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corvidcrossbow · 7 months ago

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~•♡•~ I Like It Long

➳ Summary: While out on a run, you and Michonne start lightly teasing Daryl for having his hair grown out. But there's a hidden reason as to why he won't cut it. (Daryl x Fem!Reader)

➳ Setting: Alexandria, post Savior war

➳ Word count: 1.4k

➳ C/W: Just smut n hair pulling

➳ A/N: This spawned from me writing the context plot of another fic and I was like… wait (And thank yall for the attention on that Mother's Day post??? Yall are so sweet 😭🫶)

My hair is really similar to Daryl's when it's partially or almost dry and it's actually my favorite thing about myself like xbsosjdjdneisnsiasjebeiisjabajissn

You loudly banged your forearm against the glass door of a long abandoned drug store, not hearing any noise inside. Vines and weeds had grown through cracks in the concrete, winding up the sides of the building.

“Sounds pretty clear,” You shrugged, holstering your bow and opting for hand-held blades as Michonne pulled open the handle. You, her, and Daryl were clearing through a nearby town while out on a supply run, opting to make quick work of the task in favor of getting home.

You three entered the building, keeping your guard up in case of any straggling walkers that weren't roused by the initial attempts to lure them towards you. The interior wasn't large, so you could comfortably split off from each other and still be close.

“Seems mostly ransacked. Not much left,” Michonne commented, katana lowered but out in front of her. This had begun to grow repetitive and boring, energy matching the grayness of the lighting.

She took a pair of hair cutting shears off the shelf in front of her, holding them up to your gaze a few isles over. “Think he could use these?” She asked as a smile played the edges of her mouth, nodding back towards Daryl, looking for mischief. His hair had grown quite long over the course of the last two years, the tawny blond darkening into a rich brown, accompanied by a shaggy cut.

“Oh definitely. Jus’ gotta determine which onna us can hold him down long enough to cut it,” You replied with a chuckle, eyes following hers to where the archer stood at the endcap of another lane.

“Shuddup, will ya?” Daryl scoffed, shaking his head with grunt. His gaze didn't break from the advertisement in front of him, trying to ignore your antics. “Ts'fine.”

“Gotta make use of whatever supplies we find, no?” You continued your teasing, trying to hide the grin on your face at his reaction. “You were sweatin’ like a pig all summer, hair tangled all over yer face ‘n what not. When was the last time you cut it?”

“Don’ kno’, don’ care,” He grumbled, and you eyed Michonne again. It's definitely been since the prison, at least. He moved on from the stand. “Plus, winter up ‘ere's gon be colder. Will keep me warm.”

“Daryl, you're ‘bout the only one who didn't freshen up since we got to Alexandria. Don't you at least want a trim?” Michonne pestered, raising her eyebrows at him and shifting her weight to one leg. “You remember Rick's whole hobo-beard.”

“Ain't got no ‘hobo-beard’.”

“But you do look like the only ‘scissors’ you know is the recently searched on your go to porn site,” Michonne chaffed, barely able to contain herself.

Daryl froze for just a second, face flushing as his head whipped to stare back at her. And you two burst out laughing, to which his expression soured.

“Give it up, alrigh’?! Ain't nothin’ wrong with mah hair!” He snapped, accent thick with embarrassment, bowing his head slightly in an effort to obscure it. He readjusted his hold on his crossbow. “Gon shoot tha botha ya.”

“Ay, ay! Jus’ sayin’. Rick scrapped the beard and… maybe you'll finally get some play too,” She winked, followed by a lighthearted snicker.

Daryl groaned again and rolled his eyes, beginning to walk off, but caught your gaze for just a second.

It's not that he didn't want to cut his hair - he didn't care about it – but he wasn't really allowed to either way. There was one major, sexy, moaning reason he didn't cut his hair.

❥-》》—————➣

“Oh, god, Daryl! Fuck! Don't stop… god don't stop,” You cried out, hands clutching his shoulders as your nails began to dig into his flesh. His grip on your hips was bruising, keeping you steady as he pounded up into you at a relentless pace. That grip was the sole thing grounding you in the reality of the present moment.

“Ain't gon stop,” He affirmed, voice gravelly. You moaned wildly, head weakly falling to his chest with exacerbated breaths, his own heaving against your temple. He leaned closer when he could, harshly sucking at your clavicle and boobs, leaving behind a litter of hickeys and little bites that colored you in reds and purples.

The springs of the bed beneath you sounded like they were gonna fold in on themselves, headboard sporadically banging against the wall as Daryl shifted down a little to hit into you at an angle, your clit brushing against him with each thrust. Your back arched overtop of him, shoving his dick into your belly.

“Baby, please… fhuuuckkkk.” You couldn't even think, every thought consumed by the feeling of him. The way he just destroyed you like it's an art he'd mastered, tip brushing against every sweet and sensitive spot inside you, walls desperately trying to cling on, balls hitting up against you, clit grinding on him, slickness coating his pelvis and your inner thighs, his clutch on you just so fucking strong.

You pulled yourself together, lifting your head to see him. His long hair was dark and dampened with sweat, matting up as it stuck to his forehead, obscuring part of his vision. But he was too focused on using you to fix it, didn't dare to remove his hands unless God willed him to.

You moved up, swiping it away, and his blue eyes instantly connected with yours, pupils blown with lust. He (somehow) sped up, starting to slam your hips up and down to meet him instead of just keeping them stationary, now just beating your cunt.

“Tha's it girl. Jus’ keep takin’ me good like tha’.”

His words made you shiver, and you partially fell forward again, nestling your face beside his and snaking an arm behind his head. Your fingers weaved through his messy hair, tangling at the scalp, then tugging harshly as another wave of pleasure ripped through you.

And he whined. There it is. His breathy gasps and grunts mingled with strained whines, and whimpers, as you pulled tighter and tighter at the roots of his locks. His face contorted, eyes nearly squeezing shut, that one vein bulging from his neck, directly on the verge of so much.

“Daryl… inside.., Dar-” You panted, cut off as everything went white and you hit your peak. Your whole body felt electrified, tensing, twitching, walls spasming, toes curling and claws clinging to his frame.

Daryl tipped over the edge almost immediately after, having just been waiting for you to cum first. He desperately pumped into you a few more times, before curving up once more and simultaneously ramming you down as he came deep in you, the warmth of his release spreading through your core, and he threw his head back with ragged breaths.

You were both left a sweaty mess, gasping for oxygen, feeling full and satisfied. Your muscles couldn't keep you up, and you collapsed onto him, loosening your hold at his scalp, his hold on your hips doing the same.

He recovered a bit quicker than you, bringing a hand up and brushing your own messy hair away the second he had the energy to do so.

“Ya alrigh’, sunshine?” He asked between hitches, hoping he hadn't been too rough. He soothingly rubbed his palm over the curve of your body where bruises were sure to form.

You nodded faintly, moving your head so you could breathe better, and you could feel him relax beneath you from the reassurance. He held you tenderly for a while, giving you time to regain your composure. Your eyes were closed in bliss. Few things beat the feeling of Daryl under you, rising and falling with his torso, hearing his low humming as he steadied himself – his softening cock still buried deep inside you, cum ever so surely beginning to dribble down.

You lazily remained in his arms, not wanting to deal with getting up, or the shower you two definitely needed. You took a strand of his hair, affectionately curling it around your finger like a tendril, then letting it go and repeating.

“Ya actually want me tah cut ma hair?” He eventually asked, thinking back to your light mocking from earlier, how you'd laughed as Michonne layered it on. It didn't matter much to him, he'd do whatever pleased you.

“Fuck no. Was just messin’ with you, Dixon,” You replied, kissing the skin of his collarbone right below you, and moving up to find his lips. “You know I like it long.”

The long hair suited him, he looked good with it. You loved to wash and play with it, brush and braid it while he laid in your lap. But mainly, it was easy to grab at, pull on – and close to nothing in existence sounded better than those whines and whimpers every time you did so.

©corvidcrossbow 2024. I do not give permission for my works to be copied, modified or adapted to other platforms. My work may be translated only if asked and with proof of given consent.

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holdmytesseract · 12 days ago

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Safe Haven

Daryl Dixon x fem!Reader

Summary: When Daryl threatens to lose his grip and gets swallowed by the trauma he experienced in the Sanctuary, you try your best to catch him and being his safe haven he desperately needs.

Warnings: quite some angst, fluff, insecurity? mentions of scars, injuries and torture, nudity, FEELS, FEELS, FEELS

Set in Season 7!

Word Count: 3k

a/n: This story is based on an idea from @erebus-et-eigengrau . I hope you like how this turned out, lovely friend! 🤗

EoH Masterlist °☆• Daryl Masterlist °☆• Masterlist

"Daryl?" You spoke his name in a quiet voice as you took the archer's hand slowly and carefully in yours. His fingers twitched, but didn't pull away from your gentle hold. "Do you trust me?" Your voice was just above a whisper; so afraid to scare him off or make him feel even more comfortable than he probably already felt.

Tainted, yet still incredibly beautiful blue eyes met yours, as Daryl lifted his gaze; peeking through long strands of sweaty, greasy chestnut brown hair which hung in his face. You patiently waited for an answer while your thumb had absent-mindedly started to caress the rough skin on the back of his hand - an attempt to provide him some comfort and reassurance.

The archer started to nod; merely noticeable, but he did. "'M trustin' ya," he added quietly; voice even more raspy than usually. Hearing those words leaving his lips caused your heart to skip a beat. Sure, you and Daryl had been a thing for quite a few months now and deep down you knew that he had been always trusting you. Unless he'd have never opened his heart for you. But nevertheless was it wonderful to hear.

You nodded, "Okay." gently squeezed his hand and gave him a small smile. "Come with me?" Daryl nodded once more; wordlessly and let you guide him wherever it was you wanted to take him.

Your destination was the small trailer you - and now Daryl, shared in Hilltop. Crickets and some distant chatter from the other residents was all that could be heard alongside yours and the archer's steps through the grass.

You led Daryl inside your home and closed the door behind the both of you - never letting go of his hand. Not even for a second. Cautiously stepping closer, you lifted your free hand to cup his cheek; feeling the greyish hairs of his beard tickle your palm. Daryl's eyes fluttered shut at your touch; a soft gasp leaving his lips.

Your eyes widened. "Fuck..." You cursed under your breath; knowing that you just did what you swore you wouldn't do. Unintentional or not. "Daryl, no, I-" You inhaled a shaky breath; afraid to hurt him. "I put that wrong. I don't ask you to tell me what... What happened there. I would never force you to do so. Never. It's entirely up to you. Your decision." You gave his hand another reassuring squeeze. "A-All I wanted to say is... We need to give you a shower and fresh clothes... Your wounds... They... I don't want them to get infected. L-Let me take care of you, please?" Your gaze never left Daryl's; always checking in on him - on how he felt.

"My love... I won't ever force you to this..." you started; gently tracing the last remains of a bruise underneath the archer's eye. "Never, b-but-" Before you could even finish your sentence, you felt Daryl flinch slightly; a literal storm of emotions starting to rage inside his eyes - and you immediately realised that you had chosen the wrong words.

Daryl had escaped Negan and the Sanctuary not even a day ago and whatever they had done to him... Whatever he had experienced... You knew it was something traumatic. Something horrible. He hadn't told you. Not even a word - and you would never force him to do so. If he ever wanted to talk, you were going to welcome him with open arms and a sympathetic ear. You were his partner after all. You'd wait until he was ready to open up to you - whenever it might be. One day, one week, one month, one year - or hence, even never. All you cared about was his well-being and safety.

The archer swallowed at your words; seemingly giving your words a thought, before he bobbed his head in a small nod. "Y-Yeah, a'right," he whispered and turned his head only a few inches; just enough that he was able to press a feather-light kiss against your palm.

Another soft smile darted over your face and you retreated your hand from his cheek. Then you gave the hand which was still neatly tucked in yours a small tug; urging him on to follow you again - what he did.

The bathroom wasn't really spacious. Barely big enough to fit two people inside, but you had less and definitely worse. You wouldn't complain. Never. This was the end of the world after all. You'd take what you get and make it work.

Once again you closed the door behind the two of you, before returning to face the man you loved. "You trust me?" You repeated your question from earlier, now that he knew what you were up to - just to make sure. Your thumb worked gentle circles in the skin on the back of his hand.

It wasn't like you had never seen him shirtless or well, naked before, no. You did. That wasn't the point. But this right now... This was different. So much more... intimate. Perhaps the most intimate moment in your relationship so far, since you and the archer had yet to take the step of being physically joined. You, neither Daryl didn't want to just rush into things. You both agreed to take your time - which definitely proved to be the right decision, because you and the archer weren't exactly experts in romantic relationships.

Like before was Daryl's answer a clear 'Yes'. Giving his hand a last squeeze, you let go - much to the archer's dismay. His hand twitched - unbeknownst to you, as he held back the urge to chase after your hand - your reassuring touch, which kept him grounded.

Instead were hovering your hands now above his shoulders; fingertips grazing the plaid shirt he wore over the white t-shirt. "M-May I?" You asked hesitatingly; again afraid to make him feel uncomfortable, despite his promise of trust.

Nevertheless did it happen from time to time, that one would walk in on the other after a shower or while getting dressed to which you and Daryl got used to and normally were comfortable with. It had taken him quite a while longer than you, though, given the fact of how insecure he was. Not exactly about his body itself, but the scars which were covering it - a steady reminder of his abusive father and the traumatic past he had experienced. You felt absolutely honoured; heart aching with love, as he started to feel comfortable enough around you to be shirtless and even naked.

