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nayziiz · 8 months ago

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Ghost | LN4

Pairing: Lando Norris x Reader (you)

Author's note: I'm trying something a little bit different with shorter form fics, so please send through any requests or feedback. These one shots will likely not have a second part unless it really speaks to me to continue with it. Thank you!

Masterlist

You loved Lando's apartment, from its scenic views over the city to the beautiful features. The large floor-to-ceiling windows provided a breathtaking panorama of the bustling city below, each sunrise and sunset painting the sky in hues of orange and pink. It was a beautiful home, blending modern aesthetics with a touch of rustic charm, perfectly embodying Lando's refined yet adventurous spirit.

The open-plan living area was your favourite, with its sleek, contemporary furniture and tasteful decor. The walls were adorned with art pieces that told stories of far-off places and thrilling adventures. You especially admired the collection of Lando's helmets on display, each one a testament to his daring exploits. The helmets, meticulously arranged on custom-built shelves each with its own unique history.

You were more than happy to move in with him in that stunning home when he asked. The thought of sharing such a magnificent space with someone you loved was beyond thrilling. It was a dream to live with him, to wake up every morning to the sight of his smile and the breathtaking view of the city. The spacious kitchen, with its state-of-the-art appliances and cosy breakfast nook, became a place where you both enjoyed cooking, or at least where you cook and he watches offering limited help.

In the evenings, the living room transformed into a haven of relaxation. You and Lando would cuddle up on the plush, oversized sofa, the city lights twinkling outside as you watched movies or discussed your day. The ambiance was always warm and inviting, thanks to the soft lighting and the gentle hum of the city below.

Living with Lando was an adventure in itself. His spontaneous nature meant that some days were often filled with impromptu trips or fun activities. Yet, there was also a comforting routine to your lives. The morning runs through the nearby park, the coffee brewed just the way you liked it, and the quiet moments of shared contentment made it all the more special. Lando's apartment was more than just a place to live; it was a home filled with love, laughter, and countless memories waiting to be made.

You had spent ample time in his apartment before, but when you moved in, things were just a little bit different. The first couple of weeks were fine, then suddenly, you heard doors slamming shut whenever Lando was away for a race weekend. The sound echoed through the empty apartment, sharp and jarring, disrupting the peaceful silence you had come to cherish. You couldn't explain or justify the sounds, since nothing seemed out of place, so you let it go, brushing it off as your imagination playing tricks on you. Then you would enter the kitchen or bathroom and find cupboard doors and drawers open, items seemingly displaced from where you remembered leaving them. You wrote that off as you forgetting to shut it previously or perhaps absentmindedly leaving things open. It was little, subtle things, but it was wearing you out. Each unexplained occurrence chipped away at your sense of security.

You could barely sleep at night because it sounded like someone was walking down the hallway. The soft creaks of the floorboards, the subtle shifts in the air, all played into your growing unease. Your mind conjured images of shadows lurking just out of sight, the hairs on the back of your neck standing on end at the slightest noise. Your paranoia was out of hand, a constant, nagging presence that gnawed at your peace of mind. You didn't know how to tell Lando that you now hated the apartment, that the once beautiful home had become a source of dread and anxiety. The fear of being seen as irrational or overly sensitive kept you silent, even as the unease grew.

You tried to rationalise it, to find logical explanations for the things happening around you. Maybe the building was settling, you told yourself. Maybe there were drafts causing the doors to move. But the explanations felt hollow, unable to quell the growing sense of something being off. Lando's absence during race weekends only exacerbated the feeling of isolation. The once thrilling independence now felt like a burden, the empty spaces of the apartment amplifying your fears. You longed for his presence, for the comfort and reassurance he brought, but you didn't want to add to his stress or distract him from his career.

Every time he asked how you were, you forced a smile and said you were fine, hiding the sleepless nights and the creeping dread. It became a silent struggle, one you faced alone, hoping desperately that it was all in your head and that things would go back to normal.

The strange thing was, whenever he was home, nothing would happen. It would be the most peaceful time, the apartment returning to its former serene and welcoming state. The sounds that haunted you, the mysterious movements, all ceased as if banished by his presence. You found solace in those moments, the warmth and safety of his company dissolving your fears.

When Lando was home, you felt the apartment's true charm come alive once again. The panoramic views of the city seemed even more breathtaking, the gentle hum of the urban landscape outside a comforting background to your conversations and shared laughter. His presence brought a sense of normalcy, making you question whether the unsettling events were just figments of your imagination.

Yet, this peace came with a shadow of dread. You knew that the tranquillity was temporary, lasting only until his next departure. Each time he prepared for a race weekend, a knot formed in your stomach, a mix of anxiety and reluctance to face the eerie silence alone. You dreaded the moment he had to leave you there by yourself, the impending solitude amplifying your fears. As he packed his bags and went through his pre-race routine, you tried to mask your apprehension, offering supportive smiles and encouragement. Inside, though, you braced yourself for the nights ahead, mentally preparing for the return of the inexplicable disturbances.

When the door closed behind him, the apartment's atmosphere seemed to shift almost immediately. The once cosy and inviting space took on an unfamiliar, almost oppressive feel. You tried to keep busy, filling your days with work and hobbies, but the quiet evenings brought back the unsettling sensations. You avoided certain areas of the apartment, particularly the kitchen and bathroom, where the unexplained occurrences were most frequent. Your nights were restless, every creak and groan of the building fuelling your paranoia. You kept the lights on, hoping that the brightness would ward off whatever seemed to lurk in the shadows.

During one of Lando's streams, you were in the kitchen preparing some of his favourite snacks. The familiar hum of his voice filtered through the apartment as he interacted with his fans, his enthusiasm infectious even from a distance. You felt a sense of pride and contentment, knowing how much joy he brought to others.

As you sliced some vegetables, your mind wandered, replaying the inexplicable events that had been plaguing you. Lost in thought, you didn't notice a knife teetering on the edge of the countertop. Suddenly, it slipped off, crashing to the floor with a sharp clatter. The unexpected noise jolted you, and a scream escaped your lips before you could contain it. In an instant, the peaceful moment shattered. Lando's voice cut off mid-sentence on the stream, and you heard the hurried sounds of him abandoning his setup. Within seconds, he burst into the kitchen, eyes wide with concern. He found you shaking, still reeling from the shock, tears brimming in your eyes.

"What's wrong?" he asked, concerned.

"We need to move, Lando, for fuck's sake. I can't anymore," you tell him, your voice shaky and with tears threatening to fall.

"What happened?" he asked again, trying to understand your reaction. "Are you hurt?"

"We have a ghost in the apartment," you inform him.

"A ghost?" he repeated, almost chuckling at the thought of you being scared of a ghost.

“Lan, now is not a good time to patronise me,” you warned him. “Things keep moving or blowing over. There are no windows open and the wind is not blowing, so what could it possibly be?”

His expression shifted, the hint of a smile fading as he saw the genuine fear in your eyes.

“I'll start looking for a new apartment, I promise,” Lando countered, seeing the turmoil brewing in your eyes. You wouldn't have reacted that way if you weren't truly freaked out.

“You believe me?” you asked, confused by his sudden change of heart.

“Honey, if you say there is a ghost, there's a fucking ghost, and we're not staying with a ghost,” Lando told you and cupped your cheek, calming your restlessness with a minor touch.

His words and touch brought a wave of relief. You leaned into his palm, feeling the warmth and comfort that only he could provide.

“Thank you,” you whispered, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders. Lando pulled you into a tight embrace, his arms a fortress around you.

“We'll find a new place, somewhere you can feel safe and happy,” he assured you. “In the meantime, I'll stay with you as much as possible. If not, we book you into a hotel or get someone to stay over with you.”

As your heartbeat slowly returned to normal, you felt a mix of relief and embarrassment. You looked up at him, your eyes searching for reassurance.

“I'm sorry for interrupting your stream,” you apologised.

“Don't worry about that,” he said, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “You come first, always.”

For a moment, the kitchen felt less daunting, the shadows less threatening. With Lando by your side, the fear seemed more manageable, the inexplicable occurrences less overwhelming. He helped you clean up the mess, his calm demeanour a stark contrast to your earlier panic. As you worked together, the familiar rhythm of your routine returned, the bond between you strengthening with each shared task.

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m4rv3l-girl · 1 month ago

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bucky Barnes and y/n just got to where they're staying for their honey moon and without a second thought bucky is all over you.

but there was one problem that you have tried to ignore until now, you are still a virgin, not only that but you don't even know how to touch your self, let alone please your new husband, y/n is scared and starts having a panic attack as soon as she is put on the bed, not realizing her fear until this moment bucky helps her but also assuring her that she doesn't have to have sex with him just to prove her love.

Honeymoon

Warnings: Mentions of sex.

The moment the door to the cabin closed behind them, Bucky Barnes had you pressed up against it, his lips seeking yours with a fervor that took your breath away.

The rustic charm of the honeymoon retreat - the roaring fireplace, the faint smell of pinewood, the soft lamplight painting golden hues on the wooden walls - all melted into the background as his strong hands framed your face. His kiss was demanding yet tender. It was a combination that only Bucky could master, and your heart raced in response, a mixture of excitement and nervousness swirling in your chest.

“You’re everything, doll,” he murmured against your lips, his deep voice vibrating through you, sending warmth flooding your veins. His blue eyes searched yours and you couldn’t help but smile shyly.

“Bucky,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. You reached up to touch his face, brushing your fingers over the slight scruff of his jaw, marveling at how lucky you were to call this man your husband.

He grinned, leaning into your touch before kissing the palm of your hand. “Can’t believe I get to call you mine,” he said, his tone reverent. Then, he scooped you up effortlessly, making you squeal in surprise. “What kind of husband would I be if I didn’t carry my bride over the threshold?”

Your laughter filled the room as he carried you to the bed, the large, plush comforter looking as inviting as ever. But as he laid you down gently and hovered over you, his lips finding the sensitive spot on your neck, that bubbling laughter faded into something else.

The nervousness you’d pushed aside since the wedding ceremony came rushing back with a vengeance.

You felt your body stiffen beneath him, and he paused immediately, his brow furrowing as he looked down at you. “You okay, sweetheart?” he asked, his tone laced with concern. His metal hand, cool to the touch, rested lightly on your hip, while his flesh one cupped your cheek.

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words stuck in your throat. The realization of what tonight might entail—what it likely would entail—hit you like a freight train. You hadn’t allowed yourself to dwell on it, but now, with Bucky so close, his touch so intoxicating, it was impossible to ignore. Your chest tightened, and your breaths came quicker, shallower. A wave of panic began to rise, and you pressed a hand to your chest as if it could keep your heart from hammering out of control.

“Hey, hey, Y/N, look at me,” Bucky’s voice broke through the haze, firm but gentle. His hands moved away from you, giving you space, as his worried gaze locked onto yours. “What’s wrong, doll? Talk to me.”

Tears pricked the corners of your eyes, and you turned your head away, feeling overwhelmed and embarrassed. “I…I’m sorry,” you stammered, your voice trembling. “I just… I can’t…”

“Can’t what?” he asked softly, his hand finding yours and squeezing it reassuringly. “Sweetheart, it’s okay. Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out together. Just breathe for me, okay? Nice and slow.”

You tried to follow his instructions, inhaling deeply and exhaling shakily. His presence, his steady encouragement, helped calm the storm inside you just enough for you to find your voice. “I… I’ve never done this before,” you admitted in a whisper, your cheeks burning with shame. “I don’t even… I don’t even know how to…”

Realization dawned on his face, and his expression softened even further, if that was possible. “Oh, sweetheart,” he murmured, brushing a tear away from your cheek with his thumb. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t want you to think…” You trailed off, biting your lip. “I didn’t want you to think I wasn’t ready. Or that I don’t love you.”

He shook his head firmly. “Doll, listen to me. You don’t have to prove anything to me. I know you love me. I see it in everything you do. Every look, every touch, every word. And you don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for. Ever. Do you hear me?”

His words washed over you like a balm, soothing your frayed nerves. You nodded, a fresh wave of tears spilling over, but this time they weren’t from fear or shame. They were from relief.

Bucky sat back slightly, giving you space to sit up. He held both your hands in his, his thumbs brushing over your knuckles as he spoke. “This isn’t about some expectation or obligation. This is about us, Y/N. About what makes you feel safe and loved. And if you’re not ready, then we’re not doing anything, plain and simple.”

“But… what if I never…” You hesitated, your voice faltering.

“Then we’ll cross that bridge if we ever get to it,” he said, his tone steady. “But for now, we’ll go as slow as you need. There’s no rush, doll. We’ve got forever, remember?”

You couldn’t help but smile at that, the tension in your chest loosening just a little. Bucky pulled you into his arms, cradling you against his chest. His heartbeat was a steady, soothing rhythm beneath your ear, and you closed your eyes, letting the warmth of his embrace ground you.

“Thank you,” you whispered after a while, your voice muffled against his shirt.

“You never have to thank me for loving you,” he replied, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “That’s the easiest thing in the world.”

For the rest of the evening, Bucky didn’t push.

Instead, he suggested you explore the cabin together, and the two of you ended up curled on the couch by the fire, wrapped in a blanket as you shared stories and laughter. It was intimate in its own way, and by the time you both retired to bed, the weight of your earlier panic had lessened considerably.

As you drifted off to sleep in his arms, you realized that love wasn’t about grand gestures or fulfilling expectations.

It was about moments like these.

——————————————————————————————————

Hope this is what you wanted, My Dear 🫶

#bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes #marvel #bucky fluff

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rahuratna · 2 months ago

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Synopsis:

"Welcome, Visitor, to Jujutsu Guild Academy, tucked discreetly away in the rolling foothills of the Byre Veld Mountains. Our team of expert sorcerers, now misfits and outcasts from society, gather here to train their talented students, as well as use their exceptional skills to solve cases brought to them by those who know the true nature of the Guild ... much like yourself. We invite you to place your case at their disposal. We guarantee that you won't be disappointed."

Genre: Fantasy AU, mystery, suspense, horror, humour, detective agency

Content warnings: dark themes, murder, violence.

Rating: T

Dividers by: @sister-lucifer

Part 1

“Balance is paramount in the world of sorcery, and yet, not easily understood or visualised. The Magical Clade system, developed in the planetary turn of 214, embraces the diverse nature of magic in all forms. Bitura and Matura; the predictable and the unexplored, the two known aspects of sorcery existing side by side in a tenuously held set of universal scales, cannot be wholly characterised by our existing body of knowledge.

Let us then examine their five known components, the arcane origins of which have, thus far, been the subject of much theorising. Human, planetary, chaotic, contractual and natural, different facets of a world we have only just begun to comprehend … “

~ An Introduction to Arcane Clades, A. Zahari.

At the top of a hill in a small vineyard, near the age-smoothed arc of the stairs that lead to an imposing set of oak doors, an elderly man hesitates.

Jirou has arrived against the will of many in his village, seeking the kind of help he knows won’t be available to him elsewhere. He looks up, at the white-painted walls of the former winery, now converted for the purposes of the sorcerers who call this their base of operations.

It seems … peaceful. Idyllic, even. He can see why this place would be a retreat from the bustle and whispered condemnation of society. Now, if only he could muster the courage to –

The doors swing open, and he takes a step back. A man appears in the cool, dark entrance. He wears a short-sleeved white shirt, ideal for the balmy weather, and smart black trousers and boots. His neatly parted hair and the manner by which he adjusts his glasses mark him as one of the officials who probably run the day-to-day operations of this place.

“Good day to you. How may I assist?”

The tone is polite, clipped, professional. Jirou clutches at his straw hat, rotating it nervously within his stiff grasp. He clears his throat.

“Ah … um. Forgive me for intruding. I’m here to see … well, here for help. For my village. I’m from Setsana, just east of the river.”

The bespectacled man glances him over in frank assessment before stepping quietly back through the door and gesturing to him to follow.

“This way.”

“Eh?”

“You want to meet with the sorcerer’s guild, yes?”

“Well … yes, but I thought – “

Jirou sees a glimmer of humour in the eyes of the dark-haired official.

“You may call me Ijichi. What is your name?”

“Jirou.”

“Well, Jirou of Setsana, this agency does not screen their clientele based on location or status. You are clearly here for some assistance, and you’ve asked for it. Now the sorcerers will hear your case.”

Scurrying up the steps and into the cool foyer, Jirou glanced warily around. It was not quite what he had been expecting. The interior had indeed been re-purposed. The terracotta-tiled floor had been preserved, rustic and slightly dusty underfoot. Comfortable rugs had been placed around the airy space. Eclectic, somewhat mismatched antique furniture added a certain charm to the room.

A large hearth stood dormant against one wall, the exquisite grey river stone banded with wooden shelves. Large glass doors opened onto a walled garden on one side, a small courtyard with a carved fountain placed centrally. A wash of cool, fragrant air entered through here, beckoning languidly as Jirou followed Ijichi out and into an adjoining annex.

Clearing his throat, the farmhand addressed Ijichi again.

“Who is it that I’ll be seeing, exactly?”

“Magister Higuruma. He hears all cases and determines what action can be undertaken.”

Ijichi paused, turning slightly, his eyes kind.

“Don’t be put off by his … manner. He simply wants to get to the heart of the matter. Just answer clearly and truthfully. Try to stick to the facts. Wait here for a minute, please.”

Leaving Jirou stewing in the hallway, Ijichi disappeared behind another door. The faint noise of voices, the rustle of paper and a cough could be heard from within. Jirou contemplated turning around and leaving hurriedly. Not running away, no. A tactical retreat. What if this Higuruma was –

The door clicked open and Ijichi reappeared, all too soon.

“You may go in and state your case.”

And thus, Jirou’s fate was sealed.

Higuruma Hiromi was seated behind a large desk, scattered with papers in what could possibly be described as ordered chaos. Jirou entered with the air of a man braving the den of a vicious mountain lion. Higuruma certainly gave off the according aura.

Dark hair, combed back, but slightly dishevelled from the number of times he’d run his fingers through it. The sardonic set of his mouth, the aquiline nose, and above it all, the deep-set, unsettlingly attentive gaze that traced over one’s form, taking in every detail. Higuruma wore a well-tailored waistcoat, gold embroidery over the sable material, his white shirtsleeves rolled back. That faint trace of disorder spilled over here too, visible in the rumpled collar, the ink-stained hands, the dark smudges beneath his eyes that spoke of inadequate sleep, the symptom of an intellect that raced over the landscape of the mundane, gathering a horde of minutiae in its wake.

“Jirou of Setsana?”

“Yes, sir.”

Higuruma waved a hand vaguely in the direction of the seat before his desk and Jirou hurried forward to comply. On the table was a map of the area, marked with a varied array of ink colours and symbols. Jirou was also surprised to see a farmer’s almanack beside the map. He hadn’t ever expected to see such a humble, worn document on the table of such a sorcerer. The sight steadied him, somewhat.

“Thank you for taking the time to hear my case.”

He received only a nod in reply. Higuruma laced his fingers over the desktop and leaned forward, the only signal that Jirou should continue.

“Ah. Um. Our village has been experiencing … some strange things lately. Animals put out to pasture turning up dead. Lights in the forest. Sometimes … well, that’s beside the point, but I feel uneasy. Like something’s coming up from the earth to swallow us all.”

In any other setting, Jirou would never have given voice to such sentiments. Speaking to a sorcerer, however, erased those misgivings. Who knew what mysteries of the arcane Higuruma had already experienced?

The sorcerer in question unlaced his fingers, tracing them over the faded ink trees on the map, denoting the forest near the village.

“Some questions.”

“Pardon?”

“I need to ask some questions.”

“Oh … oh, of course! My apologies if I’ve not given enough – “

Higuruma cut him off, eyes steady, penetrating.

“When did these animal killings begin?”

“Six months ago … I think.”

“You are uncertain?”

