirely, but you knew he seemed off.

"I will go grab us a drink," he said as he stood up, leaving you frowning. You weren't sure what you said that made him upset, and regardless of trying to put on a straight face, you knew he wasn't happy with your response.

You watched as he walked over to a small table filled with the most delicious looking cakes and a couple of bottles of champagne, ready for the guests before they brought out the main course. Tom grabbed a battle of champagne and two glasses, filling up both halfway, before he placed the battle back into an ice bucket.

"What is it?" You asked as he returned and gave you one of the glasses.

"What do you mean?" He asked, taking a seat beside you.

"We've known each other for quite a long time. I can read you like an open book. What's bothering you?" Trying to get him to open up, you shuffled closer to him, your chair scraping the floor, turning heads in your direction. "Oops," you scratched the back of your neck awkwardly, earning a chuckle from Tom.

"Very subtle," he mocked you.

"Don't change the subject Mr. Hiddleston," you raised a questioning brow, a tiny smile hidden in the corner of your lips.

"Nothing is bothering me," he added, but your suspicious gaze didn't falter. "I'm being honest, darling," the sly little fox knew his nickname for you would make you soften up and he used every opportunity to say it when he felt cornered.

"Fine," you squinted. "But we aren't done! I'm not blind, I can see something is on your mind."

"Yes, ma'am, I can't wait for this conversation to come back around," he mocked you once again, making you huff as you gently punched his shoulder.

Throughout the night, said conversation was forgotten, the alcohol consumption rose, the amount of people dancing around the room grew, meanwhile others sat at their tables, trying to digest the previously served delicious meals. You couldn't deny that you had a good laugh with Tom and his co-stars from all sorts of movies he had been in. It felt like a little family, people coming together to just have a joyous time.

The way Tom smiled at his friends, praising each other, before turning to mock one another forced your eyes to rest on his excited features. He looked so alive, so happy and the feeling of the man you loved being in his element meant everything to you. Tom was radiating enthusiasm and you couldn't look away as you watched his ever-growing smile, his nose scrunched up at an unexpected subject, his head falling back as a loud laughter erupted from his lungs. He was always handsome, but when he was happy, it filled you up with a certain warmth that you couldn't explain. Like you always wanted to make him happy just to be able to see that cheerful smile spread across his face.

He turned to you, catching your gaze on him once again. His arm sneaked behind you, pulling you closer and leaning down to your ear. "You are staring at me again," you couldn't see it, but you could feel his smile spreading wider.

"I like to see you happy," you shrugged with a soft smile as you leaned back to be able to meet his gaze. His smile faltered, but his eyes softened.

"Dance with me," he said as he offered his palm to you, and you placed your hand in it.

"I take no responsibility for broken toes," you said with a silent chuckle as you followed him to the dancefloor.

"Don't worry, darling, it's worth the injury," he mirrored your expression as you stopped in the middle of the dance floor. A slow, romantic song started playing in the background, his arms finding their perfect position around your waist as yours sneaked around his neck.

It was a slow and peaceful dance, not requiring much knowledge and talent. You just enjoyed each other's presence, gazes meeting, smiles forming, swaying to the slow rhythm of the music. You didn't speak a word, but the silence wasn't uncomfortable. It never was with Tom. A soft smile, a quick glance, a simple gesture meant more than thousands of words when you were with him.

You laid your head against his chest, listening to his fast heartbeat, taking on a quicker pace just like yours did. "I miss you when you are not with me," he spoke for the first time as he leaned down and kissed the top of your head. You didn't move away; his embrace was too comfortable, and you couldn't care about people watching you.

"I always miss you. You are the one travelling all the time after all," you chuckled lightly, not wanting to ruin the moment.

"I could be only a mile away and I would still miss you," he replied as you pulled back a bit to meet his soft gaze, but there was no smile present across his handsome face. As the song finished, you found yourself standing in front of him, slightly confused about the conversation. "Do you want to go to the balcony? Have some fresh air?" He asked, taking on a more cheerful expression, but you knew him more than to believe it was genuine. In a response you nodded and linked your arm with his.

Following him through the sea of people, you finally arrived at the balcony, looking down to a smaller version of a park, a water fountain standing tall in its centre. You leaned against the rail as you watched the trees battling the silent wind, fallen leaves being blown across the walking path. Tom joined beside you, his eyes following the same direction as you did before they halted on your face. "You are being strange tonight," you spoke up, feeling his gaze resting on you before you turned to him, meeting his eyes.

"I'm just thinking," he added with a half-hearted smile.

"About?" You asked as you reached for his hand resting on the rail and placed yours on top of his. He turned his palm upside down and lifted your hand, hinting a small kiss on your knuckles as he heaved a heavy sigh. "Tom talk to me," you squeezed his fingers reassuringly, his eyes watching you, not leaving your gaze for a moment. "You have been rather quiet around me," you added.

His whole body turned to you, as though he was focusing his complete attention on you. Reaching towards you, he brushed your hair to the side, gently tucking it behind your ear. You leaned into the touch involuntarily, only realising your actions when he caressed your cheek with his thumb, before moving down and running it across your lips. The feeling burnt you, starting your mind off in a very dangerous territory, one that you have been avoiding. 'He is your friend' you tried to remind yourself. But once the tip of his thumb brushed along your lips once again, you couldn't stop yourself. Stepping forward, you placed your hands on his chest, steading yourself and rose on your tiptoes, pressing your lips against his.

Your own bravery surprised you, but Tom didn't seem affected. As soon as your lips met, his arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer. He didn't hesitate, he wasn't surprised. He just held you, gently running his lips along yours, tilting his head to deepen the kiss. But as much as you wanted to enjoy the moment, realisation hit you. You were kissing your best friend. You gently pushed him away, stumbling back from the force, covering your mouth with your palm. "I'm so sorry," you breathed, panic rising in your chest. "I have no idea what happened, I don't know why I did that, I'm so sorry," your words were rushed, your heartbeat loudly pulsing in your ears.

But Tom's gaze twinkled. A soft, warm smile grew wider across his face as he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around you. "I'm not," he said as he pressed his forehead against yours. "I've been wanting to kiss you," he breathed as he closed his eyes momentarily, slightly shaking his head. "I've been wanting to tell you how much I love you; I've been trying to gain the courage to say it out loud," he scoffed. "I'm a fool for dragging it out for so long, but I love you," his voice shook as he said the words, but his arms tightened around you, safely holding you against his chest. It took you a second to understand what he meant, that your feelings weren't unrequited, that he has been harbouring the same feelings you have.

A heavy sigh left your lungs, as though a weight fell off your chest. Your lips curved into a smile as you placed your hands on his cheeks, running the tip of your thumbs across his jawline. He mirrored your expression whilst leaning into your touch, planting a small kiss on your palm. "I love you too," you replied finally," the words rolling off the tip of your tongue easier than you expected. "I love you so much," you giggled, wanting to repeat the words over and over again, until you finally understood that it was real, that you weren't dreaming. "You never know what the future holds for you, huh?" You asked, repeating his words from earlier in the evening, earning a loud chuckle from him. "So, is this one of those many possibilities?" you raised a single brow.

"Could be. I have a couple more ideas," he said, his soft smile turning into a confident grin.

"You are terrible," you gently hit his chest as you grabbed his suit-jacket and pulled him down to you, meeting his lips halfway, smiling into the intimate moment you have been craving for so long.

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[amarguerite]

Pov please 👀👀👀?

POV — something that’s already happened, retold from another character’s perspective

From the skating AU of Persuasion:

"You're in a good mood," Anne observed, as they waited in the hotel lobby for their shuttle to the airport. "You haven't stopped smiling since gala rehearsals."

"To be fair, Jamie smiles a lot," said Lizzy.

Jamie bit the insides of his lips. It was so hard not spoiling the surprise, given the months and months of text messages that could all be boiled down to:

Anne: Frederick just said I was pretty/ looked cute in my school uniform/ carried my skate bag/ declared absolute fealty to me and swore he would ride into battle wearing my colors, do u think he might like me back??

Jamie: I have no idea.

Anne: Now he's done something else ridiculously dreamy!!! I have SUCH A CRUSH

"He's just a smiley guy," said Lizzy. She elbowed Jamie in the side and looked pointedly at where Frederick, his toque pulled down low over his forehead, was standing behind Anne, texting something to his parents.

"Just... great to see you in person again," said Jamie. "You have to promise me you'll text me as soon as you're back in Montreal. I mean not immediately--" even someone as direct and as determined as Frederick Wentworth would probably have to wait a day or two to get everything together, or at least have to wait until it was snowing-- which reminded him! "And send me a pic next time it's snowing! I can't believe it snows more where you live than where we live."

Anne did him one better, and sent a selfie of Frederick kissing her cheek. Behind them was-- "Lizzy, help, how do I zoom in on this again?"

"How do you not know how to zoom in on a photo nii-san?" Lizzy complained. "You're worse than mom, I swear." But she got up and helped him zoom in enough to realize that Anne and Frederick were at a rink, and it was snowing, before she made a face at him. "I hope you're not going over all, like... prophetic on me. I legit do not want to get married."

"Not now, you mean." Jamie leaned his elbow on his desk and his chin on his hand, feeling so pleased and so happy for Anne-- and maybe, just the littlest, tiniest bit sad for himself. As complicated as it might be to start dating your pairs partner, at least that was really common. Everyone in pairs or ice dancing (except for sibling teams like him and Lizzy) tended so sell some romantic story on ice, and that fiction seemed to lead to the real thing so often. Jamie never wanted any other partner than Lizzy, who voiced all his disagreements for him, and understood exactly how to explain she wanted something done differently without setting him off in a spiral of worry about how terrible he was, and covered for him so much when he was too anxious to speak or learn anything. As much as he liked the girly romantic animes he and Lizzy pretended they watched because Lizzy liked them (she didn't; she endured them), and as much as he enjoyed watching all the other ice dancers cut romantically across the ice, he would shrivel up and die, right there on the ice, with everyone watching him, if he had to skate a romantic program with anyone. Even if (especially if?) he was skating with a cute guy.

Lizzy bumped his shoulder with her own. "Hey nii-san. You'll be swept off your feet too someday."

"Oh no, I wasn't--" He clicked out of the photo, mortified to think Lizzy thought he was jealous of his best friend, the nicest person in the world.

"I know you weren't," said Lizzy. "I have also been visited by the gift of prophesy." She dramatically put her hand to her forehead. "I see... a man in your future. Not tall and dark, but very handsome and super friendly, who won't make you talk at parties and will buy you roses every day as well as three dogs--"

"Three!"

Lizzy nodded solemnly. "Your three favorites. A ChowChow, a golden retriever, and a Newfoundland."

"No one is going to buy me three dogs," said Jamie, both delighted and embarrassed by this vision of his future.

"Of course not," said Lizzy. "Your Prince Charming will want to adopt because he'll be as nice as you."

[dreamsmp-au-ideas]

wooohooo MCU gremlins drabble

Thor and Bruce examined the burn patters swirling on the remains of a wall, as Tony and Steve chatted to themselves.

“It’s been a month since these so-called Four Warriors were summoned, and we still haven’t found them. And now we know they have energy-based weapons.”

“But don’t you think that’s strange? These Warriors have been in New York for a month, and this is the first we’ve seen of any sort of attack.”

“Ahem.” Thor stood up. “I’m afraid that you are incorrect, Man of Iron.”

Tony raised an eyebrow. “How so?”

Bruce stepped in, data pad in hand, which he passed to Tony. “The burn patterns here are too sporadic to be man-made. They look like natural lightning- or the kind of stuff Thor can summon. If I didn’t know this came from the middle of the city, I’d say the wall was just struck in a storm.”

Tony hummed. “So, what are you saying? Instead of the Warriors running around my city with weapons, they’re running around with superpowers? That’s worse!”

“Tony, you have to calm down.”

The Thunder God shook his head. “Actually, I have seen this kind of lightning before. It was made by a child of the stars- your people do not have a name for their race.”

Steve blinked. “An alien?”

“Yes, but one forged in the heart of a star. That is not the concerning thing about these markings, however.”

“What is it?”

“They are powerful, but wildly inaccurate. Whoever shot these blasts was not trained to use them effectively.”

“Meaning?”

“They are either a non-combatant... or a juvenile. I would tend towards the latter, as a fully grown star child would have more power in their blasts.”

Tony’s eyes widened. “It’s a kid? You’re sure?” He stopped. “Fuck.”

“Language.”

“Shut it, Rodgers. I just remembered something.” He tapped the data pad. “When we fought that weirdo with the staff, we saw a bunch of teenagers.”

Steve made a noise of realisation, and his heart sank. “Four teenagers. I thought they’d been caught up in the blast, so I made sure they got out safely. I only saw two of their faces- but they were definitely just freaked-out kids in over their heads.”

Bruce took a deep breath, trying to stay calm. “Are you saying he summoned teenagers to do his dirty work? Are you saying the dangerous Warriors SHIELD has been tracking are kids?”

“Most likely stranded kids, if they’re still in the city.”

“Fuck.”

Steve didn’t admonish him this time.

——————————————————————————

A good thing about a city that’s constantly under attack is that nobody looks at a beat-up teenager twice, except with pity. Tommy knew that from back in L’Manberg, and it still rang true in... wherever the fuck they were. New York? He kicked a rock. “Fuckin’ stupid name. I would have come up with a much cooler one.”

Purpled scoffed, but there was no malice in it. “Uh huh.” The Starborne kept an eye on the entrance to the alley, fingers flexing around a hidden knife. He wouldn’t be caught unawares again. “You’d have named it L’Yorkberg or something.”

“Like I said, a much cooler name.” Tommy shot his friend a grin, and the wall behind them promptly disappeared. A tall figure with a hood over his face beckoned them through, the wall clicking seamlessly back into place behind them.

Finally, safety. The house they’d found was abandoned, and if anyone had come across it they’d be... confused. Random chunks of soil, sand and marble in perfect cubes were scattered around the room, and every surface was covered with random bits and pieces of machinery.

Purpled swept some scrap metal off of a cube of granite, and emptied out the bag of food he’d snagged on top of it. “I got enough to last us the week. I don’t think they saw me, but we should go to a different store next time to be safe.” Tommy passed the hooded figure a handful of first-aid kits. “Did Tubbo get that fridge working?”

The hooded figure- Ranboo- nodded. “Yeah, put the meat and stuff in it so it doesn’t go bad.” That had been a shock- food in this world spoiling over time. They couldn’t get ill from it, just Hunger, but it was still unpleasant to eat. The worst part of it was that they couldn’t just stock up on bread and wait for someone to find them, they had to constantly go out to get food. At least the first-aid kits were just a precaution.

The ram hybrid in question leaned into the room. “Hey, guys! Did you run into any trouble?” Tommy shook his head emphatically, while Purpled looked sheepish. “No...”

Tubbo put his hands on his hips. “What happened?”

Purpled coughed, embarrassed. “We kind of got mugged. They wanted this green paper stuff we found.” Tommy puffed out his chest proudly, wings flicking mischievously under his hoodie. “Purpled kicked the shit out of them, you should have seen him! Zapped them right through a wall.”

The ram’s eyes lit up, radiation symbols dancing in his pupils. “Sick!”

Ranboo, on the other hand, looked slightly panicked. “Uhm, aren’t we trying to keep a low profile?”

Tommy shrugged. “Eh, we had our hoods up, plus there’s a fuckin’ million people in this city. It’ll be fine.”