A higher declaration of love didn't exist. Not when your name was Daryl Dixon.

You squatted down and made quick work to untie the laces of his shoes. "Can you take off your shoes for me, love?"

"Y-Yeah," Daryl's deep voice managed to snap you out of your thoughts; giving you permission to help him. You smiled gently and shrugged the plaid shirt over his shoulders, down his arms; throwing it carelessly aside on the floor. Next was the sweaty, stained t-shirt he wore.

"Can you...?" You asked; gently tapping his elbows. "O-Or does it hurt?" Wordlessly, Daryl lifted his arms and let you pull the dirty t-shirt slowly and carefully over his head; leaving him shirtless - and the sight you were greeted with caused a gasp to leave your lips. His upper body was littered with bruises and cuts. Your heart ached seeing all his injuries; violently inflicted to the man you loved. You swallowed hard, "Daryl..." quietly calling out his name; voice filled with hurt. The archer lowered his head. "'S okay... H-Had worse," he muttered and definitely tried to downplay the extent of his pain - physically and probably even mentally.

You instantly shook your head. "N-No, it... It's not. They hurt you..." Tears gathered in your eyes, as your fingertips hovered over a particularly dark bruise on his rips. You didn't receive an answer. Daryl's eyes were still directed at the ground, but you could see that he was chewing on the inside of his bottom lip. You couldn't quite tell what was going on in that pretty head of his. Was it insecurity? Shame? Guilt? Fear? All of it? Whatever it was that had captured the archer's mind, you knew it wasn't good and therefore immediately tried to pull him out of this again.

Your hand found his again; fingers intertwining as you guided him towards the trailer's shower. You slid the creme-white curtain aside and opened the tap; hand underneath the water jet to feel the temperature. Once the water was pleasantly warm, you turned to face Daryl. "Water is ready. I, uh, I'm going to give you some space now, okay? Call me whenever you need me, yeah? I'll be just outside the door." You squeezed his hand and gave him another soft smile, before letting go and stepping aside.

Your tender voice urging to Daryl's ears seemed to do the trick. Slowly, he lifted his gaze; even more troubled blue eyes meeting yours, as he started to kick off his shoes, together with the socks.

Now there was only his jeans and underwear left. Hesitatingly, you reached for the button and zipper of his pants. Locking eyes with the archer once more, you silently asked for his permission again. When there was no objection, you continued and helped him step out of his jeans first and lastly out of the grey, absolutely uncomfortable looking briefs. A few small grunts left his lips; clearly indicating that his body was definitely aching and hurting - which gave your heart another jolt. And Daryl? Daryl didn't even do as much as flinch. His gaze was still directed on the floor; his mind most likely returning to wander down that dark path like minutes before.

You cursed yourself internally.

Space. The word echoed through Daryl's head like the ring of a gunshot. Well, it certainly felt like a bullet had pierced his heart to leave him aching and bleeding. Space... It was the last thing he wanted from you. Watching you walk away only caused to double the pain. He needed you as close as possible. You had been already too far away from him for the last weeks. He couldn't bear to lose you again - even if it was just for a few minutes.

"N-No, please... Stay. D-Dun'- Dun' wantcha to go," he whispered; voice strained and raspy. It caused you to stop dead in your tracks. Stay? He wanted you to stay? Your heart skipped yet another beat. You swiftly turned to face him once again. The expression on Daryl's face broke you. He looked so... lost. Desperate. Afraid. And once again, you immediately noticed that you had just committed another mistake.

How could you leave him alone after all he's been through; thinking he needed the space, when it was clearly written all over his face that he needed everything but space?

"Of course, I'll stay. If that's what you want..." You spoke in a compassionate voice; the gears in your brain turning.

"Do you feel comfortable enough for me to join you? T-That okay for you, o-or...?" You asked Daryl cautiously; not wanting to take this too far. But to your slight surprise nodded the man opposite you immediately. "Please..." That one word was enough.

You made quick work to shed your own clothes; leaving you entirely bare as well. Daryl didn't make a sound. Except for shy eyes travelling your now exposed body - and his cheeks flushed. You took his hand in yours again; unbeknownst anchoring him to you - to the here and now and not letting him wander off to the Sanctuary again.

With a soft smile, you gently tucked at the archer's hand; pulling him into the shower and underneath the pleasantly warm water jet after you.

He was visibly comfortable - and that was all that mattered.

The water was quick to get the both of you soaking wet; Daryl's chestnut brown bangs sticking to his face. You brought your hands up and gently peeled the loose strands away and out of his face; not missing the opportunity to caress his beardy cheeks. The archer just stared at you in silence and didn't even move an inch. He relied completely on you, as if he had lost the control over his own body. His heart in the palm of your hands.

"C'mere, sweets," your voice grabbed his attention - and the lack of warm water cascading down his beaten and bruised body. He blinked and took a step closer to you. "I'm going to wash your hair now, is that okay?" Daryl gave a confirming nod and within seconds had you squirted some shampoo on your hands and buried them in his curls; massaging gently. The man's eyes slipped shut with a cute grunt and groan of relaxation and satisfaction. You couldn't help but smile.

While you washed the archer's hair, he was fighting the urge to bury his head in the crook of your neck and shoulder; hands twitching to cup your hips - but he didn't dare to do so; too afraid to cross a line. He didn't want to do something wrong and push you away. It was a nightmare he wasn't strong enough to fight right now. Never - if he was being honest.

Once you had rinsed the brown mop of hair on his head, you moved on to his body - but not without asking for his consent again. You were even more hesitant and cautious in that regard, since touching his head and touching his whole body were two very different things...

"Dar... Will you allow me to..." You questioned him almost nervously; trailing off and kinda awkwardly gesturing between the bottle of shower gel and him. "I-I don't have to. Y-You can-" "I trust ya." And once again were - this time three - words enough from the man in front of you to jump into action; feeling a rush of love flooding your veins. He was trusting you enough to let you touch his body. Even in the vulnerable state he was currently in. It meant the world to you and you were determined to show him. You gave him yet another sweet smile and went to work; always making sure to capture his eyes now and then to make sure he was still okay with what your hands were doing.

Rinsing off the remaining soap, you got the first real close look of the tattoo on his shoulder blade and his scars, of course. You felt a pang of compassion and sorrow deep in your heart. Life had certainly left its marks on him. That much was clear. He didn't deserve this... All the pain. All the hurt. All the losses he had to endure. It wasn't fair.

You started with his soaping his upper body; feeling the bumps of his scars underneath your palm - what you didn't mind at all, of course. You had told him a hundred of times by now that he was beautiful to you no matter what.

Your touch was soft and delicate; making sure to not hurt him and being cautious about his cuts and bruises. Unfortunately, you couldn't prevent the shower gel from getting into the deeper cuts, which caused Daryl to hiss and you to repeatedly mutter the words 'I'm so sorry.'. Then you moved on to his legs and gave them a gentle scrub as well, before you went to rinse the soap off of his body again; starting with the front and lightly tapping his shoulder to signal him to turn around for you - what the archer did. Wordlessly - but words weren't needed anyway. Not between the both of you.

Returning the shower head back into its holder, you felt the overwhelming urge to give him all the love he deserved and slowly snuck your arms around his waist; pressing your smaller body against his back. Daryl flinched slightly at the sudden contact, but his muscles relaxed instantly again; knowing it was you and not just anybody. And yet he couldn't stop the gasp to leave his mouth when your lips started to trail a path of kisses over ever single scar and bruise; mapping out his broad back.

Until now.

Daryl's eyes slipped shut; a feel of love and comfort rushing through his veins - so much, it was overwhelming. It was like the connection he shared with you had reached a new kind of depth - in the most positive way. He hadn't felt this loved and accepted in years, decades even. Not before you stumbled into his life.

Daryl had felt like falling deeper and deeper; a dark hole sucking him in. It was like his body was present, but his mind still stuck in the hellhole Negan had caged him in.

Emotions exploded within Daryl; his heart threatening to burst from his ribcage with all the love it was feeling. He couldn't help himself but to turn in your embrace and press his forehead against the crook of your neck; not hesitating this time.

Now all he could feel and see was you. Even when he closed his eyes.

Sure, the archer's mind would still need some more time to heal, but you had caught him; kept him from losing his grip.

His sudden movement caught you by surprise at first, but then you just smiled and buried your hands in his wet curls, while Daryl's calloused, gentle hands skimmed over your bare back, sides and hips. But not in a sexual way. All the archer wanted was to feel you; needing to convince his brain that you were truly real - and his. Yes, it was the most intimate moment you and Daryl shared - and it was perfect.

Sure, sex was great, but that... That was a whole other level of intimacy. It was so much more.

You were so lost in the moment, that you didn't notice how your archer's tears mixed with the warm water still cascading down over your intertwined bodies, as he almost frantically held onto you.

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logansbaby · 1 year ago

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CLOSER | DARYL DIXON

SYNOPSIS ❥ On the road, you can’t seem to focus on anything other than wanting Daryl to fuck you senseless. Because he’s such a good boyfriend, you get what you want.

Pairing ❥ Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Content warnings ❥ 18+ content (MDNI), porn without plot, creampie, unprotected p in v, oral (daryl receiving!), dirty talk, car sex, basically reader being feral (like we all are)

Word Count ❥ 2.3k

A/N ❥ hi my loves!! long time no see, i know </3 been busy with stuff irl but i wanted to get this piece out for you all as a thank you for hitting 100 followers! it means the world to me <3 hope y’all enjoy this, im squeezing my legs as we speak bc whew. and also, the picture is purely there to generate imagery, there are no descriptions of the reader! xoxo, sammy

— ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆

“You let me violate you

You let me desecrate you

You let me penetrate you

You let me complicate you

…

I wanna fuck you like an animal

I wanna feel you from the inside

I wanna fuck you like an animal”

Closer by Nine Inch Nails

— ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

“What?”

His gruff voice spooked you from your lustful haze, where you’d been glancing over at Daryl every couple seconds. You shook your head in a fruitless attempt to clear your sinful thoughts, before meeting his eyes.

“Hmm?” You spoke softly, it was all you could do in your state. Oh, how you wanted him to pull over and let you have your way with him.

“Been starin’ at me since we got in the car. Do I got somethin’ on my face or what?” Daryl sounded annoyed, but you knew him better to just be deeply confused by your actions. You couldn’t exactly blame him, it’d been over twenty minutes and you’d barely spoken since you both had left for a supply run.

But you couldn’t help it. With your panties soaked, slit slippery and clit throbbing in neglect, you were desperately trying to act normal.

Clearly, you’d failed.

It was Daryl’s fault; you’d been fine until you saw him leant against a porch pillar, lighting up a cigarette. You couldn’t explain it because you’d seen him smoke before, but something about the way he looked then had your thighs squeezing, breath catching.

He was busy talking to Rick, blowing smoke as he spoke intently. His arms were bulging, muscles on full display as they moved to further prove his words. The vest did nothing to offer cover and with his pretty lips wrapped around the cigarette, you felt faint. His brown locks were shaggy, covering his eyes in a way that made you wanna tug them as you kissed.

Simply put, you’d wanted him to ruin you.

“No, baby. Jus’ look pretty today is all.” You sighed, now staring at him shamelessly as you leant against the car door to have him in your full view.

“Pretty?!” Daryl scoffed, affronted at the very suggestion. Even so, his ears heated up and his cheeks tinged the slightest shade of pink. “Can’ say I've heard that one before.”

“You are,” You promised, voice filled to the brim with adoration for him because yeah, your archer was fuckin’ pretty and deserved to be told. “Look super handsome today.”

“Shut up.” His gruff voice sounded, rolling his eyes at you as you’d made him flush again.

“I’m serious! Got me all flustered, ever since this mornin’!” You huffed, voice whiny and light, throwing your head back against the window for relief on your heated skin.

With your admission, he averted his gaze from the road to you, silently groaning at your blown out pupils, the pink flush dancing across your cheeks and down your chest.

Jesus, you were serious. How the fuck was he supposed to continue on driving when he had his girl next to him, needy for him?

“Fuck.” He spoke, noting that you had now taken your seatbelt off and were shuffling closer to him. “What’re you doin?”

You’d opted to take an old pickup truck and there wasn’t any middle console, just a continuation of the bench. For what you had in mind, you silently thanked whoever came up with that design.

“Pull over, Daryl.” With a breathy voice, you pressed a wet kiss onto his neck. Hearing a hitch in his breath, you licked up his neck until you reached his scruffy cheek, moaning as you did so. “Please, need you so bad.”

The car jerked suddenly as you palmed his strong thigh, teeth nibbling on his earlobe. He felt himself harden in his pants at the feel of your dainty hands touching him, of your plushy lips soothing the sting your teeth had left behind.

“Can’t, sunshine. It’s not safe to be sittin’ in the road bein’ distracted.” He spoke with regret, especially as your hand palmed his dick over the material. He wanted you safe though, and he wasn’t lying when he thought it was dangerous to pull over in the middle of nowhere. “Just wait til we get— fuck.”

His words muddled into a string of curses, car wobbling again as you’d released him before pulling his cock from his pants, zipper undone.

“Wanna suck you off.”

And shit, with the way you were looking at him, with the way you wet your lips as you looked at his dick, he wanted to stuff your mouth full.

“Dammit, you’re such a fuckin’ brat.” You bent down, level with his crotch as you gawked at his exposed dick, precum now bubbling at the tip.

You licked your lips at the sight of white, pearly beads and before he could process it, his engorged tip was in the warm confines of your mouth, suckling soft and slow.

