#She was fooling around trying to weigh me down under the water | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dirt-cup-draco · 3 years

Text

Tethered- Fred x Reader

‘Don’t ever scare me like that again’ kiss with Fred where he lives (I’ve been crying about it lately) xoxo @starofthedawn

Your chest was tied up in knots, eyes burning and bile rising in your throat. The dust that permeated the air felt like gravel in your airways and you couldn’t help the wet cough that slipped past cracked lips. Even as you blinked away the tears that were running out, the world remained blurry and unfocused.

After all, how could anything make sense when Fred was face down on the cobblestone. Pieces of the castle you two had called home burying him.

“Lost in my eyes again, Y/N?” Fred asked, a playful tilt to his mouth. You were in the library, head buried in a book and not at all gazing into Fred’s honeyed eyes. You must’ve not heard him come in so when you looked up and saw him you couldn’t help the warmth that blossomed in your chest.

You liked the way his lips were pulled up by an invisible thread as you finally took notice of him. It wasn’t quite a smile, but a familiar expression that you held dear to your heart. It was understated, especially for Fred Weasley, but the expression was one of his most sincere.

“Can’t help the fact you’ve got dreamy eyes, George,”

“Sod off,” Fred said with no real venom, sitting in the chair beside yours and kicking his feet up onto the table. He was lucky Madam Pince didn’t often come to this corner of the library, otherwise she’d have his head.

You stuck your tongue out at him, even daring to toss a quill at his head- but before you could he caught your hand and held on tight. Your bright grin wavered at the edges but that joy was still blooming in your chest. Suffocation was a sure thing.

“Everything okay, Freddie?” Voice soft, slow. You understood sometimes he just needed a hand to hold and you wouldn’t let yourself believe it was more than that. What it was, was Fred trusting you and needing you as a friend and that was more than enough.

He nodded, his eyelids heavy and his demeanor sluggish. He almost seemed like a sleepy cat but you could see the way his shoulders dipped as you posed your question.

Fred squeezed your hand as he sank down into his chair, knees now drawn to his chest in a protective ball. “Course I am, nothing could ever be wrong when I’ve got you to tether me to what’s good,”

Your knees buckled as you stumbled the last foot to where Fred lay. Unmoving, broken, probably not breathing- You shook your head wildly even as the tears burned and your brain ached. Just like every other wizard, every other soldier at Hogwarts today, you had your fair share of injuries but you felt the pain dull to nothing; Your vision tunneled to the familiar hand that stuck out from the rubble, the feather soft shock of red hair that was visible under all the grey, lifeless stone.

With a flick of your hand, some of the rubble broke loose and found themselves discarded on the burned and torn up grass ten feet from you. The panic pounding at your ribcage was only eased by the determination you felt to get Fred out of there, alive. There was no other option.

Waves would stand still without the moon, plants would dry up without water, and you would cease to be anything but a shell without Fred Weasley.

It had been an honest mistake at the time, George had tugged you away after class one day to an empty corridor and nearly begged you to ask Fred and put the both of you out of your “self sabotaging misery”. Problem was, all Katie Bell saw was George whisking you away somewhere private a week before the ball was to commence, both of you dateless.

By the time you had both gone to the great hall for lunch, your group of friends were deep into speculations.

“Going to the ball with Y/N then?” Fred fixed George with a look you couldn’t quite decipher but the shock of him thinking such a thing had you missing that usual twitch of his eye when he was aggravated.

George whipped his head to you in confusion but it went unnoticed when Lee said, “Great! Of course you two got dates before me,” gesturing wildly to the twins.

All of the confusion had your head spinning but hearing that Fred had a date to the ball made you steady again, the lead pit in your stomach anchoring you. Anyone would be a fool to not want to go with Fred.

“You’ve got a date?” You said a bit too loudly, eyes narrowed at Fred.

“Asked Angie,”

“Yeah, two minutes ago,” She snorted. “Guess he didn’t want George to beat him by too much of a landslide,”

George let out a too-loud laugh and tossed his arm back over your shoulders. “Take that Lee, we got two of the hottest girls in school to be our dates,”

“Go with me instead and I’ll buy you as many sugar quills as your heart desires, Y/N” Lee bargained and George swatted him on the back of a head with a faux glare.

You couldn’t help but snort at Lee’s antics, looking at George with gratitude. You could tell he was trying to talk you up, keep your heart from falling too far. However, his efforts couldn’t completely ease the ache in your chest. You were tethered to Fred and you didn’t think anything could change that.

You’d done your best to completely immobilize Fred when most of the rubble was removed, only some of the smaller chunks of wall now littered over his legs and back. The immobulus charm had to be enough to keep him stable. If he was still alive.

It was the uncertainty that kept you going in this moment. If there was even a slim chance Fred could be alive, you would do all you could to save him. You refused to lose him and that was that. You wished you could see his chest moving, or any sign of life but he was still too buried and the dust that settled over the battlefield made your eyes unfocused.

Even though the final battle had ended an hour or more ago, how long had it been since you’d found Fred?, you were shut off from any of the joy that the win could have brought you. If Fred wasn’t going to be there to celebrate then how could you?

“We’ve got to fix up the shop a-and get butterbeers,” You sniffled, trying to keep your hands from shaking as you worked your way through the rubble. You kept speaking as if holding Fred to his promises would bring him over the threshold and into your waiting arms.

“You’ve got to give me that birthday present you’ve been bragging about for months, and you’ve got to help me prank Lee for singeing my favorite sweater with one of your fireworks,”

And on and on you went, all of the promises Fred had ever made you falling from your lips as you pulled the last of the rubble from his body. One of his legs and all of the fingers on his right hand were bent at grotesque angles. There was a line of blood that started somewhere behind his hairline and trailed down his temple, dripping off of his jaw and onto the ruins he had nearly become a permanent part of.

You wouldn’t permit your legs to shake as you stood, the sun being further down in the sky than you remembered. The wave of your wand was light and methodical even as every step towards help weighed you down.

Time passed you without you taking note, the sun sank beneath the horizon and you stumbled your way through the dark. Eventually, you were taken off guard by the light of someone’s wand. Time caught up to you then as you stared with bleary eyes, trying to recognize the face before you but having a hard time sorting anything in your over exhausted brain.

“Help him,” Was all you had energy for, before darkness took over.

“...understand how she did it,”

“...miracle, really,”

“Poor girl must’ve....”

Conversations floated around your head as you lay cemented underneath the sheets that you had been securely wrapped in. You wanted nothing more than to swat them away like pesky flies, the voices weren’t loud but to you it was as if someone had put a speaker in the empty space of your skull and turned the volume up as high as it could go. Everything ached.

“Am I dead?” You croaked, eyelids still too heavy to even attempt opening.

Immediately, a woman nearly screamed and a cacophony of other voices rose up- both familiar and not.

“You look like you wish you were,” Someone joked to your left and your eyes snapped open so quickly you became dizzy. You felt frozen in place as honey eyes swept over you from the top of your head to the tips of your toes. Despite being covered from the chin down you felt as if you were being looked through. A shiver ran down your spine and it was followed by a deep ache that had you groaning despite the emotions bubbling up within you.

“Damn you Fred,” Was all you had to say before everyone else around you was clearing out. For a split second you felt guilt when you realized your parents as well as the Weasleys had come to stand beside you as you healed.

“I’ve come back from the brink of death and that’s what you have to say to me?” He teased but his voice was torn to shreds and you had the terrible image in your mind of him screaming for help until he lost consciousness. The blood drained from your face.

Fred seemed to take notice as he shuffled out of his bed that was right next to yours. He paused at the edge, fumbling for the crutches that were at his bedside. It felt like years the time it took for him to fall into the chair nearest you, his hand stretching for yours.

You moved pathetically against the sheets but in your weakened state you couldn’t grasp his hand. “Freddie,” You croaked, eyes filling with tears in frustration. You’d thought him dead and now you couldn’t even move a damn blanket to touch him, to make sure this wasn’t a dream.

“I’m here,” He reassured, moving the sheets on your side gently until your hand was free and you could tangle your fingers with his non-broken hand.

“How?”

“I’ve been telling you for years now, you’re my tether. Just when I thought I was going to cross over, I heard you. All the promises we made, and all the chaos we have yet to make, all the things I haven’t said,” Fred’s bottom lip trembled as he brushed his thumb over your scabbed knuckles. You were faintly aware of a needle in your forearm, attached to an IV but all that mattered was the warmth you felt from Fred.

“You could break them all and I’d still be counting my lucky stars that you’re here,” You cried, falling into a coughing fit. Fred was quick to press a still cold glass of water into your hands and help you sit up even from his place on his chair.

“I’m not going anywhere,” He promised, hand remaining at the back of your neck as he settled you against your pillows. That genuine not-smile was back and you chewed on your lip to keep from crying again. You still weren’t sure he was here so any reminder that it was really him had you at a breaking point.

“Can you make me one more promise then?” You caught his gaze but found you couldn’t hold it, the intensity making your stomach swoop and your heart pound against your rattled ribcage.

Fred had yet to move, his hand steady behind you and his face close. Your noses were nearly touching as he said, “Anything.”

“Don’t scare me like that ever again,”

You chanced one more look at him, eyes wide and pleading. You were going to make him promise on everything in him but the rest of your words were lost when you stumbled over the loud adoration in his eyes. As if on autopilot, you removed your hand from his to brush your fingertips against a gash on his cheek.

“Never again,” He whispered, frozen in place. He didn’t dare move when you let your movements wander over his lips, taking your time before you let your hand fall against the junction of where his shoulder met his neck. Beneath the collar of the hospital gown you could see garish bruising that only served as another reminder you’d almost lost him.

That was enough to remind you that there was much unsaid between you and the man you loved. You could feel his shaky breath, his hand squeezing yours just enough that you felt the reassuring pressure. When you took your third look at those eyes, you knew.

You moved at the same time, in tune to one another in a way you always have been. It was with a sigh that your lips met, frightened and curious and wonderful. You were careful of his head would as you played with the hair at the back of his neck and he made sure not to move you anymore than tilting your head to slot your lips against his at a better angle.

Fred pulled away when his smile dared to take over his face but you couldn’t complain about the loss when you could feel his pulse beating strongly against your fingers, his chest moving steadily with life.

“I’m just as tied to you as you are to me,” You laughed softly, in disbelief.

Fred looked surprised for all but a second before he was placing his lips against yours, cautious but deliriously happy.

Waves swayed with the moon, plants flourished with water, and you were never far from Fred Weasley. Each were tethered to their counterpart and nothing could change it.

#fred weasley x reader #fred weasley #angst #fluff #fix it fic lets be honest #sorry this took me so long lovey #ur the light of my life #changed some things #canon divergence #yall notice that i cant end anything #my endings suck lmao

197 notes · View notes

raven-at-the-writing-desk · 3 years

Text

ValenTWST Day 2

Day 2 Prompt: Rain / “You look good in my colours.”

“Love comforteth like sunshine after rain.”

[Day 1] / [You’re on Day 2!] / [Day 3] / [Day 4] / [Day 5] / [Day 6] / [Day 7]

*slowly stuffs le j word fluff into my gapin’ mouf* I don’t know, I’ve always thought that rain and storms were more romantic than sunny days. There’s nothing quite like sharing an umbrella or cozying up under a blanket while it pours~ ☔️ SPEAKING OF WHICH, JADE MUST LIKE THE RAIN????? 🥺 cuz moisture encourages mushroom growth...................... OTL

Imagine this...

Raven leaned against a pillar and gazed out into the courtyard.

The rain fell hard and heavy upon Night Raven College.

Set against the fabric of a downcast, grey sky, the droplets were like silver gems and glassy beads suspended from the air. When they made contact with the world--the rooftops, the leaves, the dirt--they played a melody of their own, a contrast to the hum of everyday life.

More... melancholy.

She sighed, tearing his eyes away from the rain to attempt to dry herself. Having been caught outside mid-storm, Raven was drenched from head to toe once she had stumbled into the nearest building for shelter.

The water weighed down her feathers and caused her bangs to stick to her face in soggy clumps. No matter how much she wrung out her pigtails, her skirts, or her shawl, they were still left uncomfortably cold and damp.

Raven’s teeth chattered as she dug around her pockets, trying to fish out her magical quill. Conjuring up a small, contained ball of fire should help warm me up...

The storm raged on.

A clap of thunder. Pounding rain. Lightning tearing up the sky.

Sounds and lights which concealed the approaching footsteps behind her, the shadow that loomed overhead.

Just as her fingers brushed against the length of her magical quill, she sensed a presence at her side. The bird’s breath hitched as warmth tickled the shell of her pointed ear.

“Good afternoon, Miss Raven.”

She slicked back a lock of wet hair, making a point to do the motion so fast that it sent stray flecks of water onto the greeter’s cheek.

“... Jade.”

He gingerly wiped his face clean with a gloved finger. “I can see that you were caught up in the middle of the storm. How inopportune—you poor, unfortunate soul. Why, you must be positively chilled to the bone.”

His voice was a comforting, low timbre. It reminded Raven of the rumbling off in the distance... Rumbling that foretold of merciless lashes of wind and precipitation. She trembled terribly, uncertain of if it was from the cold or from his allure.

“Leave me alone,” Raven sniffed, her nose scrunching. “I’m really not in the mood to deal with your shenanigans today.”

“Oya, now whoever said anything about shenanigans?” Jade’s grin was polite to a fool, and sardonic to the wise. “I could barely even recognize you in passing—at the moment, I’m afraid that you more closely resemble a drowned dog or a rat than a raven. I sought to draw near in order to sate my curiosity. Fufufu.... Imagine my surprise when I realized that it was none other than you.”

“So sorry to have offended your vision,” she bit out sarcastically.

“I assure you that it is quite fine.” His left eye—an orb of glistening gold—seemed brighter than ever when laid against the dreary skies. “I cannot ignore a person in need, so allow me to assist.”

“I don’t need it,” Raven said quickly, “and nor do I want to be indebted to y—”

A tickling sensation ripped through her, cutting off her words with a high-pitched sneeze.

“Lending aid to those with no one else to turn to... It’s what I live for,” Jade cooed. “Please do not concern yourself with trivial matters such as payment.”

A lie, she suspected, but she was too miserable to argue further. From past experience, Raven knew it would get her nowhere. I’ll just have to snub whatever he throws at me next.

Fwsh.

She was suddenly enveloped in a halo of heat. A shroud of sleek black cloth had settled on her shoulders.

“A brief respite from the cold,” Jade, now blazer-less, murmured. He secured it in place with a few buttons before stepping back into a bow.

Raven stared.

It was odd to catch him in any state of undress, much less willingly caught in one.

She didn’t know what she had been expecting to be hidden under there—maybe venomous snakes, daggers, or bottles of poison. Instead, it was the same as any other school uniform: a buttoned white dress shirt, overlaid with a vest in the prim grey-purple of Octavinelle.

Perfectly normal, and more than that, but perfectly perfect.

“Why are you doing this?” she asked suspiciously.

His brows turned upward—and she shouldn’t tell if he was feigning surprise or not. “Does one need a reason to perform an act of altruism?”

“I suppose you’ll be wanting to be paid back double for this.”

“Simply dry clean it when you arrive home and return it to me when we meet next. That would be sufficient.” He laughed softly. “It was payment enough to be able to witness you in such a pitiful state.”

“... I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.”

“Very well.” Jade placed a hand over his heart and nodded at the colored band and dorm crest hanging off of his blazer’s left arm. “If I may say, Octavinelle’s colors suit you. Such a shame that the Mirror of Darkness did not send you our way.”

“I’m thankful for it.”

“Fufufu. Octavinelle aside, I am pleased to see that my blazer fits you so well.”

(It in no way did; it was comically oversized on Raven, the hem so low the blazer on her could have easily passed for a dress instead of a top.)

She frowned. “If you’re going to lie, at least tell a more convincing one. You’re good at those.”

“Clothing need not always be the perfect size,” Jade chuckled. “I think you look rather fetching as you are now. I would love to see you adorned in other items from my wardrobe.”

Raven squinted hard in an effort to use annoyance to explain away her pink cheeks. “... ‘Fetching’? Interesting word choice to form a double entendre, Leech. Is that because you called me a ‘drowned dog’ earlier? Like how a dog ‘fetches’ sticks and balls?”

“I will leave that up to your personal interpretation.” In that moment, Jade’s smile was more of a smirk. “Ah, but dear me... It appears as though this rain won’t be letting up anytime soon. I hope you don’t mind if I wait alongside you for the storm to subside.”

“Hmph. Do whatever you want.”

Raven shrank into her clothes--a coping method she had become accustomed to--and she instantly regretted it.

The bird had not fully considered that she was swathed in the clothes of another, did not realize that instead of finding fluffy feathers, she was, instead, retreating to...

Jade.

The blazer smelled like him--of course it did, he had been wearing it all day.

She saw the vast expanse of the ocean unfurling before her, felt the squish of the soft dirt beneath her toes. Leaves rustling overhead, the earthiness of freshly brewed tea... The scent of sunshine and petrichor concealing secrets and things even darker still.