Tubbo clapped his hands together twice, banishing the nervous air that had grown in the room. “Right. Ranboo, you’re still banned from the kitchen after the Spaghetti Incident, so Tommy, it’s your turn to cook.”

——————————————————————————

Tony Stark was not good at waiting. It took approximately seven seconds for JARVIS to illegally download the CCTV footage of the attack, and about sixty for everyone watching to see what had really happened. It was still too long for him.

Two teenagers were walking down an alleyway, one in a red hoodie and one in a purple one. They were talking together and laughing about something.

“Red has blond hair, blue eyes, about 6’3. I think he’s got a dyed white streak in his hair.” He’d roped Natasha in for this, her spy training making her excellent at spotting details others would miss. “Purple has lighter blond hair and... purple eyes? Huh. They could be blue too, just a trick of the light. He’s shorter than Red, maybe 5’11?”

One of the teenagers swung his bag at the other with a grin on his face. The other yelled at him. Two older men appeared at the other end of the alley.

The spy’s eyes narrowed. “Two adults, 20-25, Caucasian, wearing beanies and dark clothing. They’re armed, one of them is nervous but the other has done this before.”

One of the men pulled a gun, and the other cracked his knuckles. The teenagers scowled.

“Huh. Interesting. Red and Purple aren’t afraid of them. They look... annoyed, but not scared.”

The man with the gun lunged forward, and was promptly knocked through a wall with a blast of electricity. The other man froze, and the teenager in red hit him over the head with a bag, before bursting into nervous laughter.

Nat’s eyes widened. “Holy shit. Okay, now I get why you wanted me to see this.” She looked at Tony. “Mutants? Have you contacted Xavier yet?”

Tony shook his head. “Not just mutants. Thor thinks Purple is an alien. Called him ‘a child of the stars’ or something.”

Shadows appeared at the end of the alleyway. The teenager in red swore, the words clearly visible despite the silent recording. He tore off his hoodie to reveal a large pair of wings, and grabbed his purple-clad friend. The pair flew out of sight of the camera.

“Red might be a mutant, we don’t know. Neither of them are showing up on any databases. No birth records, schooling, missing persons reports, anything.”

Nat sat back in her chair. “Right. You got any idea where they went after this?”

He shook his head. “Not one. We can assume Red landed in a remote area and hid his wings, before meeting up with the other two.”

She rose an eyebrow. “Other two?”

“There were four teenagers at that battle, remember? Just after four great Warriors were supposedly summoned.”

Recognition flashed in the spy’s eyes. “You think they’re the Warriors? They’re a little young.”

“Oh, I’m well aware. Steve was pissed when we put two and two together and Bruce nearly Hulked out. Kids don’t belong on a battlefield.”

“What do we do now?”

“Look for patterns. Where we see them, and when. JARVIS is looking through all public cameras right now, and he’s already found Red and Purple stealing food from a nearby store a couple of times.”

“No sign of the other two?”

“Not yet. Although, they could just be better at hiding. Hell, one of ‘em could have invisibility powers or something. Hard to tell.”

She shook her head. “I doubt it.”

Tony recognised that calculating look in her eyes. “You’ve figured something out. Alright. What’ve you got for me?”

She steepled her fingers together. “Put it this way. You’re a kid, and let’s for argument’s sake say you’ve been summoned to an unknown city, possibly even an unknown planet. You’re lost, and you’re evidently not able to get money or food, if you’re stealing from stores regularly.”

“Right.”

“If one of you has invisibility, why risk the visible ones getting caught? Why not just send them instead? No, my money is on Red and Purple being the most inconspicuous.”

He cocked his head. “What do you mean?”

“They’re the easiest to blend in- the most baseline human-looking. And considering one’s an alien and one has wings, that’s saying a lot. The other two might not be able to go out in public without causing a scene.”

“Huh. I hadn’t thought about it that way. But it makes sense.”

She shrugged. “Or the other two could be injured. Red was holding a bag full of medical supplies.”

“Shit. We need to find them, and fast.”

!!!!!

:D

[starbornsinger]

Favourite Distraction (Gwyn x Azriel One-shot)

Summary: During a training session, the line between friendship and romance becomes more and more blurred for Gwyn and Azriel. Fluff, some steam. Set in the Nepenthe universe.

Word Count: 2.4K

“The chances of you making it out of this alive are slim.”

Well, the blade at Gwyneth’s neck certainly proved that point. The sharp tip pressed into her skin, threatening to slice her open with the slightest flick of a wrist. “If I apply any pressure, I’d go straight through your neck. If you move, I’ll slice your throat.”

Nowhere to go.

Gwyn’s teal eyes scanned the surrounding area wildly, landing on the sword which had skittered a mere foot away. Even with her fingers splayed painfully, the priestess could only graze the hilt of her weapon with her fingertips. There was no way she could grab hold of it, not without risking death.

She gulped. Pinned to the floor on her stomach, the cold steel of the dagger kept her from fighting back, and Gwyn knew she was running out of options. Bargaining was her last resort.

“I—” “Don’t move,” the male repeated harshly, his knee digging into her spine. “My hand might slip.”

Gwyneth was stuck. She had no escape.

“Damn it,” she swore under her breath, and patted her hand on the solid ground. “Alright, you win.”

Azriel withdrew his blade at her tap-out; he was sitting on her back, practically crushing her lungs with the weight of him. Six months ago, she might have panicked at a male being so close— and being trapped by him as well. But Gwyn had made great strides in her journey to healing, and now, the comfort and trust she had formed with Azriel was unbreakable.

“Not bad,” he mused lowly, flicking dust off his shoulder. “But not good enough.”

“Well, when you’ve got a blade to my jugular, defending myself gets a bit tough,” she choked out, as Azriel lounged on her as though she were a bit of furniture. She rubbed her neck, where a small bead of blood had formed, and wiped it off. It smeared on her freckled skin, but didn’t seem to notice. “Are you going to get off of me, spymaster?”

Azriel shrugged. “I’ll think about it,” he replied dryly,but she could hear the grin in his voice. Gwyn scowled, and rolled onto her side, effectively pushing him off of her.

She laid on her back, staring up at the sky as she panted. “Must you make everything so difficult, Shadowsinger?”

“I doubt your opponent would be any easier on you,” he replied, not missing a beat. It made her want to throttle him. “Well then. Thank the Mother my opponent is only you.” The priestess smirked, and Azriel had the nerve to look mock-offended. “Lucky me.”

“Lucky you,” he echoed, with a twinkle in his hazel eyes. Gods, he was handsome, Gwyn thought, sitting up. She drew her knees to her chest, resting her chin atop them. Azriel sheathed Truth-Teller. Gwyn watched silently, chewing on her lip. He stretched his wings momentarily, shaking them out as though it were a sore muscle. He looked so peaceful, Gwyn thought, as the sun shone through his wings. It made the reds and blues dance, and illuminated every vein and curve. The hair that looked raven black most days now looked reddish-brown in the sunset, which cut his features in a most handsome way.

Even sweaty and tired, he still managed to be so damn handsome. Azriel was distracted, thankfully, and so Gwyn could take a moment to take in all his features. She sighed softly. She was falling way, way too hard. But Mother knew she’d die before she admitted it.

Azriel must have assumed she was tired— which in truth, she was— because he glanced in her direction, and announced, “We can stop for today. It’s close to dinner. I’m sure you’re hungry.” He pulled himself to his feet, offering her a hand. The shadowsinger then paused, looking down at his scars with a frown, and began to withdraw. His shadows thickened.

No.

Gwyn’s hand shot out to grab his, gripping it tightly. Azriel blinked, the only indication of his surprise, and hoisted her up alongside him. She dusted herself off, then stood up straight. The two of them stood mere inches from each other, practically chest-to-chest as the Valkyrie looked up at him. “If— if you’re up for it, I wouldn’t mind another round,” she heard herself saying. Wait, what? The priestess amended quickly, stumbling over her words a bit, “I um, I had a late lunch. With Nesta. So I wouldn’t… I mean, only if you want to. I’m sure you’re tired of training.”

ꕥ

Azriel didn’t want Gwyn to leave. Not really. Nor did his shadows, really. So when she had asked for an overtime lesson, he felt a bit pathetic about how his heart seemed to skip a happy little beat. His shadows were clearly elated; a moment ago, they had been swirling with the blackness of his insecurity, and now? It was like watching an excited puppy pace back and forth. They danced and darted, and it took all of his control to wrangle them away from Gwyn. They shot towards her, curling around her arms and waist in a misty embrace. She let out a laugh, the sound ringing beautifully. Every smile, every giggle: it was all carved into his mind. A brand, a disarming he was glad to accept.

Gwyn’s lips twitched upwards. “Is that a yes, then?”

Azriel scratched the back of his head nervously, looking away from that piercing teal gaze. “I suppose it is,” he replied. The spymaster was a bit surprised at himself, really, surprised to see how relieved he was that she had asked. And Gwyn, it seemed, was relieved as well. She exhaled, letting her shoulders sag a bit, and chuckled. His eyes caught on the bit of exposed skin her white tunic had revealed, admiring the splatter of freckles on her collarbone. Her skin looks so damn soft, he thought, as his shadows once more crept out to caress her skin. They settled on her shoulder, and she tilted her head to rub her cheek against a tendril. She grinned at him, her lips curling back to reveal that bright smile of hers. With this priestess, he swore he had found religion in an entirely new way.

Azriel shook out his hands, then clenched them into fists and got into a fighting stance. He narrowed his eyes, studying her. Where would she strike first? How would she try to trick him? She seemed to be doing the same, because she had a damn smirk on her face that the spymaster couldn’t help but return.

“What?” She laughed, as they circled each other. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Because that’s how you’re looking at me!” He replied, with a snicker. Gwyn’s foot pivoted ever so slightly, and he anticipated the punch that was thrown seconds later. Ducking low, Azriel managed to avoid that swift hook of hers, throwing one of his own.

“I am not!” The priestess protested, using her padded forearm to block his hit, then raised her knee and slammed it into him. Azriel let out a loud “oof”, stumbling back a step. He clutched his side, praying she’d take the bait. “Yes, you are,” he said between exaggerated pants. Gwyn did as he’d hoped: she raised her other leg to strike his uninjured side. Faster than lightning, his shadows wrapped around her ankle, suspending it mid-air.

Gwyn’s eyes widened, and she looked at him in disbelief. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Wouldn’t I?” He asked, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. When the Valkyrie was yanked to the ground, she let out a cry of frustration, slamming her fist on the mat. She propped herself up on her elbows, squinting up at him.

“You know, you make it especially difficult for me to like you sometimes, Spymaster,” she scowled, as Azriel crouched down beside her.

“You and I both know that’s a lie,” he drawled. He couldn’t help but tease her, especially considering that he had beaten her in mere seconds. “I thought you wanted another round.”

“I did,” she replied, then suddenly, her leg swept out and smashed into his. He went toppling backwards, losing his balance and falling on his ass. “We’re not done yet.” Gwyn grabbed hold of his forearms, trying to grapple with him. They were a tangle of limbs and fists, tossing battle strategy out the window for an all-out brawl. It was a rare moment for Azriel, one where he decided that, for once, he’d have a bit of fun.

ꕥ

Gwyn was laughing once more, as they rolled around on the mat like warring toddlers. She wasn’t a small woman by any means, standing only a half foot shorter than he, but she was thin and flexible, which meant trying to grab her was like trying to catch a summer breeze. Grappling with each other alone in the ring, Azriel tried his best to pin down the nymph, but that only seemed to encourage her more. Those tricky fingers of hers now began tickling him, and Azriel’s eyes widened.

For the first time in what felt like ages, he giggled.

The Spymaster of the Night Court was giggling. He was chuckling at first, which evolved into a laugh, which then turned into an eruption of giggles and guffaws. He flailed his arms, trying to push her off. Gwyn was absolutely stunned. She’d never heard such a sound from him; Mother, he barely even reached a dozen decibels. But now? Now his shadows swirled about them, rippling from each laugh that escaped those perfect lips of his.

Gwyn was seeing stars, and it wasn’t because of the approaching twilight.

“Stop— No, not there!” He managed to choke out, grinning like an idiot. Tears came to his eyes as she attacked his abdomen, his underarms, his neck.

“No,” Gwyn shouted back, with a devious smile. “You’re a feared Ilyrian warrior who kills great beasts! Can’t you fight off the Tickle Monster?” But Azriel was too overcome to respond, trying to push her off and retaliate by attacking her sides. The priestess clambered on top of the male, sat atop his hips as she straddled them with her thighs. Finally, she managed to pin his arms to the floor, leaning over him as he gasped for air.

Azriel’s wheezed, letting out a chuckle. Gwyn had him pinned by the wrists, and although he could escape if he tried, he didn’t want to. Because he had realized the position they were now in.

And he liked it.

Gwyn seemed to realize too, because her face turned even redder than her hair. She was straddling him, and she could feel every inch of his body, the soft bulge that pressed in between her legs. The bulge that was slowly hardening as it absorbed the heat of her. The priestess swallowed, his hands still pinned above his head. Azriel made no move to escape, looking up at her like— Like he wanted her.

His hazel eyes, usually dark and brooding, were sparkling like the night, focusing all of his raw emotion on her with an intensity she didn’t think she could handle. There was mischief in his gaze; there was affection.

His lips parted slightly, and he inhaled slowly. Was he smelling her? Oh Mother, could he smell her? Gwyn swore silently, realizing that her own scent had changed from its usual flower sweetness to something smoky, and tangy. She squeezed her thighs together, trying to trap the heat she was feeling down there.

He missed nothing, glancing at her hips and then back up at her face. Gwyn bit down on the inside of her lip. A strand of her hair had fallen from behind her ear, and she tucked it back. With one hand now freed, Azriel lifted it. Hesitantly, he set it on her thigh, scanning her eyes for permission. All she did was offer a barely perceptible nod. He slid it up higher, to the curve of her hip. They had gotten closer, their faces inches apart as her hair curtained their faces. The shadows around them had thickened, wrapping around Gwyn’s waist and neck.

He wanted her badly. There was no denying it. The spymaster had felt desire for Elain, but what he felt for Gwyn was magnetic. She made him laugh, made him smile. She would be the destruction of every wall he had painstakingly built, and gods, he welcomed it. Those teal eyes of hers were foggy, darting up and down his body. The priestess was stunning. He loved every state of her: her robes, the dress she had worn to Nesta’s mating ceremony, how she looked after training. Even when she was a sweaty mess, the afterglow of her rosy cheeks made his heart skip.

His hand trailed that path from her hip to her thigh, as they stared at each other in silence. There was a humming in his head, a euphoric feeling he only got from faerie wine. Gwyn bit her lip, an action that set him aflame, then cupped his cheek. Her thumb traced his cheekbone, running over his lips and parting them.

“You’re beautiful,” she said absentmindedly, and Azriel blinked, a bit taken aback. He let out a soft laugh.

“I’m beautiful? I’m a male, Gwyn.”

“And?” She challenged. “Males can be beautiful.” She lifted her chin, letting out a hum. Her fingers brushed over the cleft in his chin. “They all say you are.”

“Who?” He asked, his voice soft, low.

“Anyone in Prythian with a working pair of eyes. You’re quite popular, you know,” she mused, her voice smooth as silk. Azriel’s shadows toyed with the strands of her hair, brushing them gently.