“No, I – There were wolves. We found corpses of wolves. Before that. But obviously we didn’t – “

“You didn’t question when the natural predator turned up dead?”

Jirou shrugged helplessly.

“Sometimes bears come down from the mountain.”

“Hmm. And what kind of animals, besides the wolves, were killed?”

“Horses. Sheep. Cattle. Some chickens. Mainly the cows, though.”

“Who found the beasts dead?”

“Different people. I found a horse in a ditch once.”

“How did the horse appear to you?”

“Slaughtered.”

“I need more detail.”

Jirou shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Higuruma’s questions were coming thick and fast, and the elderly man was accustomed to preparing his thoughts before answering.

“Ah. Disembowelled. It’s … entrails had been removed.”

“And they were lying next to the animal?”

“Oh, no. We couldn’t find them anywhere.”

Higuruma raised an eyebrow, pausing slightly for the first time.

“Nothing?”

“No. It was like … the animal had been hollowed out. Like something had reached in and … scooped everything out.”

Abruptly, the sorcerer leaned back in his seat.

“These lights in the forest. Tell me more.”

“Oh, those are strange indeed. We’ve tried to find a pattern as to when they appear, but … they seem to come at odd times. It’s not firelight. Too bright. Almost white. Dancing. It’s definitely magery of some kind.”

“Above the trees?”

“Among them. Between them. Sometimes the trunks of the trees block the light, so we know that it’s moving.”

“And this … feeling you say you have?”

“Oh, that … “

Jirou gave a sheepish chuckle.

“I think with everything going on, I simply … You know. The imaginings of an old – “

“No.”

“I’m sorry?”

“No.”

Higuruma’s abrupt manner took some getting accustomed to. He raised his quill, pointing it at the farmhand like he was preparing to throw it, to pin him and his problem down to a board for analysis.

“Sorcery isn’t about vague incantations and undetermined outcomes. Everything about sorcery is calculated, precise. It relies on universal laws that we haven’t even begun to comprehend, and so, it seems distant or even esoteric. We try to categorise the arcane, place them into neat little pockets to aid our understanding, but that will only take us so far. Your feelings, your dreams, are all likely symptoms of the same problems that plague your village. It’s a pattern we’ve seen many times.”

Jirou gulped heavily.

“We?”

“Our guild.”

Throughout the brief, intense questioning, Higuruma had never written anything down. Now, he dipped his quill, scraping carefully around the edges of the well, and jotted something down on a scrap of parchment. He folded the note and handed it over to Jirou.

“Give this to ijichi when you leave. Permission from the authorities pending, expect our guild members to arrive within three days.”

If Jirou of Setsana had stayed for a few minutes longer, he might have been party to the sudden descent of chaos into the calm that had once reigned over Higuruma’s study. A large tapestry hanging across the left wall shifted slightly, as though in a stray breeze. One of the greyhounds stitched into the rich fabric of the hunting scene moved, the thread of the embroidered eyes snapping subtly back and forth until its gaze faced ahead once again.

Higuruma sighed heavily.

“Do you really think you’re being subtle?”

The hound peered at him. It looked slightly nervous.

“Gojo, I know you’re listening.”

The hound’s goggling took a turn for the worse, the eyes now comically bulging from the tapestry.

“Is it really this hard for you to behave like an adult?”

The hound’s mouth opened wide and new embroidery emerged from its gaping jaws, spelling out the word “YES”.

“For the love of – “

Higuruma raised a finger, shadowy flame erupting across the tip, and the tapestry suddenly folded inwards, then disgorged three occupants, two of whom stumbled right into Higuruma’s desk, the papers on top shifting across the surface of the map he had been studying. Clicking his tongue, the sorcerer folded his arms.

Bright-eyed, cheeks slightly flushed with embarrassment, Itadori Yuuji reached up and ruffled his pink hair.

“Good morning, Higuruma – “

“It was his idea.”

Straight to the point as always, Kugisaki Nobara showed not an ounce of shame, her finger pointing firmly in the direction of the tapestry’s third occupant, who had stepped out with stylish flair.

Gojo Satoru, Special Grade Sorcerer, gave a bow that included a flowery, if very irritating, flourish. He straightened and eyed Higuruma cheerfully over his shaded glasses, pale hair gleaming like mage-fire in the dim light of the study. As much as Gojo played into the role of fanciful and flamboyant genius, that undercurrent of monstrous power was always present, one that those close to him had learned to bear with. His apprentices, for some reason, always seemed immune to it.

“You know, I couldn’t help but overhear – “

He received a disbelieving snort in return.

“Try another tack. I never know why you can’t just sit in on interviews instead of – “

Gojo wagged a finger.

“Oh, come on. I mean, look at me. How do you think a simple farmer would take to seeing someone like me staring at him while he tried to give testimony?”

As always, Gojo was attired as if he’d stepped right out of the pages of a racy bodice-ripper. His ruffled collar, unbuttoned fashionably low, high-waisted trousers and the long overcoat he wore over it all enhanced the roguishly handsome look only he was capable of pulling off without seeming horrendously pretentious.

Higuruma stared back, unimpressed, before pushing away the papers that had drifted over the map. Yuuji and Nobara crowded around his desk, eyes eager. He turned his attention to them.

“Assuming you two have heard Jirou’s case, what do you think the approach should be?”

Yuuji hummed thoughtfully.

“I think … maybe scout the area? Check out those woods. Look for traces of unknown sorcery.”

Nobara elbowed him aside, not to be outdone.

“And talk to the villagers. Look, I grew up in a village like this, and let me tell you, everyone’s just dying to let you know their neighbour’s business.”

Higuruma nodded.

“Good, but we’re missing something vital.”

Gojo’s hand shot into the air.

“Oooh, pick me, Magister!”

“Come, you two. Think.”

Ignoring Gojo’s pleading look, Higuruma waited patiently. Yuuji’s face had taken on a serious cast, his eyes fixed on the map.

“Uhhh … what about the animals? There must be something about the way they’ve been killed … “

“Precisely. The fact that their entrails were removed tells us something.”

Nobara’s eyes narrowed.

“Some village soothsayers read entrails. To tell people’s fortunes and that kind of thing.”

“Except, in this case, no trace of the entrails was found. You’re certainly right about soothsayers, but they need fresh kills, and for the entrails to be present in the corpse of the animal.”

“So … “

“So you’re going to help with the investigation. With my permission, of course.”

Higuruma finally met Gojo’s gaze and shook his head in silent communication. Gojo gave a small smile in return.

“No need to tell me. You need me for that … other issue. So, who’s it going to be?”

“I’ve already sent a note out with Ijichi. He should be here - ”

A knock sounded on the study door, three sharp taps in quick succession. Yuuji glanced up at the clock and grinned.

“It’s ten o’ clock on the dot. That’s gotta be - ”

If Jirou of Setsana hadn’t hurried home, he might have also witnessed the arrival of the man who would lead the investigation at his village. Brisk, measured pace carrying him across the gravel of the courtyard, Nanami Kento arrived shortly before the stroke of ten.

Formerly a member of the merchant guild, Nanami was always properly attired in formal sorcerer’s robes, a plain, pristine, royal blue waistcoat, trousers and sensible leather walking boots beneath. A yellow patterned cravat formed a slight contrast to the sobriety of his appearance.

To ordinary folk, Nanami looked particularly unremarkable. Like Gojo and Higuruma, however, there was something about him that the trained eye wouldn’t miss; a martial air to his bearing, a certain predatory awareness in his cool glance, a grace in his long stride that spoke of great strength and agility.

Passing through the foyer, he greeted Ijichi, whose communication he had received a short while ago. At the door to Higuruma’s study, he paused, hearing the voices from within. Gojo’s dulcet tones were unmistakeable. Sighing, he checked his pocket watch.

One minute to the hour.

One more minute without Gojo.

He waited, enjoying the brief silence.

At the chime of the clock within the study, he knocked and entered.

“Nanamin!”

“Right on time.”

Nobara tugged at the blonde sorcerer’s sleeve impatiently.

“Come over here. They found some animals with their guts scooped out.”

“Excuse me?”

Yuuji joined Nobara, lifting Nanami’s carry case out of his hand and ushering him towards the table.

“The new case that just came in!”

“We’re going together to investigate.”

“There’s a small village – “

“And they have these flashing lights in the forest – “

“And this old guy has a bad feeling – “

“And Higuruma doesn’t think it’s his arthritis or indigestion – “

“And he thinks bears come down from the mountain? You ever heard of anything like that?”

Raising his hands in long-suffering protest, Nanami finally gained some silence from the two apprentices. Gojo was lounging against Higuruma’s desk with a smile he wasn’t sure he liked.

“I’m out of this one, Nanami. Higuruma needs me elsewhere.”

Nodding Nanami turned his attention to the Magister who had been watching the scene humourlessly over steepled fingers.

“I assume you’ll brief me?”

“Of course. Give me two hours and I’ll have clearance from the USCRC.”

The Utilitarian Sorcery Centre for Regulation and Control was Higuruma’s old stomping ground, the legal wranglings that took place in its ancient auditoriums setting precedents for the dozens of new permutations of sorcery that came up every year. His exit from the same institution in disgrace, and his subsequent fall from grace in the public eye, was common knowledge at the guild.

There were many, however, who understood Higuruma’s decisions better than others, those from within the system who spoke on his behalf and facilitated his establishment in a fully private sense within the Jujutsu Guild Academy. He still maintained those contacts, allowing him full access to the legal records and accelerated permissions to conduct private investigations on behalf of the guild.

Nanami had never enquired as to the nature of Higuruma’s contacts. Nobody did.

Poring over the map on the table as the Magister pointed out the features of relevance, a crease began to form between Nanami’s brows.

“Animals without entrails … Hmm. That’s definitely cause for concern.”

Yuuji peered into his face curiously.

“What do you think it means, Nanamin?”

Shaking his head, Nanami adjusted the shaded glasses on the bridge of his nose.

“It’s too early for me to say. Speculation can be as dangerous as sprinting across a rickety bridge in cases like these. I can say that this probably involves the Matura aspect of sorcery, possibly some form of natural magic, or perhaps, something conceived to look that way.”

Gojo’s crystalline blue glance was also tracing with that characteristic gleam of sharp clarity over the map.

“I think, considering some of the other cases coming our way, that this would be a great opportunity to let the apprentices get their teeth in.”

He clapped his hands cheerfully while Yuuji and Nobara began to look worryingly excited. Gojo tended to have that effect on them.

“What do you say, kids? Tramping through the countryside, scraping cow dung crusts off your heels, breathing in the scent of fermented straw floors and making friends with fleas and other friendly vermin of all kinds.”

He let out a happy sigh.

“I’d love to go myself, but I’ll make this sacrifice for you, and only you, dearest Nanami.”

“How terribly kind of you,” came the dry rejoinder.

Turning to the apprentices, Nanami cocked an eyebrow.

“He does have a point, though. Go to Ieiri and assemble some evidence kits. Tell her to be on standby for receiving samples from us for analysis over the next few days. And then get yourselves prepared. You know the drill.”

“Yes, sir!”

Receiving two sharp salutes, the two over-enthusiastic youngsters scampered out of the study, their voices carrying back along the hallway.

When they were out of earshot, Gojo exchanged glances with Higuruma before reaching into his pocket and handing over a small vial to Nanami. Seeing the contents, the sorcerer met Gojo’s stare with a steady, measured glance.

“And what’s this in aid of?”

“Oh, just a little something. In case things get dangerous.”

“You think it’ll come to that?”

Higuruma stood, gathering his coat and heading for the door. “Take it, Nanami. I have a feeling that we’re going to need all the help we can get if the intelligence we’ve received so far is accurate.”

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mingi-s-dimples · 5 months ago

Note

weird request..? ( kinda ) it’s me lis😚 i love your work bia and i really REALLY want a demon hongjoong fic 🪦 maybe add some praising and choking kink as well…🤭🤭 i recently saw a picture of him that added to the “joong demon agenda” AND OH BOY 🫠🫠 love you 😚❤️

Crimson Nights - Hongjoong

REQUEST BY: @mingleshine (or how y'all might know her, my lovely Lis) she also made the banner 😋😋 had to use it for my love.

pairing: demon/incubus!hongjoong x fem!reader

rating: 18+

genre: romance, demon x human, love not necessarily filth (but a little bit cause I love writing filth hihi)

summary: the sillhouette you've always been dreaming and painting about finally finds it's way in your room, giving you what you've been longing for.

WC: 3.5k

warnings: demon au, incubus!hongjoong x human fem!reader, choking kink, neck marking, marking, a sprinkle of praise, pet names (sweetie, darling, princess), ramming (if this is even a warning), hard deep and needy longing love (joong appeared in reader's dreams for years), choking, huge dick!hongjoong, slight belly bulging (he was a big guy hihi), eyes glistering with lust and changing as soon as they're finished, sharp nails (said marking + hickeys), biting, a little bit of cnc maybe from his perspective reader was all down for it, possesiveness, claiming reader (you/re mine/I already claimed you), completely consesual, unprotected (WRAP UP IRL!), slapping/spanking, orgasms (both m&f), fluff (if you squint but I promise there is fluff cause wdym Hongjoong has waited years for reader to be ready to invite him in her world and how he talks to her at the end ansadka I'm blushing), probably forgot something !

Author's Note: I loved writing this one. The description in the beginning made me absolutely looooooooooooooooooove writing this fic, I've always loved to describe nice, vintage/retro like things/rooms. Tysm love for the request andddd can't wait for another one from you hihi <3 love you always, enjoy this one ^^ also I love when u call me bia it makes something in me go insane nshdajkndsma

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction & does not represent in any way the reality of the member.

The room was a sanctuary of warmth and color, tucked away in an old manor where the whispers of time lingered in the wooden beams. As you stepped inside, the scent of aged wood and crackling fire filled the air, mingling with the faint aroma of dried leaves that had drifted in through the slightly open window. The walls were adorned with paintings of every size, each one a vivid portrayal of autumn’s embrace. Rich hues of amber, gold, and crimson spilled from the canvases, capturing scenes of forests bathed in the gentle light of a setting sun, of fields where goldenrod swayed in the cool breeze, and of paths carpeted in a mosaic of fallen leaves.

The floor, covered in a thick, russet-hued rug, creaked softly underfoot, adding to the room’s rustic charm. A grand oak table sat in the center, its surface cluttered with brushes, palettes, and jars of paint that seemed to mirror the fiery shades of the season. On a nearby easel, a half-finished painting depicted a lone maple tree, its leaves a brilliant cascade of oranges and reds against the backdrop of a fading twilight sky.

Outside, the trees rustled softly in the wind, their branches bare save for a few stubborn leaves clinging to their last moments of life. The windowpanes rattled gently, as if echoing the sighs of the season, and through them, the distant cry of a flock of geese could be heard, their silhouettes barely visible against the dusky horizon. The room, bathed in the soft glow of a nearby lamp, seemed to pulse with the rhythm of autumn itself, a place where the beauty of the season was captured and eternalized within the frames on the walls.

You’ve been having some weird dreams lately. The dreams were always drenched in shadows, where reality blurred and the world seemed suspended between night and twilight. In them, you found yourself standing in a vast, moonlit field, where the air was thick with an unspoken tension. The only light came from a ghostly crescent moon, casting long, eerie shadows that danced across the landscape. It was in these shadows that you first saw him — a silhouette against the silver light, imposing, with a presence that sent a shiver down your spine and yet held your gaze captive.

He was not like any man you had ever seen. His form was humanoid but dark, almost as if he were carved from the very night itself. Yet, it was his eyes—those glowing embers hidden within the depths of shadow—that drew you in. They were the color of molten gold, burning with an intensity that made your heart race, eyes that seemed to see right through you, into the deepest corners of your soul.

Despite his demonic appearance, you felt an inexplicable pull toward him, a magnetic force that defied all logic. Each night, the dreams grew more vivid, more intense. You would find yourself standing just a breath away from him, feeling the heat of his presence and the chill of the night air against your skin. His gaze would meet yours, holding you in place, and in that moment, you felt a strange mix of fear and desire. It was as if his eyes were speaking to you, whispering promises of secrets untold, of passions that could only exist in the world of dreams.

Sometimes, you could hear his voice—a deep, resonant sound that echoed in the silence, filled with both menace and allure. He would reach out, his hand almost touching you, but the dream would always end before you had made contact, leaving you waking with a longing you couldn’t quite understand. The sensation of his gaze lingered among you, haunting your waking hours, making you yearn for the night when she would see him again.

In these dreams, you were not afraid. The darkness did not frighten you, nor did his otherworldly form. Instead, you felt drawn into the mystery, consumed by the curiosity of who he was and why you felt such a strong connection to him. Each night you slipped into the sheets, so willingly, eager to return to that shadowy place where the lines between fear and desire blurred, and where you felt more alive than you ever did in the daylight.

The air in the room was thick with anticipation, the kind that made every breath feel heavy. You stood in the center of the old, dimly lit room, the flickering candlelight casting long shadows that danced on the walls. The atmosphere was charged with an electric tension, a sensation you knew all too well from your dreams.

You had been here before—in those haunting visions that gripped you in the dead of night, where the lines between fear and desire blurred into something irresistible. But tonight was different. This time, you were awake. This time, it was real.

The temperature dropped suddenly, and a shiver ran down your spine. The shadows in the corners of the room seemed to coalesce, gathering into a single point of darkness that deepened until it was almost tangible. Your breath hitched as the air hummed with an otherworldly energy. The shadows twisted, taking form, and your heart pounded in your chest as you watched.

Slowly, he emerged from the darkness—a figure of impossible beauty and terrifying power. His skin was pale, almost luminescent against the darkness, and his eyes glowed with a deep, unnatural fire. They were the eyes that had haunted you in your sleep, eyes that saw through you, into you, but you yet had a desire to meet him. His presence filling the room, cloaked in darkness that seemed to cling to him like a living thing.

His lips curled into a knowing smile, one that sent a jolt of both fear and longing through you. It was the smile that had always made you feel like you were teetering on the edge of something dangerous, something thrilling. His voice, when he finally spoke, was a low, velvety rumble that seemed to reverberate through your very bones.

"So, we meet at last," he said, his tone laced with a dark amusement. "You've been dreaming of meeting me, haven't you?"

You tried to speak, but the words caught in your throat. It was as if the reality of his presence had stolen your voice, leaving you with nothing but the rapid beating of your heart and the heat that flushed your skin.

He stepped closer, his movements fluid, almost serpentine. Every step he took seemed to pull you in, your body betraying you as it leaned towards him, yearning for the touch you knew would burn but also ignite something within you.

"You've been calling out to me, every night," he continued, his gaze never leaving yours. "And now, here I am."

He was close enough now that you could feel the cold radiating from him, mingling with the warmth of your own body. The scent of him was intoxicating, a mix of something dark and forbidden, like smoke and spices you couldn't name. It made your head dizzy, your thoughts tangling with desire and dread.

He reached out, his fingers brushing against your cheek, and the contact sent a shockwave through you. His touch was cold, but it sparked something deep within, a fire that you had only ever felt in your dreams. It was a sensation that bordered on pain, but also pleasure—a perfect, terrifying balance.

"Why do you fear me?" he whispered, his breath ghosting over your skin. "I am what you desire most, am I not?"

You swallowed hard, finally finding your voice, though it was barely more than a whisper. "Who are you?"

His smile widened, a flash of sharp teeth that should have frightened you, but instead, it only made your heart race faster. "I am everything you've ever feared, everything you've ever wanted. I am the darkness in your soul, the fire in your blood. I am yours."

The words wrapped around you like a spell, binding you to him in a way that felt both inevitable and inescapable. You knew, deep down, that this was what you had been searching for, what your soul had been yearning for in those lonely, desperate moments between sleep and wakefulness.