It lured her in, washed over her in a comforting caress.

And deeper she tumbled into the watery abyss.

“Oya? Miss Raven, you look just as red as Riddle-san’s hair,” Jade noted, his smirk sharpening. “I knew you to be of a fragile constitution, but for a fever to already be setting in...”

She responded by burying her entire face in the blazer--but try as she might to conceal the deepening shade of her face, there was no hiding from him.

Overhead, the sky bled robin’s egg blue into the grey clouds.

And the sun came out.

#twst oc #twisted wonderland oc #Jade Leech #twst #twisted wonderland #valentwst2022 #Raven Crowley #disney twisted wonderland #something no one asked for #twisted wonderland scenarios #twisted wonderland imagines

48 notes · View notes

forever-rogue · 4 years

Text

In Name Only - Part 16

A/N: Hi, hi, hi! I’m finally back with some more of Oberyn and his Sunshine! I’ve missed them so much, and I hope you’re all excited for more as I am! As always, feedback and comments are welcome, and if you’d like to be tagged, let me know. xx

Pairing: Oberyn Martell x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 7.2k

Warnings: discussions of pregnancy, violence, slight language

IN NAME ONLY SERIES MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST

»»————-　♡　————-««

"Those are so pretty," Saria chirped excitedly as she reached up and touched one of the newly bloomed flowers. It was brilliant shades of yellow and orange, creating the illusion of a sunset. You nodded in agreement before delicately plucking the blossom and tucking it behind her ear.

"And now the prettiest girl has the prettiest flower," you told her as she beamed at you. She giggled wildly before touching the flower and running to join the Dorea and Loreza who were busy playing in a different part of the garden. They'd come to stay for a while at Sunspear and you were more than happy to keep them as long as they wanted.

"And what about you?" you turned to Altair who was intently observing a different flower, “which is your favorite?"

"I like this one best I think,” he commented thoughtfully as he touched over a dark red flower, one that was native to Dorne - hardy and resilient, just like its people. It almost reminded you of a rose, but what with a bit.

“That’s one of my favorites too,” you agreed as you pulled one of the hardiest blossoms off and held it out for him, “do you want to know why?”

“Why?” he asked, his dark eyes wide and glittering with excitement. You couldn’t help but ruffle his dark hair, an affectionate smile on your face.

“My husband planted them for me,” you explained, thinking back to the day you had found Oberyn in the gardens, hard at work by himself planting the flowers as a surprise for you. He was many things, but a green thumb he did not possess, unlike you. But he had been so proud and excited to show them to you, his hands covered with little cuts from the harsh thrones and thick stalks, “and they remind me of Dorne - home. Strong, beautiful, and welcoming to those who treat it right.”

“Can I keep it?” he asked quietly as you nodded. He threw his little arms around your waist and you bent down to press a kiss to the crown of his head, “I’m going to go and show the others!”

Before you could even get a word in edgewise, he was gone, off to join his sister and the younger girls. You crossed your arms over your chest, a content sigh escaped your lips as you picked up your watering can to continue tending to your flourishing garden. But you were once again estopped by a warm of arms wrapping around your waist, causing you to make a small sound of surprise.

“Hello, my sweetest sunshine,” Oberyn’s voice was like golden honey in your ears as he pressed a kiss to your neck, “how I have missed you.”

“And a hello to you my moon and stars,” you couldn’t help but laugh as you put your hands on top of his, deftly spinning around in his arms before facing him and pressing a soft kiss to his lips, “it has been what...about five hours since we parted ways for the afternoon? I hardly think you’d had adequate time to miss me.”

“I always miss you when we’re not together,” he insisted, playfully pouting at you, “the insinuation that I should feel anything but wounds me so, dear wife.”

“Oh stop,” you swatted at his chest before he pulled you towards him, “you are a fool of a Prince. Besides, I for one have not missed you!”

“Oh?” he teased, his eyebrow arching as you broke into a fit of giggles, “I spy a little liar.”

“You’ve caught me,” you acquiesced, “but alas, I have been busy with the garden and these little ones constantly under foot. Loreza is a little trouble maker, just like her father. But Dorea is as steadfast as her mother. A lethal little duo.”

“Ahh, they have learned well,” he snorted as you nodded. He wrapped his arms around you as he watched the four young children running around and playing, the wistful look on your face not lost on you, “the twins seem to enjoy spending time with them.”

“They do,” you agree, biting on your lower lip, “I k-know we’re not supposed to play favorites, but they just...they’re special to me.”

“And they adore you just as well.”

“They adore you,” you insisted with a laugh, “the prince of legend! The lethal, ever deadly Red Viper.”

“I do have a reputation to uphold.”

“I know your bark is worse than your bite,” you insisted as you kissed him, cutting him off before he could argue, “it is not wise to argue with your wife.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he promised, “will you take a turn about the gardens with me? There are some things we should discuss..”

You knew it wouldn’t be anything bad, there was no reason for it to be, but a lump still welled up in your throat. Such things always made you nervous, especially since the majority of the times you’d been asked to speak in such a manner only bad news followed. But judging by the light smile on his face, you knew it would be okay.

The past month, almost two, had been a whirlwind, especially when it came to helping Oberyn get closer and closer to be back to perfect health again. It had hardly allotted you many moments to talk properly. He grew stronger and stronger each day, and it some ways it was almost like nothing had happened at all. But you knew - you remembered. It was always in the back of your mind, reminding you that your family was the cause of this. You still needed to talk about it, but you’d never found the right time. But as you looked into those soft brown eyes, you decided it could wait. For now, all that mattered was this.

He offered you his arm and you looped yours through his, allowing him to dictate the course. It was silent for a few moments, not but the sounds of the fountains, chirps of birds, and the sounds of laughter reaching your ears.

“I’ve been thinking…” he started slowly, “and before you say anything, I do realize it is a rare occasion!”

“I would say no such thing,” you promised with a wink as he just shook his head in amusement, “please my prince, do tell me what has been weighing on your mind.”

“It’s…” he paused before exhaling slowly, “the twins.”

“The t-twins? What about them?” you tried to rack your brain for something that you could have possibly done wrong with them, “I haven’t…”

“It is nothing in the negative,” he must have sensed your worry without you even having to do anything. You visibly relaxed as you nodded and waited for him to go on, “I note that you’ve grown ever closer to them, you spend much time with them at your side.”

“I know we are not..to play favorites,” you answered nervously, “I fear I must have been doing a horrible job of that.”

“And your actions are not at fault,” he insisted, as you offered him a confused look, “I know we talked before...about children...”

“I can’t have children,” you interrupted him, answering his silent question. You kept your gaze pointed straight ahead, attempting your best to conceal your emotions. Oberyn’s gaze was trained intently on you, his expression soft. It wasn’t often that he was rendered speechless, but this turned out to be one of those rare moments, “I speak with the maester when we returned from Starfall and you were gone in King’s Landing.”

“Oh,” was his simple answer as you nodded, “and she…”

“There’s no way to be completely certain,” you said softly, “but there are ways to be almost certain, as certain as one can get. And it seems that the odds are not in my favor.”

“You said there is no way to completely certain,” he insisted, “there’s still a chance, and if you should want, we can always try...”

“No, Oberyn,” you stopped in your tracks as you pulled him towards you, a hand going to his jaw before you ran a hand through his dark curls, “it does not matter, my love. I am happy, so happy. Nothing makes me happier than you, I swear it. You, the girls, Ellaria, the rest of the family, we have so much already. There’s nothing for me left to want.”

You had hoped that saying the words out loud would somehow make them more true, more real. But they still hurt, cutting deep.

“You deserve the world, my sunshine,” he promised, kissing the top of your head, “whatever you desire you shall have it.”

“I’m afraid that nothing will give this to me...us, not even all the gold in the Seven Kingdoms,” you offered him a small smile, “now, tell me, what you were going to say before I so rudely interrupted you.”

“The twins,” he said, cradling your face in his hands, “I realize this might be a bit unconventional, but what do you say about bringing them in our family? Adopting them?”

“A-adopting them?” you weren’t quite sure what you were hearing as the word tumbled from your mouth. Looking at Oberyn, you opened and closed your mouth a few times, tilting your head to the side as you tried to figure out what was happening. He was watching you with a small smile, waiting for you to realize what he had said, “Oberyn? D-do you mean it?”

“Of course I mean it,” he said softly, “I would not joke about such a matter. I know...it is unconventional and not very common, but I would like to bring them into our family. By convention, they would not be recognized as Martells in other parts of the Kingdoms, but in Dorne it would not matter. It-”

“Does not matter at all,” you finished for him as he nodded in agreement, “it is not the name that makes the person, the quality of their heart - their actions.”

“If only the rest of the world thought as we did,” he gave you a fond smile before pulling you into his arms, “but what do you think?”

“Oberyn…” you looked back up at him, your eyes already misty with tears as you nodded at him. You knew you wanted this - not because your dreams of baring your own children were gone, but because you loved them, truly. And you wanted nothing more than to bring them into your family, your family that had nothing but love and kindness to give.

Oberyn seemed to know what you were thinking, because he quickly wiped away the tears that slipped down your cheeks before pressing a soft kiss to your lips. He paused for a moment and rested his forehead against yours as he held you tightly in his grip, “everything is going to be alright, my love. Please don’t think ill of the situation...no one is to blame, absolutely no one. And you know my love for you will never change or waver, never. Things will work out as they are meant to, I know it doesn’t feel like it right now.”

“I’m sorry,” you said softly, hearing his words but failing to process them in the moment, overwhelmed by emotion, “I’m sorry, my love. I-I...I can’t even give you a child of our own. I’m such a -”

“Stop,” he whispered softly, his heart breaking a little at your anguish. He wrapped his arms tightly around you as you buried your face in his chest, tears soaking into the fabric of his tunic. You knew it was silly to get so upset, especially since you thought you’d come to terms with this, and you knew Oberyn wouldn’t be upset, “I know this means nothing coming from me, but i will be okay. I swear it. I will do whatever it takes to get you to understand that.”

“You’ll still love me?” you asked softly as he chuckled warmly and pressed a kiss to the side of your head.

“I will always love you. Nothing, and I mean nothing, will ever change that,” he promised, and you relaxed slightly, “my love for you knows no bounds. And you have my heart and soul. Completely and fully.”

“I love you,” you whispered, “so much.”

“And I you,” he responded, “and I’ve got one more bit of good news for you. I know it’s not much, but I’m hoping that perhaps it will at least bring a smile to that pretty face.”

“You’ve given me nothing good news and love,” you laughed at your foolishness as you pulled back from him, “and I give you nothing but theatrics. What else could you possibly have for me?”

“Have you ever considered traveling across the Narrow Seas?” your eyebrows immediately shot up at his question as he seemed to be holding back a gleeful grin.

“I can’t say it’s really crossed my mind…” you admitted, “what lies there that has you asking?”

“Essos,” he answered, “the King needs an envoy to go to make the journey and ensure that plans and laws that were instilled by Daenerys still stand.”

“And he asked you to go?” your heart immediately grew worried and nervous as your eyes darted to his side, the spot concealed by his tunic where he still bore the scars of the stabbing that your brother had inflicted on him. You were reluctant to let him leave again, especially anywhere out of Dorne, “a-are you sure, Oberyn? I don’t know if that’s the best idea…”

“You worry?”

“Of course I worry,” you insisted, “there are enemies everywhere, as you have said many times. I couldn’t even trust my own flesh and blood. The last time you left, you almost….and Essos? That’s half a world away…”

“I would not go with your blessing,” he promised as he put his hand on your cheek, “nor would I go without you. It’s a large and wondrous world, and I think it would suit you. Essos and the Summer Isles are some of the most beautiful places in the world.”

“You want me to go with you?” you asked hopefully as he nodded.

“What is this old fool without his wife next to him?” he teased, “besides, I was told that I could not venture into the world without you...I think it would be quite dull without my sunshine. I would not let anything happen to you.”

“Nor I you,” you promised, knowing you would cut down any man or woman that even breathed wrong in his direction, “you’re serious about this? You’re sure it will be safe?”

“Yes,” he insisted, “and yes. We won’t be going alone. The retinue will come, as well some other Lords from around the Kingdoms. Honestly, I doubt it will take much work from our end...it will be more of a vacation than anything else.”

“You’re sure about this?” your words were gentle and soft as put your hand on his chest, “positive?”

“I am,” he took your hand and pressed a kiss to your knuckles, “what do you say?”

“For you?” resting your hand on his cheek, you brushed a finger over his cheekbone, “I would do anything and go anywhere. Yes. Let’s do this.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

Diplomatic ventures had always seemed so....droll. Plagued by aged and old fashioned men who claimed to know what was best for their people, who claimed to know what people wanted but did everything but. Naturally there were exceptions, such as your father, and it wouldn’t be fair to lump all men into the same category. But from your childhood trips along with Lord Beesbury, your hopes were not high that this would be any different.

But you should have known better because like with most things, Oberyn was able to turn into a pleasant adventure. Along with the shift of having a Stark King on the Iron Throne accompanied by the Queen in the North, things were...different. Gone were the stilted and old ways, slowly morphing into workable and tangible - change.

What you were sure was destined to be nothing but boring roundtables without anything productive being done, turned out to be the opposite. Men, and women, of different backgrounds and creed came together to work for the people, not just their people but all people. It was something to marvel at and instilled a sense of hope in you.

Hope that Oberyn’s children, your children, would grow up in a world where things would be different from your youth, where they would not have opportunities denied to them because of their birth, their origin, or the truths and beliefs they held. Things would never be perfect, but they would be better and that was enough to carry you forward.

Watching Oberyn, not just your husband or the Prince, but a man of his people - the people - in action was a treat unto of itself. Eloquent and well spoken as ever, he carried himself with an ease and comfort that you could only wish to obtain a fraction of. He was never loud or over the top, but his tranquility and calm aura did not let you forget that he was still as deadly as the rumors suggested.

This was a man that spoke in prose as lovely as roses but sharp as hawthorne. A man that would charm and persuade to see his ways, but would not hesitate to cut you down if necessary. The duality of Oberyn Martell was a gift to behold, and somehow it still stunned you that you were in the very center of his universe. But somehow you were, his sunshine that brightened every facet of his life while he was your moon and stars, grounding you and keeping you safe and sound.

“What?” Oberyn’s voice was warm and gravely, still heavy and thick with sleep as he opened his eyes to find you watching him closely. A warmth flooded into your face as you attempted to burrow your face into the pillow; you hadn’t expected him to wake up and just wanted to study his features while he slept. You’d done it a million times before, or so it seemed, and you wanted to do it a million times more. There was something about how calm and at ease he looked while his broad chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm. His chocolate curls were mussed and wild, practically calling for you to comb throw as his plush lips were drawn in the lightest of smiles. He was just so...golden; drawing you in like nothing else mattered.

The soft, warm air of the Summer Isles was coming in through the windows which you had left open the evening before, perfuming the air with the faint smell of the salty ocean. You’d had a late evening before and were in no rush to get up, despite the fact that you knew he had duties to attend to. There was something about the comfort and safety of waking up in his bed, your, bed that always kept you wanting to stay tangled up with him.

“Nothing,” you insisted as you opened one eye and peeked at him, watching the corners of his mouth tug up. He laughed lightly before his strong arm found you under the covers and pulled you closer to him. A contented sigh escaped your lips as his fingers traced aimless, gentle shapes into your back. You closed the small gap and pressed your lips against his, feeling him smile against your as he chased after you with a few kisses of your own, “Oberyn.”

“Yes?” he teased as he kissed long your jaw and neck, nipping and sucking at the delicate skin in a way that he knew would leave marks, “tell me what’s on your mind or I’ll stop.”

“Such a tease,” you huffed tightly as you tugged on his soft curls, “I was just thinking about you.”

“About me? Whatever for?” he seemed genuinely surprised and pulled back for a moment, which allowed you to take advantage of the situation. You pushed him flat on his back as you rolled on top of him, your bare body flush against his. He almost laughed when he realized what you had done, one of his large hands going to your bum and giving it a firm squeeze, which elicited a soft sigh from you, “cheeky girl.”

“Hmm,” you hummed as you kissed him, “I was just thinking about all the ways in which I love you, which, in case I haven’t reminded you lately, are infinite. But now, I’m thinking about something far different.”

“Oh?” he pressed your forehead against his as he held you with a vice grip, “and what would that be?”

“How much I want you,” it was a gentle, breathy whisper in his arms as you kissed the shell of his ear before working your way back to your lips, “my moon and stars.”

“Then take what you need, sweet girl. I am all yours,” he promised, “body and soul. Besides, I quite like you on top. A sight to be marveled at it, that even the finest art could never capture in essence.”

“Always a poet,” you flourished under his praise as your hands roamed his body, “almost as lovely as watching you come undone, Oberyn Martell. Now, don’t hold back, my love, let them all hear you…”

»»————-　♡　————-««

“Be safe,” Oberyn whispered against your lips before slowly pulling away. It was endearing to know he was so concerned about your safety, despite the fact that the Summer Isles were one of the safest places to be. You nodded slowly before sneaking in another kiss and smoothing down the soft fabric of his bronze tunic. He was handsome as ever, and despite the fact that you were dressed in a soft, breezy gown of your own, you knew you would never match his beauty.