“Am I popular with you?”

Gwyn was quiet for a moment, and he worried he’d overstepped, withdrawing his hand—

“Yes,” she said quietly, placing her palm over his. He froze. “Your shadows are too. Or rather, I am with them.” She glanced around them, to see the cocoon of night that had formed, contrasting the setting sky. Azriel hummed his agreement. Gwyn paused again.

“You're our favourite,” he quipped quietly, and that seemed to make her blush deepen. Gwyn gulped, looking around as though trying to grapple for something to say.

“So, uh, does this mean I win?” the Priestess stuttered. She motioned to their position, snapping Azriel out of his trance. He blinked in surprise, before his face contorted into a devious grin.

“Not a chance.”

He shoved her off him, and she fell backwards laughing, kicking his chest.

And then the fighting started all over again.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Extracurricular

Warnings: noncon/rape; drinking/drunkenness.

This is a dark! fic and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Pairing: (Professor) Ransom Drysdale x Reader

Summary: You go out to unwind from your schoolwork but can’t seem to escape a certain professor’s attention.

Note: Pinched nerve don’t care. I’ve written this as I’m laying on a heating pad and praying for absolution. Hope y’all enjoy because by the time this goes up I’ll be at work and hating life.

Hope you enjoy it. Thank you. Love you guys!

Please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

Midterms were finally over. It had been a long two weeks; all nighters, energy drinks, and stress headaches. Now you were ready to forget it all in a single night.

Your dress was a little too short and a little too tight. A pink number with large sequins. It looked straight out of the nineties; an appropriate choice for your girls’ night. A downtown club was hosting a ladies night with a retro theme and you felt like the spice girl you’d once idolized. And a little buzzed.

Lexi had invited you along with her roommates, Cece and Rima, to dance off the dread of your results. Study had been half the battle, it was still to see if it had done you any good. In your Twentieth Century Lit class, you were certain you’d fallen on your face. Figuratively, though you had done so literally your first day. It had set a precedent for your apparent cluelessness.

You followed the girls inside after your hand was stamped and the flashing lights mingled with the thumping music and filled your body. You were enlivened by the bodies already dancing and the voice that underlined the melody. A single pre-drink and you were already feeling tomorrow’s hangover.

You joined the chaos of the dance floor as Lexi searched her purse and came out victorious with a handful of bills. “First rounds on me!” She sang, “How about it girls? You ready for more?”

“Holy shit, Lex,” Cece giggled, “Another night with the sugar daddy?”

“Don’t call him that,” Lexi retorted. 

“Well, what would you call him?” Rima countered. “You fuck him, he gives you money.”

“Shut up before I shut you up!’ Lexi whined.

“Hey, both of you,” you warned and grabbed Lexi’s hand, “And stop waving that around.”

“Oh thank youuuu,” she clung to you, “I’ll have a vodka soda.”

“Wha-- no.”

“Do they have whiteclaw?” Rima asked.

“Ew. don’t,” Cece wrinkled her nose, “I’ll have a vodka too.”

“Fine, vodka cran!” Rima nearly hollered. The girls must have started well before you showed up to their dorm.

You huffed and took the fistful of bills. You sidled through the crowd of pairs and groups writhing and waving to the music. Another drink would make you less aware. 

You stepped up to the bar and found yourself nearly bowled over by another patron as she stumbled away with her drink. You knocked the arm of a man leaned against the bar top and turned to apologize.

“Oop, sorry, I didn’t--” You froze and blinked several times in disbelief. The familiar face grinned in recognition. “Professor Drysdale? What are you--”

“I didn’t know it was ladies night,” he spoke over the music, “Had my last exam and thought I’d unwind but--” He looked around. “I didn’t take you for the club type.”

You squirmed as his eyes strayed from your face and you got closer to the bar. “Well, not every night,” you chuckled. 

“I almost didn’t recognize you,” he raised his hand and waved to the bartender. “Took me a moment, to be honest.”

“Ahh,” you watched the bartender near and he bent to hear your order. You got yourself a gin after your last sour experience with vodka.

You watched the bartender work, unsure of what to say to your unexpected company. His remark stuck in your head. You often sat in his class in your favourite loose cardigan or a sweat with fraying cuffs. Massachusetts was growing colder by the day and only the alcohol and your lack of a damn kept you warm that night.

“So, I guess you’re here with friends,” he said.

“Yeah, just a few of us.” You said as you rubbed your sweaty fingers on the bills. The bartender pushed your drink across the bar but Professor Drysdale was quicker than you as he held out a fifty.

“My treat.” He said.

“Oh no,” you tried to grab his hand but he waved it at the bartender again. “You don’t need to--”

“Come on. Save your money. You college kids need all you can get,” he insisted.

You smiled awkwardly and carefully took two cups in each hand. You lifted them as he watched you. You peeked over at him and found his eyes glued to you.

“Thank you, professor,” you said.

“Ransom,” he corrected you, “I’m not much of a dancer… but I don’t mind the music. Maybe we’ll bump into each other again.”

“Maybe.” You turned and narrowly missed another collision. 

You followed the maze of bodies back to your group and doled out the drink. Your fingers were left sticky with soda and you took a deep gulp of your own. You tried not to think of the odd encounter with your professor. It wasn’t too unusual you spotted the occasional faculty downtown; students often stuck to the campus bar. Even so, you were surprised at his interest. In class, he barely seemed to recall your name, even if you were the only one who raised your hand. Well, maybe he had also indulged a little too much.

You forgot your paranoia as soon as you finished your drink. You set aside the plastic cup and lost yourself in TLCs greatest hit. You’d regret it in the morning when it mattered.

🥂

After the second drink, came the third, the fourth, and fifth that tasted more like a double. The lights blurred in your vision and the music made your head swell delightfully. 

The night had worn on and as a slow R&B tune came on, you weren’t quite sure what to do. Cece had long ago found a guy to hang off and Rima and Lexi were all too happy to start dancing with each other. You hiccupped and contemplated a break against the wall. 

You were startled as you felt a hand on your back and kept from your retreat.

“Need a partner?” Ransom’s voice flooded into your veins like the alcohol; warm and disorienting. 

“Huh, oh, no, it’s--” You giggled bashfully. “That’s fine.”

“Come on,” he pulled you against him, your back to his front, “Wasn’t too long ago I was out here with all the coeds.”

“Professor--”

“Ransom,” he purred in your ear. “I like this song.”

“I don’t think--”

“Don’t think then,” he said sharply as his arm snaked around you and urged you closer. He leaned in and spoke in your ear. “Seeing your ass in that dress makes me wonder why you ever cover it up.”

“Pr--Ransom, please, I--”

“It’s just a dance, sweetie,” he grinded into you and you felt a twitch in his pants. “Just like that.”

He guided your drunken body against his as his fingers danced along the hem of your dress. The music swept you up as you dizzily surrendered to him. Behind the haze, you knew it was wrong, but you knew you were strong enough to resist. And part of you, didn’t believe your professor was groping you.

“Mmm, you’re so sweet,” he groaned, “That’s it,” he rubbed his crotch against you, “Let me feel that ass.”

“Professor,” you breathed as one his hands caressed your thigh, “You shouldn’t--”

“Wish you dressed like this in class.” He slithered, “Nice little short skirt. You can sit in the front row and give me a little peek.”

“Stop,” you hissed as your vision swam and panic rose in your chest, the gin making you unsteady and uncertain, “Please.”

“Please,” he echoed, “I love to hear you beg me, sweetie.”

“I-I-I--” you stuttered stupidly and finally tore away from him. “I have to pee.”

Your ankle bent in your heel and you hurried past him. You nearly fell as you batted away his hand and fled to the restroom. You stopped by the doorway at the edge of the floor and looked back. Ransom watched you with head tilted and a smirk on his lips, unbothered by the drunk horde around him. You turned and quickly shielded yourself with the door.

You took a breath and ambled forward to stare at yourself in the mirror. Were you that drunk or was your professor really trying to get in your pants?

🥂

When you returned to the girls, Ransom was gone. You didn’t look around for him much, afraid you might find him. You finally tore Cece away from her partner as Lexi began to lean heavily. You took her under the arm and realised that every one of you were a mess. It would be a parade of fools trying to get home.

You got your jackets from the check and went out into the bitter cold. You shivered as you left Lexi to hang off Rima and you swayed as you hailed a cab. A yellow taxi pulled up and you opened the door as you ushered the rest of the girls in. A hand rested beside yours atop the door.

“Looks like there’s no room for you,” Ransom said and you flinched as you looked at him.

“I can get in the front,” you argued weakly.

“Ride with me.” He raised his hand to call another cab, “You don’t wanna overcrowd the car.”

“No, I can--”

“It’s cold!” Cece pulled the door from your grasp and it slammed, nearly knocking you over. “Driver, Western Building on campus.”

“Wait--” The driver pulled away without pause and you stumbled off the curb.

Ransom caught you and pulled you back up. He wrapped his arm around you as another taxi appeared.

“You’re pretty fucked up, sweetie, I can’t have you riding alone,” he opened the door and bent to usher you inside. You struggled but not much, hauling yourself across the seat as he followed closely. He gave an address you didn’t recognize as he shut the door.

“What-- where--” You touched your forehead as you leaned back against the seat. “Professor--”

“I like how you call me that,” he reached over and rested his hand on your leg, “Don’t worry, sweetie, better you come with me than some creep.”

You grabbed his hand and tried to push it away but it didn’t budge. He squeezed your thigh and got closer. His other arm went around your shoulder and drew you against him.

“It’s okay, sweetie, you’re tired. Just close your eyes.” He hummed. “I’ll get you back safe.”

You shook your head but your eyelids drooped against your will. The dancing, the gin, the weeks of sleep deprivation piled atop you and dragged you into a blurred stupor. You felt detached from the world as it passed outside the car windows and suddenly a door opened and closed. Your body was moving but not of your own volition. 

Your vision cleared for a moment and you looked up at a large house with immense windows. You blinked and you were inside. You sat for a moment as Ransom moved around and you were lifted up. You were cradled in his arms as he carried up a flight of stairs and through the unfamiliar hallway. You bounced atop a mattress with a jolt.

“Wha--” you quivered and tried to sit up. Your head spun as your lashes fluttered.

You sat dumbly, barely able to hold yourself up on shaky arms as Ransom undressed. You babbled as he revealed his muscled chest and thick arms. He was entirely unlike the first, and only boy, you’d been with. He was a man.

“I’m drunk…” you slurred, “I can’t… you’re my--my--”

“That’s right,” he reached into his jeans pocket, his fly open, “I’m your professor,” he pulled out his phone and neared. He nudged you so that you fell onto your back and pushed your legs apart. You looked up at him as he snapped photos of you. You raised your hand to try to hide yourself. “If anyone were to find out you tried to seduce me, and for a better grade, you’ll be expelled. A star scholar like you, untouchable for any university in the country. Pity.”

“You can’t.” You murmured as you closed your legs and tried to sit up but found it almost impossible. “You…”

“I will and if you try to blow the whistle, I’ll do it first and I’ll be a whole lot more convincing than the girl everyone saw piss drunk tonight.” He sneered, “Now open those legs for me, sweetie.”

You didn’t move. You hugged yourself with your arms as you were caught in a heavy tide. You were terrified, worse; helpless. You listened to the rustle of his clothing and the mattress dipped by your feet. 

His hands began at your ankles and glided up to your knees. He pushed your legs apart as you held them together. You were forced to relent as he pinched you viciously and your muscles quaked. He moved between your legs and rubbed your thighs as your skirt rode up. He pressed two fingers along the crotch of your panties.

“What’s the point of these in a dress like that, huh?” He began to tease you through the fabric, “What’s the matter, sweetie? You scared?” He slowly pulled aside your panties and touched your folds, “Am I your first?”

You shook your head and squeezed your eyes shut. You whimpered as he flicked your clit.

“Maybe not your first but definitely the best,” he purred, “Ah, ah, you’re already wet. Kept you waiting all night, didn’t I?”

“Please, I don’t want to--”

“Shhh,” his fingers slipped down to your entrance and he traced it carefully, “You’re drunk. You don’t know what you want,” he poked his finger inside of you, “But your body does.” He added another and glided in and out of your easily. “Fuck, you’re tight.”

“P-p-pl--” Your voice fizzled as he curled his fingers and pressed the hell of his hand to your clit.

Your eyes rolled back and your eyelids shut. You were lost in a daze of pleasure and confusion. You were trapped but that coil winding inside you didn’t want to escape. The knot of nerves tangling tighter and tighter overpowered your fear and had you bracing the mattress. Your legs bent without a thought and your back arched. Ransom hummed as he guided your body closer to the edge.

Your nails curled into the duvet and your toes clenched. You tried to breathe, the taste of gin still on your tongue, and cried out instead. You shook as you came but it didn’t feel like your body. You felt as if you were floating above as you were used by this man. Your legs went limp and slid straight as you panted wildly and the world was specks of light as you opened your eyes.

“Teacher’s pet, aren’t you?” He taunted. “You always have the answers.”

You focused on Ransom as the room remained a fog behind him. A halo seemed to limn his figure as he drew his hand from your cunt and licked his fingers. He delighted in the taste and planted his hands on the bed and bent over you.

“That smug little smile when you’re right. You’re always right.” He hissed. “I had girls like you in my classes. Always thought they needed a good fuck.”

You touched his chest and pushed pathetically. He chuckled as his nose brushed yours.

“You know, when you bend over to get a pen from your bag, I can see straight down your shirt,” he winked, “It makes me wanna bend you over myself. You know how hard it is to teach when you’ve got me all riled up?”

“I didn’t-- Never…” you murmured, your head lolling as you found it hard to follow his words, hard to keep from drifting away entirely.

“I was going to wait until the break… Tonight was unexpected but not unwanted,” he uttered as he reached between your bodies. He dragged his tip along your folds. “You should know what you do to me.”

He stopped at your entrance and slowly pushed inside. Your mouth formed an O and he groaned with each inch. His arm came back up and hooked under your shoulder as he sank to his limit. You moaned at how full you were. Your walls hugged him and you grasped his shoulder as you tried to pull away from him. 

He grabbed your jaw and held your head straight as he glared down at you and jerked his hips.

“That’s all you, sweetie,” he muttered, “Does it hurt you like it hurts me?”

He began to thrust and your legs bent around him as you tried to ease the pain. Since your regrettable high school sweetheart, you hadn’t done anything more than some foreplay and that had been shameful, if not forgettable. You closed your eyes, your head swirled and your body bounced against the bed as the darkness embraced you.

When you opened your eyes next, your head hung to the side as Ransom held himself over you, arms straight as he rutted. His gaze clung to the joining of your bodies and the slick noise of it. His hair dangled down from his head as he watched himself fuck you, slamming harder and faster each time as if driven by the sight.

You winced and let out a moan. It hurt, delightfully so, but in the back of your alcohol-laced mind, you knew it was wrong.

He lowered himself slowly, bending to take your nipple in his mouth and suckle as he continued to rock against you. His thrusts grew sharper as his groans sent a rumble through your chest. Your thighs tingled and your core thrummed as you were overcome by your drunken ecstasy.

Your voice filled the room as you came again and you didn’t realise it was yours. Ransom drew back and sat up as he lifted your pelvis, crashing into you as hard as he could as he bared his teeth. His eyes were smoky as he grunted and his motion turned frantic.