“W-what’s your name?” you said, your head dizzy from what he made you feel deep inside you.

“I’m Hongjoong.. nice to meet you, princess.”

His hand slid from your cheek to the back of your neck, pulling you closer until there was nothing between you but a breath, a heartbeat. His eyes burned into yours, and you felt yourself falling into them, into him, as if you had always belonged there.

"You have nothing to fear," he murmured, his lips hovering over yours, close enough to feel their coolness. "We are one, you and I. And now, you will never be alone again."

As his lips finally met yours, the world around you seemed to fade, dissolving into darkness. All that remained was the heat of his kiss, the cold fire of his touch, and the knowledge that you had finally found what you had been seeking all along—him.

He stopped kissing you, a heady silence falling between, thick with the weight of what was about to happen. His hands, cold yet searing with an undeniable heat, trailed down your neck with a slow, deliberate touch, making you shiver. His eyes locked onto yours, burning with an intensity that made your knees weak. You could feel the pull, the magnetic force drawing you closer, deeper into him, and you knew there was no escape—only surrender.

With a fluid, almost predatory grace, he lowered you onto the bed. The mattress yielded under your weight, and the cool sheets sent a shiver through your body. He hovered over you, his presence overwhelming, his gaze never wavering from yours as he gently eased you down, guiding your back to the softness beneath. The world outside seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you in a bubble of darkness and desire.

His lips found your throat, pressing soft, lingering kisses that ignited every nerve in your body. The sensation was intoxicating, a mixture of warmth and cold that made your skin tingle with anticipation. His kisses were like whispers against your flesh, trailing down to your collarbone, each touch a promise of more to come. His sharp teeth, grasping your skin, receiving some whines out of you.

You gasped as his hands slid under the fabric of your shirt, his fingers cool against the heated skin of your waist. His touch was slow, sensual, exploring every inch of you as if committing your body to memory. He leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear, sending another shiver down your spine.

“Do you feel that?” he whispered, his voice like velvet, dark and rich. “The way your body responds to mine? The way you tremble under my touch?”

His lips traced the curve of your shoulder, then continued their journey downward, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. His fingers followed, brushing against your sides, your hips, as he moved lower. He was taking his time, savoring every moment, every reaction you gave him.

When his lips reached the edge of your shirt, he paused, his gaze flicking up to meet yours. There was a question in his eyes, one that didn’t need to be spoken aloud, and your answer was in the way you arched your back, pressing your body into his touch, craving more. A satisfied smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he pulled your shirt higher, exposing more of your skin to the cool air.

He kissed along your stomach, his lips lingering on every inch of bare flesh he uncovered, each kiss sending a jolt of pleasure through you. His hands were everywhere, caressing, teasing, and you couldn’t help the soft moan that escaped your lips as he continued his exploration. The sound seemed to please him, a dark glint of satisfaction in his eyes as he looked up at you from beneath his lashes.

His mouth moved lower, his kisses growing more insistent, more demanding, and you could feel the tension building within you, coiling tighter with each passing second. His touch was like a drug, addicting, overwhelming, and you were helpless to do anything but give in to the sensations he was pulling from you.

When he finally moved back up to capture your lips again, it was with a hunger that took your breath away. His kiss was deep, consuming, as if he was trying to devour every part of you, to claim you as his own. You could taste the darkness on his lips, the promise of something forbidden, something you had craved in your dreams but had never fully understood until now.

He pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against yours, his breath mingling with your own in the small space between you. “You are mine,” he whispered, the words more a declaration than a question. “Every part of you, every breath, every heartbeat. Mine.”

And as he kissed you again, slow and deep, you knew that he was right. There was no turning back, no escape. You were his, body and soul, and the thought of it sent a thrill through you that was equal parts fear and desire. As his hands continued their exploration, as his lips found every sensitive spot on your skin, you surrendered completely to the darkness, to him, knowing that you were lost and yet finally found.

Your hands found their way through his hair, rubbing the nape of his neck. He took that as a challenge and as one of his hands was travelling around your body, all touchy on your thighs and waist, the other one went for your neck, putting pressure, almost like choking you. It only made you yearn for more as you squirmed under him, his gaze never leaving your needy eyes.

“I can see it in your eyes, princess. How much you want me, how much you need me. Do you want me to let you give in or… will you let me make you mine?” he said as he pressed down on your neck, hovering his lips over your collarbones, leaving soft, sloppy kisses, waiting for your response.

But as you didn’t say anything, only moving underneath him, in wish of some friction, he understood your movements and manhandled you on your back, pressing your face into the mattress.

“See, darling? Your body language is everything to me. The way it speaks to me… in no way you’d be able to portray by words” he whispered, his eyes glistening with lust and desire, eating you as a whole.

“Joong- i- “ you mumbled, trying to get ahold of yourself, his dick struggling inside the rough fabric of the leather jeans, creating a prominent tent. All of this mess caused by you and your little dreams formed a loop of stroking his cock for a few seconds before rubbing his thigh up and down, all through the tightening cloth.

His calm, yet lustful, twisted expression gave you an understanding on how much he wanted you, how bad he craved putting you on all fours, head buried in the mattress, holding your hands and pounding into you like the demon he was.

Trembling hands gripping the silk sheets, your bottom lip quivered involuntarily as breathless pants left your mouth, Hongjoong behind you, squeezing and occasionally slapping your ass. It was already red… at how much he fondled with it.

“So… should I.. finally claim you, princess?” he said as he turned you over to face him. He started undressing you, slowly but surely getting rid of everything. You were now laying bare in front of him, goosebumps visible on your entire body from the cold yet inviting touch he had.

He pulled you into him by your waist, making you gasp once you felt his hard erection press against your thigh. "Feel that, princess? Gonna fill you up nicely" he whispered, his breath stuttering against your face, like he was a feral animal wanting to destroy you.

As he unbuckled his leather pants and got rid of them, unveiling his already dripping cock, you were left amazed by the size. You expected.. the size.. cause he was a demon, after all, but...

"Oh, fuck" you exhaled when he went between your thighs, his red angry tip pressing and slowly moving up and down on your folds.

"You good, darling? he grunted as he pushed himself inside you, no warning. You softly moaned at the sensation, but as you realised he put only his tip in, you braced yourself on the mattress and when he pushed himself just a little bit more, you whined and tears started forming at the corner of your eyes. As he wiped them soflty, he let you adjust to his size but you never quite completely did.

Pain and pleasure hovered over you, heavy mist in the air and breathing. He lifted you up, still bouncing slowly on his cock, holding you close to his chest. It was it you were making love to your demon.. this was exactly what was happening. Slow, lustful, desireful thrusts, moves and touches, soft kisses from your neck to your collarbones, sucking dark spots on your fair soft skin.

You suddenly moved and twitched as he bottomed down, to which he pushed you down even further, feeling how a small bulge was forming in your belly, almost visible.

"Princess, stop moving. I might actually hurt you if you move without warning" he said as he dug his sharp nails into the flesh of your waist, leaving soft bleeding marks on your skin. You whined at the pain but damn... it turned you on so bad, arousal dripping on his balls, from below you as you bounced on him more forcefully, not caring about the pain anymore, which had turned into utmost pleasure.

Hongjoong was all touchy with you, he was like this... maybe because he was longing you how much you were longing to meet him? All of these years you've seen him in your dreams... all of the paintings and stories you've made up of him, all because you wanted to meet the mysterious entity in your dream and... you were over the moon for him. How he fucked you so good, how he took you under his influence, his voice, his fangs, as he dug them suddenly in your neck, getting soft choked moans out of your rapidly rising chest.

Only sloppy sounds could be heard from between the two of you, soft and slow stuttering moves, arching your back with every thrust of his. It's true.. he was basically ramming into you, feeling like he could destroy your insides any moment. But at the same time.. there was some kind of slowness, caring to it, deeply pounding into you but making sure you slowly take every single inch of his length, while he gave you soft kisses. One of his hands found it's way to your breasts, playing with your nipple as he received a whine out of you. You were already close, your head getting dizzier, cloudy with the thought of the dirty things you've done with your... demon.

His hands all over your back, leaving scratches and his lips leaving spots on your skin. This is how fucked up you were.. but you were close to finishing, and as he rammed into you a couple of more times and felt how your core bursted, you creamed on his cock, leaving out moans and cries of arousal, tears falling down your cheeks. He fucked you through your orgasm, overstimulating you. He later came inside your aching and throbbing pussy, slowing down his thrusts and then finally comming to a stop.

"Such a good girl you are... such a good girl for me. Is that right?" he whispered.

Both of your fluids were dripping down your legs and on his thighs as he let you fall slowly on the ruined bed sheets. He could feel... even smell how your blood boiled for him, how aroused you were.

"Everything good, darling?" he said as he wiped down your tears, rubbing your trembling thighs slowly. "Mhm? Are you feeling okay?"

"Uh, yes, Joong. It was incredible... " you said and he gave you a kiss on your forehead.

"You know.. y/n. I've been longing for this moment... for years. Ever since I first appeared in your dreams... but I had to wait until you finally wanted it to happen. Now I'm here, sweetie. I'm here.. I'll stay here forever. You're mine and I'm yours.. remember?" his eyes changed colours, from a deep red that appeared when he pushed you on the bed... to a soft hazel-like colour.

"You can't escape my grip anyways. I already claimed you before inviting me in your life..." he said and hugged you thightly.

"Hongjoong... I've always wanted to meet you.. the mysterious entity haunting, appearing in my dreams. I was so eager to meet that sillhouette... you won't ever understand." you said and gave in, curling up into a ball in his grip.

"Don't worry.. I'm here and I won't ever leave, as I said" he reassured you, stroking your hair slowly and biting your neck again, marking his terittory once again for the night.

#ateez fanfic #ateez x reader #smut fic #ateez fic #ateez #ateez smut #ateez x y/n #fanfic #smut #hongjoong #hongjoong x reader #hongjoong x y/n #demon au #incubus au

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midnight-shadow-cafe · 2 months ago

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A Christmas to Remember

Pairing: John “Bravo-6” Price x reader

Warnings: fluffy little Christmas special

Authors Note: I hope you enjoy, this is based off of the ask I just got and I couldn’t get the idea out of my head so here we are

Word Count: 1k

Masterlist

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

The gentle glow of Christmas lights bathed the living room in soft, colorful hues. Strings of twinkling bulbs wrapped the tree, their reflections shimmering off delicate glass ornaments. Outside, snowflakes drifted in a lazy dance, blanketing the streets in a pristine white layer. Inside, the warmth of the fireplace crackled, casting flickering shadows across the walls, mingling with the faint aroma of cinnamon and pine. John Price stood near the mantle, his broad shoulders slightly hunched as he adjusted a small stocking labeled "Baby Price" alongside theirs. The embroidered name glimmered in the firelight, a tender touch he’d insisted on adding this year.

"John, you don't have to do all the decorating yourself," you said, leaning back on the couch with a soft sigh, your hands cradling the gentle curve of your belly. The cushions supported you comfortably, but you couldn’t help fidgeting as you watched your husband move about the room. Your voice carried a mixture of amusement and exasperation as he meticulously repositioned ornaments, his keen eye for detail refusing to leave anything out of place.

"Nonsense, love. You're supposed to be resting," he replied without looking up, his tone warm but firm. Turning to meet your gaze, he added with a mock-stern look, "Doctor’s orders, remember?"

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress the small smile tugging at your lips. It was impossible to argue with John when he went into full protective mode. His excitement for the holidays, paired with the anticipation of your baby’s arrival, had made him even more attentive than usual—if that were even possible.

You reached for the mug of cocoa he’d made earlier, savoring the rich sweetness and the faint hint of peppermint. The warmth seeped through your hands as you cradled the cup, watching him string beads of golden garland across the branches.

"Fine," you said, setting the mug down carefully. "But don’t blame me if the tree ends up looking lopsided because you refused my help."

John chuckled, stepping back to admire his handiwork. The tree, laden with ornaments collected over the years, sparkled with a charm that felt uniquely yours. "It’s not lopsided. It’s... rustic," he declared, grinning.

"Right," you teased, arching an eyebrow. "Rustic."

He strode over to you, his heavy socks muffling his steps on the polished wooden floor. Kneeling beside the couch, he leaned in to press a kiss to your forehead, the bristles of his beard tickling your skin. "You’ll thank me when you’re not sore from bending and stretching," he murmured, his lips brushing against your hairline. "Besides, I’ve got a surprise for you."

Your eyebrows lifted in curiosity, your smile widening. "Oh?"

"Wait here," he instructed, disappearing down the hallway with purposeful strides. Moments later, he returned, cradling a small, neatly wrapped package in his calloused hands. His expression softened as he handed it to you, his excitement barely concealed.

"John, we’re supposed to exchange gifts tomorrow," you said, though your hands eagerly moved to untie the satin ribbon.

"Couldn’t wait," he admitted with a sheepish grin, settling beside you on the couch. "Go on, open it."

The paper crinkled beneath your fingers as you unwrapped the box, revealing a handcrafted wooden mobile nestled inside. Each piece was meticulously carved and painted: a bear with kind eyes, a fox mid-leap, a rabbit curled up peacefully, and a sparrow with outstretched wings. The animals hung from delicate strings, swaying gently as you lifted the mobile, the craftsmanship so intricate it took your breath away.

"John... did you make this?" you asked, your voice catching in your throat.

He nodded, a faint blush creeping up his neck. "Figured our little one deserved something special. Something personal."

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you placed the mobile down carefully, turning to wrap your arms around him as much as your belly allowed. His arms came around you immediately, strong and steady, his hand resting protectively on your bump.

"It’s perfect," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. "Thank you."

He kissed the top of your head, his lips lingering. "You’re perfect," he murmured. "Both of you."

The moment stretched, cocooned in the quiet crackle of the fire and the soft strains of holiday music playing in the background. The scent of the pine tree mingled with the faint aroma of cocoa, wrapping the room in warmth and serenity. Eventually, John pulled back, brushing a tear from your cheek with his thumb, his blue eyes tender and unwavering.

"Alright, your turn," you said, reaching behind the couch to pull out a gift bag. You handed it to him with a mischievous grin. "Merry Christmas."

He opened it to find a set of matching pajamas—one for him, one for you, and a tiny one for the baby. His deep laugh rumbled through the room as he held up the smallest pair, the words "Daddy’s Little Soldier" embroidered in soft script on the front.

"These are brilliant," he said, leaning in to kiss you. "We’re putting these on right now."

You laughed as he helped you to your feet, his hands steady and supportive. Together, you made your way to the bedroom, where he gently assisted you into the soft, festive fabric. Minutes later, the two of you were back on the couch, snug in your matching pajamas. The baby’s tiny pair hung on the armrest, a sweet reminder of the future awaiting you both.

As the evening wore on, the fire dwindled to glowing embers. You found yourself dozing off against John’s broad shoulder, his hand resting protectively over your belly. The Christmas tree lights cast a gentle glow across the room, their soft twinkle mirrored in the window panes. Outside, the snow continued to fall, muffling the world beyond your walls.

John’s voice was a low murmur as he pressed a kiss to your temple. "Merry Christmas, love."

Half-asleep, you nuzzled closer, a contented smile on your lips. "Merry Christmas, John."

In that moment, surrounded by warmth, love, and the promise of new beginnings, you knew this Christmas was going to be one to remember.

Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting!-Midnight💜

#x reader #141 x reader #tf 141 #task force 141 #tf 141 x reader #cod 141 #mw2 141 #john price x reader #captain john price x reader #captain price x reader #price x reader #john price

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sariyastars · 6 days ago

Text

༄ Silver Spoon

Pairing: Damian Wayne & Jonathan Kent (Non-Romantic) Synopsis: Damian wants to be loved, but thinks he'll ruin it. Song: Silver Spoon by Erin LeCount TW: Parent- Child Struggles, Loneliness, Silent Envy, & Mommy Issues Word Count: 1,458

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The soft hum of crickets echoed through the farm's fields as the cold night air blew through Damian’s cape, with only the glow of the moon to light the path. He followed Jon closely, watching as he made his way towards the little farm house.

“It is stupid that you have a curfew.”, Damian mutters bluntly, brushing off a stray cricket that had landed on his leg.

“They have it to protect me! And we’re late, so let's get it moving!”, Jon encourages, trotting just a bit faster through the grass.

I'll watch and learn from afar.

Damian rolls his eyes at this, picking up his feet just a bit more while maintaining his distance.

“Also, put the sword away. My mom doesn’t like sharp objects in the house.”, Jon turns to Damian.

The night air whistles again, carrying Damian’s ‘Tsk’ with it. A long, tense pause laid between the two. There was a glint in Jon’s eye, the weight of unspoken words. With the quietness, Damian’s eyes soften- just momentarily. His typically sharp scowl easied into furrowed brows as the steel of his katana scraped against its sheath before clicking closed.

A gesture of respect.

I'll pull the weeds from my heart and put lipstick on for your family party.

With the farmhouse now in sight, Damian looks at the details of it more closely. It was nestled in the center of a large field. The weathered wood carried a rustic charm to it, old but sturdy- with the paint chipped in different areas. The porch, adorned with chimes and mismatched patio chairs, had a beautiful inconsistent wood grain to it.

As they stepped in on the back porch, the wood creaked beneath their feet. The soft glow of an old fashioned lantern lit up the area, lighting up a worn out welcome mat that sat just in front of the back door at an angle.

A warm and welcoming home.

In the garden, I stare at the house you were brought up in.

The door was unlocked as Jon turned the knob of the backdoor. The door groaned as it was creaked open, echoing in the quiet night. Jon then pushed the door open, careful not to disturb the residents. Only the hallway light illuminated the otherwise dark house, casting a warm glow on the kitchen countertops as the light bled gently into the living room area.

Multiple photographs lined the wall, each with a delicate wooden frame. Some frames were more worn than others, but each captured a moment as if frozen in that time. It was nothing like the portraits Damian had of himself with his mother at the League of Assassins- posed with straight faces.

Damian reaches for a photo, gently picking it off the wall as if it were to fall apart in his hands if not handled delicately. His fingers graze over the glass, the dim light reflecting off of it. There in the photo, captured, was Jon and his mother. She held him so tightly in his arms, with a smile that could power a small city. Jon looked similar with his smile wide and his cheeks flushed with the joy of being adored. He was much younger in the photo than he was now.

He looked loved.

All the photographs and door frames are wooden.

The kitchen light flickered on, casting a bright light over the room. Within seconds, Damian quickly placed the photograph carefully on the dining table.

“Jon?”, a soft familiar voice asked from the doorway.

There stood Lois, Jon’s mother, who was adjusting her robe in the doorway. Jon immediately took to her, running into her arms with a grin exactly like the one in the photograph Damian was just holding. His head nuzzled into her chest, listening to the comforting sound of her heart beat as she placed her cheek gently on his head.

“Welcome home, sweetheart.”, she murmured into his hair, her laugh soft and warm.

“Hey, mom. Sorry I’m late.”, Jon replies, almost guiltily.

Lois hums at this, chuckling softly. “I’m just glad you made it home safely.”. Her voice is steady and full of love.

Her hands cupped his face, her thumbs gently gliding over his cheeks as she looked at him with a softness that only a mother’s gaze could carry. After a long moment, she looked up, her eyes catching Damian’s where he stood near the table.

“I see you've come in through the back gate… and brought a friend.”, Lois said, her voice laced with curiosity.

When you were a kid, you'd come in through the back gate.

Jon gently pulled away from his mother, his hand delicately in hers.

“Yeah, I brought Damian! I was just hoping he could hang out for a bit, since we always keep the light on.”

Your folks left a light on, in case you get home late.

Lois gently pulled away from Jon, her hands lingering over his shoulders, eyeing him once over as if triple checking for any injuries. Her eyes soften once she is sure and satisfied her son was safe.