“I will,” you promised, “I’m just going to explore the markets, maybe go to the ocean, nothing dangerous at all. Besides, I think I found something that the girls will like and I want to get it for them if it’s still there.”

“Do you want-”

“Oberyn,” you insisted firmly, but with a soft tone nonetheless, “I will be fine. I can handle myself, and besides, Jeron’s taught me a few tricks for the times I should be parted from you, in the off chance I need them. It should be me worrying about you. Politicians and Lords are the real snakes here after all, remind them who the Red Viper is, remind them that you are the Prince.”

“I should know better than to worry about you,” he said with a small laugh, “I will see you this evening for dinner then. I love you.”

“I love you too,” you grinned at him before gently pushing on his chest and back towards the building in which all of these so called important meetings had been happening, “now go and get your work done. I don’t want to keep you away!”

“Wait,” he ducked after you and reached for your hand, despite the fact that you had just turned away from.

“What?” a look of surprise coloring your features as he brought your hand to his lips and delicately kissed your knuckles, “Oberyn!”

“I missed you the moment you turned away,” he said softly, as you just shook your head at him, “until your paths cross again, sweet girl.”

“You are a fool of a man,” you teased as you let him be the one to walk away. He turned and gave you one last look before crossing the threshold and giving you a soft smile, the one that made you weak in the knees and a fire pool in your belly.

Staring at the spot he had previously occupied, you let a small sigh before walking away, ready to take on your own leisurely day. The island of Jhala was a beautiful place, filled with kind souls and beautiful scenery. You’d never seen any place like it before, but you already knew a piece of your heart would remain here even long after you were back in Dorne. Hopefully Oberyn would not be opposed to coming back soon.

You’d even made a few friends during your extended stay, finding the people welcoming and open, much more than most people in Westeros and they’d even taught some of their language, simply dubbed the Summer Tongue.

As you walked through the bustling marketplace, your eyes came across glittering jewels of rubies, emeralds, and sapphires, fabric of the brightest tones and colors, arts and sculptures, and anything else you could possibly imagine. You made it a point to find something special for everyone back home, including all of the girls, and the twins you’d soon be calling your own. The hunt for something special for Oberyn was proving to be the most challenging of all as you tried to pick your brain for what to get him. Anything that had crossed your mind, he had in turn picked out and gotten himself, he already had, or was something that just wasn’t quite it. But you’d kept your eyes peeled anyway.

So peeled, in fact, that you didn’t watch where you were going and walked right into someone. A small oof escaped your lips as you looked and found a little girl with bright, eager eyes watching you eagerly. She was gorgeous, skin almost as dark as the richest chocolate, with hair that was intricately styled in braids you learned were traditional to the people of Jhala. Her dress was feathered, a brilliant symphony of greens and reds as she grinned at you, completely untroubled or phased by the fact that you almost bowled her over.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” you offered an apologetic smile and looked her over to make sure she was okay, “I should have been watching where I was going. Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” she chirped back in your tongue, “we’ve been expecting you!”

“Expecting...me?” you asked as she reached for your hand, and started to pull you away from the crowd. Nothing but a cloud of confusion hung over you as you followed the young girl; you were nervous or scared, but you were intrigued, “who’s been expecting me?”

But she didn’t say anything else, instead pulling you near a small back alley where there were almost no people, just a few here and there milling about. When she seemingly reached her destination, she dropped your hand as you studied your surroundings. Strange, you thought to yourself, I’ve never seen this before.

“Hey-” you turned back to your mysterious little friend but found...nothing. There wasn’t even so much a single disturbance in the air to suggest that anyone had been there or moved away rapidly...there was nothing. A huff of air escaped your lips as you turned and did a spin to just to make sure no one was there; surely you didn’t mind all of that? No, you couldn’t have....you were positive you could still feel the touch of her small hand in yours. It was like a direct call back to your encounter with the mysterious woman in the woods, but this you were sure was real.

“Hello?” your voice sounded small and diminutive in the large open alleyway, reverbing off the stone walls. No response met your ears but you were positive that you heard your name being whispered softly, calling to you and drawing you in. You were like a moth to a flame as you walked along the cobblestones to the place you were being drawn to, “hello?”

You stopped in front of what appeared to be a small little shop that smelled deliciously of warm spices. Flowers decorated the small window and doors, immediately giving you a sense of warmth and ease. Pushing aside the curtain made of hanging beads and jewels, you slowly stepped inside and looked around. The small space was lit up from the golden sunlight streaming in from the window and softly flickering candles. A small table and two chairs, both looking soft and cozy were in the center of the room, the rest of the space occupied by trinkets from what you assumed were around the world.

“Lady Martell,” the voice was warm and richly accented as you turned and found yourself looking at yet another new person. She offered you a warm smile before coming over and holding her hand out to you; there wasn’t even a moment of hesitation as you reached over and took it, giving it a firm shake, “a pleasure to meet you.”

“How do you...know my name?” you asked as she led you to the table and pulled a car for you to sit in. You sat down and watched her intently as she busied herself with making tea. You tensed for a moment as you flashed back to the tea that had once been presented to you with a most devious intention. But you didn’t think this would be anything like that. She took a few moments, humming under her breath before coming back to you and placing it in front of you before and taking a seat.

“There is no need to worry,” she insisted, “everyone knows who you are. The Prince’s wife, of course. He’s always a welcome sight here as is anyone with him.”

“Oh,” you laughed at yourself, “of course. Sometimes I forget that my husband is such...a prolific figure.”

“As you should,” she said with a warm smile, “he is no stranger to you, but your partner, your lover, your friend - just another person in your life. But to us, he is a man of myth and legend.”

“Yes,” you agreed, “that is he is. Do you...umm...do you happen to have a young girl? I bumped into her and then was gone…”

“Acacia,” she sighed with a smile on her face as a sense of relief washed over you and you realized that you most definitely were not crazy or imagining things, but she had been a real, tangible little girl, “she’s a wily, sneaky little thing sometimes. Here one moment and then gone the next, and almost impossible to keep track of. I wish I could have even a fraction of her energy.”

“She was there one moment and then gone the next,” you told her, “I thought I might have imagined the whole thing.”

“No worries,” she promised, “she’s something else...but I find that people often land where they’re supposed to be at the right time.”

“I…” you mulled over her words as you drank some of the tea; it was sweet with a hint of a spice, but delicious, “I suppose they do.”

“What troubles you?”

“I’m sorry?” you almost choked on the tea as you set it back down. You looked around and tried to put together who the mysterious woman was when it hit you, she was likely some of...something. You were unsure if there was even a proper label for it, “I-I don’t know what you mean.”

“You appear happy,” she said as you nodded, “but I can tell there is something underlying...there is something in your eyes that suggests a deep sense of unhappiness.”

“What?” you asked as you almost laughed in her face. Of course you were happy, you had no reason not to be...your life was practical bliss… “I am happy, so happy. I-I have everything and then some…”

“That may be so, but one can still experience unhappiness,” you swallowed thickly as you shifted in your seat, “but you have to be honest with yourself...what plagues you? What keeps you up at night?”

You wanted to argue with her and tell her she was wrong, but in that moment you just couldn’t. Instead, your eyes welled up and stung as you stared at the table, playing with the delicate lace of the fabric that covered it. You closed and opened your mouth a few times as a few warm, salty tears filled down your cheeks. You had thought, you were sure, that you had been able to conceal your emotions so well, that everything was in check, but apparently you had been very, very wrong. All the feelings you thought were resolved were apparently very much unresolved.

“Umm,” she handed you a handkerchief which you used to dab at your eyes, “it’s...gods, I feel silly being so worried and still ruminating on this, but my husband...he was injured at the hands of my family, my brother specifically. Oberyn told me to let it go, that things would be resolved, but I can’t just let it go...I can’t forgive them for what they did to him. He almost died, I stayed by his side as he clung to life, and he wants to let it go.”

“And you don’t want to do that?”

“No,” you insisted sharply, “I don’t. My entire life I have been the black sheep, the scorn of the family. I have had so many things taken from me, and I refuse to let them take more. I don’t...I don’t know what I would do if anything happened to Oberyn...I would....I cannot fathom it. But I can’t let it go and let them think they can do this. Oberyn thinks it’s better to let it go and not stir up trouble, but this isn’t like nicking some chocolate. They wanted to kill him and they almost did. I want them to know what they did, to experience the pain I did.”

“And what would you do to them?”

“I would make them suffer, the same cruel harshness that Oberyn had to go through,” you said through gritted teeth, almost surprising yourself with such harshness. You’d had these thoughts swirling in your mind since you had first discovered the truth from Jeron, but to hear out loud like this was another story, “I want them to know what I went through. And I want to know why. Why can’t they just let us alone and experience our own happiness? Oberyn went to them with peaceful intentions, asking almost nothing of them, but they couldn’t let it go.”

“Every action has a consequence, you understand this, yes?” she asked as you downed the rest of your teeth, studying the grit at the bottom of the cup “

“Action-Reaction,” you concluded with a nod, “I won’t do anything that will cause trouble. There is no reason to incite a war, which my husband has reminded me of many times. He worries too much about me sometimes, I think. He wants to protect me, I know he does, but sometimes I want to protect him too. And I know that I would have all of Dorne support me in this, he is their Prince! The Stark King would make them see reason and realize their actions will not go unpunished.”

“Does their violence necessarily mean you should respond in kind?”

“I....” you paused as you mulled over her words as you realized she had a point, “I don’t know. There’s a million different ways to look at this, but I don’t know what’s right or wrong anymore. I just know...I can’t let them do this without saying something.”

“And have you told Oberyn about all of this?”

“Yes - in passing,” you sighed lightly, “and he’s fervent in his request to keep things civil and let them go.”

“But you don’t want to.”

“No.”

“You should express this to him,” she took your cup and swirled the two drops of liquid around as she looked at the grit, making a small sound in the back of her throat, “the two of you will be able to work things out and see eye to eye.”

“He’s insistent.”

“And you shall be just as insistent back,” she suggest as you nodded, “make sure he knows that you do not want to let this go and that you want words at least. That you at least want to express your grief to your family.”

“And if he shall not agree?”

“Remember who you are,” she said softly, “before you became a wife, before you became a Martell. Remember your roots and that you are not to be trifled with. You were strong then too, and now you need to remember that. What were your words?”

“Before Our String.”

“What are your words now?”

“Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken.”

“Remember those,” she took your hand in hers and gave it a gentle squeeze, “remember that you are strong, with or without your husband. Don’t do things in haste either, but do not allow yourself or your feelings to get pushed around either.”

“I won’t,” you promised softly, “I am not just Oberyn’s wife, I am so much more than that. I will...I will have what I want.”

“Everything,” she whispered as she pushed the cup back at you and motioned for you to look inside, “everything you want will be yours.”

“Everything?” you whispered as you looked into the cup and tried to see what she was seeing. Your voice cracked slightly as you knew she meant so much more than just your issue with your family. I…”

“I don’t think that’s true,” you gave her a small smile as you pushed the cup back at her and cleared your throat to keep from crying, “I can’t...I have everything I want.”

“This world, here and back in your home, is strange and mysterious. Sometimes it is best not to question things and let them work out as they were intended,” she shrugged lightly as you felt as confused as ever, “have faith in yourself and the universe.”

“I have faith in things I know, things I can touch and see,” you shrugged lightly, “I don’t know about the rest.”

“Exactly,” she stood up as she gathered your cup and hers, “we don’t know and perhaps we’re not supposed to.

“I don’t understand…”

“Mama!” Acacia poked her into the shop and offered you both a gap toothed grin. You stood up and brushed off your dress before walking towards the door. You gave the young girl a small hug before turning back to her mother.

“Thank you,” you told her softly, “I realize I still don’t know most things, but I do know some. I do know I love my husband and I will go to the ends of the world for him, but I also know I refuse to let things go without a fight.”

“You are well on your way, young one,” she insists as you give her a smile, “things happen as they are supposed to.”

“Yes,” you agreed, “thank you for your help.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

“Oberyn!” by the time you reached the small villa you were staying in, Oberyn had already been back for some time and he was sitting out in the garden, a book perched on his lap as there often was. He didn’t even hesitate to close it and toss it onto the table as you rushed over to him, throwing yourself in his arms as he stood up to meet you, “my love.”

“You are very energetic this afternoon,” he beamed as he picked you up in his arms and spun you around gently setting you and offering you another kiss, “did you have a good day?”

“I missed you,” you told him, reaching up and threading a hand through his curls, “I always miss you when you’re not with me. But yes, I did. I have a very eventful afternoon. How was...business?”

“Business as always was...business. Nothing terribly exciting, and as always my day would have been better at your side,” he touched your cheek gently, “was the market nice?”

“Very,” you promised, “Oberyn, you know I love you more than anything, right?”

“Of course,” he gave you a curious look as one of his eyebrows perked up, “you have never given me a single reason to doubt that. And I feel the same, of course. Tell me, what brings about this sudden declaration?”

“I want you to know. That no matter what ever happens, silly disagreements and bickering, should they happen, you will always be my moon and stars,” you told him and a mildly concerned expression crossed his features, “there’s nothing to worry about my love. But I also...we need to talk.”

“And whatever is so serious that it requires this level of commitment to speaking?”

“I think you know, Oberyn,” you put your hands on his shoulders, “we’ve ignored the issue since it came up and passed, and I...I don’t think I’ve had my fair say.”

“The issue is over and done,” he immediately picked up on what you were talking about, “there’s no reason to dwell on things that are over and done with.”

“That’s just it, it’s not done,” you insisted softly, “not to me. Oberyn, please just listen to me and hear me out…”

“No,” it was a firm statement, laced with a sharp bite as he stared firmly into your eyes. It was the first time he had ever said it to you in such a manner, “this is over and you....we are letting it go.”

“Oberyn,” you pulled back and gave him a hurt expression, one that immediately caused him to regret his decision to speak in even a likely harsh tone, “I...we should be able to talk about this…”

“I respect that you have feelings about this, and that they differ from mine,” he promised, “but I don’t think you understand the gravitas of acting upon what happened.”

“I do too! They hurt you, Oberyn. They were going to kill you!”

“And they didn’t,” he held up his hand as if trying to end the conversation then and there, “I know it’s hard to accept, but sometimes inaction is the best response.”

“It’s not...no. I understand exactly what you’re saying, but I don’t think doing nothing is the right response.”

“No,” it was harsh and final, “you are but a child when it comes to affairs of the kind! You know nothing about them. We are not going to do anything and that is final. You will listen to what I say and we are not discussing this further.”

“Oberyn…” you blinked at him a few times, trying to keep your tears from spilling over. He’d never yelled at you before. He let out a long, heavy sigh as he looked at the ground, already angry that he had spoken to you in such a manner The last thing he ever wanted was for you to cry because of him. A few tears rolled down your cheeks as you turned away from him with a small nod, “okay. I understand…”

“Sunshine,” it was soft, reverent whisper as he reached for your hand. But this time, for the first time, you didn’t let him take it, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have spoken to you in such a manner.”

“It is no matter,” you lied as your lips trembled with cries that you tried to keep quiet, “like you said, I don’t understand these matters. I am but a child and don’t understand these types of things. “

“Please, my sweet girl, listen to me-”

“I’ll see you at dinner, Oberyn.”

With that you walked away from him, hastily wiping at your eyes as he stared after you, unsure of what to do. His shoulders slumped as he regretted every word. He only wanted to protect you, to shield you from the harshness of the world, and yet he was the one that had hurt you.

That was going to be the first and last time, he quickly decided, he’d make sure there was never a single tear from you ever again.