“Cant ever behave, can you? Jesus, baby.” He looked down at you, grunting as your eyes met his just as you swirled your tongue over him, dipping into his drippy slit. You hummed at the salty flavor of him, giving a few more sucks to his tip, before releasing it with a ‘pop’, a string of saliva connecting your puffy lips to him.

You’d only stopped because you noticed he’d let off the gas, the car barely even moving down the deserted street.

“Drive.” You demanded, gripping his base and jerking at a teasingly slow pace, eyes piercing his pretty blue ones. You leaned in to his face, licking his bottom lip before sucking the soft skin into your mouth. Daryl was so unbelievably turned on from your behavior that your voice barely registered. You released his lip, planting a wet kiss onto him before looking at him again. “Drive the car, or I’m stopping. It’s not safe to stop, remember?”

And from the snarl that appeared on his spit-slick mouth, you knew you’d pay for saying that.

“Nah, I can’t focus when your mouth is o—“

“Drive.”

Your command surged him into action, partially because your bratty attitude was making him throb and partially because he needed his dick down your throat, now.

The engine roared as he pressed down on the gas. Then, he gripped your hair tightly, scalp tingling as he made you look at him.

“Suck.” When you made no move, because you’d been too fucking entranced by how hot Daryl was, especially as he yanked your hair roughly, he grunted. “Now, your pissin’ me off with your little fuckin’ angel eyes.”

His words, along with his grip on your hair, had you parting your lips and sucking him down.

The car was filled with the filthy noises your mouth made as you switched between licking him from base to tip and then wrapping swollen lips around him. His taste was overwhelming your senses and your cunt ached to be filled. The rumble of the car kept jiggling your body and you gagged around him as you slid lower onto him.

Tears pooled your lash line but instead of letting up, you bobbed your head up and down to hear more of his groans. The only time Daryl was truly vocal was when you sucked him off and shit, if it didn’t make you wet.

You snuck a hand around to pet your pussy, the throb becoming too much to ignore, when Daryl suddenly pulled you off him. And the sight of you had him bucking into the air; a mix of spit and his precum coated your lips, your eyes wet from crying on his cock, hair messy around your face.

You looked so pretty like this, all cock-drunk.

“Don’t get to touch yourself, not with your fuckin’ attitude.” His tone was so gravely, so assertive that instead of being annoyed, you whimpered. “Now, get your pants off and c’mere.”

It was only then you’d noticed that he’d stopped the car, trees surrounded the vehicle as nothing was in sight for miles.

Your demanding act was far gone; you needed Daryl inside you.

Without another thought, you clambered from your kneeling spot and wiggled out of your pants as best as you could, though your movements were jittery as Daryl watched you the entire time, eyes nearly black with need.

Finally free, you swung yourself onto his lap and moaned loudly; his cock, hard and still coated in your spit, rubbed at your thinly covered cunt as you sat atop him. The buckle of his pants was cold and you jolted as its coolness hit your puffy clit.

“Fuck, Daryl.” You gripped his long strands, yanking as you humped him. The sight of you all whiny and pathetic for him made him grunt lowly before catching your parted lips in a kiss. “Mmph.”

Immediately, the kiss was obscene. Daryl rubbed his tongue with yours, swallowing your whines as the muscles danced with one another. Spit was pooling at the corner of your mouth and as he pulled away, a string of saliva connected you both.

Breathing heavily, Daryl reached between you both and pulled your underwear to the side, swearing as he did so.

“So fuckin’ wet, honey. All this for me?” His eyes flickered across your face as you stared back, lust drenching your features as you huffed.

“All for you,” you gasped, lips bumping his and fingers pulling his hair. His fingers found your entrance, marveling at how fucking soaked you were. Daryl leaned into you, capturing your mouth with his as you whimpered into him as he shoved two fingers in at once.

For a bit, thats all it was and it was a fucking sight. You, clinging to Daryl as you greedily kissed him, moans spilling from you as his fingers filled you. Him, fucking you with one hand whilst the other gripped your ass harshly, pulling the flesh as he rocked you against his fingers inside you.

You would’ve come like that, if he hadn’t then removed them just as your orgasm tickled your gut.

“What the fu—“ you were cut off by Daryl as he shoved his fingers, the ones that were just inside you and therefore covered in slick, inside your parted mouth.

“Shh, thats it.” He marveled as you sucked and cleaned his fingers like the good girl he knew you were.

Pulling them from your lips, he dragged the wetness across your cheek before crashing his lips to yours. You both made noises because the musky and sweetness of you lingered on your tongue. With your taste coating his tastebuds, he snapped.

Daryl parted from you before one hand gripped you and the other grabbed his cock, moving until you were sinking down onto him.

Your cries mingled with his groans; your tight, wet heat sucked him down and finally, he was inside you and filling you up, just like you’d wanted.

“Fuck, Daryl.” You whined, hips swiveling to get used to his size. You were torn between the relief of being filled to the brim and the discomfort because of how big he was.

“This what you wanted, huh? Just so fuckin’ needy you had to stop us in the fuckin’ road?” He grunted, a calloused hand coming to grip your throat, the tightness steadying you. “My filthy girl.”

Then, he thrusted up into you and the sound you made was like a symphony of music to his ears. Spurred on, he kept thrusting into your pussy, groaning at the wet, slippery sounds filling the car. You were so overwhelmed with pleasure and the feel of him that you just clung to him, rolling your hips and humping your clit against him as you took each thrust he gave you.

Though, one particular move was so fucking deep it had you mewl, fingernails digging into the soft skin of Daryl’s neck.

“Daryl,” you gasped, euphoria pumping through every crevice of your body. The buckle of his belt was now slick as your clit continued to hump. “So big— uh, uh— so big.”

His hand gripped your throat firmly, fastening his pace as helped you move with him by lifting your ass in tandem with his hips.

You were a mess; blubbering nonsense to him as your cunt repeatedly clenched down on him as you grew closer to your peak. Daryl was so high on you, your pretty sounds, and suddenly, he needed to see more of your skin.

He removed his grip from your ass to yank your shirt up and he let out a grunt as he saw your absence of a bra. Then, without any other preamble, his lips wrapped around a peaked nipple, sucking wetly.

The mix of his mouth making out with your chest and his cock filling you up at such a haste pace had you crying out, tears spilling down your cheeks as you shuddered on his lap.

Your orgasm had triggered his own; the feel of your sopping pussy squeezing him and your cry of pleasure sent him over the edge.

His moans were animalistic as he filled you to the brim, thrusts losing their rhythm as he pumped his spend into you.

“Daryl—“ you whispered, suddenly exhausted and wanting him closer to you, despite your limbs being intertwined with one another tightly. “Baby.”

“Such a good girl,” he spoke into your neck, making no move to remove his softening cock from you. Even if he did try, you wouldn’t let him. The crazed feeling you’d felt was finally soothed, his cock inside you released relief throughout your body.

Daryl brought a finger between your thighs and his cock twitched inside you as he collected both your orgasms. “Open.”

Because you’d do anything he told you, you wordlessly opened your mouth and moaned as he stuck come covered fingers between your lips. He watched you as you sucked his fingers clean, eyes hooded with tiredness.

“C’mon, gotta get home.” He patted your waist, adoration swirling in his chest as you made no move to return to your seat. In fact, you just scooted closer until your nose grazed his sweaty neck.

“Thought we needed to get stuff.”

“Nah, we’ll just say we couldn’ find anythin’” Daryl brought a hand to your hair, gently brushing your head as you pressed kisses to his collarbone.

You both stayed connected for awhile; maybe two minutes, maybe two hours. Being close with Daryl was exactly what you’d needed to feel a little less feral.

Though, as you both finally rolled through the gates with messy hair and flushed faces, everyone looked at you both knowingly.

#daryl fanfiction #daryl dixion x reader #daryl x y/n #the walking dead daryl #daryl dixion imagine #daryl imagines #the walking dead #daryl x reader #norman reedus #daryl dixon

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sophswritingthings · 1 year ago

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Im addicted to archer reader x mizu

Imagine, romantic tension between mizu and reader Even though bith off them would rather die than admit it, and reader gets jealous of mizu and tiagen.

Maybe reader spars with taigen to show off a bit too mizu 👀 also them just kinda having beef with taigen 👀👀

pairing: mizu x fem!archer!reader

warning(s): swearing, mizu + reader having nsfw thoughts about one another + a bit of some nsfw words/scenes

a/n: mizu watching you spar with taigen and he pins you down and she just beats the shit out of him like don’t touch. MINE

word count: 796 words / 4,280 characters

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

you stared at her as you walked. she was walking far ahead of you. just looking at her got you all hot and bothered.

she was undeniably hot. not that you’d ever admit that to her—you’d rather jump out a window than tell her that.

all you could imagine was her, lying with her head nestled between your thighs—fucking you until you couldn’t even shoot your bow and arrow the next day.

you sighed, trying to shake your head of these thoughts.

little did you know—she happened to be thinking the same exact thing.

she was walking in front of you; she couldn’t see you, but she could hear the sound of your footsteps, the sound of you quietly talking with ringo.

so badly did she just want to have you writhing and pleading under her. begging her to continue while she teased your body mercilessly.

those were things she’d rather die without completing her vow then ever admit to anyone. especially you.

but it felt like—every time you as much looked at one another, you could just feel the tension.

when you sparred, breathing heavy, pinned against the wall with her sword pressed against your neck.

the way your eyes locked when you would engage in battle, together.

and simply the way you looked at her from across the room with that.. look in your brown eyes.

she didn’t know what to make of any of it, and she wasn’t going to try, because she was on a quest for revenge—not for love or lust—or.. whatever this was.

when you came to a stop, you were nestled around the fire. she could hear you and taigen sparring just a minute away, she could see you two sparring.

you had taigen pinned to the ground. her face grew hot, both by thinking how attractive you looked while doing it—and by anger. the fact that you were sitting atop of him, and not her..

and she was making you horribly jealous, as well.

the way you saw her.. hovering over top of taigen.. having him pinned by his wrists to your cabin floor.

you went asleep jealous and wildly attracted to her, that night.

“why.. do you keep looking at me, like that?” taigen narrowed his eyes at you.

“because,” you hiss. “I don’t like you.”

“and for what? what in fucking hell did I do to you?” taigen retorts.

“you’re.. into him!” you growl, “and you’re going to stop, or I’m going to shoot an arrow right through your head.”

he snickered, “oh, that’s what this is about,” he rolled his eyes. “you’re jealous.”

“and so what if I fucking am?!” you yelp, definitely loud enough to where mizu could hear you.

“I’ll have you know—I’ve caught him talking about you on many occasions.”

mizu stares at him with wide eyes. she knows what you two are talking about, now.

you shrink back a little, your gaze shifting to mizu as you see her expression.

“I..” she whispers, “he isn’t lying.”

“.. oh,” you mumble. “okay.”

“okay?” she repeats, “what—does that mean?”

“it just means.. okay.” you murmur, “we need to talk, mizu. like.. soon.”

she sighs, “I agree,” her anger shifts to taigen. “now that taigen has decided to go and share all my secrets with whomever he pleases.”

you chuckle, a little, “yes, I suppose.”

“come with me, then.” she gestured for you to follow her.

you quickly take her up on her offer, following her out into the woods.

you walk side by side. you can feel the tension. you were unaware if it was sexual tension, or if she was going to attack you at any moment.

her hands wrap around your body, grasping at your hair as she pushes you up against a nearby tree. you gasp, your face flushing red.

“I’ve waited so long to have you like this,” mizu whispers, her lips hovering just above your ear.

a shaky breath leaves your lips, “never have I wanted something more,” you hiss, gazing at her deep blue eyes, hungry for you.

her lips crash onto yours, a soft moan leaving your lips as she does so. her hands are grasping your hair for dear life, your hands locked around her neck as you kissed her back, the desperation in your lips as you did so.

“maybe.. maybe we shouldn’t be doing this in the woods,” you huff as her lips travel to tu our throat.

“maybe not,” her breathing his heavy, her voice husky. “later, though. I’ll have you in my bed; and have my way with you.”

she hissed the words like she would speak of her vow. unchanging and determined.

she lets go of you, slipping out of the woods, leaving you breathless against the tree.

tonight, then.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

a/n: song rec time!! I can see you (taylors version) (from the vault) orrrr shut up by lauren sanderson

#mizu x you #mizu blue eye samurai #mizu x reader #mizu #blue eyed samurai #fic #fanfic #fanfiction #ask #asked and answered #request #fic request #x reader

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satanicscreams · 1 year ago

Text

— 𝐃𝐀𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐅 𝐖𝐀𝐑.

PLEASE DO NOT STEAL MY WORK !!

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: rhaenyra targaryen x fem!targaryen!reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 4038

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: in which the estranged cousin finally steps foot in king's landing after so many years only to capture the attention of many...especially the heir apparent's

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: strong language, brief mention of nudity, talk of a toxic family dynamic, a one sided crush (rhaenyra is super smitten), daemon is an awful father...no surprise there, reader’s hair color is mentioned, no use of “y/n”

𝐕. 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐚��𝐬 — okay,, so technically the reader isn't a hundred percent targaryen in this one (you'll see) so my apologies for the false advertising

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐘𝐀𝐑𝐃 was uncharacteristically empty and quiet. That large patch of dirt aligned by weapons and a few dolls made of straw was seldom so tranquil. The brutish grunting of men and their steel swords clanking together was absent. All for the better, Princess Rhaenyra supposed as she made her way down the stairs that led into the yard. A gentle summer breeze bellowed through the air, picking up stray stands of Rhaenyra's otherwise neatly styled, braided hair which cascaded down her back closely resembling freshly fallen snow. The impulsive-natured young girl solely focused on the one figure present in the training yard as she stepped closer and closer, eager to not make a sound. In the midst of the yard, stood the most beautiful of people wearing dull brown trousers and a green tunic which aided her movements during her strenuous practice.