“Of course Damian can stay.”, she looks over to him with a warm smile, her hands now readjusting her night robe once more. “You’re family too, after all.”

She heads over to the fridge, her slippers gliding across the kitchen tile. “We also have plenty of leftovers. I am sure you boys are hungry.”, she says without waiting for an answer. Lois begins to pull out containers of leftovers.

Jon smiles at this and immediately prepares the table, moving the mail off to the side and making space for the two to eat. He gestures to Damian to take a seat, a quiet invitation into his place of comfort.

As Lois heated up the soup on the stove, the scent of vegetables and herbs filled the room. The smell was soothing, a reminder of the love that filled this home.

And I bet you grew up eating at the table.

Once the soup had warmed to a perfect simmer, Lois poured generous servings into two bowls. She carried them over to the dining table, gracefully and swiftly, setting each bowl down in front of each boy. Jon whispered thank you to her, while Damian nodded.

Lois stepped away to get them utensils, placing down a silver spoon each.

Fed love from silver spoons, reasons to be grateful.

Lois sat down at the table with them as they ate. The quiet clink of spoons against the glass bowls echoed throughout the room. She watched them for a moment, eyes full of adoration.

“So”, she began, her voice gentle but inviting. “How was your day?”, she asks.

Jon glanced up from his bowl to look at her, a soft smile gracing his lips. “It was good! Nothing really interesting happened though.”, he glanced over at Damian with a knowing look.

Lois looked between them, obvious to what was being hinted but she did not push. She let the silence hang for a moment longer before looking back over to Damian. “What about you, Damian? How was your day?”, Lois asks kindly.

Talia had never asked about his day before.

I bet you grew up being asked how your day was.

“It was fine.”, Damian answers briefly.

Lois hummed softly at Damian’s reply, a knowing smile tugging at her lips. She knew Damian was not much of a talker like Jon was. She never pushed that. The slight ease of his shoulders dropping was enough for her.

Her hand reached up, fingers threading through Jon’s hair, almost as if she was brushing it. The gesture was quiet, but full of love. Without even realizing it, Jon had leaned into her touch slightly.

I bet you grew up grazing your knees.

Damian watches as Lois’ hands run through his hair, a touch so soft and quiet- yet so loud and tender. A gesture of motherly love that Damian had never experienced. A kind of love Damian never even knew existed.

His chest tightened at this thought, his mind flashing to his own mother- Talia. Not once had she ever held him like that or looked at him with such adoring eyes. There had been no soft or loving gestures, no warm soup, or leaving the backlight on for him.

There was only expectation, discipline, and responsibility. Talia was never a mother in the way Lois was. She had always been cold and calculating. Expecting of him in every way. Love for Damian was conditional. Love was for exceptional individuals.

He gripped the silver spoon tightly at this, staring deeply at his reflection.

And he was never going to be anything less than exceptional.

But the fall wasn't fatal like it was for me.

A/N: this song has been stuck in my head for so long lol. i cant help but think of damian sometimes when i listen to it. i didnt use all of the lyrics, as i felt it would get repetitive or just wasnt pertantant to what i was trying to portray. i also kinda got lazy ngl,,, oops.

i feel like jon is such a good mirror to him in the difference of how they were raised. also, jon to kon. both hurt. i love angst.

#dc comics #dcu #damian wayne #damian al ghul #robin #jon kent #superboy #batman #superman #not romantic #talia al ghul #lois lane

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c-e-d-dreamer · 4 months ago

Text

You’re A Cowboy Like Me

A/N: Imma be real honest, I just wanted an excuse to write Cassian being hot in a cowboy hat, and I don't think anyone should fault me for that. Also, I really wanted to write a fic that uses the unofficial Cowboy Hat rules. Anywho! Enjoy! And happy Day 4 of @nessianweek :)

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It’s like driving into a Hallmark movie. Or a western. Various small shops and cafes line either side of Main Street, each with quaint looking window displays and what appear to be hand painted signs declaring their store names. The tall branches of pine trees can be seen stretching above the roofs, and mountains reaching up to the sky almost perfectly align with the road, as though you can reach the peak if you simply keep going.

“Oh, this is so cute.”

Nesta snorts softly at the comment, but when she tears her attention away from the window and toward where Gwyn sits in the driver seat, the redhead has a wide smile on her face as she leans forward over the steering wheel to peer at the town around them.

“Eyes on the road, Gwyneth.”

Gwyn shakes her head fondly, but she leans back in her seat, readjusting her hands on the wheel. They continue down the road until Gwyn’s phone directs them to turn right, taking them off Main Street and along a neighborhood road filled with row houses of pretty, painted brick. 828 is on the end, right on the corner, and Gwyn pulls the car into one of the spots right out front. They both slip out of the car, but when they knock on the front door, there’s no answer.

“She must already be at the shop,” Gwyn offers with an easy shrug of her shoulders before grabbing Nesta’s hand in hers. “Come on.”

She all but drags Nesta back toward Main Street, continuing to gush about the charm of the town. They pass chalkboard displays along the sidewalk, looping colorful letters declaring sales and specials alike. They even pass an open door and a series of small tables that Nesta fully intends to revisit at some point during this trip to find out the source of the sugary sweet and chocolate scent wafting on the breeze.

But soon they’re arriving at their intended destination: Windhaven Farmhouse Market.

A striped red awning stretches over the door, wooden flower boxes beneath the large, display windows on either side. And when they step inside the shop, rustic looking wooden shelves line almost every wall and weave through the center of the shop to create a series of aisles.

“Hey, Em!” Gwyn calls out, stepping deeper into the shop. “We’re here.”

Even as Gwyn disappears from view amongst the shelves, Nesta takes a chance to really take everything in, slowly spinning in place. There’s jars of honey and baskets of apples to her left and what appears to be gardening gloves and tools to her right. It’s certainly an odd assortment of items to be sold together, and that sentiment only seems to grow as Nesta starts to wander between the shelves, spotting hats and scarves along with a small assortment of books.

She turns around another corner, just barely stopping short before she walks straight into a man standing in the center of the aisle. She has to tilt her head up to really take him in, the man standing a whole head taller than her, but it’s not just the height he has on her. His shoulders and chest are wide, stretching the flannel fabric he’s currently wearing, and the denim of his jeans clings to the thick lines of his thighs. Even with just seeing his profile, even with the curly strands of hair that hang down to his shoulders, Nesta can see the hard cut of his jawline, the stubble along the skin there.

For a moment, her mouth goes dry watching the man reach forward for a bag of some sort of farm feed. The large span of his hands somehow make the bag look small, and with the sleeves of his flannel pushed up to his elbows, Nesta has the perfect view of the muscles in forearm flexing as he hefts the bag off the shelf and over his shoulder. She’s sure the farm feed must be heavy, but he makes it look as though it weighs nothing.

He turns at that exact moment, practically starting when he notices Nesta standing there. “Sorry, sweetheart. Didn’t see you there.”

He has exactly the sort of drawling accent that Nesta would expect from a town like this, his voice warm and deep. It pours from his lips like a glass of whiskey, practically curling around her limbs. Those same lips curve up into an easy, cocksure smirk, bright hazel eyes drinking her in.

“You’re certainly not from around here, are you?”

Nesta scoffs, crossing her arms. “That’s a bit presumptuous.”

She settles him with her most unimpressed look, eyes narrowed and lips twisted into a scowl. It’s a cool and cutting look that’s certainly sent plenty of men in the bars of Adriata turning and fleeing. But not this man. His smile only seems to grow, the greens and golds of his eyes sparking like sizzling embers.

“I think I know a city girl when I see one. What are you doing here in Windhaven?”

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”

“And what about your name? Can that be my business?”

“You wish.”

The man chuckles, the sound just as low and warm as his voice, and Nesta has to press her lips together tighter against the reaction that laugh threatens to draw out of her, straightening her spine against the shiver threatening to skitter up it. She won’t allow him to disarm her so easily, refuses to be affected by his drawl and his charm and those hazel eyes. Refuses to be affected by him.

“Nesta!” Nesta turns just in time to watch Emerie bound around the corner and into the aisle, Gwyn hot on her tail. “There you are.”

“Nesta,” the man repeats, as though he’s tasting her name, testing the weight of it on his tongue.

Nesta wants to hate how good it sounds, how his lips and his drawl curl around each syllable.

“Did you need something, Cassian?” Emerie asks, raising an eyebrow as her eyes flit back and forth between the two standing in front of her.

The man–Cassian–continues to wear that wide, teasing smile as he focuses his attention on Emerie, giving the bag of farm feed on his shoulder an almost loving tap. “Just this.” He dares to glance back toward Nesta. “For now.”

Nesta rolls her eyes at the blatant flirting, the clear implication, and pointedly ignores the way Gwyn stifles a laugh behind her hand. For some reason, the reaction has Cassian looking like he’s won, like getting Nesta to roll her eyes was exactly what he intended. What he wanted. She’s not sure what to make of that.

He follows Emerie toward the shop counter, chatting easily, and when the transaction is finished, he readjusts the bag of farm feed on his shoulder. He dips his head forward in the mock salute of a hat tip, those hazel eyes never leaving Nesta’s for a moment. “Ladies. Hopefully, I’ll see you around.”

Nesta snorts softly. Only if he’s lucky.

~ * * * ~

Emerie slams the glass down against the wood, letting out a soft sigh as she pushes her hair away from her face. “What if I sold the place?”

“Would anyone buy it?” Nesta asks, swirling her own glass and the deep red liquid within.

Emerie shrugs a shoulder. “Maybe?”

“But will you regret it?” Gwyn points out, reaching forward and squeezing Emerie’s hand. “This is your father’s shop after all. And you already put so much work into it.”

“Exactly. This place was his dream. Maybe I should burn it to the ground. That will definitely have him rolling in his grave.”

Nesta grabs the wine bottle, emptying what remains into Emerie’s glass. “You know if you ever need accomplices for arson, we’re down. You can claim the insurance money.”

“And if the police question us?” Gwyn adds, her teal eyes alight with mischief as she presses a solemn hand to her chest and puts on a faux innocent voice. “We don’t know anything, officer.”

Emerie laughs, the sound bright even with the still lingering sadness tinging it, and she throws an arm around each of her friends. “I don’t know what I’d do without you bitches.”

“Probably have more wine,” Nesta answers dryly, shaking the now empty wine bottle in emphasis.

“We definitely need more wine.”

“There’s a tavern down the road!” Emerie exclaims, already stumbling up to her feet. “They’ll have wine. And shots.”

Nesta and Gwyn push to their feet as well, and all three of them go stumbling out of Windhaven Farmhouse Market and into the crisp night air. The sky above is a blanket of inky blue, and with how far the town is from the city, more stars than Nesta thinks she’s ever seen twinkle amongst it. A cool breeze seems to float down from the mountains, kissing her cheeks and tickling across her skin, and Nesta crosses her arms to help fight off the chill.

It doesn’t last long, though, Gwyn pulling one of Nesta’s arms free so she can link their elbows, doing the same to Emerie with her other arm. “Lead the way, Em.”

By the time they’re pushing through the doors of the tavern on Main Street, all three of them are breathless from laughing. They’re hit with music as soon as they step inside, some sort of country song heavy on guitar and twang and lyrics of heartbreak. Fairy lights hang in lines against the wooden slats of the ceiling, various neon beer signs covering three of the walls while a row of televisions line the fourth wall behind the bar.

It’s exactly what Nesta expects from a bar in a town like this, complete even with a large mechanical bull.

And currently atop the mechanical bull is none other than the man from the shop, Cassian.

His hair hangs in soft curls beneath his cowboy hat, the strands swaying and tickling that sharp jawline of his with his movements. He has one hand raised up by his head, but the other is curled around the leather of reins, fingers and forearms flexing almost rhythmically. His hips rock in time with the bull, thighs working and tightening beneath the fabric of his jeans to help keep his balance. And with the buttons of his flannel undone, fabric left to flutter at his sides, Nesta has the perfect view of the black lines and swirls of ink that curl across his pectorals, of the lines of his abs tensing and rolling to match the bull.

The sight is unholy.

“Nesta!”

Nesta clears her throat awkwardly, blinking rapidly and clearing her mind of the dangerous places her thoughts had begun to stray. She turns toward her friends, Gwyn’s eyebrow raised in exasperation making clear she had been saying Nesta’s name a few times. But it’s Emerie’s face twisted with that knowing smirk of hers that has Nesta rolling her eyes with a huff.

“Are we doing shots or not?”

She drags her friends toward the bartop, Emerie raising her arm in hopes of flagging down the bartender. Shouts echo up from the crowd, and Nesta turns around just in time to watch Cassian go sailing off the mechanical bull, landing against the inflatable cushions positioned in a ring around the space. He jumps back to his feet, the warm boom of his laughter reaching Nesta’s ears even over the music and distance. He flips off the operator of the mechanical bull, another dark haired man who looks more than pleased with himself based on the smirk, but that doesn’t seem to deter Cassian’s grin.

He tugs his hat from his head, dragging his fingers through his hair and pushing the curly strands off his face. The movement has his stomach stretching, drawing further emphasis to the cutting v-lines that disappear beneath the waistband of his jeans. As though he can feel Nesta’s attention on him, his gaze dances over to her, but Nesta is quick to snap her head back around, focusing on the shot glass now being placed in front of her.

She doesn’t even wait for Emerie and Gwyn, quickly knocking back the clear liquid. She’s quite confident that she’s going to need it tonight.

She keeps her focus resolutely on her friends as they claim one of the high-top tables, but she can still feel Cassian’s attention on her. It scrapes across her shoulder blades, prickling the back of her neck. It’s like a caress, warm fingertips skating up her spine. And with each passing moment, it gets harder to ignore. So when it’s time, Nesta offers to get the next round of drinks, peeling away from her friends and stepping back up to the bartop.

“Did you enjoy the show?”

Nesta takes a moment, allowing that slow, warm drawl to wash over her before she finally turns. Cassian has re-buttoned his flannel, but the sleeves are still rolled up to his elbows, his forearm resting casually against the bartop as he leans against it. As soon as Nesta’s gaze meets his, golden sparks flare through his hazel eyes, his lips twisting into a wide, cocksure grin. She refuses to acknowledge the answering flames simmering low in her gut.

“I enjoyed watching you fall on your face,” Nesta tells him cooly, making a big show of tilting her head and pursing her lips. “Wasn’t much of a show otherwise.”

Cassian laughs easily, not even being subtle about his attention dropping to her lips. “I’d be more than happy to give you a repeat show, then. Maybe a private show?”

“In your dreams, cowboy.”

“Is that a promise?”

Nesta rolls her eyes. This man is clearly too confident and cocky for his own good. Just because she can, she reaches forward, plucking the cowboy hat right off of his head and placing it on her own. Cassian’s expression slackens, and pride swells between Nesta’s ribs at drawing out such a reaction, at finally knocking him off his axis. She doesn’t bother biting back her own smirk as she turns back to the bar, gathering up the drinks there and sauntering back toward her friends, leaving him to watch her walk away.

“Where’d you get the hat?” Emerie asks when Nesta returns to their table.

“I stole it from Cassian,” Nesta explains, setting down their drinks and sliding back into her seat. When she looks back up again, Emerie’s brown eyes are wide, and Nesta blinks a few times in confusion. “What?”

“You took Cassian’s cowboy hat? To wear yourself?”

“He could do with being knocked down a peg or two, don’t you think?”

Emerie presses her lips together, clearly trying to hold back laughter, but not in the way Nesta is expecting. She’s all too familiar with the amusement dancing in her friend’s brown eyes, knows exactly what it means. And it’s never good for her. It has Nesta shifting in her seat, has her hackles raising as she settles Emerie with an unimpressed look of her own.

“What.”

“You can’t just go around taking cowboy hats off men like that,” Emerie offers with a laugh, leaning across the table and giving a pointed look. “Don’t you know what that means?”

Nesta huffs, crossing her arms. “Well, excuse me for not knowing Windhaven has some weird rule, apparently.”

“It’s not a Windhaven rule.”

“It’s a cowboy rule,” Gwyn jumps in to add, nodding solemnly around the straw of her drink. “Wearing his hat means you're his.”

“And taking it off him means you want to take some other attire off him,” Emerie adds with a shit eating smirk.

There’s no stopping Nesta’s incredulous laugh. “That is not a real thing.”

“Sure it is!” Gwyn continues. “Wrangled My Heart, that cowboy romance I was telling you about? It was a whole plot point.”

“That is not helping your case that this is an actual rule.”

“Trust me, Nesta. The ranch hands of Windhaven take the etiquette and rules of cowboy hats very seriously.”

Nesta scoffs at Emerie’s words, but the sound is half hearted at best. She dares to look around the tavern, too easy to spot Cassian where he’s leaning against the wall. His eyes are pinned fully on her, and even with the space between them, there’s no denying the heat in them. She quickly turns away again, but she can already feel heat creeping up her neck and threatening to spill across her cheeks.

No point putting it off.

Nesta quickly downs the rest of her drink, pushing out of her seat and away from the table. She strides over to Cassian, already removing his hat from her head as she gets closer.

“I didn’t know the rule,” Nesta explains, holding Cassian’s hat out to him.

Cassian looks down toward his hat, but he makes no move to take it. “It looked better on you anyway.”

“I’m sure you say that to all the girls.”

“Trust me, Nes. There’s no one as beautiful as you.”

“Don’t call me that.”

It’s clearly the wrong thing to say with the way Cassian’s grin only seems to grow. He finally takes the hat from Nesta’s hands, the tips of his fingers brushing across her skin as he does so. He steps closer to her, close enough that she can feel the heat that seems to radiate off his person, that every breath in has her chest pressing against his own. Close enough that Nesta has to tilt her chin up to hold his gaze. That she can count every green vine and golden fleck of his hazel eyes.

Her breath catches in her throat as Cassian raises his hand up above them, slow and purposeful. He settles his hat back on Nesta’s head, adjusting it until it sits how he likes.

“Much better, Nes,” Cassian tells her, tracing the backs of his fingers down her temple, her cheek, the side of her throat. “It’s important to always wear your hat straight. That’s another of the rules.”

Nesta swallows hard, trying to focus around her heart skipping in her chest. “How many rules are there?”

“More than you think.”

Cassian turns his hand, his palm pressing against her skin. The large span of it is enough to cradle her jaw and throat, and Nesta is sure that he must be able to feel the way her pulse flutters beneath his touch. His thumb drags across her bottom lip, Nesta’s lips parting with the movement. She lets her eyes fall closed, already leaning forward in anticipation, but nothing ever comes. When she snaps her eyes back open, Cassian is smirking again, and she rolls her eyes with a scowl.

“Don’t give me that look,” Cassian teases, even as he leans down enough for his nose to nearly bump against her. “You were the one who tried to give me my hat back, remember?”

“Shut up and kiss me.”

Nesta buries a hand in Cassian’s hair, tugging him down and finally closing that distance between them until his mouth crashes over hers. He kisses with the same sort of slow sensuality of that drawling accent of his, lips sliding against her own. He spins them around with ease, pressing Nesta back against the tavern wall. When he steps fully into her space, their bodies flush together, there’s no stifling the way Nesta moans into his mouth. She can feel every hard line of his body slotted perfectly against her own.

He uses the opportunity to slip his tongue into her mouth, curling and flicking at her own. When he finally breaks the kiss, he doesn’t go far, dragging his lips across her jaw and throat. He finds that spot just behind her ear, and Nesta is puddy in his arms. His teeth scrape against the skin there, and she tosses her head back with a whine.

“If you keep making sounds like that,” Cassian breathes against her ear. “I’m going to have to take you right here in front of everyone.”

“On the mechanical bull?”

Cassian chuckles, pulling back fully, his eyes heavy lidded and pupils blown wide. “Another time.”