»»————-　♡　————-««

Permanent Taglist: @secretsweetscollectionblog @sheridans-dynamos @queenbbarnes @persephonesnebula @ah-callie @blushingwueen @thisis-theway @rosetophighlander @rae-gar-targaryen @hiscyarika @readsalot73 @huliabitch @ollyoxenfrees @coffeeandtodd @beepbeepsephy @scarlettwitcher @nerdyknightwritersblog @choicesarcade @arrowswithwifi @everythingaboutnothingstuff @suckerfor-fanfics @bestintheparsec @winters-buck @javihoney @aeryntheofficial @hail-doodles @engineeredfiction @aeryntheofficial @asgardianvamp21 @keithseabrook27 @karmezii @dearspacepirates @thatsuitlooksgoodonyou @paintballkid711 @mrpascals @kochamcie @lv7867 @artsymaddie @gooddaykate @rosiefridayrogersunday @heyitmelexie @criminalmind1927 @justanotherblonde23 @coni-martina @thewayofthemandalorian

INO Taglist: @captainskyline @scarlettvonsass @hail-doodles @unadulteratedneckherolover @the-cult-classic-bitch @adlerorzel-blog @rika-cchi @theocatkov @thatsuitlooksgoodonyou @whiskeyxinxaxteacup @shayna-winchester @xxlovingfandomsxx @ohsnapitsjanet @phoenixhalliwell @roxypeanut @imnotmentallyst4ble @catsnkooks @misslolasworld @lalablue0 @starlight-starwrites @cielphantomhixe @lady-tano @simonedk @asgardianvamp21 @earthtokace @thelastemzy @indelwen-of-mirkwood @gamingaquarius @maytheglitter @apples-of-february @prettyjewel93 @valhallavalkyrie9 @hystericalmedicine @miraelles @ohpedromypedro @afleetingdream91 @cheesecake-manufacturer @cryptkeepersoul @onlineluna @littlefool-smalljester @imnotmentallyst4ble @shelbythequeen @witchstarw @mrscrain-x7 @songsformonkeys @kiaralein @liadamerondjarin @purpletoadslimeeclipse @rpcvliz @knittingqueen13 @jaime1110 @voteforpedropascal @demoncrypt1066 @klaine-92 @goth-pigeon @rogueonestan @kiwibaekie @lv7867 @toilet-keeper @kid-from-new-zealand @stillshelbs @buckythewhitewolfx @justanotherblonde23 @dammn-dean @april-14-blog @ghostwiththemostbitch @godohammers @theoutsidelandhere @cosmoschick @jorunnravenslayer @kaelankaekul @ravenclawbitch426 @spacekat5396 @criminalmind1927

#oberyn martell #oberyn martell x reader #oberyn martell x you #prince oberyn x reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #in name only #ino #got

579 notes · View notes

kaistarus · 4 years

Text

Crush At First Sight

Pairing: Nishinoya X Reader

Words: 2K

Summary: Attending the boy's volleyball finals was a no brainer-you'd take any opportunity to ditch school. You didn't think you'd find yourself getting so attached to one of the players...

Notes: I don't believe that someone could watch Noya play and not instantly fall in love, so I did him right

Masterlist

The only time you’d heard about the boy’s volleyball team was when someone called them ‘flightless crows’ in the hallway, which you assumed was a bad thing. However, when your friends mentioned they were skipping class to apparently watch them play in the Spring finals you were all for attending.

You’d take any opportunity to ditch school-even if it was to watch some guys lose a volleyball game.

The stadium was more filled than you were expecting. As you slid through the crowd to find three open seats you realized perhaps this was a bigger deal than you’d anticipated. Once seated, Michimiya passed everyone noise makers she’d picked up from some guys near the stadium’s entrance. You tested the bright orange cone-shaped objects by lightly tapping them together.

“So, they must have really improved this year, huh?” You said as your eyes wandered around the packed stands, apparently you weren’t the only ones skipping school today.

“They got a new coach,” Michimiya said, bouncing lightly from nerves and anticipation, “and a lot of talented first years.”

“Not hard on the eyes either,” Aihara nudged your shoulder and gestured towards the team congregated on the sidelines around their coaches. You nodded slowly as you scanned the group, lingering on the unfortunate boy who got stuck with the orange jersey.

At least he could pull it off.

The teams took the court, their anticipation radiating into the audience and extending even to you as you clutched your noise makers tightly. After the whistle was blown, and the first serve made, the game of Karasuno vs Shiratorizawa officially began.

A few minutes into the match you found your gaze latching onto the guy in the orange jersey. Shiratorizawa was terrifying, especially the big guy with his powerful spikes. You winced the first time you saw it because you couldn’t imagine receiving something like that without breaking your arms, but the libero guy was doing it like it was nothing. He had adapted to the playstyle and for every ball that made your stomach drop he would appear from seemingly nowhere and make a save.

There was something about the way he could go from intensely focused on the court to relaxed on the sidelines within moments that had you mesmerized, as well. You couldn’t help the weird fullness in your chest as he guzzled down water and smiled goofily to some of his teammates after their first set as if the pressure wasn’t weighing on him.

“What are you so focused on?” Michimiya asked while bopping you on the head with her cone.

“Nothing,” you said as the boys began to take the court again, preparing for the next serve. “Hey, what was number four’s name?”

Aihara’s brow quirked. “Nishinoya, why?”

“I’m just wondering...” You said, subconsciously smiling when he slid and barely saved the ball with one hand. “He’s just pretty good is all.”

“Daichi said he’s their ‘Guardian Deity’,” Michimiya wiggled her eyebrows at you.

“Boys are so dramatic.” Aihara scoffed.

You couldn’t argue that one.

As the sets continued you found yourself growing increasingly attached to Nishinoya: heart dropping if he missed a ball, swelling with pride anytime he made a play, and you’d even find your cheeks warming whenever you caught sight of him smiling to himself or a teammate. It was becoming embarrassing, truthfully, considering you’d never even talked to him.

“Alright, at least pretend you’re not obsessively staring at him.” Aihara nudged you playfully as the fourth set wrapped up and the boys were switching sides on the court.

“I’m not.”

Michimiya giggled, bopping you on the nose. “You geek out every time he touches the ball. It’s not hard to notice.”

“You’re one to talk. As if you haven’t been fangirling over Daichi.” Aihara leaned back, sighing dramatically. “I’m trapped between a pair of lovesick fools.”

“I don’t even know the guy,” you felt your cheeks warming. “Even if I did he probably wouldn’t be interested in--”

“Have you ever met Nishinoya before?” Aihara interrupted you. “Like, at school or in any context? Heard about him or talked to him… anything?”

You shook your head and they both started laughing lightly before Michimiya put a hand on your shoulder. “Trust me, you’ll be fine.”

You tilted your head in confusion, but before you could form a retort the ref’s whistle signaled the start of the final set. Your grip on the noise makers were tight as both sides fought strongly, neither willing to lose a single point and give up their chance for nationals. It felt surreal when Karasuno pulled that final point. Everyone erupted into cheers as the three of you held onto each other, jumping and shouting, unable to contain your excitement while celebrating the boy’s well earned victory. Boys who were currently dogpiled in the center of the court while the third years had tears streaming down their faces in disbelief.

It was an honor to be a part of and you couldn’t have been prouder to have them representing your school. When they lined up in front of you and bowed to thank you all for your attendance you clutched your hands against your chests. They really earned the win.

You were pulled out of your randomly emotional train of thought by Aihara’s grip tugging you behind her as they shuffled out of the stands.

“Where are we going?” You asked when they left the gym opposite the stadium’s exit.

“We’re going to congratulate the guys!” Michimiya sent a smile over her shoulder and your heart accelerated to an unhealthy pace.

“I don’t know if I’m mentally prepared for that scenario,” you pointed toward the opposite end of the hall. “Maybe I should just meet you guys outside and-”

“Oh no you don’t,” Aihara began pushing you forward by your shoulders and you started to whine in protest. “You are strong and fearless and no boy shall knock you down.”

Michimiya giggled ahead of you where she remained completely useless in your time of need. You let Aihara guide you through groups of people finding their way toward the exit until you all spotted the boy’s team in their telling Karasuno volleyball club jackets.

You did a quick scan of everyone, but didn’t see the spiked hair you’d been observing for so long. You weren’t sure if it was relief or disappointment you felt.

“There he is,” Aihara gave you a squeeze, pointing near the far wall where Nishinoya was digging through his duffel bag on the ground, eyebrows furrowed and tongue stuck out adorably in concentration. Your heart started pounding at the sight of him so close. The bizarre realization that he was in fact a real person finally hit which made your palms sweaty.

“As it turns out. I have decided to denounce myself from boys and am going to live a life of celibacy.” You nodded confidently, trying to make a u-turn, but Aihara annoyingly spun you around.

“Shut up,” she rolled her eyes. “Just talk to him. I promise it will work out.” She patted your shoulder. “Trust me.”

You glared at her, mumbling insults under your breath as you slowly walked over to where Nishinoya continued to dig through his mess of a bag. You took a deep breath and decided your best move was to just deep dive straight into your doom. What could possibly go wrong?

“Uh, Nishinoya, right?”

He glanced at you briefly, looking you up and down before continuing to dig through his bag.“Yep, do need you help finding someone?” He triumphantly pulled out some IcyHot before pointing toward where the rest of his team lounged. “Most of the guys are over there.”

“I was actually hoping to talk to you.” You winced as you noticed the bruises that decorated his arms when he started to peel off his jacket.

“Why? Is something wrong? Do you have a message for me or something?”

“No… I just wanted to tell you how amazing I thought you were today.” You quickly glanced away in embarrassment when he finally looked up at you with wide-eyes. You dug your toe into the ground as you urged yourself to continue, “I was watching you and just thought you were really cool and--”

“Sorry,” he chuckled and put a hand up to stop you. “I was actually wearing the orange jersey. Number four.” He pointed to the others in the center of the hall again. “The guy you're looking for is probably over there.”

You blinked. “Nishinoya. Orange jersey. Number four. Libero. Guardian Deity or whatever.” Your embarrassment was dissolving into frustration. “Is that you?”

“Yeah?”

“Then I’m looking for you.”

He stared at his bag as his brain tried to process the situation you’d presented to him. Suddenly, his gaze whipped up at you. “Holy shit,” he pointed his finger at himself. “You’re talking to me.”

“Have been.”

He tensed and locked his eyes on the IcyHot he was currently trying to rub on his back. He quickly threw it near his bag and you felt another fond smile growing on your face. “I’m Nishinoya,” he said, extending his hand toward you before shoving it down to his side. “Wait, you know that. Shit, were you complimenting me? Did you just call me cool?”

“I did do that, yeah.”

His face turned a bright shade of red, “but you can’t do that it goes against all the rules.”

“What are you-”

“Look,” He pointed his finger between the two of you causing you to raise a brow. “I’m supposed to flirt with and compliment you, then you say something mean that hurts my feelings.” He smacked his shoes for finality. “It’s a strict formula.”

“What’s the formula for when I flirt with you then?” You asked, a sly smirk spreading across your lips. His shoulders went up to his ears and he stared at his hands longer than you felt necessary for such a simple question.

He looked up at you defeated. “I don’t know I’m bad at math.”

You covered your mouth to hold back the laugh trying to force its way out. He was just so cute though. “Well, so am I, but mutual flirting seems like a good solution. If you were an interested party that is.”

“I’m a very interested party…” He murmured under his breath while narrowing his eyes at you. “Did Tanaka put you up to this?”

“I don’t know who that is.”

He furrowed his brow in thought before pulling a flip phone out from his duffel and holding it out to you, “can I have your number?”

Your cheeks dusted pink as you created your contact under Nishinoya’s intense gaze. He hurriedly checked it’s existence when you returned the phone to him, staring at it skeptically while he cradled the phone in his hands.

“I promise it’s mine.” You reassured him and he embarrassingly snapped the phone closed.

“Okay,” he mumbled.

“(Y/N)!” Aihara yelled from where the rest of Karasuno’s team was grouped and not so subtly staring at you both. Your face slowly blossomed red and in your peripheral you saw Nishinoya flip off the ones waving at him. “We’re heading out. Are you done or do you need more time with your-”

“I’ll be right there.” You interrupted, glancing back to Nishinoya. “I’ll, uh, talk to you soon?”

He shot you a double thumbs up and you couldn’t stop from snorting at how adorable that was, especially when he started at them in shame. You waved a good-bye and narrowly dodged the small group already sprinting to Nishinoya while you weren’t even a few steps away.

Aihara wrapped an arm around your shoulder as your eyes lingered on boys rubbing Nishinoya’s head, bouncing around excitedly, or giving him suggestive looks. You felt your stomach rolling from embarrassment at all the attention he was receiving from such a small interaction.

“Ignore them. They’re just stupid boys.”

“I guess…”

“But one of them’s your stupid boy.” Michimiya said, poking you in the stomach. You swatted her hands away, and chewed your lip to keep down a smile when your phone vibrated. The ‘hello :)’ from an unknown number made your heart flutter.

Yeah, one of them was your stupid boy.

#nishinoya x reader #nishinoya x y/n #nishinoya yu x reader #nishinoya yuu #nishinoya yuu x reader #nishinoya yū #nishinoya yu headcanons #nishinoya yu scenarios #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyū!!#haikyuu!!#haikyu #nishinoya imagine

603 notes · View notes

shewastheheart · 3 years

Text

A/N: Absolutely AU.

She thought her nerves would be rioting in her stomach, her heartbeat picking up the closer she drew to the edge of the cliff, the edge of her life. But that's what has finally led her here, isn't it? The lack of feeling?

Her son is gone; the home of her body emptied of his presence, her arms too. There's nothing left, nothing to live for.

She's left her home, her family, her abuser. Ran away with the naive idea that she and her newborn child would have a new life together, a fresh start.

She was a fool. How could she ever believe that a new life was meant for her?

Her eyes sting, but the tears don't come. She thinks she's emptied of those too.

Esme takes another step forward, the wind whispering along her neck, coaxing her forward, the waves calling her to join in their crash against the rocks below.

This life was never meant for her, she knows that now.

The breath shudders past her chapped lips.

This was inevitable.

She's balancing on the true edge now, all she has to do is lean forward. Her bare toes flex in the grass for one last time, her heart accelerating ever so slightly as she finally lets go and falls forward.

One moment she's falling and the next, she is not.

Esme's eyes flutter open, her brow furrowing at the grey sky above, the sound of waves still all around. Something is holding her, a cool embrace carrying her.

"I didn't even feel it," she mumbles, glancing up to see what has her. Only to realize it is a who. "Dr. Cullen?"

She remembers him vividly from her youth, those beautiful golden eyes, the perfectly combed blond hair, the compassion that radiates from his very presence.

She has always struggled with her belief in God, but if this is her escort to the afterlife, she has to say she appreciates His thoughtfulness. Her childhood doctor from a decade ago is as close to angels as she ever came.

But her guardian angel... he doesn't look happy with her at all.

"What were you doing?" he whispers. The clutch of his hands under her knees, at her shoulder, where he's carrying her, tightens. "Why would you... what were you thinking?"

Suddenly, she is struck by the idea that maybe she is not yet dead after all.

"Did you save me?" Esme hisses, eyes tearing from his gaze to look around them. They're standing on a cluster of rocks amidst the ocean, beneath the cliff. Where she was supposed to land. "How did you... why?"

She looks back at him, torn between the urge to sob and smack him.

"Why?" he questions incredulously. "Ms. Platt-"

"You remember me?" she cuts in, shaking her head and shifting in his grasp.

He quickly sets her on her own two feet. An involuntary shiver wracks her bones as her bare toes touch the frigid surface of the rock, the chilled spray of the waves licking at her calves.

"Of course, I remember you, I - you were my patient."

"Ten years ago," she argues, gripping his waist when her knees threaten to give out as the leftover adrenaline floods through her. "Dr. Cullen, I-" The tears do come now. What has he done? How could this have happened? "You can't, this isn't - please, god, please" she chokes out. "Let me die."

She bows her head, letting it come into contact with his chest. The idea of continuing on, of living with it, with everything... she can't.

"Shh, Esme, please," he whispers and she realizes she's sobbing, ugly and painfully into the sweater against her forehead. "I couldn't. I couldn't. I'm so sorry."

His hand gently touches the back of her head, skimming deft fingers through her tangled hair. Her body threatens to shudder at the touch, jerk away from it, but... it's the first time in so long that someone has treated her with such care, such gentleness. With something that promises he won't hurt her.

Carlisle didn't think about the next move, what to do after he saved her.

She cries herself into silence, her face red and her eyes swollen. Numbed. She remains leaning against him, a series of small tremors rippling through her body every few seconds.

"Ms. Platt," he calls to her, scared to move, to spook her. "Is there somewhere I can take you? I... we're a bit of a long way from Ohio, do you have family here now?"

Her breath catches, her chest shuddering as she shakes her head.

"No," she rasps, barely audible above the crash of the waves around her. He really needs to get her back on dry land, away from the waters and the god-forsaken cliff she tried to jump from. "He's gone."

"He?" Carlisle repeats softly.

Esme lifts her head, her cheeks tear-stained and her lips still trembling. "My son, Dr. Cullen. I... I just had a baby and he didn't make it. I couldn't even save my baby."

Her shoulders collapse and she wraps her arms around herself, trying to keep the shudders of her body contained.

If he had a heart, he thinks it would have stuttered in his chest, cracked for her.

"Oh, Esme," he exhales, relishing the rare sound of her name in his mouth. "I'm so sorry... let me get you out of here. Let me take you somewhere safe and you can tell me more about all that has happened."

"Safe?" she echoes, a feral spark of something dark registering in her gaze. "Charles."

Her spine stiffens and she instinctively moves closer to Carlisle. She's afraid, he notes, afraid of this Charles person.

"No one is going to hurt you," he swears, but there is more than mere comfort in the words. He means it.

Esme blinks and shifts her attention once more to his face, but this time, it's as if she's truly seeing him for the first time. Her brow creases, confusion tugging at the corners of her mouth.

"How can this be real? How... could you have possibly-" Her head tilts back, eyes flicking from the cliff above their heads and back to him again. "How could you have stopped me?"

He doesn't know how to answer, how to possibly begin to cover the truth.

He doesn't really want to.

Carlisle carefully takes one of her hands in his own, squeezing it with the most minuscule portion of his strength.