Rhaenyra harshly swallowed whilst examining the young woman of seventeen years as she pulled another arrow from the quiver resting in the dirt. Without even taking notice, the Targaryen Princess began silently—or at least she believed the action to be silent—kicking at the ground beneath her foot as excitement consumed her. The boyishly dressed female archer took her stance with her chest puffed out and back perfectly straight, legs spread apart ever so slightly. With the arrow nestled against the wooden frame of her bow and pulled back with those thin, yet surprisingly nimble fingers, Rhaenyra watched on with pure amazement. Stretching the bowstring to its full potential, the light brown-haired archer felt the pressure of her weapon against her skin and through her arms.

With that, she proceeded to shut one eye and continued to steadily breathe as she inspected the distance between herself and the target. The archer lacked no concentration...not even with a platinum-haired Princess boring two holes into the back of her head by staring so hard. The seventeen-year-old smirked to herself, forcing out an exhale through the minimal gap that had appeared between her lips. Arms tensing when she heard Rhaenyra move closer, the brown-haired beauty dared not release the arrow even if her fingers begged her to do so. With her hands clasped behind her back, the Princess prided herself on remaining hidden and soft-footed like a cat in the night, though she gave herself too much of that pride.

"I advise you to not stare for too long, dear cousin. My fingers do tend to tense up when so much judgment is cast upon me all at once. Those prepossessing eyes of yours are much too eager to understand my motives."

The lady archer teasingly admitted, that previous smirk never once going away. That customary smugness could be heard in her tone of voice and attributed to the infamous man who fathered her. A sudden hue of crimson overcame the apples of Rhaenyra's cheeks the very moment she was addressed. In resemblance to that of a hummingbird's, the platinum-haired girl felt her heart beat in an unnaturally fast manner when hearing her breathtaking older cousin's saccharine voice for the first time in...well, a very long while. The notion of composing herself nearly slipped Rhaenyra's mind as another short-lived gust of wind swept through the training yard.

The younger girl smelled her cousin's natural scent consisting of wild berries and the neutral aroma of perspiration after standing in the sun for an extended time. Rhaenyra loved her cousin. Perhaps a little bit more than she had ever intended. The heir apparent oftentimes battled with overly detailed thoughts of sharing intimate moments with her beloved cousin which would prove as sacrilege were anyone else to learn about such a secret. Two young women were never meant to engage in such sinful activities. All the more reason Rhaenyra shamed herself for imagining such things...still, she never stopped. The Princess relied heavily upon her limitless imagination to create a bountiful courtship between herself and her cousin.

"I was not—There was no judgment, cousin. Merely an intrigue. Never have I witnessed such natural aptitude through archery. My uncle—your father, must be satisfied with the talents you possess—"

With the unexpected and audible swish of an arrow, followed by the dull thump as the pointed piece of wood wedged itself into the center of the target, Rhaenyra lost sight of her compliment—utterly interrupted. Her cousin wordlessly made it clear that she wished to hear no such thing. Especially when it involved her loathsome father. The platinum-haired girl, in the meanwhile, observed the target with an arrow sticking out the middle of it, the image serving as a reminder that her cousin was a masterful archer—a true warrior.

And when Rhaenyra felt the older girl's hand gently latch onto her wrist, she had no choice but to meet those familiar amethyst eyes she often dreamed about—the eyes which were primarily reserved for members of House Targaryen. Whether the brown-haired young woman liked it or not, she was half a Targaryen by blood. Her father had cursed her with those amethyst eyes alongside a foolhardy demeanor. However, the aspiring archer was sedulous—something her father was not and a trait she had inherited from her mother.

"Do not be so foolish, Rhaenyra. My father, though I wish to not name him as such, has never been attentive nor loving. In truth, it was his will to return to King's Landing so he could assert himself as someone of high importance. I was content in the Reach beside my mother. The letter I received from him held a sort of directness and self-centered view of what he felt he was deserving of. He yearns to rule alongside a hideous lack of respect for compassion. That callous disregard was what my mother deemed a sense of adventure when stumbling into bed with him. Perhaps she was a lovesick child. But I am no fool. If he wishes to dismiss his responsibilities as a father then he does not deserve the love of a daughter. I have no further qualms with him for I am truly a daughter of war rather than a dragon."

Rhaenyra listened attentively to what her cousin had to say in regard to her uncle Daemon, though the Princess remained skeptical of whether or not both father and daughter had truly resolved their differences. The Rogue Prince was stubborn and his daughter even more so. And while Rhaenyra took in the rather emotionally charged words, she became hypnotized by her cousin's natural beauty. The young woman's complexion was partially tanned—completely void of that pale Targaryen skin that Rhaenyra herself boasted.

As for her hair, it was shorter than most noble ladies would have worn it, though the archer wasn't a noble lady. Light brown hair reached just above her shoulders and resembled the shade of chestnuts. And of course, her amethyst eyes sparkled in the midday sunlight. Rhaenyra's endearing gaze was sadly not noticed by her cousin on account of the older girl being distracted. With thoughts of her father no less. More specifically their journey to King's Landing. It was a miserable endeavor to travel from the Reach to King's Landing atop a dragon with Daemon. Caraxes, the young woman did not mind, but her father...that was another matter entirely. She vividly recalled the conversation upon their arrival.

"It has been ten trivial years since you have been granted the rare privilege to step into the Red Keep and intermingle with nobility. While your mother restricts your freedom and keeps you locked away in that insufferable village, I offer you opportunities not many women of your standing can encounter. Still, you have not shown how grateful you are."

The young woman deemed her father's self-righteous monologue to be painful and a waste of time. Still, her reply was coated in sarcasm, meant to defy:

"I am forever indebted to you, father. Perhaps if this dress was not constricting every portion of my body then I could bow down like a true, obedient lowborn. My assumption remains unchanged: you adore to remind me of my lack of repute."

"I have made many sacrifices on your behalf. This is your wretched mother's doing. She feeds you these fictitious tales of how I am this monstrous creature who you should loathe—"

"Do not speak ill of my mother! You abandoned her once she spoke of conceiving a babe! You abandoned me! Your only living child and only hope for becoming a better man!"

Many idle individuals, mostly knights, witnessed the heated dispute between the young woman and her father as they neared the extravagant castle on foot. The brown-haired beauty's lips were curled up in disgust while Daemon's eyes held scorn like no other.

If looks could kill...

"What was I supposed to do!? Your mother was a lowborn whore and I was—I am a prince belonging to an ongoing legacy. And you...you were the outcome of failed judgment."

Daemon's daughter incredulously scoffed and rolled her light eyes at the deeming words used against her and her mother—the lovelorn woman who dared give her heart and body to a destructive Targaryen man. Said man held no regard for anyone. All he cared for was himself.

"Once, when I was young and foolish, I defended your actions. I attempted to preserve your honor. However, you've proven what sort of hatred you are capable of. The shame of being your daughter is debilitating."

"I rather despise witnessing you become a daughter of war...a disposable soldier for whichever lord is determined to have you serve his house. You have a much greater purpose here...with me."

Rhaenyra softly murmured, too apprehensive to boldly speak her mind in the presence of the young woman who would most certainly believe her to be a foolish little girl if she were too confident with her response. The Princess's cousin only gave a heartfelt smile and shook her head when looking at the starry-eyed girl.

The brunette had knowledge about just how much Rhaenyra adored her which did not help the dismal quality of the heir apparent's words. The last time she visited, Rhaenyra acted nearly identical—not bearing to let her leave and begging for her skillful cousin to remain in King's Landing so they could gossip and stir up trouble whenever possible. It was sweet...like a younger sister wishing for attention. Even so, the brunette had a swift response to her royal cousin:

"Gaudy dresses and jewelry do not tempt me to remain in King's Landing, Rhaenyra. I am no Princess. I am no Lady. And I prefer to live out my days without any prestigious titles. My father's vile reputation is the sole reason many courtiers do not know of me. I do not wish to be revered in any sense."

Rhaenyra felt idiotic all the more after hearing such a string of words counter hers. The Princess cursed herself for being so ignorant and impetuous. Of course, her older cousin wouldn't wish to remain in King's Landing and live like a proper lady. Upon a second glance at the seventeen year old's masculine attire, Rhaenyra frowned slightly at the prospect of never being able to change the mind of the only person she truly, truly loved. The Targaryen girl was infatuated by the essence of her cousin—the way she spoke so fiercely, the way she acted so bravely, and the way she appeared like a goddess amongst men. In the midst of her daydream, Rhaenyra was not thinking rationally, hence why she inquired:

"Would you care to join me and Alicent in the gardens after supper?"

The way her cousin shook her head, signaling a nonverbal "no" was the only answer Rhaenyra Targaryen needed. Though it only broke the platinum-haired girl's heart further when her cousin decided to further elaborate.

"Gossip regarding handsome men does not tempt me either. I suppose you and that green little bitch will disregard the prospect of discussing battle plans and other such strategic considerations—"

The young woman supposed correctly which forced Rhaenyra to bite down on the insides of her cheeks as she began toying with the pretty gold pendant around her neck...then she suddenly stopped once the jewelry reminded her of who she was: a spoiled child of a King. A proper girl who had enough riches to her family name to rival all other houses. Rhaenyra felt a wave of insecurity washing over her since, in comparison to her cousin, she was given everything she desired.

The Princess began feeling like a burden in the presence of the gorgeous brown-haired young woman. As for the archer, even the mere thought of interacting with Alicent Hightower for a second time made her skin crawl. They could both trace their beginnings back to the Reach and still, the two young women did not find each other compatible. Alicent was much too polite—the embodiment of a highborn woman with plenty of judgment to spare. In her eyes, the daughter—the bastard daughter of Daemon Targaryen was much too wild...and slightly frightening.

"No. W-We shall not do such a thing."

Vehemently, Rhaenyra denied the truth. Though her voice betrayed the younger girl when it shook unwillingly. In return, the Princess was blessed with the melodious, twinkling sound of the brunette's laughter as she leaned down to collect another arrow from her quiver. Again, the young archer took her stance and prepared to shoot but not before lining up her weapon with the target.

"You are a dreadful liar, dear cousin. A natural beauty, but a dreadful liar I'm afraid. Give my condolences to that Hightower companion of yours. She seems to have an equally abhorrent father. We have that in common."

The Targaryen barely had time to comprehend her cousin's words before that all too familiar swish of the arrow cut through the air and unsurprisingly, made it to the center of the target—right beside the other one. The brown-haired young woman hummed in approval when assessing her capabilities. Rhaenyra knew her cousin had too much potential to waste in King's Landing and that prospect placed her in a limbo between contentment and melancholy.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★

"I do wish I could kill you."

The brunette said without any humor at all as she valiantly attempted to bite back an oncoming shiver caused by the cool water which had been splashed onto her skin. She had not succeeded as proven by the goosebumps steadily appearing on her fully nude form. The difference between the temperature of her sweat-covered body and the sea water was not a pleasant one. It also seemed worse when having to witness the coy smile on Rhaenyra's lips. The young Princess had been the culprit who scooped up a handful of briny water and threw it in her cousin's direction.

After a rather lengthy training session, all the brunette wished to do was take a dip in the sea. Rhaenyra had granted that wish by dragging the older girl to a rather secluded area of shoreline attached to the Red Keep, though what the platinum-haired girl did not expect was for her cousin to strip away all her clothing and display a body that was surely envied by most women: toned arms and long legs complimented by proportionate curves along her hips. Rhaenyra found those inquisitive eyes of hers trailing up and down—almost instinctively lingering on the ample breasts presented to her.

Of course, the girl's cousin meant it as an innocent gesture to undress, but Rhaenyra could not seem to bear the sight of the ideal female physique. She wished to join the brunette and step into the water, but she didn't dare shed her dress—the outcome of slight bashfulness and not wishing to be caught in the nude by any of her courtiers. Thus, the Targaryen sat herself down on the sand and rocks, occasionally fanning herself with her hand to battle the blistering heat.

"Lies. You stand in awe of me. Besides, senseless killing is a deed committed by men who think themselves superior. You are no man, thank the Gods."

Rhaenyra's retort forced an unladylike snort out of her cousin as the brown-haired young woman placed her hands on her hips, staring out at the vastness of the blue water. With the young woman's back turned, Rhaenyra had the opportunity to examine the bare flesh before her once more. Though she felt her face grow hot—and not only because of the sun—which made her shift her focus onto the rocks which littered the ground.

The Princess only looked back up when she heard the jostling of bare feet against the pebbles, instantly noticing the way her cousin lowered herself into the water and rolled onto her stomach so the two of them could make proper eye contact. With her lower half still in the water, the brunette took pleasure in the sloshing of the water and the way the waves drew in and out. Propping herself up on her arms, she stared at Rhaenyra with a playful glint in her eyes, which caused the girl in question to blush even more.

"You're quite right, Rhaenyra. Though I must admit, if I were a man, I would not be such a craven as to butcher a princess—a beautiful young girl who has the utmost potential to uphold the laws of the realm and make it prosperous. No, if I were a man, I would take pleasure in slaughtering those who truly deserve it. Most tempting of all to envision: if I were born a man, I wager I'd be blessed with both a glorious physique and many other desirable attributes. I do believe I would be envied."