“I’m gonna- ahhh,” he took several long thrusts as he flooded you with his orgasm. 

He kept going until the sensation made him spasm and he hung his head. He reached down to spread your cunt and admired it as he slowly slid out. As his cum leaked from you, he scooped it up with his fingers and pushed it back in, spreading the rest along your folds.

“Shit,” he said as he grazed your thighs with his nails, your eyes closed and consciousness fading with his voice, “Such a good girl…”

🥂

You felt as if you were buried in sand when you woke up. The world was too bright and yet too dull. The night before was blank, a void, and your surroundings were a greater mystery. The framed manuscripts, the antique side table with a twisted vase atop it, the pristine white walls. You groaned as every move made your head throb.

You rolled onto your back and gurgled. Your stomach stirred and you struggled to keep it from erupting. You turned your head slowly as your hand felt along the arm beside you. Ransom Drysdale, your Lit professor, watched you as you stared back confused. His bare torso made your cheeks burn and the dress bunched up around your waist added to your embarrassment. How had this happened?

“What-- Professor--”

“If I spank you, would you scream that for me? ‘Professor’?” He mocked.

“I don’t--” You sat up and it sent a strike of pain down the back of your skill, “What happened? How--”

“Do you want to see the pictures?” He sat up and his hand tickled along your back. “I think you might be able to guess without them.”

You blinked at him and drew away from his touch. You turned your legs over the side of the bed and took a breath before you stood. You pulled your dress up over your arms and tugged the skirt back down as you searched for your panties.

“What’s wrong, sweetie?” He asked.

“I have to get… back to campus,” you gripped your head. “Where’s my purse?”

“Relax,” he cooed, “I’ll drive you back…” You heard him stand and turned as he approached you, naked. “But I think that we should get cleaned up first.”

“I--We--”

“A nice hot shower,” he licked his lips and leaned in, “Or do you like walking around with me all down your leg?”

You reeled and your stomach churned. You covered your mouth and shoved him away. You ran for the small door on the other side of the room and thankfully, found a toilet within. You wretched into the bowl until your body ached. You sensed his shadow behind you.

“You just make sure you wash your mouth out, sweetie,” he stepped past you and cranked the shower on, “I didn’t get a chance to play with that yet.”

[starshipsofstarlord]

Jim and Jody - Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary; it was one of the biggest decisions of your life, but will you change your mind before your future is sealed?

Warnings; angst, mentions of abortion (everyone is permitted to do what they want with their body, in this imagine the reader wants to keep the baby, but pro choice, as everyone deserves control over their bodies and all 🤍), brief mention of sex and threats

Masterlist Link

To see him so relaxed, so completely and utterly himself was a paradise all on its own. There was a heaviness aboard your shoulders, but as you watched him goof tirelessly about, you had no other concerns, not even as you subconsciously raised your hand over your stomach. You shook your head at the sentiment, the two of you had already made the decision to abort this child, it was unknown how the poor fellow would turn out to be; with the combination of your powers and his super everything, it was sure to be quite the complication, and not one that you supposed was to be an easy course.

A smile pried at your face, simply from viewing him with the pack of children, the wind from the docks swept your hair into your face, and in turn, you swept the locks out and away from your vision, so that you had further access to watch the man that you loved in his absolute element. Through the years, past and recent, he had lost so much, and this child was just to be another mantle on the wall of memorial in his mind, it was sad really. If the two of you were normal, with average and lives that had perceptions with no regards of being heroic, there’d be no query about it, you’d keep the baby.

That life though, to your grave misfortune, did not exist, it was merely a fantasy living painfully inside of your mind, haunting you whenever you closed your eyes, with the flashing images of a resolution and end to the errors in your lifestyle. There’d be a big house, yet nothing to prissy, just enough room for the pair of you and few children of your own, a grand garden with a swing set and sand pit, where the infants could grow up and play in once they were older. Then there’d also be a shed for Bucky to work on small projects, such as attaining some love and care to his motor bike, as well as storing the supplies that he’d need to do so.

All that is a universe away, muffled from possibility by the stars expediting through the gorgeous veil of the galaxy, corrupting the possibilities of ever gaining access to such... peace. That was the one thing that the pair of you wanted, however catching a break was rather rare within your predicament. A stifled laugh reeled from the conjunction of your lips as you simply and endearingly surveyed how the boys, specifically Sam’s nephews hung from the vibranium branch of his arm. It was all your attention was focused on, until an extra person took a seat on the picnic table beside you, his sweet yet musky scent detailing whom it was. “If your not going to eat that, I’m sure Barnes Junior might want an opinion on that.”

The underlining of the words caused an abstract grimace to forlorn your features, as you stared not at the speaker of whom you were close with, but instead the slather of cake that was planted on a paper plate before you, the icing beginning to become slightly sick from the beating of the viable son. “You’re glowing, you know? Motherhood is a good look on you y/n/n, I wouldn’t be so soon to let that go.” Your fingers pried at the dismantled crumbs off your section of desert as you looked to your new captain, a resonating conformation fo bridled suffering and hopelessness clouding your view of his attempt at making you atone before you made a sin that you’d forever regret.

He, like many others, knew that the family life was what you wanted; you wanted to be your child’s hero, tending to their each necessary (and unnecessary) need, them being your main focus and project and life. Instead, you had been handed your options on a short stick, and thus, your decision, albeit somewhat of a sensible one, didn’t make it hurt any less. “Sam.” You spoke his name, observing from the corner of your eye how Bucky paraded around the dock with Jim and Jody. It’d be nice to give him a slice of this kinda life, he was thriving as an adult around children, you could only imagine him in the case of this one being birthed into the world. “It’s not that easy.”

“No one said it was going to be easy.” Sam responded quickly, affirming your fears to your nerve wrecked face. “I get it, I do. People will be after this kid, and that is no way to live, but you two aren’t alone in any of this, nor will you be in that. You have me, along with many other old friends of ours, hell even the Wakandan’s. Do you really want to sacrifice this one life so you can continue living this one? You and Bucky have both lost so much, you don’t have to force yourself to willingly give away something else. The decision can be changed the last minute, it’s a lot to take in, I get that, but I see the way Buck is with my nephews, and how you watch them when you think nobody’s looking over at you. With your state pardon, you two can retire, and go far away, and abandon everything for this one little guy or gal, because I know that if you do, no matter what, they’ll be worth it.”

Bucky wailed a warrior’s shout as Jim and Jody playfully struck him down, his unsheathed metal hand grasping at the cloth that was tightly aboard his addictive chest. He rolled on the ground as the children ran to retrieve their toy lightsabers, leaving him to be expendable against their weapons. There was a giddy and fitting smile smouldering his usual stoic expression. It was no wander why he found calm in visiting Sam and his sister’s small, and accepting family. The kids brought out another side of him, which he had been tortured to refrain from showing, but you had seen, and were contemplating many things within your mind. You were lapping up the image, as though you were dehydrated and the sight of him appeased by the company of young ones was a source of water.

Sam was right, he always was and had been. “The decision was on both of our parts, you don’t think Buck’ll change his mind, or do you?” You were invested in getting a responsive answer, yet the man spluttered a laugh at your confused expense. He heaved for a moment, bracing his hands on his knees as he caught his breath. There was nothing stopping him from gaining it back, unlike Bucky whom had grabbed a saber of his own and lightly began to paddle against the one that was directed against him, other than another round of hysterics that abandoned him. A reasonable smile resonated a comfortable position upon the former falcon’s face, as he tentatively patted your knee, watching as you broke off a small rupture of cake and popped it in your mouth, feeding not only yourself but the inmate within your womb.

“There isn’t really much for me to say, it’s easy, look at him. He will be fine with whatever decision that the pair of you succumb to, after all, it’s your body, but it will pain him like nothing else ever has if you go through with the abortion, and if not, then trust me, we’ve both seen how hard he fights; think of that but ten times the mass in consideration of this baby, because I am certain that he’d do anything for them. He lost his entire family when he awoke from his mode of hydra assassin, this could be him getting it back. Different members, but a family all the same.” He stole a little of your cake, making you lightly elbow him as a smirk rendered a beauty upon his face.

“What’s that going to make you, the patriotic uncle who just can’t keep himself from flashing his shield?” Now it was his turn to retaliate, he lightly scuffed your ankle with a feather light tap of the toe of his shoe, causing you to promiscuously roll your eyes. “I’m joking, that was Steve’s aesthetic, this new version of cap is your baby, I have great faith in you to make this world a better and safer place. The funny thing is, when you finally accepted that shield was yours, that’s when my mind shifted to the possibility of keeping this kid. It was and has always been a sign of hope and protection to Bucky, maybe it could be the same for our little one. It was just a thought, I’m not meaning to put pressure on your or anything bu-“

“I get it, and I’m honoured. And if that is how it seems, then I want you to know that I’ll be there to protect them too. The main bump in the road for now is for you to talk to that grumpy ass boyfriend of yours and figure this sperm plus egg equation out, send Jim and Jody over here, I got somethin’ to show those two anyway.” With a nod and a grateful pat upon your friend’s head, you slowly plodded over to where Bucky was being cornered against the side of the truck by the boys. His blue orbs danced around their small and imaginative beings, until they landed on you, it was as though his pupils were calling out for help, begging for you to spare some mercy upon him.

“Jim, Jody, your uncle Sammy has something for you two to see.” They groaned lightly, having been pulled away from the narrative of their play time, but nevertheless their faces were clean slates as they expressed hyper smiles, and bolted their route towards their mother’s sibling, carrying their lightsaber replicas along with them. “Two kids beat an infamous, deadly badass with a metal arm. I think you might be getting too old for these kinda battles Buck, you were losing, and quite terribly if I say so myself.” Crossing your arms, as he came to an upright stand, hoisting himself off the ground, so that he could be more level with you.

“Yeah, yeah, rub it in. Thought you were supposed to be supportive of me and all that, as you said to Zemo, you’d quite happily cut his dick off if he compared me to the shadow that I used to be.” His brow raised, as he reminisced on the thought of you threatening Zemo; it was hot, and certainly had gotten him going, which had shortly left you in this predicament, trying to save the world and execute the one last thing that exhumed hope to either one of you. The baby. It was almost a certain and solid fact that the little one inside of you had been procreated on the Baron’s private jet, more specifically, the small and clean bathroom that had became dirty with your primal sins.

“And I still regret not doing that, he’d have had much less leverage in any sense of the word of phallic if he had it sectioned off.” Silence emitted between the two of you, although a humoured smirk tantalised upon Bucky’s graceful face. For a change, he was not prompting the expression of a grumpy cat that was refused its nip, no, instead he could be compared to a future - actually, he already was a father to the bean held in the shield of your body, having been an ample ingredient in bringing the small person into being. “So, you having fun with Sarah’s kids, sure looks like you were quite in your element before I cut in.”

“I’m always in my element when you’re around doll.” He smiled, wrapping his uncoordinated hands around the oval of your waist, and tugging you sentimentally closer, your hips bumped with his, as your eyes ogled infatuatedly up at him. “They’re great kids, makes me realise exactly what we’re gonna be missing out on.” Bucky gulped, sparks of emotion taunted the behind of his eyes, like saucers of resentful fire. “You’d be the perfect mother, you know that right? After all you’ve done for me, you’ve nurtured me close to the man that I once was, the only difference is that I want to settle, but I don’t know how to go about dropping everything. This kid is killing me, he’s making me question everything.”

“That’s what kids are supposed to do, unborn, or very much avidly attacking grown men with false lightsabers.” Bucky deeply into your frustrated and corresponding eyes, your hands reaching up to play defiantly with the smooth dip in his chin that could be seen through the shading of his light stubble. “What if we did have a Jim and Jody of our own some day? We could keep him or her, they’d be our greatest concern, we don’t have to go down this painful and longing, rusted road. We could bring something good into this world, protect them against all forces that threaten to disrupt their life, I want this with you Bucky. We could move far far away, or go somewhere close to home.”

“Brooklyn.” He stated, causing a line to crease gently in the plain of his forehead. “I want to call them Brooklyn, if I am to fight the rest of my life for something, I want it to be my home. Last time I had to leave there, but it’s my amends to never leave this child of ours, if we’re going to do this, we need to put them in front of everything, and I mean everything.” He spoke, in reference to the other avengers and other aliases that you had stood by for so long. Bleakly you nodded, grasping his jaw down for an amorous kiss, humming against the palette of his lips, as your hands entwined behind his neck, pulling his face closer to your own, prompting his tongue to travel deeper within the realm of your mouth.

“Brooklyn is a nice name. How about Brooklyn Margaret Barnes? I think that has quite the ring to it.” You offered, and he hardly reacted, instead quickly appraising a pleasant smile onto the canvas of his work of art face, as he ducked his head down, conjoining the pair of you into a passionate and meaningful collide of your lips. Sam smiled as he watched the pair of you, pointing at you two from afar, as his nephews from afar. He was giving them a man to men talk, offering them advice that they would have valuable usage of in the future.

“Now that is love. You don’t give up for the one thing that connects you, and those two, well Bucky and y/n have been through a hell of a lot. They deserve this, and when you meet a woman when you’re older, and your mum is watching on towards the two of you, I want you to make her proud by treating your girl like a princess, willing to sacrifice everything simply to create the future that she wishes for you.” He emotionally wiped his eyes, rushing to stand before he grasped a lightsaber, leaving the other to spare for one of them. “Now Jim and Jody, which one of you will be my padawan?”

[meliorist-midoriya]

to you, to the world, to my love (you’re all three)

synopsis: midoriya has always had too much love to give in a world that loved to take. you’re just hoping that he has enough left for you in the end.

pairing: midoriya izuku x reader

genre: fluff with a touch of angst

warnings: some insecurity

word count: 2.5k

notes: happy valentine’s day, everyone! this is my contribution for the pocuties server collab, based off the greek types of love, of which i had the honor of receiving izuku and decided upon agape  please help yourself to the box of chocolates they’re offering for valentine’s, there’s a wide selection of chocolates handmade by talented creators, so i’m sure you’ll find something to your taste! tbh i only managed to finish this fic because i was watching chan’s valentine’s vlive and i was in a super soft mood ;3;

extra: agápe - the ancient greek concept of selfless, universal love.

“Making his debut in the pro hero scene, Pro Hero Deku is blazing a trail straight out of UA—”

“—Pro Hero Deku solved an astounding 30 cases in the past month—”

“Deku’s popularity is skyrocketing, rivaling that of—”

“Hero Deku—”

“Deku—”

“Pro Hero Deku has swept the hero rankings to come out on top as Number 1!”

With a resolute ‘click’ of the remote, the reporters’ overlapping voices cut off as the TV screen faded away, your lonely reflection staring back at you from the blank screen. You, curled up on your empty couch, in your empty apartment with the clock striking what should have been dinner. The TV was only there in an attempt to drown out the crushing silence, the white noise—hellbent on filling the space his presence had left—was deafening.

That attempt failed.

Horribly.

If anything, it just made the sense of wrongness permeating the air even worse. 

(That TV recap of his best moments didn’t help as much as you hoped it would.)

Being alone in this apartment felt… off. As if someone had gouged out what should’ve been there, the ghost of a presence settling a chill into your bones that ran far deeper than just plain loneliness. The foreboding grief of what could be, the fear that you’d resigned yourself to the moment you agreed to follow him on this path, the selfishness gnawing at your conscience every time you saw him run out the door to save the next person, to solve the next case. 