"I'll show you, but you have to trust me. I know it's asking so much-"

"I do," she interrupts, those glassy eyes staring up at him with far more trust than he's ever deserved. Her brow furrows a little, as if the concept is simple. "I trusted you then, I trust you now."

"Then hold on."

Esme is still clinging to his neck even though they've been back on the ground for at least five minutes now.

"I'm so sorry I've frightened you," Doctor Cullen tells her for what has to be the third time, but sounding no less earnest.

After he picked her up and practically flew from the outcropping of rocks amidst the sea, rising from the surface of the ocean's edge to the dry land up above, he had carried her to a nearby fallen tree, gingerly placed her to sit upon the trunk. It's how they've remained in the last few minutes, with his mouth murmuring a stream of apologies and his body leaning over hers, bowed by the latch of her arms, but not seeming to be taxed by the position.

She is supposed to be dead, broken like waves against the rocks and carried out to sea. Instead, she is sitting with a man with... with what? Superhuman abilities? A devil in disguise of a beautiful man?

"What are you?" she finally manages to ask, pushing past the stiffness in her arms to relinquish their hold.

Doctor Cullen bows his head, his eyes falling closed as if in prayer.

"I'm afraid that it may come as an even greater fright to you."

She swallows hard. "You do not seem to mean me any harm. Unless you have only saved my life to torture me further."

His head lifts immediately, his eyes stricken as they land upon her. "No, never. I may be a monster, but I couldn't... my intention could never be to hurt you."

The intensity has her taken aback, but she holds his gaze. "A monster?"

It certainly isn't a word she would have associated with the soft-spoken doctor beside her. She can still remember with clarity the way in which he treated her ten years ago, with delicate hands and a genuine smile, eyes that held hers for a moment too long.

She never managed to forget him, more than likely because Charles made her wish even more for the first man to ever make her heart skip. She could never help thinking how she wished it had been him she exchanged vows with. Esme always managed to convince herself that Doctor Cullen would have healed her wounds, not bestowed more upon her.

"I am sure you have heard certain myths, legends of immortal creatures?" he begins, lowering to sit near her, leaving a large gap of space between them.

Esme nods, childish tales of magical sea creatures and monsters under the cloak of darkness in the woods flittering across her brain. "Some."

He twines his hands together between his knees. "What about vampires?"

It takes a moment for the correlation to register, what he's trying to tell her.

"I am... impossibly fast, incredibly strong. There is little in this world that could truly hurt - let alone kill - me," Doctor Cullen continues. "I'm dangerous and it would serve you best to stay far away from me."

Her head is spinning so fast that she has to squeeze her eyes shut, nearly buries her face in her hands, but wait-

"Stay away from you?" she repeats, meeting his forlorn expression staring back at her. As if waiting for her to react with the utmost amount of fear and hatred towards him.

And perhaps she should, if what he is saying is true and not some post suicide hallucination of hers. If her former doctor is actually a vampire.

"I do not... feed on humans," he tells her quickly. "I survive only on the blood of animals, but I am aware it does not change who I am, what I am. I could never expect-"

"I know you won't hurt me," she breathes, her swollen eyes feeling heavy, her entire body weighed down by exhaustion and a fresh wave of despair. "Can you take me to the place you spoke of, to safety?"

"Of course," he answers, rising in what feels like a flash. "And Esme?"

Before she realizes what is happening, he is easing his arms beneath her legs, the curve of her spine, and carrying her bridal style against him once more.

She hums in response, giving up on the idea of remaining conscious any longer and leaning into the wall of his chest against her cheek instead.

"Please, call me Carlisle."

Her lips quirk. This has been quite a lovely dream.

To continue with the full story that will follow this first chapter, I hope you’ll consider finding this little story on FFnet. :)

#twilight fanfiction #esme cullen #carlisle cullen #carlisle x esme #esme x carlisle #carlesme #twilight #fanfiction #my writing #lover of mine

36 notes · View notes

raleighcarrera · 4 years

Text

sucker punch

foreign affairs | m!blaine hayes x mc (kennedy monroe)

blaine and kennedy take their hot tub party inside. an extended scene from chapter 11.

catch up: knockout (E) / on the ropes (T) / outpoint (T) / parry (E) / pulling punches (T) / ringside (T) / saved by the bell (T)

tagging: @pixeljazzy ; @zigtheeortega ; @pixelsandkink ; @writinghereandthere ; @choicesarehard ; @dakotawinchester ; @blainehellyes ; @thefirstcourtesan

~3.2k words | E (18+)

“you know,” kennedy murmurs, shivering as blaine continues to press a slow, sucking trail of kisses across her bare shoulder, “as nice as this has been... i’m starting to get cold.”

“well, that won’t do,” blaine answers, without lifting his head, “guess i’ll have to heat things up.”

despite the fact that they’ve been in the hot tub for what’s probably going on too long, and she’s starting to prune, her hips wiggle excitedly under the water. after the attention blaine’s given her tonight, she can’t help but to perk up curiously, his words piquing her interest. “again?”

this time, blaine does look up at her, grinning crookedly. “if you want.” beneath the water, his fingertips walk up the inside of her thigh. “but if you really are cold, we can take this into the shower.”

she glances back into blaine’s room over her shoulder. “peter’s still out?”

blaine snorts, lowering his head back to the crook of her neck. “he made sure to tell me he’d be at the bar with dionne all night. he even said he’d knock very, very loudly before he came in. you know him -- subtle as a brick.”

“i don’t think that’s the saying,” she breathes, struggling desperately to hold on to the braincells rapidly leaving her while blaine bites at her collarbone. “it has to be, like -- as subtle as a brick through a window.”

“like i care.” his hands slide slowly over the curve of her hips, pulling her in closer. “you must not understand how long i’ve been waiting for this.”

“believe me,” kennedy sighs, lifting her hand to push her fingers through blaine’s hair so he’ll lift his head and look at her again, smiling sadly when he catches her eye, “i do.”

he leans in to kiss her, then, so thoroughly that she forgets, for a moment, who and where they are. she forgets that they’re not just any two adults, away from their real lives for the weekend at a resort where no one will find them. she forgets that she should be downstairs, cozying up to her fake boyfriend. she forgets that the fantastical peace blaine’s created for her up in his suite is due to disappear at midnight, back into a pumpkin she isn’t allowed to interact with when there’s others around.

blaine’s hips push up against hers, rocking forward so forcefully water sloshes up out of the hot tub and onto the deck. “shower,” he murmurs again, “i need a little more room for what i wanna do to you.”

kennedy shivers, glancing around cautiously before stepping out of the water, yelping as soon as the freezing air hits her skin, her body breaking out in goosebumps. “jesus!”

she can hear blaine laugh from behind her, but only has a moment to pout before he’s wrapping his body around hers, blanketing himself over her back and snaking strong arms snugly around her waist. “i’ve got you. come on.”

they walk together awkwardly through the sliding glass door from the balcony, though she makes no move to shrug him off as they head inside, their clothes forgotten on the deck. her eyes scan blaine’s room while he leads her to the bathroom, and when he finally lets her go so he can fiddle with the knobs in the shower, she plants her hands on her hips and asks, “how come you and peter got such a nice room? dionne and i were set up with twin beds.”

alexei and henri have a standard suite, too, not that she wants blaine to know she’s already seen it. she’s not eager to bring up anyone else’s name -- not now that they finally have some alone time.

blaine ducks his head, grinning as he holds one hand under the spray, testing its warmth. “i pulled some strings,” he says, “you know -- in case i needed an excuse to get you up here.”

he holds a hand out to her, and she slips her fingers into blaine’s, letting him pull her through the glass door of the shower. “you don’t ever need an excuse.”

“i know,” blaine says, as steam starts to fill the room and water beats down onto his face, “but... i guess i wanted to do something nice for you. us. and this was the only way i could make things special while still keeping them private.”

she’s stunned. there’s something so touching about blaine trying to make magic for her even with the circumstances of their situation so firmly in their way. not for the first time, she marvels at the reveal of blaine’s hidden second side -- the sweeter, softer traits he seems to expose only to her, cultivating some of her most treasured possessions unknowingly.

kennedy clears her throat to distract from the heaviness that’s suddenly weighing down on their conversation. “peter doesn’t care you basically upgraded his room to a honeymoon suite?”

blaine laughs, and she finds herself stepping closer until she’s under the water with him, too, compelled by the sound of his honest joy. “nah. he’s cool like that. plus, i think he could see on my face how desperate i was to get you alone.”

she makes a soft noise in the back of her throat, looping her arms around his neck. “sweet talker.”

he shrugs carelessly, flicking wet hair off his forehead. “it’s true. watching you with alexei is impossible.”

kennedy sighs, expression twisting into one of sympathy. “i’m sorry. you’re always so worried about how hard this must be for me, but... it can’t be easy for you, either.”

the way blaine looks away lets her know immediately she’s hit the nail on the head. he grimaces. “i can’t say i love it.” there’s a beat of silence before he lifts his hand to her face, stroking damp fingers across her cheek. “so -- will you at least give what i said some thought?”

her eyebrows arch high in question. “which part?”

“the letting-me-take-some-of-the-heat-off-you part.” as she studies him, she sees that the look in blaine’s eyes is serious, a far cry from the way he’d joked and vented with her about the paparazzi out on the deck. “i know you think it’d just make an even bigger mess, but... think about it, okay? i hate what this is doing to you.”

“i’ll think about it,” she promises, pushing up onto her tip-toes to steal a quick kiss from blaine, desperate to get the tortured look off his face.

except that the kiss he gives her back is a far cry from the brief peck she’d intended. blaine’s hands rest on her hips and he angles his head down to seal their mouths together firmly, kissing her as deeply as he can. with a gasp, she twists her fingers into his wet hair, swaying closer to his chest while the weak international water pressure continues to patter quietly down onto the shower floor around them.

blaine backs her into the wall, the tile cool against her skin. his grip on her tightens as he pulls away to take his kisses across her face again, nipping a path below her jaw. “tell me you don’t have anywhere else to be tonight.”

she stares up at the ceiling, the offers she’d had from tatum and ayna floating through her mind. at the very least, she should probably put on a show of spending a little more time with alexei, though the thought of leaving this shower to go sit at the bar and make small talk is --

kennedy shakes her head. “no.”

“good,” blaine murmurs lowly, pushing her wet hair back off her shoulders to give himself more room. “‘cause it’s gonna be awhile before i’m done with you.”

“promise?” she breathes, arching her back to try to get closer to him. if fooling around with blaine in the hot tub was meant to take the edge off, it’s had the opposite affect. she’s acutely aware of the fact that it’s been what feels like forever since they last slept together, before the scandal broke. her hands push insistently at his back to try to force him closer.

“oh, you can count on it.” one of blaine’s hands slips between her legs with purpose, his fingers hardly pausing to tease before they brush against her clit, effortlessly falling into a rhythm that makes her shiver.

kennedy’s head tips back against the side of the shower and she sighs, exhaling a hitching moan of blaine’s name when he pauses to suck deliberately on the sensitive patch of skin behind her ear she’d made the mistake of groaning loudly at one too many times, whenever his teeth got near it. now it was a weak point he constantly exploited. “blaine. god.”

“this is what i want to do out there,” he explains, free hand trailing from her thigh around to her ass and back again. “on the slope -- in the lodge -- anywhere. everywhere.”

“blaine,” she says again, more urgently this time, “i --”

his own hips rock forward in a slow grind, cutting her off effortlessly. “of course i want people to know,” he continues, through a moan, “look at you. jesus christ, kennedy.”

her whole body feels hot, burning up in a way that has nothing to do with the steam from the shower. she squeezes her eyes shut and focuses only on blaine and the wrecked sound of his voice, each desperate slide of their bare skin, and how his fingers know just what to do to push her right to the edge, until she’s shaking and her thighs are trembling where they’re trapped, pinned wide by the breadth of blaine’s body between them.

“you’re so gorgeous,” blaine sighs, just before he kisses her again, swallowing each of the moans that spill into his mouth, the wordless sounds of pleasure she can’t hold back fortunately muffled by the heavy shower doors and the space between them -- tucked away in blaine’s bathroom -- and the rest of the resort.

“please,” she begs, eyes blinking open slowly to focus on his face, “i need...”

she trails off, captivated by the oddly serious look he’s wearing again, his eyes blazing and intent where they’re fixated on her expression. “what? you have all of me.”

the words are uncomfortably comforting, so soothing it takes everything she has to remain upright, her legs wobbly where her feet are slipping on the wet floor. “blaine.”

“yeah.” his hand stills so he can instead shift his grip to her thighs, encouraging her up the wall. blaine tilts his shoulders, and then he’s able to lift her up easily, her legs locking around his waist while the muscles in his arms flex in a way that makes her mouth dry. “i’m right here,” he promises, fingertips trailing softly across her hips like the rivulets of water following his touch, “let me make you feel good.”

“please,” kennedy gasps again, already nodding before blaine’s even had the chance to push his hips forward.

“christ,” blaine mutters, as soon as their bodies are pressed flush and the stretch of his cock has her groaning even more loudly, her head tipped back against the tile, “i could fuck you all day.”

the sound that escapes her is unintelligible, embarrassing enough to force her eyes shut. it’s affirmative, at least, and the way it makes blaine chuckle against her throat sends a shiver down her spine, her hold on his shoulders tightening.

his head dips so he can set his teeth on the space between her breasts, biting a bruise into her skin that no one will see but blaine. while his thrusts chase her up the wall, she clings to him, relishing the chance to get the alone time she’d been desperate for and aching for it to never end at the same time. if dinner with her friends had been enough to make her forget her fake relationship, being with blaine could drive every last thought out of her mind, so that the stress of school and her relationship with her mother and the tabloid drama that followed her like a storm cloud evaporated into nothing, leaving her feeling light as air.

she might’ve even floated away, had blaine not been there to anchor her. fortunately for kennedy, he is, keeping her grounded and steady, making sure her head doesn’t run wild overthinking and second-guessing their every interaction; the blazing look in his eyes and the firm pressure of his hands, his mouth and his hips keep her rooted to the moment, so her head isn’t anywhere but in the shower with him.

as blaine lifts his head, and their eyes lock, she realizes that there’s no where in the world she’d rather be. there’s nothing -- no amount of peace with her mom, no chances to go back in time and have a better childhood or more time with her friends or the space to take the risks she’d never allowed herself to dare try -- that she would trade this for, nothing that could compare.

there’s only her, and blaine, and the leap into the unknown she’d taken when she first let him lead her through campus by the hand at the start of the semester, the chance that had already paid off tenfold. the chance that had changed her life.

she hadn’t looked back then, and she doesn’t want to, now.

“god, blaine,” she moans, pressing their lips together in a sloppy, imprecise kiss. it’s hard to do anything when it’s taking all of her coordination just to meet his thrusts, her hips rocking back against his while the shower continues to run luxuriously hot around them. “that feels so good.”

“yeah,” he returns, voice as tight as his bruising grip on her thighs, “you do, you just -- fuck, kennedy.”

she swivels her hips, gratified by the shudder blaine gives, and then his hand shifts between her legs again and she’s left leaning back against the wall, only held up by blaine’s strength and the force of his hips driving forward, his pace growing faster and arrhythmic, sloppy and eager.

her toes curl against his back and her eyes squeeze shut tight and it only takes a few more clumsy swipes of his thumb before she’s sobbing out a moan that’d be too loud for either of their dorms at vancross, with their thin walls and nosy classmates, but that feels perfectly fitting for the resort, nothing but the snowy mountaintops beyond blaine’s balcony winking back at them.

everything is a blur after that.

she’s dimly aware of the gentle way blaine sets her carefully back down on her feet, how her legs threaten to give out but he helps her stay upright long enough to kiss her tenderly, fond warmth in his eyes and his smile a mile wide on his face. somehow, her hair gets washed, and while kennedy knows she’s just about useless in the process, eventually she and blaine wind up on the sofa in the suite’s living room in fluffy bathrobes plucked from the closet, curled up together in front of the fire.

burrowed into the warmth of blaine’s arms, she’s certain she could probably fall asleep just then, and stay out for about a thousand years, she’s so exhausted.

“we should do this more often,” blaine suggests quietly, breaking the comfortable silence that’s blanketing them. she can only barely hear him over the crackling log in the fireplace.

kennedy snuggles closer in towards his chest, cheek pressed to the plush material stretched over his skin. “it is kinda romantic,” she agrees, jaw stretching wide with an involuntary yawn. “i still can’t believe you set all this up for me.”

blaine’s broad palm rubs slowly up and down her arm. “all i want,” he says, “is to give you a little bit of normalcy. just -- regular dates, whenever we can get ‘em. you deserve that.”

again, she’s amazed. none of the people she’s ever dated or even thought about dating had seemed as concerned with what she wanted as blaine is, now. the thoughtfulness feels foreign and she’s sure she’s undeserving of it -- she’s selfish and reckless and a walking disaster, isn’t she? why is he so worried about making her happy when she’s done nothing but cause trouble?

before she can stop herself, kennedy hears her voice ask, “do you think you’ll still like me, when all of this is over?” there’s a heavy silence that she rushes to fill with an explanation. “you know -- when it’s not such a risk, anymore.”

she thinks about how in his element he’d seemed, earlier today, speeding away from the paparazzi and stealing kisses from her on the slope. how excited blaine had been when he called her dangerous -- her, kennedy monroe. professional wet blanket, twenty-three years in the making.