It seemed Rhaenyra could not fight the unrefined chuckle that she let out after hearing her cousin's unrelenting narcissism. The Princess greatly enjoyed it. She always had. There were no talks of...proper things—the concepts she discussed with Alicent regularly. Conversations with her cousin consisted of topics a lady wouldn't dare utter in the presence of others. It was one of the many reasons Rhaenyra adored her older cousin so much. There were one too many in all honesty.

"All this talk of killing...Dare I assume that you and Daemon are more alike than you both care to admit?"

Rhaenyra felt her words turn sour once they left her lips and the platinum-haired girl soon enough felt herself shrinking underneath the brunette's murderous expression. Though such a strong reaction wasn't directed at Rhaenyra. No, not at all. The Princess's cousin had an entirely different issue.

"You spoil the day by merely alluding to him. My fath—Daemon Targaryen forced me to accompany him to King's Landing. He is disillusioned enough to believe that there is no greater privilege than residing amongst nobility...or the flock of gossiping hens he deems as the idyllic example of nobility. I cannot stand to be in close proximity to prudish noble ladies who turn pale at the mention of bloody battles. Still, I have yet to speak of the hilarities regarding my predicament: your uncle bids me to make merry with these women and find companions with a true feminine perspective. So tell me, Princess, how might I accomplish this task without further dampening the spirit of the man who dragged me all this way? I seem to be a thorn in his side."

The young woman did not receive a genuine solution from Rhaenyra. The platinum-haired girl could only shrug and let out an exasperated breath as she thought of her uncle and how cruel he could be. Rhaenyra wished to provide an answer, but how could she? She was regularly having difficulties with her own father and she did not wish to care.

"I truly have no knowledge of the quandary between you and my uncle, though I am aware of how...bothersome Daemon can become when he does not get his way. If he wishes for you to behave as a civilized, noblewoman should then perhaps you should consider not heedlessly flaunting your bare tits about."

"My condolences, Princess. I did not expect my tits to cause such a great hindrance to your focus. I cannot say that I hold blame for that. They are appealing...and very firm...and much bigger than yours."

The brunette expertly countered her royal cousin's joke, prompting Rhaenyra's eyebrows to raise and her mouth to part in complete surprise. Perhaps what her cousin said was true, but even so, Rhaenyra did not expect such a mischievous insult to be hurled at her so effortlessly. Picking up a rock that rested near her, Rhaenyra tossed it into the water and was unimpressed by the lack of distance the object got as it sank beneath the surface of the waves. The girl sighed and feigned hurt in her rebuttal:

"Oh, good. My cousin who strays farther from her family than her own father—the cousin whom I barely speak with, decides to insult me upon a rare visit."

"Don't pout. It was a mere jest. You're still young. I am certain that you shall grow into your womanly beauty rather quickly. Now, tell me of Syrax. No, no. Tell me when you are able to show me the Realm on dragon back. I'd rather like to see the Narrow Sea from above."

Chewing on the insides of cheeks—as it had become a recent habit of Rhaenyra's—the Princess could not find it within herself to continue the conversation without revealing her feelings...just not in the appropriate manner.

"I wish for you to stay in King's Landing for all eternity. By my side. Then I would be able to show you the Narrow Sea on dragon back on every occasion you desire. I adore your company all too much. You are the only one who truly understands my troubles. You are the only one capable of defending my irrationality in the presence of my father."

Rhaenyra heard her voice nearly fall silent by the end of her speech and it was then that she frowned while staring down at her hands, attempting to hold back tears for sounding more juvenile than she would have preferred. Hearing the brunette chuckle pushed Rhaenyra closer and closer to shedding tears. The Princess felt oh so childish. Her cousin did not understand. She would never understand.

"A fair assertion. I would take great pleasure in riding atop your dragon whenever I wanted. Though I would go entirely mad if I had to endure King's Landing for too long. And my mother would be distraught. As would my betrothed."

"Your 'betrothed'?"

Rhaenyra felt her tears dry up instantly once she heard the cursed word that had once or twice made it into her conscience and bothered her to no end while also furthering the notion that her cousin would one day leave her completely. Rhaenyra should have expected it—most young women of seventeen were betrothed or already married. It was, in every sense, an upsetting concept for Rhaenyra to know of the existence of some man who had won her cousin's heart. The Princess already despised the man, having not ever met him. No man was good enough for the brunette. No man was worthy of her love.

"Mhm, yes. A handsome, albeit a rather delinquent knight to House Redwyne—"

Rhaenyra's headstrong attitude combined with her determination to say something disallowed her cousin to continue to speak about the young knight who had been charming enough to tempt the brunette's desires. Oblivious to the Princess's jealousy, the brown-haired archer cocked an eyebrow in intrigue as she listened to her cousin's off-topic and rather desperate utterance.

"Vow that you'll travel to King's Landing with regularity that will rival all your previous visits. Swear this to me...Please."

The urgency in those words could not be brushed aside nor would the young woman still positioned on her stomach, halfway in the water. She could never be so heartless as to ignore her cousin's wishes.

"I swear it, Rhaenyra..."

The brunette trailed off as she came to rest her head in the palm of her hand, ultimately sharing a glance with Rhaenyra Targaryen and giving her a smile—a smile that made the young girl's heart melt.

"...You, dear cousin, shall make a fearsome Queen one day."

#rhaenyra targaryen imagine #rhaenyra targaryen x reader #hotd x reader #hotd fanfic #hotd imagine #rhaenyra targaryen oneshot #hotd one shot #house of the dragon imagine

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minaturefics · 2 years ago

Text

Once More (With Feeling)

Prompt: Faramir invites an old friend back to Minas Tirith

A/N: It's a little different, just slightly, to how I usually write. It's a rollercoaster, and it's long, so get yourself a hot beverage and prepare yourself for 6k words worth of brainrot.

Faramir x Reader

Fem reader

No content warnings

6.2k words

---

You paced the lavish sitting room, throwing irritated looks at all the doors. Faramir was a busy man, you knew, but he had always been punctual. With a groan you sank into the cushioned bench and stared out of the tall, pointed windows.

Minas Tirith had changed since you were last in the city as a girl. Gone was the heavy atmosphere, the distant encroaching darkness on the horizon, The Dead Tree, its gnarled branches cold and bare, the darkened halls, haunted by Denethor’s bitterness.

The city had thrived under the new king’s rule and the new steward’s management. The white stone glowed in the sunlight, vines grew across walls and flowers blossomed in window boxes, there was chatter in the streets and laughter in the halls.

It was no mystery then, why Faramir wrote to invite you back into the city, now renewed and reborn. No, the mystery was why he wrote to you at all.

You had only known him for a year, more than ten years ago. Just two young teenagers, bickering with each other over readings while the tutor tried to calm the both of you. He had been a scrawny thing then, growing taller, but not broader. Not quite a man, like his brother was growing into, not quite a boy, like the other children in the Citadel. His hair too, had been at an awkward length, shaggy around his ears, falling about his forehead and into his grey eyes.

But while Boromir might have been the bolder of the two back then, when it came to academics, Faramir was just as eager. He had been relentless in his pursuit of knowledge, hounding the tutors and dogging the librarians, and, more than once, your spirited debates with him had drawn a small crowd of curious onlookers in the Citadel. There was even a time where you had to race him to the library to get your hands on some coveted book before he did.

But perhaps, the most infuriating thing about him was his kindness.

How he would smile softly after an intellectual argument, as though consoling you, if you had lost, or congratulating you, if you had won. How he would share his notes with you if you had missed lessons, or gift you with chocolate in return for a peek at your own writings. How he would walk you back to your rooms after classes, showing you shortcuts and asking about your day.

How he had offered you his handkerchief and wiped your tears away the night before you left the city with your uncle.

Your heart clenched and you blinked yourself back into the sitting room.

There were voices in the corridor now, and hurried footsteps. You stood and straightened yourself, smoothing the creases in your dress and schooling your features into something neutral.

The door swung open and a man walked in.

He was tall and broad with the build of an archer, with steady legs and strong arms. His light brown hair fell in gentle waves to his shoulder, and his beard was short and well-trimmed. You took in his sharp jaw, his pink lips, his face, handsome, noble, familiar somehow.

His grey eyes sparkled in the late afternoon light and a jolt shot through you.

Faramir.

You stared at him and his barely-there smile grew.

“You’re late,” you blurted.

His eyes widened in shock before he shook his head and chuckled. “And I was told you arrived early.” His voice was low and rich, inviting and warm.

Faramir. This man was Faramir. Solid, handsome, real.

“You have my apologies,” he continued. “There was a meeting that ran over. I did not intend for you to wait so long for me.”

“It’s no matter, I was just admiring the city. A lot has changed.” You turned away from him, scolding your racing heart and chastising your rapidly flushing cheeks. You sucked in a breath and straightened your spine. It was just Faramir.

He came to join you by the window and you kept your eyes fixed on the plains beyond the buildings. “Your letter surprised me,” you said. “I hardly thought I ever crossed your mind.”

A laugh escaped from him, short and sharp. “You’re still the same.”

Your head snapped towards him and you narrowed your eyes. His easy, unfazed demeanour rankled something in you. “It is quite a slight, being told one hasn’t changed in so many years.”

Did he still see you as that awkward, graceless girl? Someone who had not filled out her dresses yet, who made ill-timed comments in conversations, who battled with her skin, her hair, her sharpening mind and her rapidly fading childhood.

He blinked at you, jaw agape. “I did not mean… I simply meant…” He laughed again and gave you a rueful smile. “Forgive me. What I should have said, I suppose, is that I am glad to see you again.”

That strange, foolish feeling was rising in you, like you were fourteen again and you had said the wrong thing at the dinner table. You fought the urge to cross your arms and you nodded slowly. “I am glad to… to be back. Thank you for your generous invitation.”

The words felt strange in your mouth. So formal and distant. Polite. You gestured woodenly at the view. “My uncle would have been pleased at how well the country is doing.”

“I am sorry to hear about your uncle.”

“It has been a few years now.” You hazarded a look at him. His eyes had melted into something soft. You forced yourself to hold his gaze. “I am sorry about your father and,” your breath hitched, “and Boromir.”

“Yes,” he said, voice low. “It has been quiet in the Steward’s House of late.”

Your chest constricted and you wanted to reach out, to lay a hand on his arm, to say, I too have been left alone by all who loved me.

He cleared his throat and nodded at the door. “Has anyone shown you to your rooms yet? I thought that the one on the second floor, that faces east, would be best. But if you’d prefer your old room, I’m certain we can —”

“No.” You swallowed and flashed him a smile, burying the discomfiting feeling. “I mean… No, thank you. I’m sure what you have prepared will be suitable.”

A bell tower somewhere chimed the hour and he grimaced. “I’m sorry but I have another meeting, the last of the day, in a few minutes. Would you be happy to join me for dinner? It would not be anything formal. We could even dine outside, if the fine weather holds. There is so much I wish to discuss with you.”

It was jarring to hear those words coming from Faramir’s lips. Invitations to dinner were something said between two adults, not adolescents.

But you were no longer fourteen, and Faramir was a man now. A friend.

A stranger.

“Yes, dinner outside would be lovely,” you said. “I look forward to it.”

He broke out into a wide smile. “I shall send someone to show you to your rooms, and please, if there is anything you should require, just ask.”

“Of course, thank you.”

He reached out and took your hand, large fingers enveloping your own, and gave it a light squeeze. “I shall see you in a few hours.”

He withdrew with a smile and closed the door behind him.

You stared at your hand for a moment, heat rising to your cheeks, before scowling and scrubbing it against your dress.

The evening breeze swept through the open doors and the candles on the table flickered. The temperature had dropped with the sunset, and in the end Faramir had settled for dining in one of the rooms that opened up to a courtyard. Trees rustled and crickets chirped and music from another part of the Citadel drifted over the walls. The warmth from the lit fire licked at his back and he belatedly wondered if he should have offered you the warmer seat instead.

Faramir caught his eyes wandering from some vague spot behind you to your face again. You were focused on the last bit of roasted meat on your plate, cutting it into dainty pieces before lifting it to your lips. He let his eyes trail over your hair, braided and pinned, to the softness of your cheek, the angle of your jaw.

When he had seen you that afternoon he could scarcely believe his eyes. He did not expect you to stay the same, of course, and yet… the sight of you, grown, beautiful and striking, made his pulse jump.

Where was the girl he had known? Who had picked up her skirts and clambered up walls with him, whose quick wit had both frustrated and delighted him? Was she gone, suppressed by etiquette lessons and laced up gowns, washed away by time and tempered by misfortune?

But then you had opened your mouth and bluntly stated his tardiness and he couldn’t help but laugh. No, your spirit was still unchanged, your fire still undimmed.

You looked up and his eyes skittered away. His palms grew clammy and he exhaled. Valar, he was acting like a silly boy, sneaking looks at you across the table, filling his mouth with food instead of conversation.

“What is the matter, Faramir?”

“Nothing.” He smiled.

You had an inquisitive look on your face, half-curious, half-challenging. The same sort of expression you used to wear before launching into an argument. “You were looking at me.”

Heat started to creep up his neck and he dropped his eyes back to his nearly empty plate. “I was just thinking.”

He heard your intake of breath and he prepared himself for an onslaught of words, ready for the cajoling comments and prodding persuasions that you always used to coax him to speak.

Instead, he heard the clatter of cutlery and he looked up to find you arranging your fork and knife at the side of your plate. You glanced towards the open door and, something in that small action, so intensely familiar, made the words tumble from his lips.

“Would you like to go on a walk?”