Things like an All Might coffee mug sitting primly next to yours on the drying rack, garishly yellow “tufts” staring back at you with a cracked vengeance. (You’d apologized profusely to him that day, promising to buy him another one. He’d just smiled over his cracked cup of coffee, telling you not to worry about it for the hundredth time.)

Things like his haphazard mess of notes and scrawl spread out on the kitchen counter, the pen sitting next to the half finished page. (You’ve long since learned to leave his notes be, they’ll be tidied up once he’s done… if he’s ever truly done.)

The filled queue of movies and pile of DVDs you’d picked out together, giddy over plans to watch the next time he had a free night. (You remember pretending not to notice him trying to slip another hero documentary near the bottom of the pile, distracting you with talks of popcorn and the night that was supposed to be tonight.)

Deku. The man the world adored, clinging to his promise like a lifeline in times of need. 

Midoriya Izuku. The man you loved, who promised you the world.

“It’ll be okay, I’m here.”

His soft promise echoed both in the battlefield and in your darkest hours, a close mirror to a hero of a generation past, yet it was different. It was his own. Comforting, personal, and wholly him. The public, weak and grasping for new support, latched on to the small sliver of hope his hand offered and he just kept giving, giving, giving. It never seemed to stop, and you were scared. 

He was a man with a bleeding heart with all the love to give and more. To the civilians, to the villains, to anyone in need.

Now, you needed his promise more than ever. A reassurance whispered into reunions and the thousandth hospital visit, over fresh scars and searing kisses. A promise that he would come home. You didn’t want to think of all the times he came so, so close to breaking that promise, even before you two had made it, before you two had even promised yourselves to each other in your UA days.

You pulled the blanket a little tighter around you, staring down at your phone with no real intent in mind as you scrolled. The video playing one of his interview clips (bashfully reciting his “catchphrase,” how cute) cut his voice short as you scrolled past to move on to the next, wincing at the next tweet on your timeline. Him, battered and bloody, as he pulled a child from the aftermath of the battle he’d just won. 

You still need to wrap that new mug you got him as a gift. You still had to listen to him bounce his ideas off of you. You still had to move that hero documentary to the top of the pile. You still—

“Hero Deku saves 30 people, no casualties,” A soft murmuring of the headline shattered the silence, and you smiled to yourself, giggling at all the replies joking of how he threw himself into the fray a little more responsibly and singing their praises.

It’ll be okay.

“Ugh, those reporters are at it again.” 

At your best friend’s exasperated groan, you followed their gaze over to see— ah. 

A small swarm of reporters had worked their way into the fans crowding your boyfriend, their press badges reading every tabloid magazine on this side of the city and prying questions falling off their tongue like poison. From what you could hear over their overlapping clamoring, they were trying to dig into his private life.

Again. 

Deku, the darling of the masses, all sweet smiles and sincere words amidst his strength. Deku, the number one hero with the tightest lock on his private life, which came as a surprise to both everyone and no one.

It was a given, considering his position at the peak of hero society.

It was also a complete shock, considering his tendency to ramble into tangents that had his PR team withering.

Which seemed to help in times like these, now that you thought about it, laughing to yourself as you watched the reporters’ expressions darken in defeat the longer he continued to talk around their questions. Quite a long stretch from stiffly standing on the practice stage at UA all those years ago, frozen from nerves. You idly mused to this to yourself, taking a sip of your drink as you dragged your gaze back over to your best friend.

“Did you choose this cafe because it’s right along Izuku’s patrol route?” They stiffened, and you couldn’t help but laugh at their obvious intentions.

“Maybe, or it could’ve been just a coincidence.” The next teasing jab was halfway off your tongue when they cut you off before you could give into the urge, the words dying in your throat. “When was the last time you saw him anyway? I know you two live together but Todoroki told me he practically lives at the agency with how swamped they are. Are you okay?”

You purse your lips, staring down at the ice swirling around in your cup as you idly stirred it round. As if the sloshing liquid could whisper the answer you wish you knew.

“...Yeah.” They cocked a brow, and you took another sip to try and delay your time. “It’s not like either of us can help it. Izuku’s number one, so this was bound to happen.”

(The clamoring from the reporters grew ever louder. Persistent, that bunch.)

Their expectant (doubting) gaze was met with your own steady one, and you smiled. Whether it was out of consolation or resignation was anyone’s guess.

“We’re okay, I promise.”

You should really be getting to sleep. 

Really, you should.

At least, that’s what you’ve been telling yourself for the past several hours, tossing and turning in your bed with nothing but winter-cold sheets and a gnawing loneliness to keep you company. You know you should be sleeping when the clock on the bedside table reads an ungodly hour and there was work to be done in the morning. You know you should be sleeping when the moon disappears from the night sky and leaves you with nothing but the city lights to dimly illuminate the dark room.

You really know you should be sleeping when you hear the front door click open, Izuku shuffling around the apartment to get ready for whatever minimal amount of sleep he’d get before he had to be up and running soon after.

Despite this, sleep still refuses to come, and you don’t bother pretending to be asleep when he slides into bed next to you. Instead, you turn over and curl into his chest, stifling the guilt that bubbles up when he jumps in surprise.

“Something keeping you up?” Oh, he sounds so tired, and part of you wishes you could just make it all go away. The weight of the world rests heavy on his shoulders, and deep down, you wonder if you’re part of that burden. You curl a little closer, as if trying to smother the thoughts that crashed upon you, spilling over the crack in the dam that only widened the more you spoke.

“Jus’ a little lonely, is all.” Your voice is too quiet, brittle, and you pray to every deity that would listen that he would drop it. That he wouldn’t take on yet another burden when he was already carrying Altas’s share of the world.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

Of course, the gods are hardly ever so merciful—to them you are just another wishful mortal in the realm of the holy and damned—and Izuku’s hand rests on your cheek with a tenderness that makes you want to cry.

“...Why?” 

The confusion that falls over his expression (gaunt, tired, and God, should you even be doing this right now?) is immediate, and he tilts your face up to meet his gaze with yours, like he could find the answer in city lights dancing over your face. His thumb strokes soft patterns over your cheek—as if brushing off the layers you’d built to protect your soul—and you lean into his soft touch with a sigh.

“Why what?”

The words spill from your lips unbidden, your hesitations softened by the comfort of his touch, the sudden drowsiness, and the emotion that near overwhelms you.

“Why do you still try to do everything yourself? When there’s so many people out there, ready to support you?” His breath hitches in shock, but it’s too late to go back now. You reach up to hold the hand cradling your cheek, distantly remembering a time when he was too insecure of his scarred and crooked hands to even hold your hand.

He’s come a long way, indeed.

“I love you, Izuku. I just don’t know if that can hold up against your love for the world.” 

Something in his gaze softens, to your surprise. His smile is even softer.

“What would you do if you’re both?”

“Wh— Izuku—”

He continues, and you listen, raptured by his words spoken into the glow of the blue hour.

“Yes, I know that at the end of the day, peace and safety has to come first, but—” His smile widens into something bashful, a smile that never failed to send butterflies scattering through your heart. “—who says you can’t be right along with them?” 

He bumped his forehead with yours, smiling emerald eyes gazing into your own with such love—dizzying and overpowering and so, so warm. With the steady thrum of your heartbeat matching his, you found yourself falling even deeper once again.

“You know me, I can never compromise when it comes to what’s important to me.”

You laugh, something watery, as he presses a kiss to your forehead, temple, cheek, with a last, smiling kiss on your lips.

“How greedy.” He laughs into your lips, pulling away to hold you closer.

“Just for you.”

There’s so many things you could’ve said, as you watched the rest of the night sky fade into the deep blues of dawn. But, you decide, the comforting silence was best left as is, only broken by one resounding comfort.

It’ll be okay.

“You know, it would’ve been nice to know that you had taken the day off before I had that whole guilt spiral last night.”

“It turned out okay though, didn’t it?” He turned back to flash you that cheeky grin of his, half-hidden by his winter coat and backed by the glow of the setting sun. You just rolled your eyes with a laugh before jogging to catch up to him, slipping you hand out of your pocket to interlace your fingers with his.

“Yeah, it did.” 

The walk was silent as you two strolled down the familiar path, winding down after a whole day spent with each other. It was romantic of him, now that you thought about it, to take the whole Valentine’s Day off just for you. You hummed as you leaned onto him, giddy and content at the thought. 

In love, if you were to be so bold.

(Granted, he had to wear a mask and a cap the entire time to hide from the prying eyes of the public, but you made do.)

The sight of aged, familiar scenery pulled you from your musings, and you tugged at his hand to grab his attention, pointing at the quaint bench surrounded by bare gingko trees.

“Hey, wasn’t this the park where you confessed?” At your words, he froze and glanced over at the familiar scenery, eventually burying his face into his free hand with a groan once the old memories clicked in his head.

“Oh, don’t remind me. It’s still embarrassing to look back on.”

“What? I thought you were cute!” You laughed, nudging him to follow as you led him over to the small park, brushing off the dust to sit on the bench before patting the space next to you. Izuku obliged, and you almost automatically curled into his side, as if by habit.

“Did we really walk all the way here from the station?” His disbelieving tone made you look up at him, his expression one of nostalgic awe, before casting your attention back to the aged scenery, humming in agreement as you idly picked out what’s changed and what’s stayed in the years that have passed.

“I guess we never really forget, huh?”

“I forgot the sunset looked the best from here.”

“I hope you didn’t forget all the memories we made here.” He tore his attention from the sunset to gape down at you, scandalized.

“Of course not!” 

“Really?” He arched a brow at the teasing lilt to your voice and the mischievous grin playing at your lips, “So you didn’t forget accidentally firing an Air Force shot at me when we first met because you were training?”

He buried his face in his hands again with another embarrassed groan.

“I hoped you would forget that, at least!” You just laughed, hugging him closer as if to console him from your teasing. Before long, the atmosphere settled back into a quiet reminiscence, indulging in the nostalgia of memories past in this little park. The silence that was once deafening alone, now softened by the comfort of his presence at your side.

“We’ve made so many memories in this park, huh?” At your soft hum of agreement, he continued. Was his voice shaking? “It wouldn’t hurt to make more, would it?”

“What do you me—”

Your question cut itself short as you saw what he held out to you. 

A little velvet box, sitting open in his hand. You dragged your suddenly watery gaze back up to Izuku, his once bashful smile now wobbly with nerves. 

So familiar in this little park, yet so new.

“Happy Valentine’s Day.”

It was just a small walk down memory lane, the street lights blinking on one by one in the wake of the fiery sunset as you two walked the familiar path together. Yet there was something buzzing anew in the air, humming through your soul as you held out your hand to the sun, admiring the way the gem on your ring finger sparkled in the fading sunset. In the other, you interlaced your fingers with his.

Yeah… 

You caught Izuku’s soft gaze, smiling and in love.

We’ll be okay.

[anika-ann]

My Timid Hello, My Clumsy Goodbye (S.R.)

Type: one-shot, canon semi-compliant?

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Barton!reader    Word count: 8900 (...sorry)

Summary: You’re spending the evening and the night before your wedding with the two most important men of your life.

When the sun rises again, you’ll say your ‘I do’ in a close circle of friends and family. It’s not a goodbye to your old life and it’s not a hello to some enormous change; but you will no longer be a Barton. You will be a Rogers. Why not reminisce a bit? 

Warnings: mention of an abandoned baby, blood and injuries, alcohol, implied possibly rougher sex (nothing graphic) ...mature?, language, so much sappiness... let me know if I missed any

A/N: For what-is-your-backupplan-today 10th anniversary of CA:TFA challenge. Prompts in bold. Thank you for coming up with this wonderful theme and hosting this challenge! Long live CA:TFA!

A/N: Throughout the fic, you’ll find snippets of lyrics from SYML’s "Everything All At Once”. Honestly, the song has a completely different meaning to me, but tearing it out of context works for this story just fine :) When you’re done reading, I recommend the music video. It friggin’ broke me in the worst and best ways. Enjoy!

This is my hello This is my clumsy goodbye I'm putting my glass down I wanna remember tonight

Tony rented an island for you. Clint nearly passed out learning about it and grumbled for days about having a hard time to top that, which, no arguing, was understandable.

It was an incredibly extravagant thing to do, throwing around money that could have been used for a much more honourable cause, but you couldn’t complain. One should not look a gifted horse into mouth – and so you didn’t.

Because Tony Stark renting an island was his premature wedding gift. The fact that your brother bitched about not being able to top that, well, that was his problem. You were certain that deep down, he knew you didn’t need any fancy gifts like that.

Then again, Tony’s gift might have been epically overpriced, but not exactly unthoughtful; along with a private island came a private jet and you being literally flied under radar so no single paparazzi knew where you and America’s golden boy Steve Rogers would seal the deal with your ‘I do.’ So, you were everything but ungrateful to your friend that he succeeded at pulling off such covert operation; and frankly, this place was nothing short of wonderful.

The golden sand was pleasantly warm under your toes as you as you and Clint walked towards the two single beach chairs facing the ocean. Wearing bikini under the baggy t-shirt and a pair of shorts, sunglasses on top of your head, because why would you deprive yourself the gorgeous view of the sun beginning to set down, you followed your brother – not in blood but in every other sense – to the seats, allured by the view, the serenity and the cold sixpack in his hand.

You had already had a traditional bachelorette party with your girls – with the team, with your family. Natasha, Wanda, Pepper, Sharon and Maria. The night had been the perfect blend of what was considered typically feminine, dress up, fanciness and wine and gossip, and a fun night out with shots, dancing, karaoke and pool. That particular night sadly was interrupted shortly by an annoying photographer, but he soon understood it was not very clever to annoy three and a half Avengers or the CEO of Stark Industries for that matter.

Clint however… Clint deserved a special evening with you. With the rest of the team in various state of chilling out, scattered around the luxurious small houses and gorgeous beaches, you two were left the privacy such moment required.

Even if the special moment consisted of simple talking and drinking beer while watching the sun set, a symbolic end of one phase of your life – a phase that was undeniably tied to the famous and yet barely known archer, one of the seven defenders who rushed into the Battle of New York to save the Earth.

One of the seven had been your brother, having previously been controlled by the monster who brought an army from outer space; there was no questioning whether you would join the fight or not, no matter how you preferred the latter part of your field medic job title to the former.

Another of these brave people, as it turned out, was your future husband. A man you had met for the first time that day, but whom you didn’t hesitate to push back down when he got hit by a freaking alien weapon and stood up, wanting to shake it off as if it was nothing. Your medical training told you not to let him; and your stubbornness had been just a touch stronger than his that day.

Apparently, Steve found you always standing your ground to be one of your most endearing qualities.

What a fancy way to express it instead of simply calling you a stubborn pain in his ass.

“You’re lost in your head, Twinkie,” Clint hummed, playfully nudging your ribs with an elbow, bringing you back to the present.

Your nose automatically scrunched at the childhood nickname.

“You gotta stop calling me that, Bobo,” you retorted, a grin spreading on your face as it was his turn to grimace.

You knew it was nothing but an act and that he in fact loved that nickname, because it held so much sentiment, so many memories… as did his endearment for you.

Bobo had been your first word or so Clint always claimed. Obviously, you wouldn’t remember.

You wouldn’t remember your parents, having been only two days old when your mother left you with a damn circus which was in your hometown at the time. You couldn’t recall how you wouldn’t stop crying until you heard a seven-year-old Clint humming a lullaby for you, with silly replacements of lyrics that always made you laugh later on when you could understand them.