He kisses her again, holding her jaw just the way he wants her. Nesta feels dazed in the best way, only half registering the way he grabs her hand, leading her out of the tavern and back into the night. His truck is exactly what Nesta expects, beat up and red beneath the lights pouring out from the tavern.

It’s a short drive to Cassian’s farm, and despite the way she squints out the passenger window, Nesta can’t make out much in the darkness beyond a fence line and a looming building that she’s quite confident is a barn. The truck pulls to a stop in front of a gorgeous ranch style house with a wrap around porch. She’s so busy gaping at the house, that she doesn’t even register the passenger door being pulled open, not until Cassian’s arms wrap around her body, tugging her out of his truck and over his shoulder.

“Cassian!” Nesta exclaims, banging her fist against his shoulder blades. “Put me down. What are you doing?”

Cassian doesn’t say anything, instead continuing up the front steps and inside the house. When Nesta starts to squirm too much, Cassian’s hand comes down against her ass in reprimand, Nesta letting out a quiet yelp in surprise.

“Are you kidding me? I said put me–”

Nesta doesn’t even get a chance to finish her demand before her back is hitting a soft mattress and blankets. She sits up enough to take in the room around her, clearly the master bedroom. The furnishings are simple and rustic, all dark wood and a deep red bedspread.

“Beautiful.”

Nesta snaps her attention back toward Cassian, where he stands at the bottom of the bed, kicking his boots to the side. She can feel everywhere his eyes travel over her frame, goosebumps cascading across her skin at that caress. A shiver skates up her spine in response to the flames flickering amongst the hazel, and she stretches out more comfortably against the bed, really putting on a display. Cassian groans softly.

“You haven’t even gotten me out of my clothes yet,” Nesta comments, kicking off her shoes.

“I meant the sight of you in my bed,” Cassian explains, kneeling up onto the bed. “I might keep it.”

He settles between her spread thighs, leaning down and capturing her lips in a kiss. Nesta moans into his mouth as his body presses against her, his hips rocking down against her own. She cards her fingers through the dark, curly strands of his hair, using her grip to tug him closer still and deepen the kiss. Cassian’s own hands slide up beneath the hem of her dress, along her thighs, the warmth of his grip seeping into her skin.

It’s a bit awkward with the hat still poised on Nesta’s head, so she shifts enough that she can pull it free and set it aside. Cassian merely uses the opportunity to latch his lips back to her neck, each hot press of his mouth leaving an echoing heat simmering through Nesta’s veins. His teeth sink into the skin over her pulse point, and Nesta gasps, the sound quickly morphing into a moan when his tongue laves over the hurt.

She reaches for the buttons of Cassian’s flannel, but she only succeeds in undoing the first few before his fingers curl around her wrists, tugging her hands away and pinning them against the mattress by her head.

“Cassian,” Nesta whines, bucking her hips against him desperately.

“Patience is a virtue, Nes.”

He switches his grip to just one hand, using the free one to tuck his fingers beneath her chin, tilting her face back toward him and kissing her again, slow and deep. Nesta melts back against the bed as his tongue slides against her own, moaning softly when his teeth nip at her bottom lip, tugging it as he pulls back. He sits back on his haunches, gaze trailing over her again.

“Flushed so pretty.” Cassian’s hands push the hem of her dress up higher until it’s bunched around her waist. “But let’s see where else I can make that pretty pink spread.”

He continues to push her dress up and up, and Nesta sits up enough that he can tug it fully off, tossing it aside. He drags two fingers over her still clothed center and Nesta whimpers at the pressure, her hips jumping in response.

“And already so wet for me? Sweetheart, we’ve barely started.”

He traces a teasing circle across her clit, leaning down and swallowing Nesta’s moan with another searing kiss. He doesn’t break the contact as his hands slip behind her back, her bra quickly joining her dress on his bedroom floor. His hands slide to her breasts, fingers kneading the flesh and thumbs toying with her nipples.

He breaks the kiss, lips tracing a path down her throat, her collarbones. Nesta tosses her head back when his mouth’s attention turns to her breast. Her skin is already so sensitive there, and the drag of the stubble along Cassian’s jawline only adds to the sensation, sends electricity ricocheting down her spine.

“Cassian,” Nesta moans when his tongue swirls around her nipple, gripping his hair and holding him there.

“Keep moaning my name like that,” Cassian murmurs softly, switching to her other breast.

Nesta is a panting, squirming mess by the time Cassian finally pulls back again, by the time he’s pressing kisses down her sternum, down her stomach. He slides further down the bed until his shoulders are cradled between her thighs, his fingers hooking in the waistband of her panties.

“You know, it’s a bit unfair that you’re still fully dressed.”

Cassian chuckles, but he still pushes back up to his knees, fisting the back of his shirt and tugging it off. Nesta licks her lips at all that golden brown skin being on display again. The dim lighting of the bedroom cuts shadows across the lines of muscles, only seeming to add emphasis to the dark swirls of tattoos that Nesta now realizes curl all the way down to his elbows.

“Better?”

“Closer,” Nesta concedes, sitting up and reaching for the buckle of Cassian’s jeans.

But Cassian grips Nesta’s hips, tugging forward until she falls back again, splayed across the blankets. “Now, let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

He shifts his grip to the waistband of her panties again, pulling them down her legs and off. His fingers dig into her thighs, spreading them wide and exposing her cunt to him. The appreciative groan that tumbles past his lips goes right to Nesta’s head, and she revels in drawing out such a reaction.

“Look at this pretty cunt,” Cassian tells her, fingers flexing. “And it’s all for me.”

Cassian settles back on his stomach, Nesta’s toes curling in anticipation, at the warm breath fanning across her cunt, but then nothing ever comes. An unfortunate tendency with this man. She whines, squirming against Cassian’s hold, desperate for that pressure, for that delicious friction.

“Please… Cassian, please.”

“What a good girl, begging for it.”

Nesta keens at the praise, and then Cassian really rewards her. He presses the flat of his tongue against her, licking a long, thick stripe all the way up to her clit. He repeats the same motion, and Nesta can feel the vibrations of his answering groan, only adding to the pleasure building inside her.

“Oh, fuck,” Nesta gasps when Cassian’s tongue finds her clit and traces tantalizing circles there.

She buries a hand in his hair, nails dragging against his scalp as she holds him there, holds him right where she needs him. It draws another groan from the man between her thighs, his grip on them holding them open tight enough to bruise. Nesta tries to buck against it, tries to rock against his face, but he truly seems intent on taking his time.

Truly seems intent on undoing her and turning her into a whimpering, moaning mess.

It’s almost unfair the way he works his mouth over her and eats her out. The way he presses his tongue into her cunt and curls it. The way he sucks her clit between his lips. It’s almost unfair how attractive he looks doing it, dark curls tangled and unruly from Nesta’s fingers, hazel eyes swallowed whole by his blown pupils and pinned right on her face.

He releases his hold on one of her thighs, his hand sliding up to join his mouth. He sinks two fingers into her cunt, and Nesta arches up off the bed at the stretch. He quickly builds up a steady rhythm, pumping and curling his fingers, and Nesta’s cunt clenches and flutters around them, drawing them deeper still.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” Cassian praises, pulling another long moan from Nesta’s throat. “Are you going to squeeze my cock the way you’re squeezing my fingers?”

Nesta is barely able to form a coherent thought, let alone speak one. All she can do is moan again in response. All she can do is give herself over to the familiar heat coiling tighter and tighter in her gut, the pleasure singing in her veins.

“How about you be my good girl and come all over my fingers.”

Cassian leans back down, his mouth working over her clit in time with his fingers, and Nesta can do nothing but obey. She moans Cassian’s name as her release tears through her, thighs shaking around his ears and cunt clenching down hard around his fingers. He works her through it, continues to rock his fingers and elongate her orgasm until the pleasure starts to melt into pain, and Nesta reaches her hand down, squeezing at Cassian’s wrist.

“Fuck, that was beautiful,” Cassian breathes, carefully pulling his fingers free and pressing soothing kisses to the inside of her thigh. “You’re beautiful.”

“Compliments will get you everywhere, cowboy.”

Cassian’s smirk is wide and cocksure as he slides back up Nesta’s body. He wastes no time sealing their lips together again, Nesta able to taste herself on his tongue when he presses it into her mouth. She slides her hands down Cassian’s chest, over the hard muscles, through the downy hair leading her to exactly what she wants.

He doesn’t stop her this time when she reaches for the buckle of his pants, shoving the waistband down his hips. He pushes up off the bed and to his feet, pulling his jeans and his boxers the rest of the way down and stepping out of them, and Nesta’s mouth practically goes dry.

She’d known from the stretch of his jeans that his thighs were thick, but seeing them like this is another thing all together. And then there’s his cock, hanging hard between them. He’s certainly larger than any of the men Nesta has been with back in Adriata, the girth of him wide. She can already imagine how the thick head will feel sinking into her, how the veins running along the side will feel dragging against the walls of her cunt.

“Enjoying the view, sweetheart?” Cassian asks, fisting his cock and stroking lazily.

“And what if I am?”

“You should see my view.”

Nesta smirks at his words, preening at the implication of them. She makes a big show of spreading her legs wider, tilting her hips up, to really give Cassian a view. She can hear the way his breath hitches, see the way his grip on his cock tightens, but she doesn’t stop there. She slides her fingers slowly down her chest, down her stomach, to the mess they’ve already made.

Cassian’s answering groan goes right to her head. Right to her cunt, already fluttering and desperate to be filled.

“Look at my good girl,” Cassian breathes, kneeling back up onto the bed. “Legs spread wide and ready for me.”

He reaches past her toward the bedside table, rooting around in the drawer until he pulls back with a condom between his fingers. Nesta watches through lidded eyes as he tears the wrapper open, sliding the condom on and down his cock. When he’s finished, he drags the head of his cock along her cunt, all the way to her clit, and Nesta whimpers, hips bucking up against him.

“Is this what you want, sweetheart?” Cassian asks, repeating the motion again. “Want to be full and stretched on my cock?”

“You have no idea,” Nesta tells him, shoving at his shoulders until he falls flat on his back on the bed. She throws one leg over his hips and settles astride him, gripping his jaw and forcing his head back enough that she can lean down and whisper in his ear, “but maybe I want to hear you beg for it.”

Cassian groans, his hands finding her hips and squeezing. “Trust me. I’ll do anything you want me to.”

Nesta hums, satisfied with the answer, and sits back up. She spies where she discarded Cassian’s cowboy hat earlier, grabbing it and settling it back on her head before she starts to rock her hips, reveling in the slide of Cassian’s cock against her, the way it twitches and jumps in response to her movements.

“Mother save me, you’re a dream,” Cassian sighs, his hands sliding down her thighs and back up to her hips again.

“Didn’t I tell you compliments would get you everywhere?”

She reaches a hand down between them, gripping Cassian’s cock, reveling in the warm weight of it against her palm. She raises up onto her knees, lining his cock up and sinking down inch by slow inch. She was right about how amazing the wide girth of him would feel, already feeling keyed-up by the time she bottoms out, her cunt already clenching hard around him.

“Oh fuck,” Cassian gasps, throwing his head back. “That’s it, Nes.”

Nesta tries to respond, but all that tumbles past her lips is a low moan, especially when she dares to rock her hips, Cassian’s cock sliding against the walls of her cunt, her clit dragging across his pelvis. She settles her hands on Cassian’s chest, using it for balance as she presses up onto her knees and sinks back down again, building up a steady rhythm that has her nerve endings sparking, her blood simmering with delicious pleasure.

“Gods, look at how you take me, how your sweet cunt squeezes me.”

Nesta whimpers, picking up the pace of her movements, circling her hips every time she sinks down and trying to get Cassian’s cock to press deeper still. She feels so full of him, but the need for more still claws up her throat. Still has her chasing that high, that precipice.

“Such a good girl, riding my cock so perfect.”

“Please,” Nesta whispers, reaching one of her hands to her own chest, squeezing her breast in hopes of finding that edge she needs. “Please.”

She doesn’t know how Cassian somehow knows what she’s asking, how he knows exactly what she needs, but with a growl, he grips her hips, flipping them over again, his hat tumbling somewhere off her head and the bed. He hikes her leg up high, spreading her open completely for him as he pulls his hips back and snaps them forward again. Nesta cries out as he sets a brutal pace, driving into her hard and just how she likes it.

“This is what you need, isn’t it?” Cassian breathes right against Nesta’s ear. “Need my cock right where it belongs, fucking you deep and hard?”

“Yes! Don’t stop. Gods, don’t stop.”

Nesta grapples for purchase in Cassian’s hair, on his shoulders, unable to do anything but hold on. It’s almost unfair, the way he plays her body so well, the way every drag of his cock, every slam of his hips, has her melting into little more than a puddle of moans and whimpers of his name.

But she can’t find it within herself to care.

Not when her entire body feels ablaze. Not when Cassian continues to snap his hips, the wet slap of skin on skin mixing with her breathy pleas and his answering groans. Not when his hand slips between their bodies, fingers finding her swollen clit.

“We’re gentlemen here in Windhaven, you know. That means ladies first.”

Cassian continues to trace tight circles across her clit in time with his thrusts, and Nesta’s unable to deny his request even if she wanted to. She arches up off the bed, clenching hard and shouting Cassian’s name as she barrels through her second orgasm of the night. She’s half aware of Cassian groaning in her ear, of the way he continues to snap his hips a few more times before he shudders above her.

He pulls out and settles beside her with a soft sigh, Nesta taking a moment to catch her breath before she rolls over onto her side to face him. She finds herself tracing his dark lashes and the way they flutter, the pink that clings beneath the golden brown of his cheeks. Finds herself stuck on the pink of his lips, the way they tug up into a smile as though he can feel her attention on him.

He turns his head toward her, Nesta getting an up close look at the bright colds and twisting greens of his hazel eyes, the way they flare and simmer as his gaze dances over her face.

“Have I told you you’re beautiful?”

Nesta rolls her eyes, but she pushes herself up enough that she can lean over him, Cassian’s eyes tracking her the whole way. She dips her head, pressing her mouth against Cassian’s in the barest brush of a kiss, reveling in the way Cassian tries to chase her lips when she pulls away again.

“Careful, cowboy. If you keep up all these compliments, you’ll end up stuck with me.”

—

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#nessianweek2024 #nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #cassian acotar #acotar #acosf #nessian fanfiction #nessian fic #pro nessian #nesta x cassian #my fic

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aller-geez · 12 days ago

Text

Allergenic Nightmare

Written & illustrated by: allergeez~

A Vaelyn snzario written for @bendithiachi 🖤

A short (3.7k words~) snzario based off this post 🖤 set before the venue fire, Vee and Rexar make a heavy metal band called Toad Biscuit, and they’re playing at a venue that is notorious for setting off Vaelyn’s allergies… 😈

The sun dipped below the horizon, casting long, golden shadows over the charming town where Toad Biscuit was set to perform. The streets were alive with activity—couples meandered between colorful storefronts, and laughter spilled out from cozy cafes. A faint chill in the air hinted at the coming night, blending with the crisp scent of pine and woodsmoke that drifted from chimneys above the rustic buildings. It was the kind of picturesque setting that should have inspired excitement, but for Vaelyn, it did nothing to soothe his growing unease.

The Burning Bush loomed ahead, its weathered wooden sign creaking faintly in the breeze. The venue was beloved by the locals and known for its wild energy, but for Vaelyn, it was more of a personal hell. Memories of his last performance here flashed in his mind—hours spent battling relentless sneezing fits under the oppressive haze of dust and mold that seemed baked into the building itself. Even before stepping inside, his sinuses buzzed with phantom irritation, as if his body was already preparing for the onslaught.

The moment Vaelyn’s boots crossed the threshold, reality hit harder than his memories. The air was thick, oppressive, and stale, every breath carrying the unmistakable sting of allergens that clung to every surface. His sinuses reacted instantly, a sharp, stinging itch flaring up behind his nose and crawling up into his eyes. He gave a sharp sniff, the sound wet and irritated, before scrubbing at his twitching nose with the heel of his hand. It didn’t help. The burn in his throat deepened, and his breath hitched slightly as he suppressed the first signs of a sneeze.

He groaned softly, casting a side glance at Rexar as they made their way down the dimly lit hallways that led backstage. The corridor’s faded paint and scuffed floors seemed to mock him with their lack of care, much like the air itself. Every step stirred up invisible clouds of torment that Vaelyn could practically feel swirling around him.

“Already starting, huh?” Rexar smirked, his sharp grey-red eyes gleaming with amusement as he glanced at Vaelyn. His best friend was rubbing furiously at his nose, his shoulders tense as though bracing himself for the inevitable.

“Hate to say I told you so, but you did let this place back on the schedule,” Rexar added, the grin on his face unmistakably smug.

Vaelyn shot him a sharp glare, his blue eyes rimmed with red and watery from the irritation. “Yeah, thanks for the reminder, Captain Obvious,” he rasped, his voice already thick with congestion. “It’s not like I’ve been regretting it since the second I walked in.”

Rexar chuckled, the sound rumbling low in his chest. “Oh, this is gonna be fun to watch.”

Vaelyn huffed in annoyance, giving another forceful sniffle as the itch burrowed deeper into his sinuses. He was already regretting every decision that had led to this moment. The night was only just beginning, and he knew The Burning Bush wouldn’t let him off easy.

The backstage corridors twisted and turned in an almost endless labyrinth of scuffed walls and faded posters from concerts long past. The manager, a wiry man with a clipboard permanently attached to his hand, hurried ahead, ushering them toward the stage. His clipped instructions barely registered in Vaelyn’s ears, drowned out by the relentless battle raging in his sinuses.

Every breath Vaelyn took seemed to stir up a fresh assault of dust, each particle igniting the already fiery tickle deep in his nose. His nostrils flared wildly, the sensitive skin around them twitching as his breath began to hitch uncontrollably. His throat ached from the persistent, dry burn that had settled there since walking into the venue.

“Hh… hhh-HHhh—hahhh—” Vaelyn twisted away from Rexar just as the fit exploded. “Hhh—Eishh!-ishh!-ish!-’shh! …hehhHH! -EEISSHHuh!!”

The sneezes ripped through him in rapid, breathless bursts, his tall frame buckling under the sheer force. His guitar case dangled precariously from his grasp, while his free arm acted as a desperate shield against the onslaught. With each sneeze, the itch seemed to burrow deeper, like an unstoppable fire coursing through his sinuses.

Rexar, a few paces ahead, stopped to glance over his shoulder, his sharp grey-red eyes gleaming with amusement. “Bless you,” he said casually, though the smirk tugging at his lips betrayed his lack of sympathy. “You know, maybe we should start billing this place for your allergy meds. Seems fair.”

“Funny,” Vaelyn croaked, his voice hoarse and strained as he fumbled for a tissue from his pocket. He swiped at his streaming nose, already raw and pink from the constant irritation. “Why don’t you go breathe in the walls and see how it feels?”

Rexar chuckled, shaking his head as they resumed their walk. Vaelyn trailed behind, sniffling wetly as his nose refused to cooperate. Each step seemed to stir up more of the venue’s allergens, keeping the maddening tickle alive and thriving.

As they approached the stage doors, Vaelyn felt the itch creeping back, teasing and relentless. His blue eyes were glassy and rimmed with red, and he blinked rapidly, trying to dispel the allergic tears pooling in the corners. His breath hitched again, the telltale prelude to another fit that he desperately tried to fight back.

“Man, you’re struggling already, and we haven’t even started soundcheck,” Rexar remarked, tossing a glance over his shoulder.

Vaelyn glared weakly, his face crumpling with irritation as the sneeze hovered on the edge, just out of reach. “This plahhh… place is a damn death trap,” he rasped, his voice breaking as the sneeze finally overwhelmed him. “Hh’EISSHHhh! ISSHHH! ISCHh! Ish! —Shh! —hhHh— …hehh’EESHHhhhuh!”