“I…” Your astonished look morphed into one of suspicion. “How did you know?”

“You used to walk after meals, if I remember correctly.”

“I didn’t think you noticed.”

He noticed. Of course, he noticed. Boromir had once pulled him aside, warning him that if he did not get his looks and glances under control, their father might start getting ideas for future marriage matches. He had wondered if your uncle had realised this and that was why he had whisked you off to the family estate back in North Lebennin when autumn arrived once more.

In truth, Faramir never found out the reason; he was never told, and he never asked.

He grinned and stood. A walk would be good. Dinner had been pleasant, with the usual, banal questions asked and answered. Proper and polite. A far cry from shared smirks and ceaseless chatter you once shared with him. Perhaps some movement would ease the atmosphere. “Shall we walk? Is there any place you would like to see first?”

You paused for a moment, biting your lower lip, before a sly smile crept onto your face. “The old lookout tower. The one that overlooked the Houses of Healing.”

“I do hope you won’t chase me up it. I do not think the excitement would agree with the food we just ate.”

“I won’t.” You looked out at the courtyard then back at him, eyes now dancing with mirth. “Are you becoming old and decrepit?”

“More like sensible and wise.” He walked over to the hooks by the door and reached for the two cloaks that hung there. “Here, you are welcome to borrow one of mine. It is cold out.”

He offered you the thicker one and watched as you ran your fingers over the soft wool before throwing it around your shoulders. It fell past your feet, pooling on the floor, and the sight of you swathed in his cloak stirred something in him.

He led you out into the courtyard and then onto the open ramparts. Hundreds of little lights flickered in the city below. It was quiet, save for the distant bustle of the kitchens and the rustle of the guards shifting on their feet. The wind carried your perfume to him and he inhaled the sweet scent of lilies.

“I have always wondered,” he said, “why you left Minas Tirith.”

“My uncle was worried about me growing up in court. I think he wanted to avoid any pressure that might have befallen me. Marriage offers and gossip and the kind.” You looked away, towards the plains. “I was sorry to leave, but I am glad that I had gone.”

His heart dropped. Had he been selfish? Writing to you and asking you to visit the city when you were clearly happy out in the country? Had you not thought of him once in all the years? He swallowed. “Does it bring you pain to be here?”

“No, not at all.” You shook your head and laughed, and his shoulders relaxed. “I simply meant that I think he made the right decision. It might have been a little boring, but I grew up unrestrained.”

“I do hope you will enjoy the excitement of the city.”

“The change of scenery is refreshing. And I will confess that a break from my responsibilities back home is welcome.”

He noticed then, the shadows under your eyes, the weary tinge in your smiles.

Yes, the both of you were no longer children.

The old, crumbling tower neared and your steps quickened. You paused at the base of the steps, throwing a mischievous look over your shoulder, before vanishing up the stairs. He chuckled and hurried after you, taking the steps two at a time. “You said you would not race me!”

“I said I would not chase you up it!”

He caught sight of the edge of his cloak and the flash of deep purple silk underneath it as he rounded the corner. “So you’ll have me chase you instead?”

Your laugh echoed in the narrow stairwell. “I have no doubt that you’ll catch up. You were always the faster one.”

“And you always the cheater.”

“It is called levelling the playing field.”

The gap between you and him rapidly narrowed, and as the both of you emerged at the top, his hand closed around your shoulder before he could stop himself. You turned, flushed and giggling, eyes alight. Laughter rose in his chest and he chuckled, breathless and buoyant. “You’ll get me into trouble. Like before.”

“Faramir, you are the steward. There is no one to get in trouble with.” You grinned at him before striding towards the merlons. “In any case, I have no plans to lob mushy apples from here so you need not worry about disgruntled guards and unfortunate citizens.”

“I always have to worry about disgruntled guards and unfortunate citizens. It is no easy feat, running a city like Minas Tirith.”

“I can imagine.” Your voice was soft, sympathetic.

He strolled towards you, and you glanced behind at him, shadows from the flickering torches dancing across your face. Your eyes were intense, searching. Valar, he could never stand to hold your gaze when it was like this. It was as though you saw through him.

“Faramir, why did you ask me here?”

He shoved his hands into his pockets, feeling boyish and clumsy. “I was… clearing some of the rooms in the Steward’s House when I chanced upon our old classroom. I found one of your old essays.”

“A beastly thing, I’m sure.”

He slowed to a stop beside you, close enough that your cloak fluttered against his legs when the wind blew. “It was rather good, actually. I’m certain you would have made a valuable advisor if you had stayed in court.”

“Well,” you scoffed. “I do not think the court missed us much when my uncle and I left.”

“Boromir and I did.”

“You did not write.”

“I was not certain I was allowed to. Father refused to tell me anything, and then there were other matters. Training, classes, scouting missions.”

He felt a pang in his chest. In truth, he had thought of you over the years, but there were always things to attend to. His father’s growing resentment, his strange prophetic dreams, city matters and trade routes.

The War.

It had been a sleepless night when he had wandered the empty halls, opening old doors and peering into neglected rooms, when he stumbled upon the old classroom. It was still and dusty, books stacked by the window and sheets of paper on one of the tables, abandoned as though someone intended to come back, but never did.

He had been hit with an intense loneliness, a hollowness, an aching.

When he had seen your familiar scrawl on the sheets of paper, along with an unflattering sketch of the tutor, the memory of your playful smile flashed into his mind. And then there was a comforting warmth in his chest, and then for the first time in weeks, he had laughed.

“Faramir,” you said, and he shook himself out of his thoughts. “I am sorry I did not write either.”

“It is no matter.” A smile tugged at his lips. “We are here now.”

“Faramir, if you wobble the ladder I will drop these books on your head.” You gripped the polished wood with one hand and clutched a stack of books to your chest with the other.

“If memory serves, you were the one who had a habit of rattling stools and ladders.”

You glared down at him, scoffing at the grin on his face. He was leaning against the shelf with his arms across his chest, relaxed and languid. That night on the tower had shattered the stiffness between the both of you, and the last week and a half had been filled with nostalgic adventures.

Between his duties, Faramir had shown you the changes in the Citadel, walked with you to the markets and shops, even challenged you to a slingshot contest which he won. There had been dinners on balconies, and picnic lunches in gardens, and midnight snacks in derelict towers.

He had told you about his experience in the war. His heartbreak at finding Boromir’s cloven horn, the near-fatal Osgiliath charge, recovering in the Houses of Healing. And you told him how you had to manage the family estate, the scramble to build temporary houses for the refugees, how many of them chose to settle and work the land instead of returning to the ruins of their villages.

He had smiled at you in that soft way you knew, had given you the unbroken strip of apple skin he peeled, had discussed new theories and topics with you by the light of the fire.

“Are you coming down?” Faramir smirked at you. “Or are you going to add to that dangerously heavy pile in your hands?”

You shook your head and started down the ladder, feeling the rungs with your feet.

The library was empty, the librarian having gone home for the day. Light rain pattered on the windows and a fire crackled somewhere in the room. The library, of all places, had remained the most unchanged. There was something comforting in that, in the musky smells of books and paper, of the plush chairs and rickety stools.

As you neared the bottom, your foot slipped, misjudging the distance to the floor, and you stumbled. Instead of hard stone, you were met with a firm chest at your back and a hand on your waist.

Had Faramir always been this warm and big?

“Are you alright?”

You felt the rumble of his chest, his breath by your ear.

His hand, large, heavy, burned through the thin silk of your dress.

“Yes, thank you.” You stepped out of his touch and fumbled with the books in your arms, rearranging them into a neat stack. Valar, what has gotten into you? It was just Faramir. You shoved the books into his arms and turned away. “Next time you can go up on the ladder.”

“I think I would flatten you if I fell.”

“I’ll be sure to step out of the way.” You forced a laugh and wandered down the aisle. You heard him follow after you, his steps slow and steady.

How could such a simple thing affect you so? It was not as though you were so wholly inexperienced; there had been one or two sweethearts in the past, though most of them were short lived.

Had there been anyone for Faramir? Some pretty thing with a perfect education who could recite poetry and embroider and dance?

Your stomach churned and the twisting feeling in your heart squeezed the traitorous words up your throat. “You know, I am surprised you have not found a partner yet. I would think that the offers must be pouring in.”

“Why would you think such a thing?” He was closer now, just behind you, and you could hear the dismay in his voice.

“The maids, they love to gossip.” You laughed, but it sounded hollow to your ears. “I spoke to a couple of them when I went down to the kitchens two nights ago.”

He fell in step with you and you glanced at him. There was a small smile on his lips but his eyes looked clouded. “There have been offers, yes, but I have declined them all.”

“Unable to find a suitable one?” You arched an eyebrow at him.

“It is not a question of suitability. There is no need for me to choose a partner for their station or standing. Such things never mattered to me, even more so since my family’s passing. I would much rather have someone’s genuine love and affection.”

Of course he would say something of that sort. You smiled to yourself, heart warming at his words. They would be lucky, whoever he loved.

The rain fell harder against the glass and thunder rumbled. You glanced at the window, a memory coalescing in your mind. “Is the little alcove still here? The one behind the curtain?

Faramir grinned and inclined his head towards the back of the library. “I believe so, though it has been some years since I have sat in it.”

He led you to the back of the library where a narrow velvet curtain hung in the corner. He drew the fabric back to reveal a cosy space with a wooden bench built into the wall by the window. The lantern that hung from the low ceiling was dusty and unlit.

You padded over to the bench, bending and inspecting the corners. “It is still here,” you breathed, tracing the two sets of initials carved into the wood. “I cannot believe it.”

He leaned over you, so close that you could inhale his scent. Sandalwood and something, paper perhaps, or mild soap. “So it is.”

You looked up and Faramir’s face was mere centimetres away. Were there always so many yellow flecks in his grey eyes? And his lips… did they always look so soft and inviting?

All you would have to do would be tilt your head, and your lips would connect…

You stepped back and waved stiffly at the lantern. “Shall we light this? We could read here. If you’d like.”

He glanced at the narrow bench. There would be no doubt that the both of you would have to be pressed up in some way to fit.

“If you would like. I think there are might be some oil on the librarian’s desk, and a lit candle, I could —”

“I’ll go.”

You turned around and marched away, pressing your hands to your hot cheeks when you were safely hidden by the shelves. You took a breath. It was just Faramir. You would find the oil and the candles and sit and read with him, and think nothing of lips or kissing or how solid he had felt behind you.

Faramir was in a hell of his own making. Truly, it had been all his fault. For the first time, he cursed his gentle nature. If he had chosen not to speak and steered you away from the instrument shop…

How could he have forgotten that he was not the only friend you had made in your youth?

Elphir, the boy, no, the man who made lutes and drums had been one of them as well. And how could Faramir have denied you when you had lit up at the sight of the old shop and nearly tripped over your feet rushing to the door? And when you had asked if Elphir could come to the Citadel in the evenings to teach you how to play, he could not find it in himself to refuse you, even as discomfort settled deep in his stomach.

In some fantastical lapse of judgement, or perhaps in some foolish notion to watch over you, he had offered the sheltered courtyard below his sitting room to you and Elphir, and now music drifted into the room. Teasing, taunting, tormenting in the way it would mingle with your laughs.

He strode over to the window and slammed it shut.

For five evenings now, you had rushed off after dinner to Elphir, returning to your rooms after your lesson without seeing him. The pot of tea you usually shared with him in the evenings sat unfinished and cold on the table each night. Faramir sagged against the stone pillar and stared up at the vaulted ceiling. If Boromir was alive, he would call Faramir a fool and insist that he go over and chase the man away. But what right did he have?

He was not your lover or your partner, and even if he was, it would be unreasonable to get upset over you spending time with another, especially for something as innocent as music lessons. Faramir was your friend and…

He was your friend.

His breath hitched as the thought rippled through his body. Somewhere in the past three weeks he had forgotten that.

When he had written to you, inviting you to the city, he had only planned to reconnect with an old friend. Someone who got along with him, who understood what his family had been like, who was not a soldier or a subordinate.

He did not intend to be run away with his feelings.

He had grown used to you in the Steward’s House. Your shawl was draped over a chair, the table was always laid for two, you wished him goodnight in the evening before you retired. He had even considered clearing the set of rooms next to his own for you so that you did not have to walk through two corridors just to visit him.

But alas, you were not his.

“Faramir!” You burst into the room with a wide smile on your face and he startled. You slowed your steps, tilting your head and lowered the arm that held your lute aloft. “Is something the matter?”

He shook his head and tried to smile. “I was just deep in thought. How was your lesson?”

“There is something I want to show you.” You wandered over to the cushioned seats by the fire. “Will you sit?”

He nodded and sat in the lone arm chair instead of sharing the bench with you. Your brows creased for a moment before you shook your head and positioned your hands on the lute.

A haunting melody began to fill the room. It was simple, no more than five or six notes that changed subtly every few bars. It tugged at something in his mind, a dream perhaps, or a memory.

A woman humming, a gentle hand on his cheek, the comforting scent of beeswax.

“My mother,” he whispered, frozen where he sat. “She used to sing this to Boromir and me. To get us to sleep.”

Your playing petered out and you looked up at him. “You used to hum it when we were younger, when you thought no one could hear.” You laid your lute to the side. “Elphir taught me the basics of playing. I taught myself the song. In the night, after my classes.”

He felt the corners of his eyes start to burn and he glanced away. How could he not love you now?

“I am sorry, if I shouldn’t have —”

“Please do not apologise. I…” He shook his head and dabbed at his eyes. “ She would be happy to hear these rooms filled with her music once more.”