How he started calling you Twinkie, because he was a sugar addict and apparently, you were sweet and small and he liked you; so much that he soon appointed himself to be your brother, your bro, your Bobo.

Once you were older and learned that your involuntary nickname for him also meant ‘crazy’ in Spanish, you were sold to that Bobo endearment forever.

Including the night before your wedding.

“You keep zoning out on me, Kid. Getting cold feet?” Clint hummed, casually handing you a can of beer, opening it up for you.

You automatically reached out and took a sip, eyes fixed on the warm colour on the horizon. What a ridiculous question… but kind and caring, with a hidden promise of getting you out of here if you just asked. Your amazing, protective, crazy brother.

You couldn’t but smile widely, glancing at him from the corner of your eye.

“You offering to kidnap the bride, Clint? I’d like to see you try. You were always better at trapeze than at being an escape artist.”

Clint scoffed. “Please. These are amateurs. I bet I could pull it off.”  

That drew a laugh from you.

“Are you calling the Avengers amateurs? Better yet, are you calling your wife an amateur?” you teased him, watching his face lose colour when he realized that he did exactly that. You leaned over and patted his thigh. “Don’t worry, Bobo. I won’t tell Nat.”

Clint visibly relaxed, but a shadow of worry twisting his expression.

“Seriously though. Where’s your head at, Kid?”

You just shrugged, smile resting on your lips as you wondered if you ever felt so relaxed. It went along well with the reminiscing of the past and despite the fact that tomorrow was a big day and you should probably be nervous, you weren’t. Not in the slightest, more like the opposite. You were giddy even; it dawned to you that nothing in your life had ever felt so right.

No moment in your life offered you such serenity to your heart, your shoulders free of any weight, body light as air.

“Just taking a trip down the memory lane. Thinking about how lucky I was to be dropped at your circus of all circuses of the world,” you grinned at Clint, your tone remaining completely serious.

Because you were being serious – words couldn’t express how grateful for everything that led to this moment you were. How grateful you were to your brother for watching over you, making sure you would always see the light of a new day, guiding you when you found yourself in a dark.

Clint didn’t react beside his fingers twitching and you knew he was giving you the chance to say what you needed to say.

“About how you taught me pretty much everything I know. About how while I might not be the best person in the world, my brother, who is the best brother ever, made me into a decent person and I owe him everything I am. And how I should probably feel guilty for tying myself to another guy who just swept in and whisked away your little sister.”

Clint stared at you, gulping as his eyes gradually filled with tears. You found yourself in a very cheesy moment, bordering on absurd and it was almost too much to handle – but Clint took a deep breath, cleared his throat and swallowed his tears.

“Well, that bastard did steal my greatest life achievement with way too little effort,” he remarked, voice cracking slightly, the image of him causing your eyes to burn as well even if his words made you both tear up and burst out laughing.

“Dammit, Clint, stop making me laugh and cry at the same time…”

“You started it!” he pointed his index finger at you accusingly, taking a large sip of his beer to drown his sentiment. “But for the record, you should not feel guilty. It’s not like you’re leaving me.”

“I know, but-“

“And if you were, you’d be leaving me in good hands.”

“That’s true, Natasha does have a grip on you and might keep you outta trouble-“

“She’s the one who gets me into trouble half of the time!” Clint cried out in protest and you would have argued if it wasn’t the truth.

But before he had met her, Clint was able to make up his own trouble just fine – he was more than half of a reason why while doing a bit of trapeze yourself, you also grew interested in medical care. Because who else than the little sister should treat her big brother’s wounds when he got too crazy?

“In all seriousness, I’m proud of you, Twinkie,” he said sincerely, one corner of his lips raised in a lopsided smile. “You’re entirely entitled to have your own life and if there’s one guy in this whole damn world I’m willing to trust to have you… well, I guess it’s that big blond dumbass.”

“He can be a bit dumb of ass occasionally, can’t he?” you mused lovingly. “I guess it’s right what they say… we do pick our partners similar to our parents, maybe not only in looks. I didn’t really have a dad, I had you, so…”

Clint sighed, smile widening, before it slipped from his face as he caught up on the not-so-hidden insult.

“Hey!”

You couldn’t but laugh at his shocked expression, accidently spilling a splosh of beer on the sand.

“Just… maybe make sure that even married, you still find time to hang out with your big dumb of ass brother every once in a while?” Clint suggested, sounding surprisingly vulnerable.

Your whole demander softened, a little pang of guilt stinging in your heart as he took your words too seriously – and at his worry.

“Clint… I will always find time for my amazing brother.”

“Well, you’re marrying a pretty amazing guy too, so, you know, I understand the dilemma…”

You snorted when he seemed to genuinely fawn over your future husband, shaking your head before downing the rest of your drink.

“As amazing as Steve might be – and gosh, he is, don’t get me started – you still own a pretty big chunk of my heart.”

“Good. You are a Barton at heart,” Clint hummed, pretending that a few tears didn’t roll down his cheeks, leaning towards you as his expression once again grew serious.

Your chest tightened. Oh no. He was gonna say something to make you cry too – as if you already weren’t at verge of crying, emotions bubbling under the surface.

“Clint-“ you warned him silently, but he spoke up anyway and you gulped, bracing yourself.

“Just… whatever happens tomorrow, you must promise me one thing. That you will stay who you are. Not a perfect housewife, but a good woman.”

That was not what you were prepared for, as touching as the sentiment was.

You burst out laughing, head thrown back, hands clutching at your stomach as it actually hurt with the sudden clench. Tears did spring from your eyes, a perfect blend of touched and infinitely amused at your brother’s words.

“Har, har, that’s what I get from trying to speak from heart…” Clint muttered grumpily and you willed yourself to calm your hitching breaths as you looked at him, the pout of his mouth causing you to cackle again.

“Sorry, sorry. It’s just… I am moved, I really am. Thank you. But me? A perfect housewife? And you realize I’m marrying Steve Rogers, right? The epitome of a good man? He would probably threaten to sock me in a jaw if I tried to change into something I’m not just for his sake and actually sock me in my jaw if I turned into a bad woman.”

Clint’s eyebrows jumped, a smirk appearing on his face. “That’s a lot of punching.”  

“My thoughts exactly,” you agreed, reaching for another can, pausing when a thought occurred to you. “Just so we’re clear, I might turn into a bit of a housewife when we have kids, alright? And I want to be a good wife, a good partner to Steve, which is what I’m trying to do even now.”

“I mean, yeah, sure, wouldn’t expect anything less. But… just promise me you’ll stay you and that you’ll keep giving him a run for his money, keep him on his toes a bit,” Clint shrugged with a grin, drawing another chuckle from you.

You saw his point – and you fully intended to keep Steve on his toes. You had a good reason to believe that your future husband enjoyed when you did.

“Oh Clinton… I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

He nodded contentedly, picking up another beer and raising it for a toast, his can clinking with yours.

“Cheers to that!”

A comfortable silence settled between the two of you then, a quiet joy wrapped in one moment; the sun ending its quest, the warm breeze in your hair, the waves whispering of a journey you were about to take off to. And all that with a wordless comforting presence of your family, ready to offer you a shelter if a storm rocked your boat and the wind caused you to lose course.

As your mind wandered, you had to laugh at yourself – it was almost as if you were raised by pirates and not circus performers. Perhaps it was the little bit of free cheeky spirit these life journeys had in common what brought the metaphor to your mind. It was a bit like working with the Avengers too, always on a road, adrenaline in your veins even as you mostly stayed on the jet, ready to assist them… yet here you were pondering that maybe, you were yearning for settling down a bit more.

“Cap wouldn’t punch you anyway, right?” Clint remarked, breaking the silence and you blinked yourself back into reality, taking a moment to figure out what he was talking about.

Oh. Right. Steve punching you if you changed yourself significantly for his benefit.

You smiled softly, heart swelling in affection when the answer to that question appeared obvious.

“No, he wouldn’t.”

“Good. He’d try once and I’d put an arrow straight between his eyes,” Clint promised darkly, almost causing you to choke at the sudden violent note. He quickly fixed it with a ramble, lightening the atmosphere yet again. “Minus training of course. He’s allowed to try in order to improve your hand-to-hand. Not that he would ever land a hand on you anyway. Always so soft on you…” he grinned, seemingly alright with that attitude if not slightly calling the big strong supersoldier out.

Oh you could be cheeky too alright if that was what your brother wanted.

“That you know of.”

A confused huh was the only reaction you got – that and a puzzled look.

“He’s always soft on me,” you repeated Clint’s words, turning to him, lips slowly spreading in a wicked smirk. “That you know of.”

Clint’s brows furrowed for a short moment and then his features twisted in a disgusted grimace, face growing a tint crimson.

“Gross!” he complained, more blood rushing to his cheeks. “You know what, I changed my mind. We’re leaving. You’re not marrying him. I’m kidnapping the bride and never returning her, locking her somewhere far far away-“

You snorted at his indignation, your grin undoubtedly battling the one of the Cheshire cat.

“No will do, Bobo. I’m marrying Steve and you can’t stop me.”

This time, Clint didn’t even protest, eyes misted over, nose still scrunched at the mental image, lamenting as the night slowly settled over the paradise-like island.

“Oh god, please help, I can’t unsee it, can’t unhear it--- ew-”

Your laughter was carried away by the breeze as Clint seemed to be unable to look at you.

You swung your beer around, thinking that yes – nothing quite ever felt so right as being here in this moment. Relaxing with your brother, teasing him relentlessly and counting down hours to when you’d say ‘I do’ to the only man who in your eyes ever battled the mantle of the best man in the universe.

In one unending moment You fall within my reach I'm close enough to whisper Hold on to me Hold on to me

You weren’t sure what time it was when you snuck into the beach house, one of few, which had been wisely chosen to be occupied by you and Steve only. You attempted to be quiet and liked to think you succeeded, in your even barely tipsy state, but your effort turned out to be in vain as you found Steve perched against headboard of your bed; reading a book, thin white t-shirt and sleep shorts on display as the soft sheet had been kicked away, scrunched up by his feet.

He was gorgeous – he was gorgeous and yours, a momentary picture perfect of peace, appearing to feel just as light as you did and somehow the dullness of the moment, just him relaxing in bed with a good read as you came home… it was more alluring than one would think.

Steve looked up from the book when you wavered in the doorway, soft lopsided smile spreading on his face.

God, that smile. It might be over two years since you saw it for the first time, but it could still make you weak in your knees.

And somehow, it was now even more charming now than the day you met, more tender than just before you kissed for the first time, sweeter than when he proposed.

“Hey sweetheart,” he greeted you, appreciative gaze roaming your figure and the little too much skin on display – something you regretted when the warm sunrays had bid you goodbye, raising goosebumps. And Steve, the attentive man he was, noticed, his smile earning a teasing edge. “You look a bit cold in there.”

You resisted the urge to stick your tongue out.

“And you look pretty cosy in there. Thought you’d be either asleep or with Bucky.”

Steve shrugged, not letting go of his unfinished chapter just yet, knowing you had a routine to go through before joining him.

“Maybe I missed you. Maybe Bucky is an old man and needs his sleep.”

You chuckled, not rising to the bait – you knew what would follow if you dared to say Steve was just as old. Not that you would complain about Steve trying to convince you about the opposite. You could never.

“Well, I bet he still made you a promise of breaking a bone of mine or two if I ever hurt you. He’ll find energy for that, centenarian or not,” you hummed nonchalantly as you bounced off the doorframe, heading to the bathroom and leaving Steve puzzled by your remark.

“How did you know?” he called out after you, endearingly confused.

“That’s what big brothers do, love!”

Short silence was your answer as you reached for your toothbrush and begun your nighty ritual.

Steve must have figure out what did it mean for him, considering you had a protective brother of your own, because a moment later, his half-amused “noted!” reached your ears.

You chuckled and shook your head, smile spread on your face which you didn’t think could be erased as long as you were in this paradise – free of worry, full of joy. And why wouldn’t you be? You were about to marry one of the smartest, kindest, sassiest and most beautiful men that ever walked the Earth. What was not to love?

You couldn’t but let your mind wander again; if you had only known the day you met, right from that moment, that you’d end up here…. well. It felt a little surreal, knowing that by this time tomorrow, you’d be Steve’s wife; then again, Steve’s life story was surreal enough on its own.

Who would have thought that the stubborn handsome man in the ridiculous suit and you, equally stubborn about you at least checking on the wound upon half-dragging him to a quiet corner in a middle of a battlefield, would grow so close?

It hadn’t been simple. Steve wasn’t the most open guy and while friendly enough, he wasn’t exactly offering his heart on his sleeve, not to strangers. But it hadn’t been too hard, once you were meeting on regular basis. Piece by piece he revealed his true colours and soon after he did… you started falling; hard and fast.

Not necessarily swooning, not on the outside at least; you were a professional, after all. The safety and the well-being of the team was your priority.

It was just too bad – or the best thing, you supposed – that Steve had the same goal as you with one significant difference; as far as he was concerned, the responsibility to look after his team sometimes excluded him.

Oh, was he wrong about that.

And boy, did you let him know you thought so. You still kept proving him wrong to this day and was planning on nurturing his own acknowledgement of his self-worth till your last breath…

“Get your ass in here, Steve!” you called out after him, slowly losing patience as you had tried asking politely the previous two times with no result but being dismissed.

The change of tone and language made his head snap to you from where he was talking to Sam, an offended scowl on his face.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me, Captain. Don’t be a stubborn jerk and get your ass in here so I can clean your cuts.”

A few months ago, you wouldn’t have been able to talk to him like that; to the great legend, Captain America. At least you certainly wouldn’t have called him his first name and maybe, just maybe, you’d be a little less crass. But now? He might be Captain America still, a hero who deserved all the good things for the sacrifices he made for the world’s safety, but first and foremost, he was just Steve to you.

A colleague, a teammate, a friend. You might not be a part of the team per se, not the way Clint, Natasha or Steve were, but you still belonged. And you were all friends.

Friends irritated each other sometimes and frankly, Steve was often battling with Tony for the mantle of the most infuriating one.

Friends also needed to call each other out on their bullshit by any means necessary when the time was right and now the time was as good as any.

Usually, Steve slipped through your fingers, because he was a supersoldier and the others weren’t, so their injuries took precedence; today, it was only Natasha, Sam and Steve, and the captain was the only one whom you hadn’t checked yet. And you knew there were things to check, the trickle of blood from his eyebrow probably the least of your concerns.

“I wouldn’t argue with her, Steve. She can be pretty stubborn. Clint wouldn’t stop complaining about it,” Natasha supported you from the pilot seat and you fought yourself so you wouldn’t grin at her in victory – it would only irritated Steve further. “She’s almost as bull-headed as you are.”

At that, your smile would have slipped. But honestly, she wasn’t wrong.

“Don’t I know it,” Steve grunted, sparing Sam another glance and when the Falcon himself beckoned to you as well, wordlessly asking Steve to get himself checked up.

The captain sighed irately, but made his way back to the separate and well-lit space of your examination room.

He didn’t try to hide his annoyance – in fact, he squared his shoulders and his steps sounded a bit loud for anyone to believe it was a coincidence. Also, the scowl of exasperation never left his otherwise handsome face.