By the time they reached the backstage area, Vaelyn’s body felt drained, his sinuses raging like a storm. The low hum of the stage’s sound system filled the air as they passed through the last hallway, stepping into the controlled chaos of the pre-show setup. Kriia waved from the merch table, her usual calm energy an anchor amidst the bustle.

“Ready to get this over with?” Rexar asked, his smirk widening as he slung his guitar strap over his shoulder.

Vaelyn sniffled miserably, his hoodie sleeve pressed to his nose as he tried to compose himself. “Define ready,” he muttered, his voice muffled and dripping with sarcasm. The venue may have been alive with excitement, but Vaelyn could already feel the night spiraling into an allergenic nightmare.

The stage was alive with activity as crew members hustled to and fro, setting up lights and adjusting sound levels. Kriia stood to the side with her arms crossed, a satisfied grin tugging at her lips as she admired her neatly arranged merch table. Rows of Toad Biscuit shirts, vinyl records, and posters were perfectly aligned, ready to lure in fans the moment the doors opened.

Vaelyn, however, wasn’t basking in the pre-show buzz. His focus was locked on his guitar, but the burning itch deep in his sinuses made it nearly impossible to concentrate. He slung the strap over his shoulder, his long, deft fingers moving across the strings as he tested the tuning. The notes rang out cleanly, but his nose had other plans.

Hh-hhHhh—h-hang on,” he stammered, his voice breaking as his breath hitched violently. “G-godda sneeze—hh’EISHHhh!—ISSHhh!—ISCHHHh! ISHH! —ish! shh! sh! ……….. hhH’EISHHHhuhh!”

The sneezes burst from him like fireworks, wrenching his body forward and forcing him to catch himself on the mic stand as his guitar swung slightly against his chest. His blue eyes, already glassy from the relentless irritation, streamed with allergic tears as he wiped his face hastily with his sleeve. His nose, bright red and dripping, showed no signs of calming down. He barely had time to catch his breath before another itch flared to life, teasing him mercilessly.

“Bless you,” Rexar drawled, already holding his guitar in place and watching Vaelyn with an amused smirk. “If this is how you’re starting, we’re never getting through soundcheck… At this rate, we might as well cancel the show.”

Vaelyn shot him a glare, his voice gravelly as he retorted, “Why dod’t you play while I—hh-hhh-Hhh—ISSHHHhh!—deal with this?”

The congestion in his voice made Rexar smirk, but Vaelyn didn’t have the energy to fire off more sarcasm. Instead, he fished another tissue from his hoodie pocket, blowing his nose with a wet honk. It barely helped; his nose twitched incessantly, the stubborn itch burrowing deeper like it was mocking his attempts to clear it.

Soundcheck felt like an uphill battle. Every time Vaelyn tried to start a song, his breath would hitch halfway through, his focus completely obliterated by the maddening tickle crawling through his sinuses. He managed to play a few chords cleanly, only for the relentless sneezing to overtake him again.

“Hhh-hhh—Hh’ISSHHHhh!—hh-ISCHHh! ISCH! Ishh —ish!… sh! huhhh… hh-Hhh’ISSHHHhhhuhh!”

The force of the sneezes left him swaying slightly, and he pressed the back of his wrist against his nose, trying in vain to steady himself. His nose was bright red and raw from constant rubbing, and his hoodie sleeve was damp from wiping at his face between tissues.

“Think the mic stand’s about to give out from all your leaning,” Rexar teased, plucking a few random chords while Vaelyn glowered at him. “Maybe just get a bucket or something and let the sneezes play for you.”

Vaelyn groaned, his voice strained as he muttered, “Yeah, real fuddy, Rex. You’re—hh—so—hhHhh—ISSHHHuhh!—helpful.” He sniffled loudly, rubbing his knuckles against the underside of his nose in frustration.

Despite his misery, Vaelyn somehow managed to drag himself through the final minutes of soundcheck. It was a struggle every step of the way. His fingers, usually so deft and precise on the guitar strings, felt clumsy and heavy. The constant sneezing fits and the unrelenting tickle deep in his sinuses shattered his focus, leaving him distracted and increasingly frustrated. His nose was a raw, throbbing mess, the constant sniffling and wiping only making it worse. The itch behind his eyes never fully subsided, and his vision blurred with allergic tears that he kept swiping at with the edge of his sleeve.

Every time he fumbled a chord or missed a cue, Rexar didn’t miss the chance to pipe up with another quip. “You know, Vee, maybe we should market this as experimental sound design,” Rexar mused, plucking his strings with mock seriousness. “The art of sneeze-core. Bet the critics would eat it up.”

Vaelyn shot him a withering glare, though his puffy, red-rimmed eyes and streaming nose took all the bite out of it. “Why dod’t you go write that dowd, Rex?” he croaked hoarsely. “I’d hate for you to forget your dext brilliadt idea—hh-hhh!” His breath hitched violently, and his retort dissolved into yet another sneezing fit.

“Hhh’EISSHHhh! EISSHHH! hh-ISSHhh!—shhh! …hhHh’EISSHHhhuhh!”

The sneezes bent him double, his guitar strap tugging awkwardly at his shoulder as he braced himself against the mic stand for support. By the time the fit ended, he was left hunched over and panting, his chest rising and falling heavily. His fingers trembled slightly as he reached for another tissue, blowing his nose with a wet, miserable honk.

Rexar chuckled, shaking his head as he adjusted one of the dials on his amp. “Man, you sound like you’re auditioning for a jazz brass section with that nose. You sure you’re not dying?”

Vaelyn waved him off weakly, the tissue clutched in his hand as he straightened up. “I’b fide,” he muttered, though his strained voice and defeated posture said otherwise. He sniffled hard, the sound congested and wet, and turned his attention back to his guitar.

But even as he tried to finish the soundcheck, the constant interruptions from his body’s rebellion kept derailing him. His fingers would falter mid-chord as the ever-present itch teased him relentlessly, leaving him hovering on the edge of another fit. His playing grew sloppier, the irritation boiling under his skin, and it took everything he had not to fling his guitar aside in frustration.

By the time the last note of soundcheck rang out, Vaelyn felt completely wrung out. His head throbbed in rhythm with his pulse, and his nose showed no signs of calming down. All he wanted was a moment to breathe—both figuratively and literally—but the evening was just getting started. He leaned against the amp, scrubbing at his nose with the back of his hand as Rexar grinned at him from across the stage.

“Well, that was… something,” Rexar quipped, slinging his guitar over his shoulder. “Can’t wait to see what you bring to the main event, Sneezy.”

Vaelyn groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose and muttering under his breath. Tonight was going to be a long, long night.

The buzzing of the crowd outside reverberated through the walls of the venue as the hours before showtime ticked away. Vaelyn stood backstage, leaning against the cool concrete wall with his guitar resting beside him, feeling the weight of exhaustion settle into his bones. His sinuses were in full revolt—his nose a raw, irritated mess that refused to let up. Each breath felt shallow, as though the air had thickened in response to his allergies. He snuffled wetly, wishing he could just take a break from the constant irritation that gnawed at him from within.

His thoughts were cut off by Rexar, who strolled past with his usual swagger. “You gonna be able to make it through this show, or should I start writing up your obituary now?” he teased, flashing a smirk.

Vaelyn, already on edge and feeling like he was teetering on the brink of complete meltdown, gave him a look that could have melted steel. "Shut up, Rex," he rasped, though the congestion in his voice made it sound less like a statement and more like a plea. He scrubbed at his nose with the edge of his hoodie sleeve, only for the fabric to irritate his already-sensitive skin. The itch surged, his breath hitching as his body prepared for another round.

“Hh-hhHHh… Hh-! Hh’ISCHHh! EISHhh! H’ISHHhh! —ish! shh! —sh! ………………hh’EISHHhhhuhh!”

The sneezes hit like a freight train, each one bending him forward violently. His long hair fell into his face, and by the time the fit subsided, he was left blinking through watery eyes and panting for air. His guitar strap nearly slid off his shoulder, and Rexar had to steady him before he fell off the stool.

“Bless you,” Rexar said, his tone light but his expression edged with concern. “Seriously, Vee, you sure you can do this? You look like you’ve been hit by a truck.”

Vaelyn sniffled wetly and waved a hand dismissively. “I’b fide,” he muttered, though his red-rimmed eyes and the constant stream of tissues he kept stuffing into his pocket said otherwise. “Just… deed to ged through it.”

Kriia appeared at the edge of the stage, her purple eyes sweeping over Vaelyn with concern.

She had seen Vaelyn push himself past his limits countless times, but tonight, she could tell that he was barely hanging on. She placed a hand gently on his shoulder, offering silent support.

"Don’t go out there if you can’t do this, Vee."

But he was already shaking his head, his expression stubborn. "I’ll be fide,” he said, though his voice cracked with strain. He could feel the weight of his fatigue settling deeper with each passing minute. The soundcheck had already drained him, and he hadn’t even started performing yet. His nose twitched again, and he stifled a frustrated groan as the pressure built.

“Alright, then,” Kriia said softly, giving him a quick squeeze on the shoulder before heading off to get things ready. “But I’m keeping an eye on you.”

Left alone back stage, Vaelyn took a deep breath, ignoring the pounding headache that made every movement feel like a chore. He could hear the crowd outside now, their energy palpable even from backstage. The thrum of anticipation made his heart race, but his body screamed at him to rest. He didn’t have the luxury of doing that, though.

With one last, frustrated sniff, he straightened up and grabbed his guitar. It was time to face the crowd, allergies be damned.

The stage lights were blinding as Vaelyn stepped out, the roar of the crowd crashing over him like a wave. The energy in the room was electric, and despite his exhaustion, a small spark of adrenaline flickered to life in his chest. His guitar hung heavy across his shoulders, the strap digging into his sore muscles as he trudged toward his mic stand.

Rexar was already in full showman mode, greeting the audience with his signature swagger. "Let’s hear it for The Burning Bush, huh?" he shouted, his deep voice reverberating through the packed venue. The crowd responded with a deafening cheer, their enthusiasm infectious.

Vaelyn adjusted the mic stand with shaking hands, trying to appear nonchalant. His sinuses, however, had other plans. The burning itch that had been plaguing him all evening surged with a vengeance, and he barely had time to turn away from the mic before the sneezes erupted.

"Hhh—Hhhhh-! Hihhh—! Hh’ISCHHh! EISHhh! H’ISHHhh! —ish! shh! —sh! ………………hh’EISHHhhhuhh!!" The fit bent him at the waist, his long frame jerking forward with each sneeze. He clutched the neck of his guitar for balance, his other arm hastily shielding his face.

The sound, amplified slightly by his mic, drew a few surprised murmurs from the crowd. Rexar turned, raising an eyebrow as Vaelyn straightened up with a watery sniffle. “Bless you,” Rexar quipped into his mic, eliciting a ripple of laughter from the audience.

Vaelyn shot him a withering glare before stepping up to his mic. His voice, thick with congestion, cracked as he addressed the crowd. "Yeah, yeah. Real fuddy, Rex. Let’s just play."

The first chords of their opening song thundered through the venue, and the crowd erupted in cheers. Vaelyn forced himself to focus, his fingers flying over the strings with practiced precision. The familiar rhythm was a welcome distraction, even as his nose continued to twitch and run.

Midway through the second song, the relentless tickle returned, gnawing at the back of his sinuses like a persistent itch he couldn’t scratch. His breath hitched audibly, and he stumbled over a chord, turning his head just in time to avoid sneezing directly into the mic.

"Hhh… ...hh’ESHHHhh! Hhh’ISSHHhh! ISHHhh! ...ish! ...SHh!—sh! ………——hh’EISSHHHhew!"

The sneezes rattled through him, and he wiped at his nose with his wrist, glaring down at the floor as if it were to blame. The crowd, ever enthusiastic, didn’t seem to mind, cheering louder as Rexar took over the melody seamlessly.

Between songs, Kriia slipped onto the stage, pretending to adjust some cables near Vaelyn’s mic. She leaned in close, her voice low and urgent. "You don’t have to do this, Vee. You’re struggling."

"I said I’b fide," he croaked, his voice barely audible over the ringing in his ears.

Kriia hesitated, her gaze softening. "Just… let me know if it’s too much, okay?"

Vaelyn nodded curtly, his throat too raw to argue further. As Kriia disappeared back into the wings, he turned back to the crowd, forcing a smirk that he didn’t feel.

“This dext ode’s called ‘Obliviod’s Edge,’” he rasped into the mic, his voice cracking slightly. “Hope you’re ready for it!”

The audience roared in approval, and Vaelyn launched into the next song, determined to push through. Every note felt heavier than the last, but he clung to the music like a lifeline, even as his body screamed for relief.

As the set wore on, Vaelyn poured every ounce of energy he had left into his performance. His nose remained a constant, infuriating distraction, twitching and tingling as if the dust in the venue had a personal vendetta against him. His sniffling was almost as rhythmic as his guitar riffs, and every so often, he’d have to turn away from the mic to let out a rapid, desperate sneezing fit.

“Hh’iISSHHhh!! ISCHHHhh! Hh-ISHHhh! —ish! …ish! ...sh! ……..…hh’ISSHHHuhhh!”

Each fit left him blinking back tears, his breath hitching as he fought to keep the maddening tickle at bay. The crowd, however, didn’t seem to notice—or if they did, they didn’t care. Their cheers were thunderous, and the sheer energy of their enthusiasm helped Vaelyn keep going, even as his body protested with every chord.

Rexar, ever the consummate showman, covered seamlessly whenever Vaelyn faltered. He threw in extra solos, bantered with the audience, and even made a few quips about Vaelyn’s predicament between songs, earning loud laughter from the crowd. Vaelyn responded with wry smiles and exaggerated eye rolls, wiping his nose on the cuff of his hoodie as if it were part of the act.

By the time they reached the final song, Vaelyn was running on pure adrenaline. His fingers moved instinctively over the strings, though his mind felt foggy and sluggish. When the last note rang out, the crowd erupted into deafening applause, their cheers shaking the very walls of the dusty venue.

Rexar stepped up to the mic, his grey-red eyes gleaming with mischief. “Alright, everyone, let’s give it up for Vee’s allergies, huh? Real MVP tonight!”

The room exploded with laughter and cheers, and Vaelyn threw his head back with a tired laugh, his cheeks flushed—partly from the exertion, partly from the relentless sneezing. “Thadks a lot, dickhead,” he rasped, his voice hoarse but warm as he turned to the crowd. “I love you guys. I swear, I’b better whed there isd’t so buch dust everywhere!”

The audience roared with approval, some fans shouting their love back at him, while others waved homemade signs in the air. Vee wiped his nose with a tissue for what felt like the millionth time, flashing the crowd a crooked grin. Despite his exhaustion and the torment his sinuses had endured, there was a lightness in his chest—a reminder of why he did this in the first place.

As the band bowed and left the stage, Vaelyn gave the crowd one last wave. His body was spent, his nose still running, and his head felt like it was packed with cotton, but their cheers followed him backstage, carrying him forward like a second wind. Even through the haze of misery, he couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of gratitude. This was his life, chaotic and exhausting as it was, and he wouldn’t trade it for anything.

Thank you for reading, and I hope this was what you were looking for, @bendithiachi ! 🖤

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notapradagurl7 · 19 days ago

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It's Our Anniversary.

Black Fem! Wife!Reader x James St. Patrick!Husband

Fandom: Power TV Show. (2014)

Summary: You were heated when you believed James forgot your wedding anniversary, which he is pretending to forget. He then makes it up to you, his wife with dinner and a steamy night in a ritzy and romantically decorated hotel room.

Word Count: 2,792k

Taglist: @megamindsecretlair @satoruya @planetblaque @playgurlxoxo @babybratzmaraj @becauseimswagman1 @henneseyhoe @superheroprincess22 @pocketsizedpanther @beenathembo @brattyfics @hxneyclouds @yassbishimvintage

@nahimjustfeelingit-writes @nayaesworld @ovohanna24

@novahreign @writingsbytee @avoidthings @kimuzostar @slippinninque @keyera-jackson @theblacklewinsky

@euphorichappiness10 @life-in-the-slut-house @miguelspvssy @liatreads @kaylaahisthebestest- @tforpresz

@dxddykenn

@secretlifeoofmarpessa @westside-rot @mymindisneverhere @mind-somewhere-else @kindofaintrovert @aquarising03 @5starr-staciii

Requested by @keyera-jackson

A/N: Don't forget to leave a like, comment & reblog to support, or you can always ask for a request Enjoy!

Warnings: Affirmations, use of ice, oral )fem receiving) (front and back), dirty talk, cute names, no hardcore. Spooning, sitting on the back of her thighs.

——————

Your eyelids gradually opened to the morning light and the soft glow of the sun filtered through the sheer curtains, casting a warm, golden hue across the room. You stretched languidly, feeling the soft sheets glide over your dark brown skin, a gentle reminder of the comfort of your bed.

The scent of fresh coffee wafted in from the kitchen, mingling with the faint aroma of vanilla from the candles you had lit the night before.

You rolled over to find James, your husband, still asleep beside you. His chiseled features were relaxed, the tension of the world slipping away in the peaceful moments of dawn.

You admired how handsome he looked, even with the slight stubble on his jaw. You brushed your fingers against his cheek, feeling the roughness of his skin under your fingertips.

“James,” you whispered, a teasing lilt in your voice, “you know what today is?”

He stirred slightly, a smirk playing on his lips as he opened one eye, the other still stubbornly closed. “What’s today, baby?” he asked, his voice thick with sleep.

You raised an eyebrow, trying to suppress a smile. “You really don’t remember?”

He chuckled softly, the sound deep and warm, and pulled you closer, wrapping his arms around your waist. “Come on now, I don't remember at all,” he said, his voice low and smooth.

You felt a rush of relief mixed with playful annoyance. “Ugh, if you weren't so preoccupied with work, that gotdamn club and Tommy’s crazy ass, then you would surpirse with something romantic!” you yelled, crossing your arms.

You quickly got out of bed, and got into the shower, you get dressed for work and walk out of the bedroom in sadness. You shook your head from side to side, your hair styled in a curled pixie cut.

The walls were painted a warm hue, filled with framed photographs of your happiest moments together.

The kitchen was cozy, with wooden cabinets and a rustic charm, and you could see the breakfast spread he had prepared: fluffy pancakes, fresh fruit, and steaming cups of coffee.

You rolled your eyes, eating breakfast alone, James walked out of the bedroom and his face softened.

You couldn’t help feeling a tinge of disappointment. “Hey, where you off to in such a hurry?” he called out, his voice laced with concern.

“Work, James! You know, the place where I earn a living while you’re busy playing king of the streets,” you replied, your tone light but your heart heavy.

You grabbed your bag and started toward the door, not bothering to look back.

But before you could step outside, you felt his presence behind you. “Wait,” he said, his voice softening. He placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, turning you to face him. “I’m sorry if I upset you. Let me make it up to you tonight.”

You raised an eyebrow, skepticism dancing in your gaze. “Oh really? And how do you plan to do that?”

James leaned in closer, his warm breath brushing against your cheek. “Trust me. Just be ready at eight.”

The table was beautifully set, adorned with flickering candles and elegant dishware. A bouquet of deep red roses sat in the center, their fragrance intoxicating.

“Surprise!” James stepped out from the kitchen, wearing a fitted black shirt that hugged his built physique perfectly. He looked every bit the king he was, a charming smile lighting up his face.

Your heart fluttered. “You did all this?”

“Only the best for my queen,” he said, his voice dripping with sincerity. “I know I messed up this morning, but I want to show you how much you mean to me.”

He pulled out a chair for you, and as you sat down, he began to serve dinner—a delicious spread of your favorite dishes.