“what,” blaine laughs, still rubbing his hands all over her, “you mean when the thrill wears off?”

her heart sinks. that’s exactly what she’d meant. “yeah.”

blaine’s hand pauses, then lifts to her chin to tilt her face up and back so she’s forced to meet his eyes. kennedy blinks as she sees the sincerity in his expression, out in the open for anyone to read. the look on blaine’s face is a mix of so many things she’s seen him cast in her direction before -- protectiveness and worry, fondness and exasperation, affection and awe and wonder with just a touch of disbelief. when their eyes lock, her heart stutters to a stop and then picks back up in frantic double-time.

“duh,” he snorts, as though she’s just said the single most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard. “i’m obviously not doing this just because i’m into sneaking around. this blows. i wish you’d fuckin’ out me.”

she relaxes against him, feeling a little silly in the face of blaine’s honesty. in all the time they’ve been together, he’s hardly given her a reason to doubt him.

“look, i told you i’m all in, and i meant that, okay?” his thumb slides across her jaw and then his hand brushes her hair back behind her ear, sweeping the wet stands off her cheek. “this whole thing is weird and stupid but it’s awesome at the same time, because no matter what happens, i still get to do shit like this with you. and i’ll do anything to make these moments for us. i don’t care what it takes.”

“okay,” kennedy sighs finally, when his intensity makes her stomach start to squirm, “enough, i don’t know how much more i can take. it’s like you’re trying to make me fall head over heels for you.”

the joke is meant to cover up her genuine reaction, which is that she’s touched, blaine’s words prodding at a soft spot of vulnerability deep within her. fortunately, he takes the bait -- probably sensing her desperation for an out and being as wonderfully accommodating as always. a familiar smirk pulls across his face. “is it working?”

she playfully swats at his shoulder, ducking out of reach of the pillow he reflexively lifts to swing back at her. they grapple on the couch until blaine tumbles down onto his back, pulling her with him, and kennedy stretches out happily over his form, leaning down until they’re nose-to-nose.

it’s embarrassing, how much she likes him. embarrassing how much he knows. but when he grins at her like that, she can’t do much more than shrug and sheepishly admit, “it kind of is,” a matching smile spread out blissfully on her own flushed face.

#blaine hayes #foreign affairs #choices foreign affairs #blaine hayes x mc #myfic #long post #if you asked to be tagged and weren't it's because you don't have your age on your blog! i'll get ya in the next one #ns*w

128 notes · View notes

otp-holic · 3 years

Text

I read and thought and wrote about you (1.3K)

(AO3) Bucky is sure Steve, his mission, is telling the truth the moment he throws himself into the water after him and from that moment on he remembers everything. Everything.

For @stuckybingo Round three: SB045 N2- Soldier Tags: Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluffy Ending, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, POV Bucky Barnes, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), there are no more movies after those so I ignore them,Bucky Barnes Feels, Nothing New Under The Sun Notes: An anon sent me an ask that just said "angst" and three hours later, this is here. I don't even know! it is rushed and nothing new under the sun, just some headcanons stitched into some kind of a ficlet… it’s been therapeutic to take the step to write and post it even if it’s nothing new, even if it’s rushed, just because I enjoyed sitting there smashing the keyboard. So thank you anon for that, too!. Sorry for the mistakes and for the angst, remember i posted utter flufinness yesterday?

Bucky is sure Steve, his mission, is telling the truth the moment he throws himself into the water after him, and from that moment on he remembers everything. Everything. Good, bad, and all the scale of greys in between.

(He remembers the feverish cold in the mountains when he fell. He remembers Steve kissing him for the first time in a dark alley on their way back from seeing “It happened one night”. He remembers knives and blood and dying bodies under his hands. He remembers his mother’s loving fingers over his scraped knees.)

He doesn’t sleep for two nights after the river.

On the third day, he ventures into the Smithsonian to make sure his mind is not playing tricks on him and hoping against hope it’s all some weird mirage. That he is not Bucky Barnes, that he is not the Winter Soldier. That he is just a random man with a concussion who has somebody desperately looking for him (“Steve is looking for you, he will be looking for you until the end of the line. You know because you’ll do the same”, a voice he tries to silence insists on screaming inside his head.)

And he is sure he’s not that random man as soon as he lays an eye on the first picture of the exhibition, the same way he knows most of the printed texts have mistakes (“He,… I , was born in 1917,” he thinks. “Steve was the one from ‘18. And I would have never enlisted to go to that fucking war. They made me.”)

He glares at himself in pictures and the confirmation hurts. But it hurts even more to see Steve as he remembers him from before (from the schoolyard, the hood fights, the movie nights, the hidden kisses, the slow dancing inside their home, the cold winters they fought by sharing their body heat), and from after (from a cold cell in Austria, a desperate fuck in the forest, a laughing fit in the middle of a mission, a disappearing face as he fell backwards). It hurts more because he feels the pull of his muscle memory aching to go find him.

Every part of Bucky wants to go to Steve and tell him that he is back and that he remembers; to ask for his help to figure out what to do with the memories.

He doesn’t.

The nightmares, the fear of losing his will, of hurting more people (haven’t you done that enough?), the guilt,.. It all weighs too much. He waits until he is sure Steve is out of the hospital (he watches from the other side of the street), and he disappears with the only company of an empty backpack where he carefully places the Smithsonian’s brochure that has Captain America’s (Steve’s) face on it.

He hops countries for a year and he doesn’t exchange a single word with anybody for six months. His backpack gets heavier and heavier with little notebooks where he vomits all the words that he won’t say out loud, unconsciously leaving random little spaces where he feels like a drawing or sketch would complete the page. They are good memories, those little flashes between nightmares where he can see the man he was and not the ruthless asset they forced him to be.

Fourteen months after he left DC, he finds himself in Bucharest. Fourteen months and too many cargo planes and trains and cars. He is tired (never sleeps too much, because that’s where the horrible dreams find him) and the backpack keeps getting heavier and heavier.

He doesn’t plan to stay, but somehow he does: He gets a job as a night guard where he only sees the other outcasts who work previous and next shift from him, and he rents an apartment that he pays through three other guys.

The few people who talk to him call him Stefan. He was Esteban in Mexico, Istefanos in Turkey and Stefano for two days in Italy. It wasn't deliberate the first time, but he found comfort in being called by his name, in hearing it out loud, and in being allowed to play with the name on his lips from time to time.

He uses his extensive training (as a soldier and as someone he won’t think about) to always keep an eye on the news, on any clues (for Hydra, of course, but also for Steve. He knows Steve has to be looking for him, he’s not fooling himself) but there are none, radio silence. That steady silence is the reason why his notebooks move from the backpack to the apartment, why he starts exchanging a few words with the shopkeepers when he buys his food, why he goes to a shop where they sell books by the weight and why he starts reading again.

He loses himself in fiction, and the flashing moments of peace he gets from it take him by surprise and become another link to the Bucky he once was.

It’s been two years and fifty eight days since he took Steve out of the water and himself out of Hydra’s hands when he sees Steve again: his back to him and one of his notebooks between his hands. He takes a few seconds that he probably doesn’t have just to look at Steve standing there.

He’s dressed like a soldier (a Captain), but when he turns around at the feeling of Bucky’s presence, he looks just like Steve. Neither of them are breathing as much as they need, too overwhelmed with feelings, but working hard on keeping their minds fresh for drawing a strategy.

It’s been more than seventy one years since Bucky last said “Steve” to the right person and with the right intent when he lets it out into the world again, and when he does it feels so raw that he has to remind himself of why he is hiding (not safe for Steve, he is not worth risking it all, guilt) in order to back out a little, trying to gain some emotional distance hoping he can fool Steve.

(“I read about you in a museum.”)

Of course he doesn’t fool him, how could he?

The men start coming in through the windows, and he lets his instincts guide his movements until he’s jumping off the building and trying to run free.

He doesn’t stop to think how he synced his moments with Steve’s in half a second and without talking. He doesn’t stop to think how electric everything felt when he touched Steve’s shoulder.

And he doesn’t stop to think about how his ears keep buzzing minutes after Steve called him “Buck”, how he had made it sound so intimate that a lazy October afternoon in Brooklyn from a lifetime ago appeared before his eyes (entangled legs, young hearts, careless laughs, moaned “Buck ”.)

He tries to run from it all (protect, protect, protect ) but they catch them.

——

It’s seventy three years since he fell, four years since he took Steve out of the Potomac, a year since he went out of cryo and six hours since his mind was fully his again when Steve (bearded, sweaty, sex-haired, naked, and plastered to his side inside their warm hut in Wakanda) breaks their momentary silence.

“I have a present for you, Buck,” he says, extending his arm over Bucky while trying to reach something.

“I don’t think I have energy for another present right now.”

Bucky’s joke is way too evident but it makes them chuckle. Steve kisses him on the lips as an answer and leaves a heavy tote bag over Bucky’s naked stomach.

“Nat collected some favours and we located most of your notebooks in a vault a few months ago; she recently retrieved them and sent them here. I figured that since you finally own your mind now, it was time for you to own your memories, too.”

He’s told Steve about the notebooks a thousand times since he woke up, about how writing down the happy moments that popped into his brain helped him find himself beyond the horrors. About how he stayed awake writing them to keep the nightmares at bay.

Bucky takes Steve’s hand with his right one and places them (joined) over his heart, then he opens one of the little books with his new vibranium one and smiles.

“They are yours, too,” he says before he starts reading out loud.

#stucky #fanfic #fanfiction forever #fanfiction #angst with a happy ending #bucky barnes #steve rogers #post the winter soldier #post civil war #painfully created by me #fic by yours truly #captain america #stuckybingo2021 #long post

31 notes · View notes

reneejuliet · 3 years

Text

Only Human

Author: reneejuliet

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader

Rating: T (cursing, mention/description of blood, kissing without consent, a slap to the face)

Word Count: 1,188

Genre: Angst, Idol AU (I seem incapable of writing anything else, I know)

Author’s Note: Another drabble! This one is angsty, sorry in advance. I can’t help but love to make people hurt. And as much as I love Yoongi (which is a LOT), it was just too easy with this. Anyway! I hope you like it, and as always, please let me know what you think!

You grunted under his weight, heaved haphazardly onto your shoulder as you dragged him through the halls toward the dorm. It wasn't that he was heavy - on the contrary, he weighed less than you did, for goodness' sake. It was that he was wasted, completely beyond offering any sort of aid in getting his own damn body through his own damn front door. And despite how many times you have had to do this, it never gets any easier. Especially when arms keep throwing themselves around various parts of your body like a drunken squid.

"Damn it, Yoongi, enough," you hissed through your teeth as you finally managed to free a hand long enough to twist open the doorknob, allowing your foot to kick the door open. It ricocheted loudly against the wall before swinging back to collide with your shoulder, but you didn't care. If anything, maybe it would wake up one of his six roommates and they could drag their hyung's inebriated ass to his bed. Though, given his current level of cooperation, you doubted anyone would get him further than the couch.

His response was slurred as you heaved your body forward, dragging him with you. He rolled from where he had been propped on your shoulder, and if it weren't for your quick reflexes, he would have crashed onto the ground. Luckily for him, this was not your first go at this, and you were well-versed in all the warning signs. You felt him slipping, his weight shifting away from you, and you dove. Your hands scooped up under his arms, hooking around his shoulders, and you threw your body weight behind you to counteract his momentum. The result - Yoongi did not crash onto the floor. He did, however, suddenly shoot forward, crashing the back of his head straight into your jaw.

"OW - Yoongi, what the actual fuck!"

You immediately dropped any grip you had left on him, crouching down between your knees as your hands flew up to your mouth. The hot taste of iron swirled on your tongue from where your teeth had smashed into your lip, flooding your mouth. You ran for the kitchen sink, throwing your face down into the sterling silver and pulling your lips up over your teeth to let the blood fall free from your tongue. The smell surrounded you, and you fought back a gag as you spit out crimson.

"Fuck," Yoongi's voice sounded behind you, tinny from where your ears were framed by metal. He rubbed the back of his head, suddenly very awake, and watched as you curled into their sink. The muscles of your back tensed each time you gagged, spitting out more blood, and he found himself reaching out without thinking.

His fingers brushed over the lines of your back, tracing your shape as he stepped closer, trying to soothe you as you coughed. For a moment, you let it be. His touch was hesitant, tender, and you could almost pretend it was under a different context. That he knew what he was doing, that his intentions were purposeful. That he hadn't just drunkenly smashed his head into your face, leaving you the bloody mess you were now.

It wasn't until his palm pressed flat against your back that you snapped, turning and shoving hard against his chest. No, you scolded yourself. This isn't real. It never will be.

Yoongi stumbled back into the island counter, eyes wide in surprise at the sudden burst of violence from you. You didn't spare him a glance before turning back to the sink, turning the water on and rinsing out your mouth. He could hear you hissing in pain with each mouthful of water you took in, and guilt pooled in his stomach.

"Shit, Y/N, I - I didn't mean -"

"Doesn't matter what you meant," you muttered, words thick through your swollen lip. Each time your tongue pressed into it, your face twisted in pain. But at least the blood had finally stopped.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled, voice low and raspy. You gripped the counter against the unwitting shiver it sent down your spine. Once it passed, you flung open a cupboard and pulled out a glass, filling it with water before shutting the tap off. Thrusting it out, you turned, free hand covering your mouth as your eyes finally met his.

His stomach only flooded worse with guilt at your offering. Despite your injury, you were still taking care of him. He wrapped his fingers around the glass, gently grazing your own while doing so, and raised it to his lips with a slight bow in your direction. His vision swam as his head tilted back, cold water sliding down his hot, parched throat. It took a second for everything to straighten back out once the glass was empty, and he squinted hard to be sure that when he set it down, it was actually on the counter. Then he looked back at you, eyes drawn to where your hand still covered your mouth.

"Couch, now," you ordered, raising a finger to point into the living room behind him. Thankfully, those two words didn't require the use of your bottom lip, so they weren't as disfigured when they came out. Gulping, Yoongi obliged, turning slowly and walking for the couch. You followed him, albeit at a safe distance, to make sure he made it there alright. He only bumped into the table once before his legs hit the cushions and he dropped.

His body automatically laid out across the couch cushions, knees curling up into his chest and hands tucking between his legs. The room blurred again at the change of altitude, and he was vaguely aware of you throwing a blanket over him. You walked away, your form dark in the swimming lights of his vision as he tried to watch you. When you came back, you set another glass of water on the table before him along with two pills.

"For tomorrow morning, when you wake up," you instructed, your words soft as you favored your injured lip.

You were walking away again when Yoongi called out. "Do you think this is why she left?"

Your heart stopped just a second before your feet, trapping you between rooms as his words echoed brokenly in the quiet. This wasn't supposed to happen, you reminded yourself. Of all the trainees and idols you had helped through the years, all the drunken confessions you had heard out of sheer compulsion from the nature of your job - none were like this. Like him. Min Yoongi.

"Yoongi -"

"I know it's my fault," he babbled, vision no longer obscured only by a drunken haze. He blinked, and the hot tears cut down his pale face. "I wasn't home enough -"

"You were working, Yoongi," You offered, careful to make your words come out clear. The pull on your lip was painful, but it felt important he hear you.

"Not always," he exhaled, eyes fluttering against the exhaustion setting in now. "Sometimes, I... I just couldn't, go home... to her..."

Gooseflesh rose all along your skin, and you nearly bit your lip before remembering the pain, sucking in the side of your cheek instead. Just walk away, you urged yourself. He won't notice, he's too far gone now. Besides, you really did not want to hear more about his failed relationship, or how heartbroken he was over it. It had been hard enough to see him happy with her - seeing him broken over her was so, so much worse.

When he didn't speak again for a few breaths, you believed you were in the clear. Your feet carried you two more steps to the door, heart pounding hard in your chest. You'd just reached for the key you would have to deposit back in its emergency spot as you left when his voice stopped you again - because it was right behind you.

"Do you know why, Y/N? Why I couldn't bring myself to go home to her some nights?"

Your breath hitched in your throat, cold and cutting against your lip. He wasn't touching you, but you could feel his body heat, and that meant he was too close, he was much too close, but you couldn't move. Your body was pulled taut in that moment, and you feared that if you made any move, you would snap.

His fingers brushed over the curve of your neck, where it met your collar, and you inhaled sharply. Your eyes fluttered closed under his touch for a moment, your nerves buzzing heavily where his fingers trailed. Then his breath was on your nape, stirring your hair, and your throat was dry.

"Because she wasn't you."

Your eyes shot open in surprise just as he tugged you around, crashing his lips to yours. You inhaled sharply again, pain searing through your mouth where he pressed against your wound, but he didn't hear. Or he didn't care. It was hard to tell, with the way his hands snaked around your waist and up under your shirt. His lips were soft but firm as he pressed into you, kissing you with a heavy desperation that left you gasping.