“This is completely unnecessary. A stupid waste of time,” he hissed as he walked past you and you took a deep calming breath, exchanging an eyeroll with Sam before you disappeared from sight.

“Captain. I respect you and your position, but you say one more time that my job here is unnecessary and stupid, you’ll be looking for a new medic,” you retorted as he stripped the upper part of his uniform angrily, revealing his white-tank-top-clad torso.

Well, at least the fabric used to be white – now a blood stain the size of both of your palms was seeping into the material at Steve’s right side, gushing from what definitely appeared to be a knife wound.

You were gonna murder him one of those days... unless he got killed himself first.

“Seriously?!”

“It’s just a graze-” he started to argue but you cut him off when you tore the fabric away. He winced as some of the dried blood had acted as a glue, having stuck the cloth into the wound, and now was violently ripped off.

“Tr to insinuate again that I’m incompetent at recognizing what’s just a graze, Steve. I dare you. This is a cut wide and deep enough for stitches! Haven’t you had the serum, you could have been bleeding out to death on this table!”

“But I do have it-“

“Or for fuck’s SAKE, stop being a baby and let me treat the bloody gash in your right mesogastric area! The serum accelerates your healing, but it doesn’t make you invincible OR immortal as far as I know--- Jesus fucking Christ-!”

He bristled, taking a deep breath to fight back, but he never got the chance, because you started working and the words died in his throat. Surprisingly, inspecting the damage, poking around a knife wound that might have already begin to seal itself thanks to Erskine’s formula but had not been just a graze hurt and coincidentally, it pulled the rug from under his feet.

To his credit, Steve barely even hissed at the pain.

“Just so you know, I’ll be using the disinfection that stings worse,” you noted, voice dripping venom, because you were genuinely done with Steve’s bullshit.

You lied through your teeth though. You wouldn’t. No matter how infuriating Steve was and how difficult he made your life – causing you to fall for his stupid martyr ass and pine after him among other things – you would never purposely hurt him.

And he must have sensed that, because your remark didn’t earn you a murderous glare or a retort – much to your surprise.

In fact, Steve fell entirely quiet, watching you work without protest, not even objecting when you applied enough local anaesthetic to knock out an elephant and sewed the tissue together so it healed easier. He let you inspect the rest of his torso and bandage his ribs, vigorously shaking his head when you asked him if he was injured anywhere below the waist.

He observed you as you kept an eye on his face for any minute sign of pain he’d be hiding, but all you could see were his irises, startlingly bright blue, pools of honesty and something you had trouble decoding. He seemed… humbled almost. It silenced the anger inside you, the flames of rage – and fear for his well-being, if you were being honest with yourself – turning into a barely smouldering pile of ash.

When you moved on to his head, gently pushing away the strands which obscured the gash on his eyebrow, his eyelids slid shut. You knew how unpleasant facial injuries were, especially around one’s eyes and so you took care to be extra careful as you cleaned the wound and the area surrounding it, most definitely not using the stingy disinfectant.

Not that Steve could get an infection as far as you knew. It was more force of a habit than anything else… and it made you feel better. He had this idiotic mask of an invincible hero he put up sometimes and it drove you insane, because you knew he was only human, a beautiful kind soul, but god, could he be an ass.

“Almost done,” you whispered soothingly when you noticed his jaw tightening as you had to apply a bit more pressure to get a tiny piece of gravel from the cut. You certainly didn’t want that to stay under the newly healing skin.

The moment you retreated with the bloody gauze, Steve’s eyes were back on you, wide and regretful.

“I’m sorry,” he offered quietly, a genuine apology that sounded almost absurd after you two were hissing at each other like damn hellcats. “I didn’t mean to--- I’m sorry for being rude and ungrateful. Thank you for taking care of my injuries.”

One glance into those deep irises and benign hesitant smile and you were done for. How could you stay mad at him? Well, you were still mad at him for the absolute disregard of his own health, but… well. You also understood he felt like he needed to stay strong for the team and put them first and how he actually was in pain.

Pretty much everyone was a pain in the ass when in pain.

You sighed as you searched for few band-aid strips to cover the cut.  

“It’s alright, Steve. I’m used to old men being grumpy and not meaning things they say when they are,” you offered lightly and he hung his head with a chuckle, clearly not taking the old man remark personally – and understanding you were referring to your brother.

His smile was wider when he looked up again. “You shouldn’t have to be used to it.”

You shrugged, carefully slipping two fingers under his chin to angle his face so you could stick the strips over the wound.

“Well, I deserve it sometimes. I don’t mean to… to be overbearing and make you feel like you’re incompetent or something,” you added hesitantly, worrying your teeth over your lower lip as the tone you’d been handling him with caught up with you. Perhaps you could have been nicer.

You smoothened the stripes of band-aid, gulping as you felt Steve’s gaze boring into your face while you continued.

“I know you’re not incompetent. You’re very capable, you’re the best. It’s just… I still--- worry- for all of you. For the full-time Earth’s mightiest heroes. Silly, huh?” you muttered self-depreciatingly and when your eyes met, you were startled by the intensity he watched you with as you laid your fears bare in front of him, leaving you vulnerable. You swiftly looked away and dropped your hands. “Here, almost as good as new.”

A lump grew in your throat as you stripped your gloves, tossing them into the bin. Did you reveal too much? Didn’t it sound silly indeed as you said it out loud? Yes, you were all friendly with each other, but you were supposed to be a professional, focused on your task, not getting distracted by-

-by Steve gently grasping your wrist, causing your heart to skip a startled beat. Definitely not getting weak in the knees when you shot him a surprised glance and he just… brought your hand to his face, lips briefly skimming over your knuckles.

Jesus Christ, Lord have mercy with me.

“Don’t you ever apologize for caring. Don’t stop caring. Silly is the last thing I’d call it.”

Your cheeks felt like set on fire, stomach fluttering as well as your heart. You could feel the ghost of Steve’s lips on your skin, sending your heartrate sky-high, causing your head to spin a bit, your body hot all over.

Did he really—did he just-? And did it mean that… did it mean anything at all?

He let go of your hand, thumb brushing over your knuckles, but held your gaze adamantly as he gave you a sad smile and rose to his feet, clearly ready to leave.

You, on the hand, stood there frozen, mind racing.

Why had he done that? Was he really just trying to express gratitude and say sorry for his previous behaviour? Because that was not the way it was supposed to be done, because such tenderness left you entirely bewildered. Was he trying to tell you he was somehow interested in something more than friendship? Was he just high from the anaesthetic, mind you, local one that was not supposed to mess with his brain? Was there any sign of a head injury you missed?

“Thank you, again,” he whispered softly, moving to sidestep you and your hand instinctively shot out, latching onto his forearm… gently.

You gulped, heart stuttering when he glanced at you, puzzled.

One part of you wanted to sink into the floor in embarrassment at your unwitting reaction. Another part of you observed him so closely that you would swear that there was another emotion in his eyes and it was neither apology nor gratitude. You wistfully hoped for longing, the same longing you felt when you were near him, sometimes distant and barely there, other times so acute it hurt.

With your stomach somersaulting in doubt, you willed yourself to raise your free hand slowly, purposely giving him a chance – Lord, please, don’t let him take it – to stop you before your palm settled on his cheek.

You were certain you experienced a small cardiac arrest when Steve not only didn’t avoid the touch, but actually leaned into it, gaze fixed on your face, eyes brighter and softer than you ever remembered seeing. Your gaze flickered to his mouth deliberately, throat turning dry. Too daring? He kissed you knuckles, surely you could reciprocate some affection?

Swallowing against your dry throat, you leaned in before you could change your mind and dropped the briefest peck to his lips, causing his eyelids to flutter shut.

Oh no. Oh no no no no, you totally crossed a line-

You went to retreat your hands from him, but the second you moved, his eyes were snapping open, hand covering yours on his face to keep it there, the other cradling your face and then there was a warm and soft sensation on your own lips as he seized them with his.

Your mind went completely blank save two single thoughts: Steve is kissing me. I really like that.

A small sound escaped you, a blend of surprise and contentment, breaking you from your trance and turning you into an actual participant of the pleasant and entirely unexpected activity.

You drew in a small breath, head spinning from the scent of Steve’s shampoo, disinfectant, sweat and something you couldn’t quite put your finger on and not caring.

He tasted faintly of blood, but otherwise was nothing but sweet as his lips caressed yours, gently tugging at your lower lip and then the upper, the lightest graze of teeth and tease of tongue, finger pressing into your jaw to pull you closer, thumb stroking your cheek.

You whimpered involuntarily when his lips parted from yours, soothing as they returned for a short peck, to drop a brief kiss to the corner of your mouth, to brush your cheek.

Your name was a breathy whisper between the two of you, barely audible as all you could hear was your heartbeat pulsing frantically in your ears, growing aware of your fingers clutching at Steve’s still unzipped armour and nearly sinking in his hair, his hot breath tickling your skin.

You didn’t dare to open your eyes – what if you dreamed it up? What if you looked at him and saw regret – it didn’t feel like he would be regretting it, but… still. Insecurity tugged at your mind as it slowly cleared from the literally breath-taking kiss.

Steve repeated your name with urgency that was unheard of, the single word sounding almost as a plea.

“Please say something.”

Oh.

You blinked your eyes open, surprised to be met with his searching gaze, a minute furrow of his brows. It seemed you weren’t the only one whose mind was being the worst of one’s enemies.

Perhaps your brain was being stupid. Perhaps you both wanted this. Perhaps you felt exactly the same.

As you forced yourself to move, fingers actually slipping into his hair to caress his nape, Steve inhaled shakily, shoulders slumping. The tinniest of smiles tugged at his mouth, tempting red and minutely swollen from the kiss; you had to resist the urge to just taste it again.

Instead, you licked your lips only, savouring the previous sensations, smiling unwittingly.

“That’s… uhm, that’s a really creative new way of driving me crazy.”

Steve’s eyebrows rose along with one corner of his mouth, relief written all over his face.

“Oh? There are other ways in which I’m driving you crazy? Because I couldn’t tell...”

You narrowed your eyes, but you didn’t think he bought you unconvincing act of being irritated with him at such remark.

“Don’t push it, Captain,” you warned him, but your treacherous mouth kept curling up in a smile, your body still buzzing with aftershocks of the kiss.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Uh-huh… s-sure,” you stuttered briefly as his thumb caressed your cheek, bright smiling eyes watching only inches from your face – and yet it felt like he was too far.

“You’re driving me crazy too, you know,” he noted in a breathy voice, causing you to gulp as his gaze flickered to your mouth, clearly implying how you do so… among other ways… like your stubbornness practically matching his.

“Oh really? I do? I couldn’t tell…”

He chuckled, his hand slipping to your nape, soft tickle of his fingers making you squirm.

“I’m gonna kiss you again now if that’s okay,” he whispered, not waiting for your permission and erasing the distance between your lips again.

Still, you whispered your approval to his mouth.

“So okay…”

Long moments later when Sam called out to warn you that you’d be landing soon, you said yes to the grumpy old man’s request to let him treat you dinner.

Oh if you only knew by then how far you’d come…

Lost in thought, goofy smile on your face, you exited the bathroom, ready to snuggle your future husband… and to fully take the opportunity to make love, last night before you officially became his and he became yours.

You had a brief second to register that the bed was empty, your heart skipping a started and disappointed beat. The second you stepped out though, you were literally swept off your feet.

A yelp erupted from your throat as you found yourself with no ground under your feet and high in the air, one of Steve’s arms under your knees, the other under your back. Your hands frantically gripped at the nearest firm point, Steve’s shoulder and arm as you finally realized what the hell happened and was met with a cheeky grin and sparkling blue of his eyes.

That traitor was waiting just by the door to ambush you! Why?

You slapped his very much bare shoulder playfully, hissing a curse, not unaware of the heat radiating of him and seeping into your skin.

“You jerk! You almost gave me a heart attack!” you complained, but he didn’t even have the decency to look apologetic.

“Sorry, sweetheart.”

“No, you’re not.”

Steve grinned wider, shrugging and pulling you closer to his torso, nuzzling your temple and dropping a placatory kiss there.

“Still looking a little cold.”

“No, I look like this because you scared me,” you emphasized, vainly trying to resist the seduction; a mixture of playfulness, sweetness and blatant display of strength as he still held you with ease. It was hard not to be temped. “And you look like you’re awfully warm, parading here without a shirt.”

“Well, I’d call us even since you’re parading around in these absolutely sinful shorts. Makes me hot. I can warm you up,” he mumbled to your skin, lips moving to your ear, causing you to shudder.

How was it so easy for him to make you all hot and bothered? You guessed that at least, as he said, it made you even... it wasn’t difficult to get him riled up either.

“You’re incorrigible.”

“Driving you crazy?” Steve offered, sounding awfully delighted at the idea and you only melted into him further at the reminiscence of your first kiss and what followed.

“Always,” you confirmed, deadly serious, but you couldn’t help the smile tugging at the corners of your lips or the mewl that escaped you when his teeth grazed the shell of your ear, warm breath tickling the sensitive skin of your neck.

“But you love it.”

“Uh-huh…”

“I can live with that with that then,” he said, stalking to the bed determinately. “Now let me drive you so crazy you can barely speak and the only sound you’re making is whimpering my name.”

He all but tossed you on the bed, a yelp of his name in fact erupting from your throat, followed by a fit of giggles that only died when his mouth seized yours, his lips only leaving when heading south to indeed drive you crazy.

And yes; you loved it.

And you loved him too.

In one unending moment I fall within your reach My song a sweet surrender Hold on to me Hold on to me

Before the girls could steal you from him, Steve decided – with your enthusiastic agreement – that you should once again try how it felt to make some morning lovin’ outside marriage. With the ceremony planned for the late afternoon, you had plenty of time; and needless to say, it was bliss. Then again, you believed that marital sex with Steve would be just as delightfully pleasant, thank you very much.

Then, it was a whirlwind – make up, hair, dress, a tear or two spilled when you saw the result in the mirror.

More tears spilled when you glanced out of the window and saw the tastefully and modestly decorated arch, the path created by few scattered rose petals, the male part of your almost family sans Clint in the suits, effectively hiding Steve from you; and you from his just in case, because no one wanted any bad luck.

Your staring was interrupted when your brother went to pick you up to lead you down the aisle.

Upon entering the room and setting his gaze on you, he promptly looked away with a sniffle. It both warmed your heart and made you laugh as did his remark.

“Nope, not giving you to him. In fact, I’m never giving you to anyone. No one will ever be worthy, so I’m keeping you.”

“Hush, Clinton, you’ll still have me,” Natasha winked at him as he took a deep calming breath before carefully eyeing you again.

Clearly, it hadn’t done the job, because few tears still found their way down his cheeks.

“You’re a knock-out, sis,” he sputtered hastily, but no less honestly – clearly moved to tears.

And yet… you snorted at his choice of words and he rolled his eyes, quick to compliment your beauty instead.

You wouldn’t have it any other way though, even appreciating his first remark more for it came from the bottom of his heart rather than from what convention required.

Embracing you carefully in fear he would mess up the work of art his wife and other girls created, he held you in his arms for a moment, as you retuned the hug, clutching at his suit with a little too force. From the corner of your eye, you noticed the bridesmaids clearing the room.

“It’s not like I’m leaving you, Bobo,” you hummed with a smile, throwing his own words from last night at him.

And you weren’t leaving him; your heart swelled with love for your brother, your father figure, your long-life friend.