Once you ate, the conversation flowed effortlessly. You couldn’t remember the last time you felt this connected, this cherished.

After dinner, James took your hand, leading you to the living room. The atmosphere was intimate, the glow of the candles casting soft shadows on the walls.

“Close your eyes,” he instructed, his voice low and sultry.

You obeyed, feeling a rush of excitement. You heard him move around, the sound of ice clinking against glass. “Okay, open them,” he said.

You opened your eyes to find him holding two glasses of wine, a mischievous grin on his face. “A toast,” he said, raising his glass. “To us, and to many more anniversaries.”

You clinked your glass against his, the sound echoing in the cozy room. “To us,” you echoed, feeling a sense of warmth spread through your chest.

After a few sips, James leaned in closer, his eyes intense and full of desire. “You know, I’ve been thinking about how I can really make this night special for you,” he murmured, his breath brushing against your ear.

You felt a shiver run down your spine, excitement blooming in the pit of your stomach. “Oh really? And what did you have in mind?”

He leaned back slightly, a playful smirk on his lips. “How about we take this celebration to the next level? I’ve booked us a room at that fancy hotel downtown. Just you and me.”

Your heart raced. “James, you didn’t!”

“I did,” he replied, his voice low and teasing. “So, what do you say? Ready for a night to remember?”

The car ride was rather quickly, his hand rested on your thigh. He opened the door for you and he kissed your forehead.

When you arrived at the hotel, the lobby was opulent, adorned with marble floors and golden chandeliers that glittered like diamonds. James took your hand, leading you to the elevator with a confident stride, his presence commanding and reassuring.

Once inside the elevator, the doors slid closed, isolating you in the intimate space. James turned to you, his expression shifting from playful to serious.

“I want tonight to be special for you,” he said, his voice low and deep. “You deserve it.”

Your heart swelled at his words, the sincerity in his gaze wrapping around you like a warm embrace. “I know it will be,” you replied, feeling a flutter in your stomach.

Once the elevator doors opened, you stepped into the dimly lit hallway, the air thick with anticipation. James led you to your room, and when he unlocked the door, it swung open to reveal a beautifully decorated suite.

The room was bathed in soft, ambient light, with rose petals scattered across the bed and candles flickering gently, creating an undeniably romantic atmosphere.

With a grin spreading across your face, you nodded. “Absolutely.”

James stood, offering you his hand. “Let’s go, then. I promise you won’t regret it.”

“Wow,” you breathed, taking in the sight. “This is incredible.”

James stepped in behind you, closing the door with a soft click. “I wanted it to be perfect,” he said, his voice husky as he approached you. He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you close, the warmth of his body igniting a fire within you.

You looked up into his eyes, feeling a magnetic pull between you. “You’ve definitely succeeded,” you murmured, your breath hitching as he leaned closer.

Without another word, he captured your lips with his, the kiss igniting every nerve in your body. It was passionate and lingering, a mix of love and desire that left you breathless. You melted into him, wanting more, needing more.

James backed you toward the bed, his lips never leaving yours as he guided you down onto the soft sheets.

With that, he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, leaving you with a lingering warmth that made you forget your annoyance, if only for a moment.

The day dragged on, each tick of the clock feeling like an eternity. When you finally got home, the sun was setting, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink. You stepped into the house, the familiar scent of cinnamon and nutmeg filling the air.

“James?” you called out, but the house was silent, save for the faint sound of music playing softly from the living room.

As you made your way through the cozy space, decorated with dark wood furniture and rich textiles, you felt a sense of anticipation bubbling inside you. Suddenly, you caught sight of the dining area, and your breath hitched in your throat.

James stood at the counter, pouring syrup over the pancakes with the kind of grace that made your heart flutter. “I wanted to make today memorable,” he said, glancing over his shoulder with a smirk. “Can’t have my wife thinking I forgot our special day.”

After breakfast, he pulled you into a tight embrace, his strong arms enveloping you in warmth. “Get ready. We’re heading out for a little surprise.”

You raised an eyebrow, excitement bubbling inside you. “A surprise? Now you’ve got my attention.”

Once you were dressed, you slipped into a stunning black dress that hugged your curves perfectly, the fabric glistening slightly under the light. James couldn’t take his eyes off you as you twirled playfully, a grin spreading across your face.

“You look incredible,” he said, his voice thick with admiration.

The drive to the hotel was filled with light banter and laughter, the kind that made time fly by.

As you arrived, you stepped into a beautifully decorated hotel room, dimly lit with candles and rose petals scattered across the floor. The atmosphere was romantic, with soft music playing in the background.

James turned to you, a serious look on his face. “I wanted tonight to be special, just like you.”

You felt your heart race as he took your hand, leading you to the center of the room. He pulled you close, his breath warm against your ear. “You deserve all the love and passion I can give.”

Later, as the night unfolded, you found yourselves lost in each other, eating dinner again and kissing passionately, wrapped in a cocoon of warmth and intimacy.

“How about we take it to the bedroom?”

“Yes, let's go,”

He guided you to the bedroom, gently pushing him on the soft mattress before kissing him again, he flipped you over and smacked your ass, causing you to moan. Both of your clothes were tossed across the bedroom floor.

He grabbed the ice from the bucket and traced the cold cube around your erect nipple, causing you to shiver, “Stay still baby,” he whispered softly, cupping your nipple tightly.

The cool touch of the ice against your skin sent electric shivers coursing through you, the contrast of the chill and the warmth of James's body igniting a fire deep within you. You bit your lip, trying to suppress the moans that threatened to escape as he moved the ice slowly, teasingly, around your breast.

“James,” you breathed, your voice laced with both vulnerability and desire. “You’re killing me here.”

He chuckled softly, his dark eyes gleaming with mischief. “That’s the plan, baby. Just relax and enjoy.”

With expert precision, he trailed the ice down your torso, his fingers dove in your pussy, you gasped and he thrusted them in and out of you, the sensation both sweet and torturous.

“Now, what do you want, my queen?” he murmured, his voice low and sultry as he hovered just above you, his breath warm against your ear.

You met his gaze, that made your core tighten. “I want you, James. I want all of you.”

He smiled, a wicked grin that made your heart flutter. “As you wish.”

With that, he discarded the ice, taking a moment to admire you as you lay there, your skin glowing in the dim light, Slowly, he sat on the back of your thighs, he captured your lips in a heated kiss.

You melted into him, your hands threading through his hair as you deepened the kiss, feeling his tongue gliding across your clit and clenching folds, your essence left a waterfall down his chin, you moaned loudly, “oh fuck baby,” you groaned lowly, thrusting his tongue in and out of you with skill.

“Damn, you taste good,” he murmured against your clit, his voice rough with desire.

You gasped as he trailed kisses down your wet hole from the back, his tongue leaving a trail of spit in their wake. “James, please,” you whimpered, your body arching against his, craving more. His hands spread your ass cheeks apart and flickering his tongue around your asshole, while his fingers thrust into your entrance.

He looked up at you, his gaze heavy with lust, and you could see the raw hunger in his eyes. “I’ve got you, baby,” he promised, his voice thick with emotion. “Just let go.”

With that, he shifted his focus lower, his lips trailing down your clit, worshipping every inch of you as he made his way to your thighs. He paused, looking up at you with that playful smirk that made your heart race. “You ready for this?”

All you could do was nod, breathless and eager. He dove in, his mouth working its magic on your folds and clit, his tongue sliding on your hole as he lavished attention on you, sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your body. “Oh fuck, eat it up,” You gasped, your fingers tangling in the sheets as he took you higher and higher, his name falling from your lips in a breathless chant.

“James, yes...oh God, yes!”

He looked up at you, his eyes darkened with desire, and the sight of him between your thighs sent you spiraling. “You are so beautiful, smart, and sexy, amazing,” He went faster with his tongue and fingers in your pussy, your wetness made a mess on the bed, “oh fuck,” he groaned, He knew exactly how to draw out your pleasure, you were a writhing mess beneath him.

Every flick of his tongue, every gentle bite on your clit, sent you closer to the edge, he pinched your nipples responding eagerly to his ministrations. “You taste so fucking good,” he groaned, his voice thick with need.

You could feel the tension building, your legs around his head, leaving you trapped in his clutch, your hips rolling faster, your nails left marks on his shoulders and neck, a knot coiling tightly within you as he continued his delicious torment. “James, I’m...I’m gonna—”

“Not yet,” he commanded softly, pulling back just enough to keep you on that delicate precipice. His fingers went harder into your pussy and his tongue inside you again, you moaned loudly with fervor.

With a growl of frustration mixed with desire, you gripped the sheets, your body trembling with need. “Please, I can’t hold on much longer.”

“Then let go for me,” he urged, his voice a sultry whisper.

With one final flick of his tongue, he sent you crashing over the edge, your body exploding in a rush of pleasure that consumed you whole. The soft squelching sound of your pussy spurred him on and you came undone onto his mouth, You cried out his name, the sound echoing within the walls as waves of ecstasy washed over you.

Finally, he pulled back, his gaze locked onto yours, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips. “How was that for a surprise?”

You let out a soft laugh, still riding the waves of bliss. “You definitely outdid yourself.”

He leaned down, capturing your lips in a sweet kiss that tasted of you and him, a perfect blend of intimacy and warmth. “Just wait, we’re not done yet.”

He carried you into the bathroom, running a hot bath while he took a shower, and you giggled as you finished washing yourself, the two of you ran back to the bedroom and mad love all night long.

—————

#black!reader #black fanfiction #james st patrick #power #power fic #power starz #starz #black writer #omari hardwick #power book ii: ghost #notapradagurl7

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urdepressedslut · 2 years ago

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Stray ❝part two❞

♡ Pairing: The Winter Soldier x Fem!Reader/Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

♡ Summary: Bucky takes shelter in your house, waiting for the storm to pass. He notices something a little off about you.

♡ Warnings: hinted dark themes, light angst, fluff

Part 3

“Okay, just for tonight.” He agreed.

Even though you had opened your home to him, letting him know he was allowed anywhere he pleased, besides your room, he made himself comfortable outside on the front porch. Attempting to take up as little room as possible, deciding to camp out in the corner.

You had offered to help him set his arm back in place, but he immediately grew tense and shook his head violently fast.

Note to self: He doesn't like to be touched?

You felt bad watching him grimace as he moved around, trying to make himself comfortable. But you had to respect his space. If for some reason he didn't feel his arm should be set, them so be it.

You watched him from the window, not feeling like you were doing enough. You felt overwhelmed suddenly at having a guest, wanting to care for their every need. Taking a deep breath, you forced yourself to let him be, and busy yourself with the multiple tasks throughout the house.

Just for tonight.

His words rung in your head, and you couldn’t stop yourself from feeling sad that he’d only be here a short time.

“It’s fine…” You mumbled to yourself, unaware that Bucky could hear your distant voice through the window.

Bucky didn’t know what to think of you, he was confused and cautious around you. Despite your kindness, he thought it was too good to be true. He was used to mistreatment and harsh environments, it was his normal for a long time.

Now he feels he has whiplash from how different things are. He was used to the cold, dark cells of HYDRA. Normalizing the guard’s treatment towards him, how he had been manipulated into thinking he deserved it.

But now he sits on a rustic front porch of a charming ranch house, in the middle of nowhere, it seemed. Patches of flowers covered large sections of the fields, the vibrancy of all the colors overwhelming to him. Although his environment was extremely different than what he’s used to, it was you that had him lost for words.

For so long he only ever knew pain, and the sudden change of character was discombobulating.

How could you be so caring towards him? Did you know what he’s done? We’re you secretly scared and just not showing it?

He didn’t think it was possible to find such a sweet soul after all he’s experienced, he truly believed he’d be surrounded by the abuse forever. But you showed up, offering food, water, clothes, even shelter, and he still didn’t believe any of this was real. He didn’t believe you were real.

God, he wished— hoped it all was.

✿

The storm had rolled in several minutes ago, the ranch now shadowed in darkness, harsh winds jingling the wind chimes. Bucky found the storm to be scary but breathtaking, watching the streaks of lightning paint the sky in beautiful designs. The wind felt cool and dried his clammy skin, relaxing him in a state of calm that he had forgotten he craved. Waves of rain would blow into the front porch with violent gusts of wind, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. He was relaxed, and he feared if he moved an inch, he’d lose the calm.

He was perfectly content in his corner, not caring to even attempt to sleep.

That was until he heard a loud thud from inside the house, causing his body to tense up, fearing that HYDRA had found him.

Meanwhile, you were exhausted and frustrated, throwing things around in the basement. You had thrown the shovel down, not caring that you’d hit the furnace, causing the loud thud to echo the walls.

Glancing down to the dirtied sheet, you felt conflicted. How could one feel relief and guilt so strongly at once? Your eyes watered, your stare not breaking, your mind clouded once again with faces. Ones that felt familiar, but the harder you looked, you felt you couldn’t recognize them at all.

“Am I sorry?”

You whispered out to no one, the concrete walls of the basement making you feel claustrophobic. You couldn’t stomach the sight before you anymore, and turned and ran up the stairs, slamming and sealing the door of the basement.

Clicking the last lock in place, you pushed away from the door, backing up with slow steps, eyeing the door as if it would open itself. Afraid that you’d see the faces striding up the stairs, eyes red with rage.

“Not real.”

You whispered to yourself, in attempt to ground yourself from all the noise in your mind. You backed up more and more, eyes burning from the lack of moisture, but you felt terrified to blink.

Suddenly your back hit a solid mass of muscle, and you shrieked jumping back towards the basement door, fears forgotten as you turned towards the intruder.

Your eyes locked with the man’s fear blown orbs, and you instantly softened your gaze, in shame that you’d startled him.

“I-I’m sorry, you scared me I… I didn’t hear you come in.” You told him, trying to catch your breath.

Bucky had crept into the house, the wonder if you were okay lingering in the back of his mind, and he was concerned to find you creeping away from a door, unaware of his presence. You whispered something, he assumes to yourself—considering you didn’t know he was there, and he felt uneasy.

Something about the way you spoke when you thought no one was present, he was able to get a glimpse of your true self. But it disturbed him when your voice sounded so dull, empty of life. You had so far portrayed yourself as helpful and cheery, and this change in demeanor had him confused.

“Are you okay? Did you need something?” Your voice broke him out of his thoughts.

You were suddenly aware that he had come inside the house.

“I heard a noise.” He spoke, keeping his voice particularly quiet.

He watched your eyes flash from confusion to realization, watching you swallow nervously and glance back at the door.

“Oh…Uh I just dropped something downstairs, no biggie.” You waved him off, relaxing your shoulders and taking a deep breath to get yourself together.

Bucky tilted his head slightly, trying to get a look at the door behind your head. You noticed and tried to hide your panic. Luckily a loud clap of thunder broke him from his focus on the door.

“It’s getting bad out there, you can take the couch in the living room.” You offered, headed to the kitchen for a glass of water.

Bucky winced from your offer, he preferred to keep his distance. Your living room had looked comfortable and homey, but he didn’t want to burden you with… Well himself.

“I shouldn—“

“I insist, I promise you won’t bother me.” You told him, almost like you had read his mind.

He opened his mouth to object, but closed it once he saw you smiling. He didn’t want to make you unhappy, you had given him more than he could ever ask for. He couldn’t find it in himself to say no to you.

Bucky had grabbed his small collection of stuff, plopping it down on the floor near the couch. He sat on the window bench, watching you cover the couch in a silk sheet, then covering the sheet with a comfortable looking blanket. He felt guilty at the sight, he felt awful for taking up space in your home.

Finishing up, you plopped two white cased pillows down on top.

“This okay?” You asked him, watching him nod shamefully.

You wanted to ask what was wrong, as he always looked guilty like he was doing something wrong. But you decided not to pry, and left it alone for now.

The lights all went out in the house suddenly leaving you and Bucky in the dark. Immediately you knew where to find candles, and went and got them. You placed many candles around the house, lighting up the area. You didn’t want to admit it, but the dark was terrifying to you and if Bucky weren’t here you’d probably be freaking out.

Lighting the last candle on the table next to Bucky’s bed, the couch, you snuck a glance at him. He sat in the same spot, eyeing the couch but never making a move to get up.

“I know this isn’t much, and I’m sorry if it feels like I’m forcing you to stay here… I…” You trailed off, taking a breath, “You know you’re allowed to leave whenever you want… I just— I just wanted to help you.”

He listened to your nervous rambling, feeling bad that he’d unintentionally made you feel like you were forcing him to do anything. You weren’t forceful, not like the people from HYDRA, you were quite the opposite. He was suddenly tired of not being able to put a name to your face, and wondered why it had taken this long.

“What’s your name?” He asked you, and you seemed confused at his sudden subject change.

You hadn’t realized you’d never told him your name, that probably made him uncomfortable.

“Oh uh, (Y/n).”

Bucky hummed at the name reveal, and he decided quickly that it fit you well.

“What’s yours?” You shot back, watching his expression drop.

After a few moments of silence, you took it as a sign that he wasn’t going to answer. Thick tension filled the living room, making you fidget with the ends of your dress again.

“I think my name is Bucky.” He spoke, ruining the silence.

You smiled and repeated to yourself in your head, Bucky. You couldn’t stop yourself from asking.

“You think?”

He glanced at you, hesitating whether he should be honest with you or not. He feared you’d run, and for some reason he didn’t want you to be scared of him.

You sensed his discomfort from your question.

“I like Bucky. It fits you.” You told him cheerfully, watching his eyes meet yours and you swear you saw a smile ghost his lips.

Deciding to try and give him his space, and go to your room upstairs, you started to get up from your spot from the arm of the couch.

“(Y/n)?” Bucky got out before you took your first step away.

You faced him with a gentle smile.

“Yes Bucky?” You waited, watching his lip twitch at you saying his name.

“Can I ask you a question?” He asked quietly, watching as you sat back down on the arm of the couch.

“Sure.” You gave him the go ahead, and he surprised you by standing up.

You tried to keep the smile plastered on your face, but it wavered in shock that he was moving closer to you. You stayed very still, in fear that if you moved, you’d spook him. Instead you sat and watched him take slow steps, up until he got to the couch, and lowered himself, multiple inches from you.

Your smile grew back as you watched him sink into the couch, the soft feeling comforting him. He was relishing in the feeling like he had never been on something so soft.

Facing you, he held your gaze, and you grew nervous from the intensity that his blue eyes held. It was in this moment you realized just how blue his eyes were, they were piercing… Haunted.

“I saw some pictures… When I came inside before.” He started, and your eyebrows were furrowed in confusion.

“Pictures? I… I don’t…”

“It was of a family.” He finished, and you felt your limbs freeze up.

Bucky watched your eyes slowly go unfocused, and he grew concerned at the lack of light suddenly within them.

Swallowing harshly, you tightly gripped your dress on your thigh in attempt to ground yourself.

“Oh…” Was all you could muster.

“Is it your family?” He asked, debating whether he should stop, but he knew you wouldn’t answer if you didn’t want to.

“Some of them are, yes.” You answered, your voice more monotone then it was moments ago.

“You…” He swallowed nervously, “You said it was j-just you here?”

Finding out that there may be more people living here, he felt betrayed that you would lie to him. But he didn’t understand why he was so bothered, he didn’t even know you. He couldn’t help himself from clinging onto the first kind person he’d come across.

“No no—I swear it’s just me here.” You held your hands up defensively, “You can check the house, if you want.”

Bucky kept that offer in the back of his mind, not trusting you enough now that his mind was clouded with doubts about you.

“If what you say is true… Then where’s your family?” He asks, like the final nail in the coffin.

He was just a stranger to you, but you couldn’t help yourself from fearing what he might think of you, if he knew everything. You felt judgement from his questioning, but it was judgement in which you felt you deserved.

Just for tonight.

Right, he wasn’t going to be here in just a few hours. What’s the harm?