You came over to him and laid a comforting hand on his shoulder, your thumb soothing the tension in his muscles with its idle strokes. His eyes focused and unfocused on the decorative ribbons on the bodice of your dress. The crackle of the fire and the rhythmic sound of breathing filled the space between your bodies. He felt your hand drift towards the side of his neck, your thumb just grazing the edge of his jaw, and he slowly, slowly looked up at you.

Your eyes were soft and half-lidded, your lips slightly parted.

He did not dare move, did not dare breathe.

“Faramir.” He shivered at the sigh in your voice. “I—”

A knock sounded on the door and you jerked away from him. Cold air replaced where your heated hand had been.

A muffled voice came through the door. “I have your tea, sir.”

“The tea,” he muttered, rising to his feet. “Would you like to…”

“It has been a long day,” you said, snatching up your lute and striding to the door. “I… Goodnight.”

You flung the door open and he heard the startled squeak of the maid followed by the rapid patter of your footsteps.

You slammed your room door shut behind you and leaned against it. Your breaths came short and quick, chest heaving and skin searing.

What had you almost done? What words were going to spill from your traitorous lips?

It was just Faramir.

Just… a friend.

You shook your head and slumped to the floor. There was nothing decidedly friendly about what had just passed between the both of you. And… and what? What could possibly happen between you and him? You had an estate waiting for you in Lebennin, there were people who needed your instruction and leadership. And Faramir was the Steward of Gondor; the people needed him as well.

Your trip to Minas Tirith was supposed to be nothing more than a visit to an old friend. You had forgotten yourself. For so many years you had run the estate on your own, had resigned yourself to quiet meals in the day and lonely nights in the study. There was no time, no place, to entertain such ridiculous notions like love.

And yet…

You stared at your hands, hands that had held him for just a moment, had felt the coarseness of his beard and the beat of his heart.

Want burned in you.

Want for his lips, his hands. For his gentle smile, for his joyous laughter. For a permanent seat at the table, for space on his shelves for your books.

Faramir stared at the tea tray on the table. Two cups, two saucers. A full pot of tea.

He stroked the side of his jaw, his own fingers feeling indelicate compared to your touch. There was no mistaking the look in your eyes, desire mixed with tenderness. Perhaps it was not so ridiculous to think that you might return at least a fraction of what he felt for you.

His stomach swooped and a strangled laugh burst from him.

But was it just a flash of fancy, borne from the moment? A reckless action in the dim of the night?

Were you going to slip from him, retreat back into your shell of polite distance? He would not be able to bear it, to hear your stilted words, to have you shrink away from his casual touches. To have you vanish again, taking your laughter and your light away with you.

Should he go to you? Would that be impertinent? But he had lost you once before with his inaction, and only a fool would not learn from their mistakes.

You tugged the borrowed cloak on your shoulders closer around you. It smelled like Faramir, like sandalwood and that evasive something, ink perhaps. Mist had descended on the Citadel and drifted across the parapets like sheer curtains. Your steps were soft on the stone and you wandered from torch to torch, veering closer for warmth, roaming further for the cover of shadow. The guards paid you little attention, and the stars overhead twinkled unbothered.

Twice you had tried to walk to Faramir’s room, twice you had turned on your heel and fled back to your rooms. In the end, your room had become stifling and you rushed out into the open air.

Your blood had cooled and, now in the starkness of the open night, you felt foolish.

You paused by the old watchtower, leaning on the cold stone and staring down at the Houses of Healing. You would apologise when you saw him next, and then perhaps it was time to return to the family estate…

Muffled footsteps approached and you turned.

Faramir emerged from the mist, still in his day clothes, his hair mussed and his eyes tired.

“Faramir,” you whispered, arms falling to your sides. You opened your mouth to speak, but your rehearsed speech refused to leave your lips.

He came to a stop in front of you, a disarming smile on his face. “Somehow, I am not surprised to find you here.”

“Were you looking for me?”

He nodded, and amusement coloured his smile. “I suppose, in a way, I have always been looking for you.”

“Is there something you wanted from me?”

His twinkling eyes grew serious. “I wished to speak to you.”

You turned away, suddenly unsure, but his hand reached for yours. His thumb caressed your knuckles and you lifted your eyes to him. “What about?”

“I think you already know.”

You swallowed and tried to speak, but the words stayed lodged in your throat, and your eyes fell to your joined hands.

“I have never been good at disguising my feelings,” he said, voice soft and low. “I am sure you must be aware…”

Aware? Aware of what? His feelings? That he only viewed you as a friend, and that perhaps you had taken advantage of his kindness, mistaken it for affection and…

His fingers skimmed your chin, gently urging it up. His grey eyes were alight, burning almost, with an open passion so rarely seen in him. You scarcely dared to look away. Your heart pounded in your ears.

“Perhaps I have always loved you, even before I realised what that word meant. I was too young, too naive.” He cupped your cheek and you leaned into his touch. “But we are older now. And I can say for certain that I… I —”

You surged forward and pressed your lips to his. They were pillowy and soft and carried a trace of bitterness from the tea. He deepened the kiss, pulling you flush against him. You laid a hand on his chest, fingers splaying across his heart. He sighed into your lips, his exhale hot on your skin. You felt him grin and you nudged his nose with yours.

“I think,” you muttered, “I have wanted to do that for a long time now.”

He laughed and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “You are welcome to do it any time you wish.”

“Faramir, why me? And after so many years since we last saw each other.”

“Can such a thing truly be explained?” He hummed to himself. “I suppose the simplest answer I can give is that you bring me joy. And perhaps also, I think we make good partners. We have always made good partners.”

You sobered at his words. “Faramir, we are not children anymore. My estate… I cannot leave it unmanaged. And I have neglected my duties already these past weeks.”

“We will find a way,” he assured. “It is only a full day’s ride from Minas Tirith, is it not?”

“Less, if one has a good horse.”

“Less, I think, if you had the reins.” He chuckled. “We are not children anymore, yes, but that only means that we can truly do as we wish. As we choose.”

You mulled over his words. “And you would choose to have a busy bride, to have to make trips out to the country with her?”

“I choose to have you.” He stroked your cheek. “And you, my love? What would you choose?”

“I choose, I think,” you said with a smile, “to remain where I have always belonged.”

“In Minas Tirith?”

“With you.”

He grinned and wrapped his arms around you. He laughed into your hair and you tucked your nose into his neck. You inhaled his scent, thinking of the unknown, familiar note in it that always eluded you. Thinking of how it smelled like rain and books, of apple peels and bitter tea.

Thinking of how, perhaps, it smelled like home.

---

If you made it this far, holy shit thank you for reading.

I characterised Faramir a little bit differently here. I think I have a tendency to conflate kindness with passivity when it comes to him, but I think he can be pretty intense if he wanted to be.

And also, I feel like this entire piece is tinged with the bittersweetness of growing up, but I hope that it veered more sweet than bitter. To you young'uns out there, truly, I promise you, it is not terrible to grow up ❤️

Taglist: @sotwk

#faramir x reader #faramir x you #faramir x y/n #lotr fic #lotr fanfiction #lotr fanfic #faramir

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thatsdemko · 1 year ago

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the archer - l.stroll

t-swift inspired works masterlist

full masterlist

pairing: Lance stroll x fem!reader

warnings: anxious thoughts + an extra t-swift reference if ya catch it!

help me hold on to you

I've been the archer

I've been the prey

an arrow shot to the heart, that’s how you feel right now. like you’ve been shot by Cupid, and you can’t help but act the way you do right now.

the way you’re leaning into him, laughter comes from your belly, genuine smiles that crinkle your eyes until they’re nothing. you’re his prey. he is the archer.

he moves slow. hands reaching your thighs, sweet kisses to your cheek, shoulders brushing, the innocence of it all kills you.

you can’t read him, you can’t tell if he wants your hand in his, or if he just wants his space. he wants to reach out, pounce like a hunter, and tell you, but it’s better this way. the mystery, the unknown, it leaves it open for your own interpretations. but it kills him, his wound is oozing with your love, but yet you can’t see it. do they see right through me?

“stay,” he whispers, cracked voice, his arms feel heavy as they reach out for you, like something weighs him down, “if you want.” he adds, seeing the uncertainty in your eyes, but he knows you’ll never leave. he’s got you warped in, all he has to do is aim and shoot.

“do you want me to?” you ask. it’s ridiculous question, of course he does. the loss kills him, and he’d rather not be alone.

your eyes flicker up from the floor meeting his, and you’re sucked in. body moving without even having a chance to second guess yourself, you’re already sliding beside him on the floor of his drivers room. shoulders brushing, his sweaty thick brown hair brushes your neck, body nuzzling against yours for comfort.

your heart swells, and he can feel it. he feels your hesitation to sink in with him. he’s got his arrow aimed, it’s a matter of if you fall with him; be his prey.

your eyes shut, body sinking down the wall a little bit, you feel his hand reach across your lap. he squeezes your thigh, it lets you know you’re safe. his lips brush your jawline, “I see right through you, you’re scared.” he whispers. your eyelids fling open to his words. you find a crack in the wall to stare it, ignoring his words. you can’t look at him when you tell him your truth. I see right through me.

“I’m scared of love, Lance. I’m scared that if I fall, you’ll leave me.” the words you never wanted to admit, float out of your body. you have officially surrendered yourself, your past battle scars and bruises are open for him to see. screaming who could ever leave me, darling? who could stay?

he sits up, hair brushing your cheek as he adjusts himself off of you. he turns his body to face you, big worried brown eyes find yours, his hand cups your cheek, pad of his thumb swipes across your skin, “I’d never leave. just let me love you.”

you can feel your teeth sink into your bottom lip, and for the first time your mind falls short for words. the only thing you can think of doing is kissing his lips, and you do. it catches him off guard, he likes that, he knows his shot didn’t miss.

it’s right through the heart.

You could stay

Combat, I'm ready for combat

tags: @oconso @xcicix

want to be apart of my general tag list? let me know here!

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yespolkadotkitty · 3 years ago

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Kinktober Day 4 - shower/tub sex

I skipped Day 3 - nipple play - because I had a hella busy weekend and bc nipple play isn’t particularly my bag.

May I present a brief break in our regular programming for some light Shang-Chi fluff/angst/smut.

Pairing: Shaun/Shang-Chi x fem! HCP reader

Words: 675 ~ Warnings: angst, swears, very soft sex. No use of y/n.

We’re back.

The text from Katy turned your world upside down. You stared at the screen for a moment, willing words to transfer from your brain to the screen, but there were too many. Finally, you typed: Where is he?

You watched the little dots that indicated Katy was typing.

His place.

I’m at mine. So, you know, if you wanted to go over-

Katy had long been at you to confess your feelings to Shaun.

You stuffed your dirty scrubs in the hospital wash bin, thankful that you were just ending a shift, not just starting one. You wouldn’t have been able to concentrate on patients knowing that Shaun was back.

The garbled message from him, punctuated by traffic noise - I have to go away for a while, explain when I’m back - had set you on edge for weeks.

You didn’t know whether you wanted to deck him or kiss him. Maybe both.

On Day 8 of his hiatus, you’d let yourself into his place - you, he and Katy all had keys to each other’s homes - and snuggled into one of his hoodies, falling asleep on the couch.

You took the bus to his place, alighting at the familiar stop and weaving through a farmer’s market. The sun was low in the sky, and the humid air made your nervous sweat more acute.

You knocked his door in a pretence of being polite, when you wanted to hammer it down.

He didn’t answer, so you let yourself in.

As you shut the door, you heard a groan from further in the apartment. You dumped your bag, and spied a trail of clothes on the floor. Your blood heated.

He’s probably in the shower.

I should go.

But you didn’t.

“Shaun?”

No answer.

You stepped into the tiny hall. The bathroom door was ajar, and without thinking, you pushed it open.

Shaun turned, surprise in his brown eyes as he mouthed your name.

“So it’s true,” you accused. “You are back.”

“I’m sorry-”

You barely took in the fact he wore only boxers and holy crap he was built. “You’re sorry? It’s been four weeks! I thought you might have died-”

His mouth settled into a firm line. “Katy was with me-”

And that was a sore point. “I know! You took Katy, but left me behind-”

“-She didn’t give me much of a choice-”

You shoved him, dead centre of his chest. “You could have asked-”

“It was going to be dangerous-”

You opened your mouth to shoot back a reply, but no words came out. Finally, you whispered, “I thought you were dead, Shaun. I thought you were dead, and I’d never get to tell you…”

Realisation dawned on his handsome face as you gazed at each other, and then, then, he pulled you into his arms and you sobbed against his chest. His skin was warm and firm and you cuddled in, crying nonsense words.

“I wanted to tell you,” he murmured into your hair. “But I was supposed to do what - just ask a doctor to leave her patients for fuck knows how long?”

He had a point and you hated that.

“I wish you’d been with us,” he added. “I saw my father. And met my Aunt. And Katy’s a crack archer now.”

You jerked your head up. “You - what the hell? Where did you go? What did you do?”

Shaun sighed. “I have a lot to tell you. But right now, in this moment? I’m more interested in hearing what you thought you’d never get to tell me.”

“You really don’t know? You’re an idiot. I let myself in while you were away and slept on your couch.” You poked him in the chest to punctuate each word of the last sentence.

Shaun’s brows winged up. “You-”

“I love you, you absolute-”

You never got to finish because Shaun cupped your face in his hands and kissed you. Whisper-soft at first, and then when you opened for him, the kiss turned hungry. You clutched at his shoulders, then slid your hands into his hair, gasping when he settled his hands under your ass and boosted you up. Your legs came around his waist and - holy shit, he was into this, if the evidence against your belly was any indication.