Maybe it was the pain in your lip, or maybe it was the taste of alcohol on his tongue. Maybe it was the way your body seized up to prevent yourself from making the biggest fool of yourself. Whatever it was, it was enough to spur you into action. Your hands came up to center on his chest, and as his tongue ran along your lower lip, sending a violent shiver through your entire body, you shoved. Hard. He stumbled away from you, gasping as your warmth was torn from him, his hands grasping at air. His eyes flashed in surprise, and you reeled back to slap him.

"How dare you," you seethed, on the verge of a sob. "How fucking dare you-"

"Y/N-"

"No, you... you are an asshole, Min Yoongi!" Despite the anger on your face, the hurt was clear in your voice. The tears bright in your eyes. "You don't get to, to just - kiss me like that! After all these years!"

Whatever drunken stupor had still been clinging to him sobered up in that instant. His heart leapt into his throat and he choked on the words he wanted to say, his tongue too thick in his mouth. All these years...? You... you couldn't mean...

He opened his mouth around the shape of your name and you moved away, toward the door. "No, no. I'm not - I am not doing this. Not now, not with you. Fuck you, Yoongi -"

His fingers wrapped around your slender wrist, stopping you for just a moment more. The sheer pain on your face at the contact paused him, and you yanked yourself free the very next moment. "No," you whispered, voice full of tears. "I don't love you, I don't."

You slipped out of the dorms just as the first light flickered on in the hallway, sleepy footsteps stumbling their way toward him. And your words echoed in his head, hollowing everything else out until he was left with just one realization, one truth.

You very much did love him. And he was so screwed.

©reneejuliet 2021. No part of this material may be copied, photocopied, reproduced, reposted, or translated without consent.

83 notes · View notes

whump-town · 3 years

Text

The Bridges Between You and Me

Emily whump (even though I'm supposed to be doing other things)

no real warnings, i don't think.

On her lunch break she takes her sandwich to the roof. It’s a great escape with only one access door, one Dave showed her and warned no one could ever know about. That had been after she and Reid only barely made it out of Benjamin Cyrus’ cult of horrors and pedophilia. A peace offering, she realized, to settle the fear he hadn’t known he had of losing her. After that, she started being invited to have a drink in his office and was welcomed into the boy’s club. Something Reid had only ever told her was a thing and something Morgan turned his nose to but also secretly wanted in on. A general snobby (sensitive) shrug of dismissal - couldn’t be that cool if Hotch gets invited and they don’t.

For the last few weeks, she’s been taking her lunch up here, away from Reid’s glances and the worry lines being formed along Morgan’s brow. It’s only a matter of time, she knows, before she has to give up the spot. Only one or two more lunches before Morgan takes his concern to Garcia and they figure out the little hideout. Won’t be as much fun then, not with Morgan’s betrayed hurt and his probing questions. For now, she’s got a safe-haven.

“You’re smoking again.”

Well, she thought she did.

Leaning against the brick, one of his long legs stretched out in front of him Hotch looks up from his coffee to quirk an eyebrow at her. It’s by no means a question, he sat in silence and watched her light her cigarette and pull off it before commenting. Before drawing attention to himself and crushing their individual peace. He knows she’s smoking again, has for a while, but thought she’d kick the habit again with time. She’s only just come back from the dead, hell he’d smoke too. That or drink himself to death but the idea alone makes him shiver with distaste - the parallels between himself and his father are already too pronounced for that notion.

Where he’s expecting her to maybe smirk and dismiss him with sharp sarcasm, he’s shot down with a clenched jaw. Her eyes darken, “shut up.” As he looks away, eyes going to the cool coffee in his hand he can hear her sigh. How much has changed since she came back? She’d been angry, walked away from him without a word and that had stung more than if she’d slapped him when she found out what he spent her departure doing. Knew that he could have fought to stay and instead went like a coward. They haven’t talked since. Haven’t even looked at each other. He used to know her better than he knew himself. Now he’s not sure what he knows.

Maybe he really did kill Emily Prentiss.

She rubs her palms into her eyes, fighting back tears. She will not cry in front of Hotch but all this shit is starting to be too much. Her emotions are beyond her control. Anger and fear and anxiety and panic - each one a speeding bullet wedged in her ribcage ricocheting until she’s chipped away. Is this what he’d felt after Foyet? He had a warpath too. Morgan had pretended not to see it, dismissed it as Hotch only coming down on him but he yelled and Garcia and Reid. Two people who always get away whatever hell they’ve dug up. He’d felt bad about it, an admission that only came out after a few drinks. One he’d made to the floor.

“Got another apple crate?” She can’t say sorry. He had to her for just raising his voice a little, for getting angry when he shouldn’t have been. He always apologizes and fixes his mistakes. That’s always been one of her faults, too content to watch her burning bridge spread and takedown cities and forests. Her mother had such conflicting points of view on an apology. Sticking her nose up at the sound of the lives she took at the cost of destroying her bridges and at the same time twisting her fingers up in Emily’s hair to wrangle one from her stubborn lips. Emily had gotten so caught up in doing the very same thing that she never learned. Doesn’t know how to say those words even if she wanted to.

But Hotch… She imagines him as a boy, just as he’d described to her once. Hardly 100 pounds soaking wet at thirteen but always so much taller than the other kids. An optimist despite everything he’d been through. Coming home with the hope to find a mother who wipes his tears with the edges of her summer dress and a father who throws his hat up into the air with a praising shout when he finally manages to get somewhere on his bike without training wheels. And still opening that front door every day with so much hope and love for two people who felt him better dead.

She knows she could hit him, she could yell and scream. Burn the bridge and kill the city and he’d still hike around the mountain, he’d swim across the river and she’d find him smiling on her doorstep. Loyal as a dog. It’s why he never told anyone about his father - he just kept coming back. Reminds her painfully of that stupid quote from Einstein.

He looks up at her, surprised as he nods that he does have another apple crate and pulls it around for her. Right beside his. “The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again, but expecting different results”. When is he going to understand that she’s never going to stop hurting him? That he can give her that stupid look - a smirk trying to work its way up but already shining brightly in his eyes - and she’s still going to end up doing it again. Dragging him below the water’s surface. Drowning him to save herself. All she does is take and take and he won’t stop giving.

She finds herself envious of Hotch’s inability to control his vulnerabilities. That little finger count he does as he pulls in a breath through his nose, a conscious movement that is both impossible to hide and incredibly telling. Though, they all pretend he’s got them fooled. He’s sort of an anxious wreck and JJ had once concluded it’d physically kill him if he was aware of just how little he actually manages to hide from them. It hurts to see him stand just outside the comfort they show one another, afraid that he’s unwelcomed or that his being there complicates their dynamics. She wants to be known the way that they know him.

To be human so uniquely.

“Are you going to tell Jack?” she asks softly. She leans her head back against the brick, rocking it to the side to look over at him. Guilty, she looks down at the cigarette in her hand. Somehow the constant thought this stupid thing could kill her does nothing but her stomach twists, her throat tight at realization that Jack would be so upset with her. He’d be crushed to see her smoking again.

It’s a habit she picks up every now and then.

She’d picked it back up, after ten years, after joining the team. For a month she was burning through over half a pack and stopped when she walked into Strauss’ office with her recognition, one-upping Hotch’s transfer. Started again after New York… Well, when she got news of the bomb she went out and bought a pack. Chain smoked until they informed her it was Kate and Hotch. Then she went and puked in an alley. There are plenty of things that had her at least reaching for the relief of one: getting taken hostage by Benjamin Cyrus, Matthew dying and dragging up her past, Reid getting Anthrax, that bastard George Foyet. If she’s perfectly honest she never really stopped after everything with Foyet.

She needed the peace, the ease of routine, and familiarity. Someone had to keep their shit together and it certainly wasn’t Hotch…

Teenage rebellions are such a pain in the ass once you turn twenty.

Jack had seen her one afternoon, she’d been finishing the one she pulled into Hotch’s driveway with. Her attention on not being found out by the man she’d assumed was inside. A safe assumption because Jack told her as much but only after he’d cried, only after he had her promise she’d be done. No more (even if she did finish the pack - but she’d felt awful with everyone after… even if she did pick up another pack).

And the guilt burns through the addiction, making her nearly sick at the thought of finishing the one in her hand.

He smiles. Sisyphus at the bottom of his hill, boulder weighing him down.

She hopes wherever his father is, it's miserable. Even with the fear of what lay ahead for her, the conviction she was headed for the same place as men like his father. So she convinced herself she didn’t even believe in that. But here she is again, watching herself become his father. Drawing her fist back, aimed for his forgiving smile. Taking advantage of Hotch’s loyalty, his stupid misplaced love.

“I won’t tell him.”

He’s smiling at her, pinching his eyes to flash her the black-eye she put there. Smiling with blood dripping down his chin.

She looks away. She mumbles “thanks” and takes to rubbing her fingers between her knuckles to soothe the sting of the bruising she imagines there. “How is he?” she deflects. She might as well have him laid out on his back, taking cheap shots at his ribs. “When did he get so big?” She’s got him where she wants him, kicking all the sensitive areas she knows will lay him out. Distracting him under the lure of Jack and it doesn’t matter that he’ll figure that out later just so long as it makes him smile that bloody smile and ramble about his son for a few minutes.

And after a few minutes of exposure to the sun, feeling the warmth of Hotch’s love for Jack settling around her, she almost feels like smiling too.

But that only lasts for so long. With a sigh and a silent look of disdain when his knees protest like rusted hinges when he stands and their joy shattered. But that does make her smile, even when he frowns at her humor at his expense. For a moment they’re the moon and sun, opposites circling their way around the world. Caught in a gravitational pull of nearly colliding and too far away.

He doesn’t bother her about that day on the roof or ask the question he already knows the answer to - if she’s smoking or not. She feels just enough satisfaction being fulfilled when Dave explains how Hotch found out about the roof that she doesn’t try to bring it up either. It’s fine, she tells herself. He looks at her again and she feels her frustration with him (with the world) dissipate to it’s normal simmer. Until she feels less fooled by Atlas, like she hasn’t had the world rolled over her shoulders to settle onto her bag. Her knees sink and she watches Atlas’ mighty back. Her body is aching - come back, she begs, come back.

It rushes back.

The wrong word piercing the veil and shattering the manufactured calm surrounding her. She knows, in a split second, that it was the wrong thing to say but it was too late. And as it occurred, as she flinched in the preparation for the pain to come, she thought about them. Derek standing only a foot away - the sound of his quickened breaths keeping pace for her. Giving her timing, finding her rhythm. He always keeps her steady.

Behind Derek, no doubt just a step behind Hotch, Reid’s looking over her shoulder.

And she’s sure Hotch knows, just as soon if not before she does, that this has gone tits up.

There’s no coming back. Her head hits the floor, lays her out for a moment where she can’t think past the pain blossomed out across the back of her head. All she knows is the fingers of pain wrapping around the back of her head and the chill in the air. Softly, as if submerged in mud, she can hear Hotch shouting. That tone he takes on when he’s scared, when he’s really scared. She wonders if this time he can save her or if history really does repeat itself.

“Hey, hey--” Morgan crouches down by her side. His hands covering the wound, that look in his eyes. He’s scared. She’s scaring them. “Stay with me, Princess. Come on, eyes open.”

And maybe history doesn’t repeat itself but she’ll be damned if it doesn’t at least rhyme.

Derek doesn’t seem to reciprocate the same humor on the matter.

“Emily.”

Mmm, she turns her head away. Morgan has this tendency to sound like a broken alarm clock. She finds herself looking up at JJ - caught in the tears in the corner of her eyes as she throws demands around at LEOs like she’s Hotch. Watching them listen like she is.

“Hang on Emily,” he begs. “Please. Just a little bit longer.”

God, she rocks her head back. Whines when Morgan shifts his weight but a hand grabs her wrists, stops her from pushing him away. “Get off me,” she grunts. She wants to kick out, to push away but Hotch moves too and under the weight of both of them she can’t move. But it hurts. It hurts so bad and she hates them. She hates Morgan pushing her away. The way that she ruined JJ and Reid’s friendship. How scared Garcia is and Dave keeps looking at her like he’s expecting her to have just disappeared. And fucking Hotch and his silent treatment.

And Jack.

Oh… Jack.

Morgan goes with her in the ambulance, the last time he’d been stopped. Hotch stands outside, his hands at his hips as she moves on and he stops there. Reid’s just behind him, always just behind him. She sees them, hazed by blood loss and everything going on but she sees them. Hotch his mountain made of man and Reid seeking his shelter from her storm.

When do they stop looking at her like that?

When do they finally realize she’s never going to stop hurting them?

She dreams about her mother.

The rain stings as it lands on her bare shoulder blades, pouring so hard it’s beating the gravel down their driveway. “Come inside, Emily!” Her mother has stepped out onto the balcony, the one that overlooks the garden they have to pay someone to maintain. “You’ll catch your death out here, darling!” Her mother steps closer, into the rain. “Emily, please. Let me make you some tea.”

And that’s how she knows it’s a dream.

Her mother would never do any of those things. Never follow her out into the rain. Would have never even realized she’d gone out. She wouldn’t call her “darling”, not when one is around to hear her do it. Her mother never once made her tea.

Garcia figured out Emily’s devotion to tea after a month of having known her. Then it wasn’t just a small bonding it was an entire affair as Emily was guided through the office to the little kitchenette and shown she wasn’t the only one. Where Garcia would show her the teas Gideon liked best and where he kept them in a little metal box. Fitting, she thought, as Garcia showed her all the usual suspects and Ginger Tulsi tea which she hadn’t expected at all. Garcia is more into the fruits, anything with the picture of a fruit on it.

There was a single, mangled box of Earl Grey sitting alone on a shelf. She didn’t even have to ask to know that it had to be Hotch’s. It was.

Reid doesn’t drink tea. He would pick up the habit a year later after Gideon leaves but only to soothe his nerves. The smell would remind him of being younger, of having Gideon.

Morgan doesn’t drink tea. Couldn’t even look at it after her death. The smell made him sick, physically ill to just pass Garcia in the hall with a mug of Chai. That stupid ratio Emily invited unique to how Garcia likes tea. She’d done it for Jason too and Hotch too. Dashes of cinnamon and the additions of almond milk to curate something unique… something to leave behind. A reason for Reid to cry in the bathroom and Hotch lose himself for a moment, cursing blindly when his shaking hands drop his mug.

She left them grief.

She left them with a gaping hole in their sides and blood gushing down over their fingers.

And they still came back.

She wakes slowly, groaning at the immediate pull she feels on the stitches down her right side. Sluggishly, she realizes that no matter what she does this is going to hurt. Breathing is agonizing. Thoughts are like axe picks trying to split her skull open.

“Emily?”

She opens her eyes and finds all of them.

Reid is curled into a cot, blanket drawn up over his shoulder and face pressed down.

Garcia is sleeping with her head on Morgan’s shoulder, the two of them nearly curled into each other. Content, peaceful. How could you be anything but? Nothing can go wrong with Penelope Garcia on your side, Morgan’s calm face reflects just that.

JJ has managed to curl herself into a chair, Hotch’s suit jacket pulled up over her like a blanket. Hotch makes his chair look tiny. His legs splayed in front of him and his head tipped back, in a way that’s going to hurt him once he wakes. They look too much like they did that night, the night she died. JJ’s hair is a mess, pulled back away from her eyes but still somehow beautiful. Light and kind in a way Emily could never imitate. Hotch has these awful rings under his eyes, sharpened by his cheek bones. He’s exhausted.

He always is.

“Rather sweet, aren’t they?”

She turns her head to the sound, smiling despite herself.

Rossi has his feet kicked up on the edge of her bed, his arms crossed over his chest. “I’m surprised the snoring didn’t wake you up.” He pulls his legs down slowly, bending each with care before placing it down on the ground. With a groan he rises, one hand on each side of his chair as he forces himself to motion. “Then again,” he mumbles, stepping around to a little tray. “It’s probably best you weren’t around for the trouble those two conjured up.” He motions to Morgan and Hotch with the cup in his hands, she doesn’t have to look to know that’s who he’s talking about.

She opens her mouth but her question is cut short, killed by her sore throat and impossibly dry mouth. “What’d--” she winces, coughing that turns into more of a gag. It hurts but she sees Hotch’s leg jerk, his head moves and she pushes it down. Holds her breath.

“Don’t go hurting yourself on account of him,” Rossi fusses. “He’ll take it very personally if you die… again.” He eases the sting with a smirk and it has to be the drugs because she mirrors it back. Stepping to the edge of the bed he presses a straw to her lips, encouraging her to take a sip.

A year before Foyet started killing again they went to Georgia. The strange thing was that you could actually see the heat baking in the air, the way it came up in waves up off the road. Somewhere, the memory so hazy now with the drugs in her system and the fog of that day, JJ had managed to wander off. She was out standing by a fence, a little flower pinched between her fingers. “A honeysuckle,” she said, showing them. Like the sun herself with her flower outstretched in the palm of her hand.

Hotch had smiled, genuinely, brightly. See? Even he knows when the sun is that close.