With sniffle, he let go of you and looked you up and down, proud smile spreading on his lips.

“It’s okay. If you are, I have the best spy in the world for a wife, we’ll drag your ass back home.”

You just slapped his chest playfully and took a deep breath – it was time. Clint grasped your hand firmly then, elbows interlocking, and went to step out just a moment after the bridesmaids left to join the groomsmen.

Well-aware everyone was going to stare and that Steve awaited you at the end of the aisle to marry you, your legs were shaking minutely as the magnitude of the event finally dawned to you.

“Getting second thoughts now?” Clint teased you, eliciting a chuckle from you and shake of your head.

What a question.

“No. Just… please don’t let me fall,” you muttered to him, entirely serious and grateful for your choice of footwear – simple flats hidden by the long flowing skirt of your dress. Better chance of not spraining your ankle on your wedding day.

“Never.”

Clint squeezed your hand under his warm palm and you took a deep breath, stepping into the doorway. Soft melody welcomed you, your very own wedding march Bruce was playing on a mouth organ – something you had previously had no idea he was capable of.  

Looking up from your skirt, you feasted your eyes on the company and the beautiful scenery for only a regretfully short moment, grateful for Sam’s Redwing programmed to record and take photos.

Your gaze instinctively searched the small crowd instead, until it fell under the arch where three men stood.

One of them was Sam himself, having obtained a licence so he could be your wedding registrar; he looked positively dashing. So did Bucky, who patted his best friend dressed in his old-fashioned green captain uniform on the shoulder, his smirk visible even from tens feet away as he stepped back.

Naturally, your gaze lingered on Steve, your feet acting of their own accord and following your brother’s lead.

Gosh, your future husband was the most handsome and absolutely hottest specimen to ever walk the Earth. Hair combed neatly to one side and in his old army uniform, he truly looked like the gentleman from another era he was and yet, he undeniably belonged exactly where he was. His eyes were bright and blue just like the sky, lips slightly parting before curling up into a brilliant smile which somehow still carried the tenderness he treated you with when he felt particularly affectionate.

He must have uttered something under his breath, because Bucky pressed his lips together as if he was holding back laugh. The absolutely best best man, ladies and gentleman.

Your found yourself smiling just as widely, a stray tear tickling the corner of your eye and you had to fight the sudden urge to ditch Clint in order to gather your skirts and run the rest of the way just to jump into Steve’s arms.

But in reality, there was no rush – here, on the damn island Tony rented, there was so much time that one short walk meant nothing in comparison.

“Alright, maybe I’ll give you to him,” Clint whispered, making you bite the inside of your cheek so you would cackle.

Leave it to your brother he would find Steve Rogers so fine he’d be willing to give you out just to have him become a part of your family.

One corner of Steve’s lips twitched in amusement – supersoldier hearing didn’t miss the remark then. Good. Then Bucky heard it too and you had a witness just in case Clint would change his mind. Again.

Finally, with your heart almost in your throat, you reached the end of the aisle, Clint gently putting your hand into Steve’s… without letting go.

“You be nice to her, Cap. And I mean really nice, you hear? Or else-“

“Hush,” you hissed good-naturedly in your brother’s direction, winking at him before you returned your gaze to Steve. “Hey there, handsome.”

Steve chuckled under his breath when Clint stepped back. He returned the greeting with soft ‘hey there, beautiful’ and then proceeded to lift your joined hands, brushing your knuckles with his lips – just like the day you shared your first kiss.

Well now you truly found yourself on the verge of crying. And Lord, you wanted to kiss him so much-

Sam cleared his throat loudly, casting you both a meaningful look as if he could read your mind and wanted to remind you that there were a few things to go through before that could happen.

Ugh. Formalities. Just let me kiss him…

Steve licked his lips – the audacity! – and turned, lightly tugging at your hand so you both faced your friend who held a little leather book open, beckoning towards the guests: Bucky and Natasha, the best man and the best woman, Clint, Bruce, Tony, Vision, Wanda, Sharon, Pepper. Just your closest friends and family.

Sam cleared his throat again.

“Alright. We all know why we gathered here today. To get these two amazing people married, so they could officially become a special team within our team.”

You grinned, peripherally noticing Steve eyeing you as well. Team indeed.

“This is the part where I would ask all of you, bride and groom included, to speak up now if you’re aware of anything standing in the way of this wedlock or to remain silent forever. But frankly, if you have something to say, right now is the perfect time to keep it to yourself. Just let these lovebirds get married…”

Muffled laughter and giggles erupted from your group. Honestly, you wouldn’t say it better. You noticed Clint shifting and Natasha forcefully holding his hand down; you bit down on your lip so you wouldn’t laugh and sent her a grateful smile instead. The best maid of honour ever.

“Good, that’s what I wanted to hear, folks. We have the rings, correct? Great. Just so you know, these two saps asked me to read one vow which they are making to each other, because they didn’t trust themselves to say theirs individually without bursting into tears. So now it’s left to me to cry instead. Thanks for that.”

Your cheeks were honestly starting to hurt from smiling so wide, but tears prickled in your eyes acutely just at the thought of the vow you agreed on. You spent countless hours thinking about what you wanted to say and realized that your vow would be too long and that you would in fact start crying and that you could never name all the things you loved Steve for. It had been a relief to find out that Steve shared the sentiment and the deal was made.

Natasha and Bucky dutifully laid the rings on the pillow Wanda’s powers held levitating by your and Steve’s side – not without Bucky finding a split second to compliment your appearance and earning a brief smirk from Steve.

“I know,” Steve uttered and you wondered if there was a dare going around as to who would make you burst out laughing first.

This was your wedding dammit. You could be at least a bit a lady and remain collected.

Hardly.

“With this ring,” Sam started, breathing in and out and you knew you already lost, first tear rolling down your cheek as you gazed into Steve’s inviting eyes, “I give myself to you without giving up myself. With this ring, I surrender to you for I have faith you understand the value of wielding such power and for I deem you worthy of it. With this ring, I promise to love you, to respect you and to support you to be your best self as I trust you to do the same for me, for us.”

You blinked away the waterfalls, reaching almost blindly for Steve’s ring and with fingers trembling – with giddiness, not nerves – you somehow succeeded at slipping it on his left ring finger.

“I do,” you whispered, your voice cracking even in such simple sentence and the watery smile Steve graced you with made your ribcage feel too small for your swelling heart.

Fingers equally clumsy, he slipped a ring on you as well, shoulders squaring as if in pride.

“I do,” he said firmly, the damp path down his left cheek only adding severity to his vow.

“You may-- uhm, okay, you may kiss the bride, your wife--- I mean, Mrs. Rogers. You may kiss the groom, your husband…” Sam mumbled under his breath until he didn’t, because Steve pulled you in for a kiss the same moment Sam said the first ‘may’ and incidentally, the same moment you practically threw yourself at Steve.

Laughter and whistles erupted from the group of your friends as Steve bend you back dramatically, the determined press of his lips to yours not at all disrupted by the change of angle, claiming your mouth in ways that made you shudder and stirred flames in your belly.

Years and years later, you’d recall that kiss and realized an amazing thing; how it felt just like your first kiss, your last one, and every single one in between.

With you still practically horizontal, Steve’s crinkling eyes met yours, delighted smile on his kiss-swollen lips.

“I love you, Mrs. Rogers,” he hummed, adding a cheeky grin. “You’re stuck with me now.”

“The horror,” you muttered back teasingly, pulling at his nape, demanding another kiss, your own declaration whispered to his mouth. “I love you too, Mr. Rogers.”

And you did. Gosh, you did.

S.R. masterlist

(divider by firefly-graphics)

Well. This turned out SO DIFFERENTLY than I anticipated and SO MUCH LONGER. If you feel like leaving feedback, I’ll be grateful. If not, well. *shurgs*

Excuse me while I go and continue dreaming of ONE fictional man. Ugh. Anyway.

Thank you for reading!

And once again, thanks to WIYBUPT for hosting and for just being awesome in general :)

[sailorshadzter]

a random one shot in which i twist the entire plot of game of thrones just because i can.

inspired by the prompt: a kiss to your lover's knuckle before a dance.

dont ask me how THIS came from that, it just did LOL

He finds her among the others, dressed in a silk gown of sapphire, made from a bolt of fabric he'd left in her rooms several weeks before. She's laughing, rosy lips curving as she pivots ever so slight, just enough that their eyes find each other's. Her laugh does not fade, but her eyes darken, pink tongue escaping to moisten those lips that only the night before had agonized him in the best of ways. "Your grace," Robb Stark says as he approaches, bowing low before Jon as he falls into place before them. She on the other hand does not move, not at first, smiling as if she holds onto a secret before she sinks into a curtsy, though she never once pulls her eyes from his face.

The Stark siblings have been South for nearly six months now, having arrived at the start of the new year. It was mostly out of peace between their kingdoms- once, their fathers had been at war- now, the sons have taken over and such a war had not been theirs to fight. Cousins by blood, neither Jon nor Robb had wished to shed another drop of family blood. And truth be told, neither had their fragile, broken nations. And so it was peace that was brokered, easily at that, and both Robb, the King in the North, and his sister and heir, Sansa, had come to King's Landing as Jon's honored guests.

"I thought I might dance with the lady," Jon says, beckoning towards Sansa who at least has the grace to blush. Robb casts a glance towards her and then grins as he turns back to Jon. Nodding with approval, he bows again before he makes his way through the crowd, only stopping when he catches sight of the lovely Margaery Tyrell who shines in pale gold damask, a single red rose tucked into the high coils of her hair. Reaching for her hand, he brings it close to his lips, brushing a soft kiss to her knuckles. Such a gesture sends shivers down her spine. "You look beautiful," he says as the music begins again, a slower tune that brings them closer together. They're both aware of the eyes that watch them, the King and the heir to the North, though they pay little mind of any of them watching. Her hand is small and warm in his, while her other hand dares to brush across the nape of his neck. That is what matters, that feeling her touch gives him. "That dress is most becoming."

She laughs, soft and twinkling, and once again those lips curve with a smile. "It is only because of this fine silk," she insists, though even she has been unable to do little else but admire the gown she's crafted for this night. Though quite unlike the styles of the North, she has retained some of her roots, for her red hair remains woven into braids, although it shimmers with a gem covered netting gifted to her by Margaery. That and the pendant she wears around her neck was stamped with her House sigil, worn once by her own father.

He twirls her out and then back in, closer than ever before, though she's uncertain as to how they could ever be closer. But then she snickers, recalling in fact, they could be much closer. As if Jon senses what she's thinking, it's his turn to chuckle, dipping his head down low, so close that his breath tickles her ear as he whispers what he's thought many times that evening. "I do wonder what it looks like upon the floor of my chamber, though." She blushes deep to the core of her hair, but she's breathless all the same. She likes it and he knows it. He loves that she likes it, truthfully.

Sansa Stark had come to King's Landing after a dark, somber period in her life. Once the spoiled, pampered princess of the North, she had been left alone in Winterfell with her youngest siblings, protected by the bitter cold and a small armed force. While her father had been in King's Landing, plotting against Jon's father, Rhaegar Targaryen, her mother had been with Robb on their way to join Ned in the South. What could not protect Sansa nor her siblings was the traitor Bolton House, that swept in upon hearing of Ned's death in battle and took Winterfell for themselves. Sansa was locked away in chambers and never again saw her siblings- Arya lost to the Northern wilderness, the boys certainly smothered in their chambers while they slept.

When Jon's father and Robert Baratheon was found dead after the last fight in what would now be called Robert's Rebellion- he and Robb met on the battlefield. It was Jon who spoke of peace and Robb who asked for nothing but to have help saving his sister from the unspeakable suffering she endured while held prisoner by Ramsay, the bastard born son of Roose Bolton. And save Sansa they had. Riding in at the head of an army, Robb and Jon swooped in and took Winterfell back in the name of House Stark.

Back then, she had worn her black gowns as armor, keeping to herself for the first few weeks of their arrival. Jon had assigned to her a few handmaidens and one in particular, Shae, certainly had found her place as Sansa's confidante. And then there was Margaery Tyrell, the beautiful and wealthy heiress to the Tyrell family. She had been the first to bring Sansa from her shell, the first person Jon had seen make her smile in the first six weeks of her stay. And then... One day... One day she had found him, all alone, in the quietest corner of the massive gardens. She had blushed, stammering an apology, turning to go before Jon could stop her. Two weeks later, they met again in similar fashion, though this time it had been Jon who happened upon her. They met here among the flowers nearly every day after that, hidden from prying eyes by rose bushes and fauna of the brightest green, side by side on the small stone bench.

That simple stone bench had been the place of their first kiss, a soft kiss that left him tingling long after she'd gone. Jon can't really remember when he'd begun to realize the depth of his feelings, but it was sometime between her falling in love with Ghost and Ghost with her, he really never could figure out which came first. But in truth, seeing her sink to the floor in his chambers to hug his neck, or to find the wolf asleep in her bed was all he'd needed to know the truth of how he felt. He loved her. He loved her beyond anything else in his entire life.

"The song is over..." It's her whispering and he jolts back to reality, realizing that indeed the song has ended and they still yet stand together. Springing apart, Jon offers her a most regal bow, his hand reaching for hers as he had done at the beginning. "Jon..." She calls him by name as the music strikes up another tune, this one quicker, though neither of them are thinking of dancing now.

"Meet me, in our usual spot," he murmurs over her knuckles before he drops her hand and disappears into the crowd. Sansa remains where she stands for several long moments more, her hand still yet warm where his lips had touched.

[ x x x ]

He hears her footsteps as she approaches.

There on the stone bench, he waits in silence for her, knowing without a doubt that she would come. She does not hesitate as she once might have, rather she sinks into her place at his side, silk skirts rustling with her movements. From above, the clouds shift, exposing her to the moon's pale light- though he cannot believe it, she's even far more beautiful with moonlight woven into her hair. He swallows, reaching out, hesitantly, to trace the length of her jaw with trembling fingers. "Jon..." Once again she calls him by his name and her hand reaches up, taking hold of his. This alone is enough to comfort him, to give him a sense of courage he's not even felt in battle before.

"Marry me," he says these words simply, without the hesitation from moment's before. She blinks, staring at him as if she's not heard him correctly. Before she can say a word, he's falling down to a knee before her, there on the stone bench, still yet clutching her hand. "Marry me, Sansa," he goes on, smiling up at her, those blue eyes wide in her ivory features. "It is the one thing in this life I have ever wanted-" to be a prince and then a king? It was not his first choice in life, but if he was going to do it... He wanted it to be with a woman he truly loved at his side. And despite the short time he's known her, he knows there can be no other. That there would never be another. This was not a king asking a princess, a noble, it was a man asking a woman. Nothing more, nothing less.

She cannot believe him when he speaks and yet... His dark eyed stare is so poignant, his words so very heartfelt. And truth be told, her her skips a beat at the realization of what he's asked of her. To marry him... To be his wife... Was it not what she dreamed of, if only in the privacy of her own mind? There is a warmth spreading through her and she finds herself to be nodding, over and over again nodding as she smiles brighter than she's ever smiled in all of her life. And then finally... She says what he's been waiting for.

"Yes."

When he rises up, she rises along with him, her heart singing as his hands slide into place against her cheeks. He could have spent forever right there in those gardens with her, if only time would allow. But he knows soon they must return to the ball and then to a new life they would build for themselves.

A happy world, a perfect world.