Unless he goes back to town, alerting the towns people of your baggage. He wouldn’t do that, he’s running too. Unless he’d use you as a distraction? No— Maybe?

Your head ached, your eyes threatening to spill tears. Faking a yawn, you stood up and started walking to the stairs.

“You can help yourself to anything in the kitchen, you can watch tv… I don’t care. Goodnight.” You muttered, feet heavy with dread, knowing what you’d see when your eyes would fall shut.

Bucky watched your form drag up the stairs, he was confused at what he had said wrong. He’d been getting a read on you ever since he’d seen you, and he never expected you to have something dark following you. His words seemed triggering, maybe something happened to your family. That thought alone made his heart hurt, you living here all alone. Well that made his heart hurt even more.

His mind was conflicted with thoughts, his brain not wanting to turn off. He knew it would be a sleepless night, instead he’d lie awake, wondering why a part of him didn’t want to leave tomorrow.

A/N: this is going to take a much darker turn than y’all were expecting 👀 hehe let me know what you think!

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#reader insert #light angst #fluff #oneshot #imagine #buckybarnes #marvel cinematic universe #marvel imagines #bucky x female reader #the winter soldier #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes angst #sebastian stan #dark themes #dark character

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wheeboo · 1 year ago

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meet cute: the pottery class | wen junhui

SYNOPSIS. in which you choose to attend a pottery class for a solo date, not expecting to be so shy sitting next to an equally shy classmate. PAIRING. wen junhui x gn!reader GENRE. fluff, meet cute, first meetings, implied college au WARNINGS. none WORD COUNT. 2.2k

notes: welcome to your meet cute with jun!

← MEET CUTE MASTERLIST for the 1k celebration !

...a pottery class!

There have been many times where you had thoughts of one day joining a pottery class out of curiosity, but time never played in your favour and the idea had been pushed to the back of your mind. However, of course, today was different and gifted you an entire day with no deadlines and no responsibilities. It was a rare and precious blank canvas of time, and you couldn't help but wonder: why not now?

Out the window, the early afternoon sun bathes the world in a soft, golden light, and a gentle breeze swaying through the trees carries the promise of a new type of experience. So you peer at yourself one last time in the mirror and over the outfit you've chosen. Your reflection seems different𑁋a little more eager, a little more hopeful.

You quickly research the closest, good-reviewed studio, and within minutes, you find a place nearby that offers beginner pottery classes. Then you race to put on your shoes, grab your keys, and head out the door. As you step into the golden embrace of the sun, you take a deep breath, feeling the crispness of the air and the warmth of the day caress your skin. On your way to the pottery studio, you pass by the nearby park you always go to and even the old coffee shop you should visit again sometime.

When you arrive at the pottery studio, you're greeted by a charming and rustic façade, with the studio's sign hanging proudly above the door. As you make your way inside, you notice the intricate details that adorn the wooded walls𑁋pottery tools neatly organised, hand-painted ceramic tiles showcasing different glazing designs, and photographs capturing the smiles of satisfied students.

As you approach the receptionist desk, a young woman greets you with a friendly smile. "Hi, welcome to Pledis Pottery. Are you here for a class or just browsing?"

You clear your throat, hesitating for a moment. "Uh, I heard you guys offer beginner classes? If it's possible, can I sign up one for one?"

"Sure, we have a class starting in fifteen minutes. Would you like to enroll?"

"Yes, please. Thank you so much."

"Okay. And can I get a name?"

"Sure. Y/N."

The receptionist then passes you a form and you eagerly fill it out before handing it back to her. Then you sit down in a small waiting area where a few other people sat, like an older woman sitting a few chairs away from you, a couple browsing through magazines, and a cute boy in the corner who appeared to be around your age scrolling mindlessly through his phone with a small smile, which makes your gaze linger on him a bit.

You do the same to preoccupy your time waiting, shooting the occasional curious glance in the boy's direction, and before you know it, a voice gains the attention of all the eyes in the waiting area.

"If you're here for our beginners' class, you may all follow me," a woman instructs, and you already find yourself gathering your belongings before following the couple in front of you. And from behind, you can sense the boy from earlier walking suit, and the feeling brings a very subtle jump to your heart.

When you walk into the spacious classroom, your eyes widen to the shelves along the walls displaying an array of beautifully glazed pottery from intricate detailed vases to whimsical figurines. The air is filled with the earthy scent of clay, and you can see rows of pottery wheel worktables sitting in the middle of the room.

"Welcome, everyone, to the world of pottery!" the instructor exclaims enthusiastically. "Today, we'll start by getting comfortable with the basics. Pottery is a patient art form, so remember that it's okay to take your time and just enjoy the process. For now, if you all could put on an apron and take a seat, then we can get started today."

You grab an apron from a nearby rack and drape it over yourself. However, as you attempt to tie your apron securely, your lips purse together annoyingly while fumbling the fabric, feeling a bit self-conscious, but your fingers just can't seem to get a secure grip.

Just when you're starting to feel a hint of frustration, you notice that the boy from earlier at the corner of your eye calmly tying his own apron with ease. You hesitate for a moment, taking in a deep breath, before making your way in his direction.

You clear your throat awkwardly. "Um, excuse me?"

It catches his attention quite easily, and your momentarily stunned by his wide deep-set eyes peering curiously into yours, his dark brown irises meeting yours.

You feel an embarrassed flush spread through your face. "Uh, can you help me tie this apron? I can't seem to get a good knot on it."

The boy seems pensive for a moment, and you swear you can almost notice a faint rosy hue to his own cheeks, before stepping up to you with a small nod. You turn around so your back faces him, and you feel a warmth spread through you as he gently takes hold of the apron strings, his fingers brushing against yours.

After a few moments that feel like an eternity, he finally ties the apron securely. His fingers linger for just a second longer than necessary, and your heart does a little somersault, and you mentally scold yourself for being so affected by a simple gesture.

"There," he says simply, softly, voice tinged with a hint of nervousness that seems to mirror your own. "All set."

You turn to face him𑁋wow, he's tall𑁋offering a shy but appreciative smile. "Thanks."

He returns your smile sheepishly; if anything, it makes him more cute. "Yeah, of course."

There's a few moments of awkward silence as you both make your way to your own worktables, selecting ones where you are sitting next to each other. The room is filled with the sound of gentle chatter as the instructor explains the basics of pottery and the simple project of creating the shape of a bowl for today's class.

When your fingers brush against the cool, damp clay, you're struck by its cool and smooth texture. Your eyes instinctively glance to the boy beside you whose name you still don't know, and you watch his unwavering concentration as he deftly collects the clay in his hands. It almost looks like he knows what he's doing, but from the thin line at his lips, you could only assume he's a bit in the same boat as you.

You somehow muster up the courage to talk again, partly to distract yourself from the awkwardness of starting. "Is it your first time here too?"

He turns to you, and his previously concentrated expression softens, a nervous chuckle leaving his lips.

"Yeah, um..." He almost brings a hand to scratch at the back of his neck, but drops it back down since it's covered in clay. "It's a bit harder than I thought."

"For sure, but... I'm sure we'll figure it out," You respond with a small grin, hoping to shed some hopeful light to both of your projects, before bringing your focus back to the clay. It feels oddly therapeutic under your hands. Your fingers press into the clay, and you slowly start to shape it into a bowl, albeit with a few bumps and uneven edges.

With the help of the instructor coming to your side a few times, you both quietly continue to shape your clay, and you can't help but sneak glances at him when he's not looking. There's something about his focused yet slightly nervous expression that you find endearing and cute. It's clear he's genuinely trying his best, just like you.

As time passes, you start to find the process of shaping the clay more easier, even fixing any bumps you might have created before and straightening the edges almost perfectly.

However, as you look over at the cute boy, you notice that he's still struggling. His bowl looks a bit misshapen, frustration evident in the furrow of his brow, and you can tell that he's feeling a bit disheartened by his progress𑁋or lack thereof. Glancing down at your bowl and back to his, you stop your wheel and scoot your chair over to his, the tip of your knee momentarily brushing against his, gaining his attention.

"Here, let me help." You reach out, your fingers gently touching the clay he's working on, and you both briefly tense up at the contact of your hands touching again. "You have to be patient with it. It can be a bit stubborn at times."

He takes his hand away and watches closely like a cat focused on a dangling string as you demonstrate how to handle the clay, your fingers expertly moving with precision. Then when he hesitantly brings his hands back to meet yours, you help guide them back into proper place, your hands following his movements with gentleness. It's oddly intimate, and you don't realise it until you both catch each other's eyes for a second, before bringing your gazes back down bashfully.

"Your name is Y/N, right?" he asks after what feels like an extremely long, entire minute.

You nod, your heart skipping a beat at the sound of your name from his lips. "Yeah, uh... how did you know that?"

A faint blush creeps onto his cheeks as he sheepishly pushes away some loose strands of dark hair in front of his face, smudging a bit of clay on his face in the process. You pinpoint a small mole above his upper lip.

"I, um, heard you talking to reception lady at the front." A pause, then a visible swallow of his Adam's apple. "Sorry, that sounded creepy."

"Ah, right. That's me." Your cheeks redden at his response, and you can't help but chuckle softly. "And you are...?"

"Junhui, but Jun is fine. Actually, um, either or is fine too. Whatever you want," he tells you quietly and quickly, and his name settles comfortably in your mind as if it's always been there.

"Junhui," You repeat with a warm smile. "It's cool meeting you, Jun."

Jun returns your smile shyly, and there's a subtle hint of relief in his expression. There's something about the way he smiles that tugs at your heartstrings. As you help him shape his clay, you notice how his fingers become more confident under yours and the way the tension in his shoulders eases. It doesn't take long for him to get the hang of it, and for you to return back to your own station.

Whatever awkwardness was lingering before had practically disappeared at this point. It's only small talk, but it's progress, you think. He tells you about his plans to become an actor, and the thought of him appearing in a drama of some sorts makes you even more intrigued if you weren't already. Then you tell him about your interests in literature, and you catch the way his eyes light up when you mention your favourite books and authors.

At some point, while focusing on your own bowl, you notice something on Jun's. You see him shaping some small, rounded protrusions at the top, almost looks like he's forming two small teeth. Or ears. Or something.

"Are you molding teeth on your bowl?" You ask, a twinge of tease to your voice.

You notice a small smirk at the corners of his mouth as he works to shape the protrusions to a more sharper look. Then he takes his foot off the pedal and sits back.

"It's supposed to to be cat ears," he claims, narrowing his eyes down at it. "Does it look like it?"

You lean in to take a closer look, and there it is𑁋a charming, abstract, clay cat with only its two pointy, slightly uneven ears to give its character. You let out a small chuckle at the sight, giving Jun a nod of approval.

"It does look like one, for sure," You tell him. "Maybe next class you could give it a face and a tail?"

He thinks about your words for a moment, moreso on when you said maybe next class.

"I can definitely try," he says, a sparkle of excitement in his eyes.

As the class comes to an end, you and Jun both place your unfinished pieces into designated shelves where you both can come back to them next class. The two of you then take off your aprons and clean up, letting the silence pass as you make your way outside and back into the main waiting area together. You both greet the receptionist a small have a good day before exiting out together.

The cool, late afternoon air feels refreshing the moment you step into it, letting out a breath of relief that seemed to have been dying to come out. Jun notices this, hiding the way his lips curve up by looking down at the ground.

"Today was fun," You say, eyes briefly roaming to the growing traffic on the streets.

Jun meets where your eyes are, before turning back to you. "Yeah," he adds on. "It was."

You mention something about how this day off meant to you, but Jun finds himself a bit distracted in the way you're literally glowing with the fading light of the day. As you both stand there, the thought of parting ways for now doesn't sit well with him, or either of you, for that matter.

You both linger in the moment, unsure of how to proceed, before Jun clears his throat. His voice, with a hint of hesitation, breaks the silence. "Um..."

The sound of his voice immediately catches your attention, and Jun swears his words catch in his throat. He glances away for a brief moment, then looks back at you with a hint of nervousness in his eyes, and the words finally spill out.

"...would you like to... um, do something again? Together? Maybe we could grab a coffee or dinner or something? It's pretty unoriginal, I know, but..."

Your heart flutters at his hesitant words. He looks adorable in his shyness, and you feel your own nervousness take a step back as you muster up a warm smile.

"I'd love to, Jun."

Jun visibly relaxes as your words wash over him, relief flooding his features. A bright smile breaks across his face, and the sight of it is just so infectious that it makes you smile even wider.

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galaxysupreme17 · 3 months ago

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Mother-Daughter Vacation

Y/n = Your Name AgathaRio x daughter!reader

Autumn had settled over the mountains, bringing with it a crisp breeze that smelled of pine and earth. The trees, now ablaze with shades of red, gold, and orange, created a natural mosaic that surrounded the small cabin tucked away at the base of the mountain. For Y/n, Agatha, and Rio, this trip was more than just a break—it was a chance to reconnect and escape from the pressures of magic, duty, and the constant rush of their lives.

The drive up had been filled with quiet excitement. Y/n had managed to convince her moms to take this much-needed vacation after weeks of watching them juggle the demands of being powerful witches, protectors, and parents. The cabin, with its rustic charm and promise of peace, was the perfect retreat.

“Okay, no magic for the weekend,” Y/n announced as they arrived, stepping out of the car and stretching her arms wide as if to embrace the wilderness. The cold mountain air was a refreshing contrast to the busy, magical world they were used to. “We’ll do everything the human way.”

Agatha smirked, raising an eyebrow at her daughter’s declaration. “No magic? You sure you can handle that?” she teased, her tone light, but there was a playful challenge in her voice.

Rio, carrying their bags, grinned as she joined them. “Oh, I don’t know, mi amor, I think she’s onto something. It could be fun,” she added, looking at Agatha with that mischievous twinkle in her eyes. “Think you can survive a few days without spells to light the fireplace or make breakfast?”

Agatha rolled her eyes, though the smile tugging at her lips betrayed her amusement. “Sure, sure. We’ll see how long this ‘no magic’ rule lasts.”

They stepped inside the cabin, and it was as cozy and welcoming as Y/n had imagined. The wooden walls were lined with bookshelves, a stone fireplace sat at the heart of the living room, and large windows gave a perfect view of the forest outside. It was small, intimate, and filled with the scent of pine and the promise of quiet moments.

Y/n dropped her bag by the door and flopped onto the large, overstuffed couch, pulling a blanket over her lap as she looked around. “This is perfect.”

Agatha and Rio exchanged a look, their hands brushing as they stood together, surveying the cabin. It was rare for them to take time like this—away from responsibilities, away from magic—and they both knew how much they needed it.

Rio wrapped her arms around Agatha’s waist, pulling her close. She pressed her face into the crook of Agatha’s neck, sighing contentedly. “It’s nice to be somewhere quiet for once,” she murmured against Agatha’s skin.

Agatha leaned back into Rio’s embrace, her eyes closing momentarily as she relaxed into the warmth of her wife’s arms. “It is,” she agreed softly. “No spells. No chaos. Just… us.”

Y/n peeked over the back of the couch and smiled at the sight of her moms. It wasn’t often that she saw them this peaceful, so relaxed. Normally, something needed their attention—a spell gone awry, a magical emergency, or something demanding their magical expertise. But here, in the mountains, it was just them.

“You two look like you belong in a painting,” Y/n quipped, pulling her blanket tighter around herself. “Maybe I should paint it when we get back home.”

Rio smiled and kissed the side of Agatha’s neck before turning to Y/n. “Maybe you should,” she said, her voice warm. “I think it’d be a beautiful reminder of this weekend.”

Agatha chuckled softly. “Alright, before we all get too sentimental, how about we unpack and get settled in?”

After unpacking, they ventured out for a hike. The cool mountain air invigorated them as they followed a trail that led deeper into the woods. The sound of leaves crunching underfoot and the occasional call of birds filled the quiet spaces between their conversations.

Y/n, walking between her moms, couldn’t help but smile as she watched them. Even without using magic, there was something magical about how they moved together—Rio’s lighthearted teasing, Agatha’s sharp wit, and the way they balanced each other out.

As they hiked, Y/n and Rio exchanged knowing glances, the mischief clear in their eyes. They had been plotting something ever since they left the cabin, and now seemed like the perfect moment.

With a quick flick of her fingers, Y/n whispered a small spell under her breath. The leaves at Agatha’s feet suddenly swirled into a small whirlwind, twirling around her ankles and dancing through the air. Agatha stopped in her tracks, raising an eyebrow.

“Really?” she asked, her voice laced with amusement.

Rio grinned, unable to contain her laughter. “What? We’re just getting into the spirit of the season!”

Y/n, giggling, added, “You said no big magic. This is harmless fun.”

Agatha sighed dramatically but couldn’t suppress her smile. “You two are trouble.”

As the leaves continued to swirl playfully around, Agatha, Y/n, and Rio added to the mischief—casting small spells that sent pinecones bouncing along the trail and making the breeze carry their laughter through the trees. Eventually, Agatha gave in, casting her own lighthearted spells, sending the pinecones back at them as they continued their hike, laughing and enjoying the freedom of the moment.

That evening, back at the cabin, they gathered around the fireplace, the crackling fire filling the room with warmth. Y/n, bundled up in a hoodie and blanket, curled up on the floor before the fire, her eyes reflecting the dancing flames.

Rio leaned back on the couch, pulling Agatha into her lap, arms wrapped around her waist. Their hands intertwined, and the peaceful silence between them speaks volumes. The weight of the world—the responsibilities, the magic—seemed to melt away in the glow of the fire.

“This was a good idea,” Agatha said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. She looked at Y/n, who was resting her head against the base of the couch, staring into the fire. “I didn’t realize how much I needed this.”

Rio smiled, resting her head against Agatha’s shoulder. “You’ve been carrying a lot,” she said gently. “We both have. But it’s nice to just… be here. Together.”

Y/n glanced up at her mom, feeling a warmth in her chest that had nothing to do with the fire. “I’m glad we did this,” she said, her voice soft. “It’s nice to see you both relaxed.”

Agatha squeezed Rio’s hand and nodded. “It’s hard sometimes to find the balance. Magic and life… they’re always tangled together. But moments like this remind me that we can have both—if we’re careful.”

Rio chuckled softly. “It’s a good reminder. And maybe, next time, we’ll take an even longer vacation.”

They all shared a quiet laugh that comes from being at peace with the world around them. Outside, the stars began appearing, and the night sky was a blanket of twinkling lights.

As the fire crackled and the warmth filled the room, Y/n wrapped her blanket tighter around herself, feeling the comfort of the moment sink in. For once, there was no rush, no need to hurry. Just the quiet rhythm of their breaths and the occasional pop of the firewood.

“You know,” Agatha said after a long stretch of silence, her voice thoughtful, “even when we try to leave magic behind, it still finds its way into our lives.”

Rio glanced at her wife, smiling softly. “That’s because magic isn’t just in the spells we cast. It’s in everything we do. It’s in the way we live, the way we love. It’s always there.”

Y/n listened to her mom's talk, her eyes growing heavy with the day's weight. As her eyelids fluttered, she felt a sense of peace settle over her. Magic wasn’t just about power or spells—it was in the small, quiet moments like this. Moments where family was all that mattered, and everything else could wait.

Rio gently brushed a strand of hair from Y/n’s face, smiling as she watched her daughter drift off. Agatha, noticing the softness in her wife’s expression, leaned in and gently kissed Rio’s cheek.

“Magic or no magic,” Rio whispered, “this is the best kind of life.”

Agatha smiled, her heart full. “I couldn’t agree more.”

And as the night deepened, the three of them—mother, daughter, and wife—remained by the fire, wrapped in the warmth of their love, their magic, and the peace they had found in each other.

#AgathaRio x daughter!reader #x reader #agatha x daughter! reader #reader insert #agatha x rio #rio vidal #agatha all along

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