They both took a flower in their hands, showing them how to draw out a single drop of nectar.

As Rossi encourages her to have another sip she’s drawn back to that memory. The warmth of the air and Reid’s triumphant laughter when he finally got it, turning to Morgan, to Hotch to show them he did it. Something good.

“Where’d you go?”

She blinks and he’s managed to move. The whole room shifted. Darker. She sees Reid, turned over onto his back. JJ over on the couch, resting against Garcia. Her fingers trailing up and down over JJ’s arm. In her lap a book, keeping her distracted. A bag of yarns and fabrics at her feet, she’s camped out. Not going to move.

She clears her throat, “honeysuckles.” Turning her head she looks over at the others, for where Morgan and Hotch should be. She points over to the empty chair but even that hurts.

Rossi hums, he understands what she means. He’s got coffee in his hands and nods down towards it. “Morgan is taking a walk,” he says. “Too nervous to sit still. Coffee didn’t help.”

Emily nods, swallowing despite the pain grating up her throat.

“Jack,” is his answer for Hotch. “Gone to call Jessica.” He leaves out the state in which Hotch had managed to get himself worked up into. Standing here over her bed pale as a ghost and whispering something too softly for Dave to hear. A nightmare but she doesn’t need to know that.

“Get some sleep,” he advises as he settles himself down. “You’ll need all the strength you can manage when they get up.”

She nods, that makes sense. That way she’ll be alert to keep Morgan and Reid out of her jello. The drugs… They throw her off and she stumbles, chokes. “Dave?” He’ll stay, won’t he? He won’t leave.

Dave reaches over with hands warmed from his coffee and holds her hand. “Sleep,” he whispers.

No more warmth drawn from the fires she sets. She has teas that taste like berries to look forward to. Garcia with her hair full of butterfly clips. The hours of channel flicking Morgan falls into when he’s bored. The sweet smile that will light up Reid’s face when finally gets her to agree to a round of chess. The pseudo-girls night out they'll have right here. With shirley temples and virgin pina coladas. Hotch will be there too, when thinks she doesn’t need him, but the lights have gone out and he knows what it’s like to still be scared of the dark.

She doesn’t have to set fire to another bridge to feel the warmth of something real, of something loving.

They’re right here.

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #emily prentiss #david rossi #aaron hotchner #derek morgan #spencer reid #penelope garcia #jennifer jareau

42 notes · View notes

thelemontree · 4 years

Text

The Virtue of Patience (Sam Winchester x Reader)

Pairing: Sam Winchester x f!Reader

Kinktober prompt: asphyxiation / edging / public

Summary: Sam and the reader take advantage of their night out without their kids.

Word count: 3.1k

Warnings: smut, language, unprotected sex, edging, erotic asphyxiation, public sex, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, dom/sub undertones

A/N: Our first kinktober fic! Have a few planned out to post throughout the month, and although the list I took the prompts from has dates for the kinks, I don’t have time to stress about getting them out on said dates, so they’ll just be posted whenever I get them done lol. Enjoy!

The Winchester house was unusually quiet for a Saturday evening. Normally, the house was filled with the sounds of Sam and Y/N's two boisterous toddlers, running around all over the place and causing all sorts of mischief, with Sam and Y/N chasing after them. Sam’s law firm was having a fundraising gala that evening and John and Mary barely let Sam finish asking them if they would take their grandchildren for the evening before they said yes and were instructing Sam on their plans to take the twins early in the day for a zoo outing. It was rare for Sam and Y/N to have so much time alone together.

But they were making the most of it.

“Fuck, Sam, right there,” Y/N moaned, her head thrown back on the pillow as she gripped onto Sam’s hair. He laid flat on his stomach in between her legs, his head caged in by her thighs. One arm was wrapped around her leg with his hand splayed out across her belly, keeping her pinned to the mattress, while the other hand was two fingers deep in her pussy, stroking her walls with fervor. His tongue worked over her clit in small, tight circles, and he looked up at her with a faint smirk on his face. She looked completely and utterly wrecked--exactly how he wanted her.

Sam pulled off her clit with a wet pop and his fingers stopped moving but he kept them inside of her. Y/N lifted her head up to fix Sam with a look and she whined as the hand he had on her belly moved further south, the pad of his thumb rubbing her clit lightly.

“Why’d you stop?” Y/N asked with a pout on her lips. Sam smirked at her and chuckled.

“Were you gonna cum?” he replied, a mischievous lilt to his voice. Y/N narrowed her eyes at her husband.

"Well, yeah. Isn't that kinda the whole point of this?"

Sam made a thoughtful hum before replacing the thumb he had on her clit with his mouth and sucking on the bundle of nerves as he once again began to curl his fingers inside of her. Whatever thoughts about her husband's strange behavior melted away as Y/N started to lose herself in the feeling of Sam's tongue on her and fingers inside of her. She threw her head back with a mewl, her hips rising off the bed a fraction to try and chase more of what Sam was offering her.

Quickly, Y/N found herself closecloseclose, on the edge of falling over into pure bliss. Her whines were loud and constant now, music to Sam's ears. Her walls were gripping his fingers like a vice and her legs were tensing, almost crushing his head between them completely.

The coil in her belly was about to snap and send waves of pleasure over her whole body.

Except, it never snapped and the pleasure never came.

Y/N opened her eyes with a pitiful whine as Sam withdrew his fingers from her pussy and let go of her clit with a pop. She looked at him with wild, pleading eyes as he sat up on his knees in between her legs, a sly grin on his face and mischief in his eyes.

"Saaaaam," Y/N cried, leaning up on to her elbows. "I was gonna cum."

"I know," Sam said. He brought his fingers covered in her slick to her closed her mouth. "Open up and clean these off for me."

Y/N glared at him but did as she was told. She parted her lips and took Sam’s fingers into her mouth, swirling her tongue around the digits as she sucked them clean. She moaned at the taste of herself on her husband’s fingers and she scraped her teeth over his skin lightly as he pulled them out of her mouth with a groan.

“Can I cum now? Please?”

Sam didn’t answer. Instead, he leaned down to plant a soft kiss onto Y/N’s pouted lips before getting off the bed and stretching.

“Nope,” he said, shooting his wife a grin. “I’m gonna go shower. Gotta start getting ready for tonight.”

Y/N's mouth fell open in shock as she watched her husband's naked form retreat into their ensuite bathroom. It took her a moment to gather her wits and register what just happened, but soon she too was up and out of bed, storming into the bathroom behind Sam. He stood in front of the open shower door as she stormed in, his back to her as he fiddled with the water temperature.

"What do you mean I don't get to cum right now?! You can't just get me all worked up and leave me high and dry! For once we can fool around without--"

Y/N never got to finish her rant before Sam had turned around to face her, gripping her arms and walking her back until he had her up against the counter, crowding her in. Y/N's breath hitched in her throat at the proximity to him and she looked up into his dark eyes.

"I know you wanna cum right now, baby," Sam said, his voice low and dark. "But do you wanna know what I want?"

Y/N nodded for Sam to continue.

"I want your pussy to be wet and aching for my cock. I want you to be all worked up that you feel like you might cum the second I slide into you. I promise, baby, just wait and I’ll make it so good for you. Will you be a good girl for me and wait?”

Y/N drew in a shuddering breath as she took her bottom lip in between her teeth. She knew that if she told Sam that she didn’t want to wait, he would get down on his knees then and there and make her cum on his tongue. But she also knew that if she went along with Sam’s little game, she’d be in for a treat. She weighed her options before letting out a sigh and bringing her arms up to wrap around Sam’s neck. Y/N stood up on her toes to brush a soft kiss against his lips before pulling away and pushing at his chest, directing him towards the shower.

“Okay. I’ll wait.”

Sam shot her a smirk before he stepped into the shower, leaving the door open behind him. He wet his hair under the stream of water before turning to Y/N with a raised brow.

“You gonna get in?”

She couldn’t say no, of course.

***

Getting ready with Sam was… difficult, to say the least. Sam was always handsy with Y/N, but with this teasing game he was playing with her tonight, his antics were dialed up times ten. By the time they were all dressed up and walking out of the door to make their way to the event venue, Y/N’s panties were absolutely ruined, she had lost count of how many times Sam had brought her to the edge just to leave her hanging, and they were nearly late.

Luckily, this fundraising event would bring Y/N a little reprieve. As the youngest and newest partner of his law firm, Sam had to be on his best behavior. Y/N admired her husband as she watched him talk to his colleagues. He was so passionate about his career--it was one of the things she loved most about Sam. All the legal jargon he was throwing around, though, sounded like a foreign language to her. Art history was more her speed, so she was happy to let Sam do most of the talking throughout the evening.

Dinner was much of the same. They sat at their numbered table and ate their pre-chosen meals. Sam talked business and Y/N was just enjoying the night out with her husband. When the dance floor opened up, however, the pair stayed put while the other couples of their table went to go dance.

Sam had an arm slung around Y/N's chair. As she took a sip of her wine, he leaned down to nuzzle at her temple and place a soft kiss there. She smiled over the rim of her glass at his actions. He moved his mouth further down to whisper in her ear.

"Go to the bathroom and wait for me."

Y/N's eyes widened and she set her glass back down on the table. She turned in her seat to look up at Sam.

"Really? Here?" she asked incredulously.

Sam's other hand fell to her bare knee and gave it a squeeze and he shot her a smirk.

"Yes, really. Now go, I'll be there in a minute."

Y/N continued to look at her husband for a moment before nodding. She stood up from the table and walked towards the bathroom and shaky legs. Excitement pooled in her belly and she could feel the uncomfortable ache in her core return tenfold. She knew if she played along with Sam's game she'd be rewarded, but she didn't expect anything like this.

When Y/N entered the bathroom, she was relieved to find it empty. She looked herself over in the mirror, adjusting her sparkly black dress to rid it of the wrinkles it got from sitting down. The anticipation in her belly was growing stronger and stronger. Waiting for Sam felt like hours, even though it was no longer than two minutes.

Finally, Sam made his way into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. He locked it behind him, ensuring nobody could walk in on them.

Y/N smiled at her husband and before she could open her mouth to say anything, Sam was on her. His hands gripped her hips tightly asand he easily lifted her onto the counter. He pushed himself into the space between her open legs and kissed her fervently.

Y/N moaned into Sam’s mouth, her hands coming up to grip his shoulders. She whined when he took her bottom lip in between his teeth and pulled on it at the same time he ground his hips into her clothed core, letting her feel how hard he made her.

“You’ve been such a good girl for me tonight,” Sam murmured as he trails kisses down her jaw and throat. He smirked against her skin at the keening noise she made when he nipped at her pulse point. “Waiting patiently for me to let you cum. I wasn’t gonna do this until we got home, but you look so fucking good in this dress, I can’t wait any longer. Need to be inside you, baby. Want me inside you?”

Y/N nodded her head furiously, gasping out a “Yes, Sam,” when she felt his fingers snake their way up her dress to rub at her over her panties.

“God, you’re so fucking wet,” Sam groaned.

“All for you, Sam,” she hummed in response. Her mouth falls open with a silent moan as Sam pushes her panties to the side with one finger and strokes through her folds with another.

“Please, Sam, need you,” Y/N whined, snaking one hand down in between their bodies to palm at Sam’s hard cock, trapped in his pants. Sam hissed at the friction and he nodded.

“Don’t worry, baby, I’ll give you what you want.”

Sam made quick work of popping the button of his pants and unzipping them. He pulled his cock out from the slit in his boxers and Y/N moaned at the sight of him. He was long and thick and she always had a little trouble walking after every time he fucked her.

Sam pushed Y/N’s panties to the side again and rubbed the tip of his cock through her folds, coating himself in her slick. He teased her entrance, chuckling at the pitiful whine she let out. Sam could tell she was getting ready to sass him, to tell him to hurry the fuck up, so he pushed himself halfway in before she could get a word out.

Y/N's head fell back at the feeling of Sam's cock finally making its way inside of her. She would never admit it to him, but after waiting all day to feel him… It was amazing. Sam must have felt that way about being inside her, too, as he dropped his forehead to her shoulder with a groan, working his hips forward more until his cock was buried all the way inside of her pussy.

They sat like that for a moment, their heavy breaths mingling as they adjusted to the sensation of being joined together. When Sam had composed himself enough, he lifted his forehead from Y/N's shoulder and planted a searing kiss on her lips before he started to move.

Sam pulled all the way out, slowly, before slamming back in again. His hand moved to grip Y/N's thigh, lifting her leg and wrapping it around his hip. The change in angle allowed Sam to hit her just right and she had to bite down on her bottom lip to keep from screaming. Sam's pace was punishing, but it was just the way she liked it.

With each thrust, Y/N could feel herself getting closer and closer. Sam could tell, too, with the way her face was scrunched up and the breathy little whines she was letting out. But as close as she was, she needed more. It wasn’t often that they did this, but sometimes Y/N needed that extra little push to send her over the edge, and Sam was always more than happy to oblige.

“Sam,” Y/N choked out, her words cut off by a particularly sharp thrust from her husband that had her mewling. “Need… need more.”

“Yeah? What more do you need, baby? Use your words and I’ll give it to you,” Sam grunted.

Sam’s thrusts slowed to allow Y/N to get her wits about her enough to voice her desires. Her lust blown eyes locked with his and Sam knew what she wanted, but he wanted to hear her say it.

“Choke me. Please.”

Sam’s gaze on her turned predatory, even more so than before. He trailed his hand from her hip and up her chest, stopping to squeeze at her breasts through the fabric of her dress, before continuing upwards, his warm palm engulfing the soft flesh of her throat.

“This what you want?” Sam asked darkly. Y/N nodded fervently, but Sam tsked and shook his head. “Say it.”

“Yes, Sam. This is what I want,” Y/N gasped out, pushing her throat further into his palm.

“Get yourself ready, then. You know what to do if you need me to stop.”

Y/N obeyed quickly, removing one hand from Sam’s shoulder to take the wrist of his hand around her throat into her palm. If it became too much and she needed him to stop, all she had to do was squeeze.

Sam repositioned his hand so his thumb and forefinger were gripping the underside of her jaw. He looked at her once more for permission and she nodded against him. He resumed his thrusts again, slow at first, as he worked his way up to the pace he had originally set. Once he got there and Y/N was moaning softly underneath him, his fingers began to squeeze.

The pressure was light at first, barely there, but gradually, it became harder and harder, until Y/N could barely breathe. Sam never pushed her to the point where she couldn’t breathe entirely, but he always knew how to toe the line between too much and just enough perfectly.

The lack of oxygen made Y/N’s head swim and combined with Sam’s hard thrusts, she was brought to the edge quickly.

“I can tell you like that,” Sam said through gritted teeth. He squeezed just a little bit tighter, relishing in the way Y/N almost went cross-eyed at the action. “I can feel your pussy clenching me tighter and tighter. You’re gonna cum, aren’t you?”

Y/N’s mouth fell open in a choked moan, the sound barely coming out. Sam knew that meant yesyesyes.

“Then do it. Cum for me, baby.”

Sam’s words, his hands practically squeezing the life out of her, his cock dragging in and out of her pussy… It all became too much and the coil in her belly that had been winding tighter and tighter finally snapped. Her body seized and her eyes shut tight as her orgasm washed over her, and Sam quickly dropped his hand from her throat to grip her hip once again to fuck her through it. Y/N drew in a shuddering breath and began to let out a loud wail, which Sam had to stop by kissing her and capturing the sound in his own mouth.

He pumped into her once, twice, three times more before his own orgasm washed over him. He stilled his hips, groaning into Y/N’s mouth as his release coated her walls. He stayed sheathed inside of her as they parted from the kiss and Sam pressed his forehead to hers, their heavy breaths mingling.

Y/N wasn’t sure how long they sat there, joined together, but soon enough the feeling of Sam’s softening cock inside of her began to feel uncomfortable. She wiggled her hips a bit to try and pull away and Sam took the hint, pulling out of her with a hiss. He walked over near the toilet, grabbing two wads of toilet paper to clean himself and Y/N up.

Once they were both cleaned up and their clothes were back in place, Y/N walked up to Sam and looped her arms around his neck, pulling him down to her so she could place a soft kiss on his lips.

“I love you,” she murmured happily as they pulled apart.

Sam squeezed her hips affectionately. “I love you, too.”

“Now, let’s get back out there before we get arrested for public indecency,” Y/N joked, linking her arm through Sam’s.

Sam snorted with a fond shake of his head and a roll of his eyes. “Baby, I’m a lawyer, remember? I could easily plead that down from a misdemeanor to an infraction.”

It was Y/N’s turn to snort. “Okay, hot shot.”

The couple didn’t even bother to hide the fact that they were leaving the bathroom together and despite cleaning up before coming out, it was almost comically obvious what had gone down between the two. But, they couldn’t find it in themselves to care either way. And really, with the open bar and full dance floor, nobody had paid their absence any mind anyways.

#sam winchester x reader #sam winchester smut #sam winchester imagine #sam winchester one shot #supernatural imagine #supernatural one shot #supernatural smut #supernatural fanfiction #reader insert #kinktober 2020 #the lemon tree

163 notes · View notes