“I love you, too,” he panted, at length.

You nuzzled his neck, breathing him in. “Ugh, I wish I could wash the hospital off me.”

Shaun nodded to the shower. “Well, I was about to get in there…”

Your pulse rocketed. “Yes.”

This was not how you had pictured your day ending when Katy’s text had come through, but right now, you were elated.

Between kisses, Shaun undressed you hurriedly, and you helped him along, getting a case of the giggles when removing your leggings tickled your thighs. The laughter might have made you feel uncomfortable with another man, but this was Shaun, who sang terrible karaoke and made you ramen on your days off and shared his Pocky with you.

When you were naked, he pulled you close, his dark gaze drinking you in.

“You’re beautiful.”

How you’d dreamed of hearing those words in his deep voice.

“You’re not so bad yourself.” You tugged at the waist of his boxers. “Could use less clothes.”

He grinned, cheeky and confident, and your heart pounded at how handsome he was, and how much you wanted him. “Help yourself.”

You did, and he was long and thick and ready, and you watched him struggle for control as you wrapped your hand around him, kissing the groan off his lips.

“Shower, now.”

He turned the water on and tugged you inside, shutting the glass door, and you were cocooned in his arms under the hot spray. You lifted your face for his kiss and he obliged. Steam fogged up the glass and it was like being in your own private world.

You learned each other’s bodies with tongue and teeth and hands, and he left you breathless, until you could only moan his name, your hands in his hair as he did his best to spell his name on your clit with his talented tongue.

When the orgasm broke over you, he lifted you as your legs shook, braced you against the shower wall, and slid home, and it was all you’d ever wanted. He was all you’d ever wanted.

“Shaun,” you groaned against his neck.

He smiled into your hair. “It’s Shang-Chi.” At your puzzled hmmm, he added, “We have a lot to talk about, but it’s hard to think when you’re naked.”

You pulled him back in for another kiss. “Okay. We’ll think later.”

---

Unbeta’d.

I’m not sure who from my list would want to be tagged in this but I do think @astroboots will like it.

#shangqi x reader #shang-chi x fem reader #shang-chi x reader #shang-chi x you #kittys kinktober 2021 #shang-chi fanfiction

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amphxtrite · 3 years ago

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pietro maximoff x fem! reader

warnings: being picked up, tooth-rotting fluff (literally)

summary: pietro goes on his first camping trip.

word count: 1.8k

a/n: thank you to @sweetandsunny for the writing prompts that helped me write this!! ly sunny <3

translations: printsessa- princess, krasivaya- beautiful, milashka- cutie, dorogoy- darling.

———————————————————————————

“Finally Friday.” You yawn to yourself as you collapse onto your bed, after a long week of helping out the team and training, it was time to kick back, relax and-

“Hello Printsessa!”

Oh right, you smirk to yourself, peaking one eye open to see your speedster boyfriend standing at your doorway, a giddy smile on his face.

“Hey Piet.” You murmur, allowing yourself a small smirk as his eyes bounce back and forth from the spot in bed beside you and your eyes, subtly asking for permission.

“Oh alright, come here.” You giggle, opening your arms and immediately feeling Pietro’s body next to your and his arms around your torso.

A content sigh leaves his lips.

“Dorogoy, you have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this.” He murmurs, closing his eyes and snuggling himself closer to your chest.

You smile to yourself and press a peck to Pietro’s blonde hair as fatigue takes over your form.

Now it was time to-

“Okay! If the clothes are off, put them back on, if the lips are locked, unlock them because dad’s here!” A voice suddenly yells, catching both you and Pietro off guard.

You yelp, and sit up suddenly to see your father covering his eyes and standing by the door he just kicked open.

“Ugh, open your eyes dad, we aren’t doing anything.” You groan, falling back down.

“Yes Clint, we were only sleeping!” Pietro chimes, suddenly across the room from you.

“Well it doesn’t matter, get your bag kid, we're going camping!” Clint cheers, throwing his fists in the air.

“And speedy can come too, why not.” Clint shrugs, causing Pietro’s eyes to widen. “I-I don’t want to intrude-”

“Dad, it’s Friday, we’ve been working all week, can’t we go another time?” You plead, finally sitting up.

“Sorry kiddo, but it’s Barton weekend number one, and your siblings and you agreed you would get the first weekend.” The archer smirks, looking at his daughter.

You glance at your calendar and sure enough the yearly event posted on the date was ‘weekend with dad.’

The little voice in your head cheers sarcastically.

“Fine, I’ll get packed.” You murmur, standing and grabbing your overnight bag from the floor.

“That’s the spirit!” Clint whoops.

“I should probably-”

Clint’s smile drops.

“Not so fast blondie, get your bags packed, you’re going.” Your father says sternly, patting the Avenger on the back on his way out of the room.

“You better listen, last time I told him no he didn’t make me waffles for six months.” You shudder.

Pietro’s jaw drops, “not the waffles.”

A blue blue went out and back into your room as Pietro returns with a bag slung over his shoulder and wearing clothes a little more suited for the wilderness.

You laugh and shake your head.

“Mind helping me Pietro?” You suggest.

“Of course, milashka.” He grins, pecking you on the forehead as he begins helping you, at a normal pace.

“So tell me again where we’re going, dad.” You question, readjusting your bag straps again as you walk further into the dense forest in front of you.

“A new spot I found while hiking the other day, great place to see the stars…” Your father responds, almost nervously.

“Oh no, I know that voice.” You groan, rolling your eyes as Pietro looks at you confused.

“What is it?” Sokovian asks.

“We’re lost.” You respond plainly, popping the ‘t.’

“We are not lost.” Clint sighs, moving his fingers to the bridge of his nose.

“He brought us out here to die.” You shrug sarcastically.

“You brought us here to die?!” Pietro squeaks, misunderstanding the joke.

“Well, obviously.” Your dad jokes back, not knowing about Pietro’s state.

The platinum blonde man begins murmuring a silent prayer as you and your father continue to banter.

“Let future campers see us as a warning to halt before considering being active.” You sigh dramatically.

“Yes, and may they tell stories of us around the campfires and how great we were.” Clint continues.

Pietro’s brows were furrowed now, very confused by what was going on.

“I cannot tell if you two are being sarcastic or if we are really lost.” He mutters.

You look back over at your boyfriend and the look on his face was priceless, you begin bursting into a fit of laughter, your dad following shortly behind after he catches a glimpse of the mix of concern, fear and confusion slapped onto Pietro’s face

“O-Oh my gosh.” You laugh, placing your hand on Pietro’s arm. “You poor thing, you thought we were serious?” You coo, moving your hands up to Pietro’s cheeks as if he were the most innocent being alive. “Oh you’re adorable.”

“It’s a tradition for the kids, I gotta keep them on their toes.” Clint winks, patting Pietro on the back. “I almost had you this year.” The older Avenger sighs, placing his hand on your head and rustling your hair around.

“In your dreams old man, I saw it a mile away.” You smirk, rolling your eyes and joining your fingers with Pietro’s.

“Okay, okay. The site’s this way, come on.” Your father says, pointing in the direction you could hear rushing water from.

You nod and pull your boyfriend along beside you.

“You’ll get used to it Piet, my sibling’s and I were fooled every year until we started seeing the pattern.” You sigh, reminiscing in your memories of being scared to death as a kid.

“I can see why.” Pietro mutters, still slightly baffled at what had just happened.

Your lips pull even further up into a wide smile and you squeeze Pietro’s hand reassuringly.

“I’ll make sure dad doesn’t do that again, now hurry up, the sun’s setting and we haven’t even pitched our tent.” You laugh, pulling Pietro into a jog and catching up with your dad.

“That’ll do it.” Clint chuckles, stepping back and admiring his tent.

“Mines up too, dad!” You call, unzipping your tent and throwing your sleeping bag inside.

“How about you Pietro, how’s it-”

“Um, a little help?” A weak voice chimes from nearby.

You and your father turn around to see a mess of a tent behind you, beams sticking all over the place and a flustered Pietro standing in front of it, covering whatever he could.

“I-I’ve never been camping, I have only ever seen it on television.” He confesses, crossing his arms.

“Awe Pietro!” You coo, walking over to the pouting Sokovian and wrapping your arms around him.

“Here, hold this part up- Dad, you wanna get in on this?” You laugh.

“Wouldn’t miss it.” Clint chuckles, jogging over and holding up the other half of Pietro’s tent as you begin feeding the thin pole through the thin material, with all three of you, the tent went up quickly and as you stood back to admire your work Pietro giddily runs up and scoops you into his arms.

“You are amazing, krasivaya! absolutely amazing!” He beams, spinning you in circles.

“Hey Piet! I’m getting dizzy!” You giggle, holding onto his shoulders and silently praying he’d never put you down.

“Alright you two, stop it before I throw up.” Your father sighs, rolling his eyes and throwing a marshmallow, managing to nail it right on your forehead.

To your dismay, Pietro places you back on the ground and takes your hand as he walks over to the small fire Clint had gotten started.

You sit on one of the chairs set up and accept a small stick and a marshmallow from your dad.

You smirk and stab the fluffy white treat onto the end of your twig and place it above the fire.

Pietro follows your lead and loses focus as the flames seem to swallow his marshmallow whole.

You skillfully pull your marshmallow out as it turns a perfect golden brown, but Pietro isn’t so lucky.

He lifts his stick from the fire to find a small bonfire on the end, and his marshmallow begins to burn.

“Oh- Pietro blow it out!” You rush.

“Right.” He squeals, taking a deep breath and ridding of the fire, leaving him with a charred blob.

“Aw it’s okay Pietro, you can just-.”

The blonde doesn’t let you finish and instead places the whole marshmallow into his mouth.

“-throw it into the fire…”

Pietro’s face contorts from neutral, to disgust, to glee in seconds. His eyebrows raise in surprise and his feet tap happily.

“It’s delicious! a little bitter at first but the rest is perfect!” Pietro muses, quickly snagging the bag of soft treats from your dad’s lap and sticking a bunch onto the end of his stick.

You smile at Pietro’s childlike glee and place your own marshmallow into your mouth, savouring the sweet crust and melts inside in your mouth as your boyfriend ate his like a sweet, sticky kebab.

The sky turns dark and you teach Pietro to make the perfect marshmallow, tell him scary stories and make shadow puppets with the fire’s light just like your dad would do with you when you were young. Clint had grown tired of your couple's antics quickly and retired to his tent earlier, leaving you and Pietro alone.

“Piet, you’ve still got bits of marshmallow on your face.” You laugh, wiping the remnants of sticky sugar out of his goatee and off his nose. Pietro looks down at you lovingly and notices a tiny bit of marshmallow on your bottom lip, without hesitation, his fingers move to your chin and he tilts your head up to let your eyes meet.

Leaning down, your lips meet in a sweet kiss. The taste of marshmallow and charcoal bring smiles to both of your faces as Pietro deepens the kiss. The fire crackles quietly beside you as Pietro’s hands move to your back to pull you closer. Your fingers find their way into his soft hair, tugging ever so gently.

You both part for breath, resting your foreheads together as you catch your breaths.

“You had some marshmallow on your lip, dorogoy.” Pietro smiles sheepishly.

“You don’t say?” You giggle, pressing kisses onto the edges of Pietro’s mouth.

There’s a moment of silence as the two of you bask in each other’s warmth, Pietro’s hands sliding up and down your arms and your fingers tangling themselves in his wavy locks.

“Thank you Printsessa, this has been one of the best nights of my life.” Pietro sighs with a grin.

“One of them?” You joke, leaning into your boyfriend’s chest.

“Oh tsvesti, do you think I’ll ever forget the night we first met? Or our first kiss?” Pietro fires back playfully, wrapping his arms around your tightly and pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“Okay, you got me Pie.” You sigh, cuddling closer into him.

“I know, zefir.” Pietro smirks.

“Wait, what does that one mean?” You ask, smiling at the new nickname.

“It means marshmallow, Printsessa. I think it’s very fitting for you.” He smiles, evidently very proud of himself.

You laugh lightly and nod.

“It’s perfect.”

#pietro maximoff x you #pietro maximoff imagine #pietro maximoff x reader #pietro maximoff #pietro maximoff x y/n #pietro maximoff fluff #pietro maximoff fanfiction

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chevyslate158 · 23 days ago

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Threads Of Freedom 15th Hunger Games AU Archer Brown x Fem!Reader: Chapter 1 - We will be free one day

Warnings: Mentions of hanging, violence, peacekeeper brutality, swearing, oppression, mentions of death, political corruption, abuse of power, and public execution. A/N: I hope you enjoy the first chapter of Threads of Freedom! I’d love to hear your thoughts below, as your feedback will really help me understand what you think of the story so far. Please let me know if you think future chapters should be longer or shorter. I apologise if this isn’t perfect—it’s my first fic—but I’m committed to improving as I go along. Thank you for reading!!

New A/N: Hey everyone! Just a quick update to let you know that I’ve gone back and edited Chapter One. After re-reading it, I realized there was room to add a bit more detail and make some improvements for you all to enjoy. There are a few adjustments, but nothing too drastic—just polishing things up to enhance the story. Also, Chapter 2 has been uploaded! Thank you for your support, and I hope you enjoy both the updated Chapter One and the new chapter! 💕 Word Count: 3.6K Chapters: Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

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The crunch of worn shoes on gravel echoed through my ears as I walked through the centre of District 12, which was reaching its peak hour of activity for the afternoon, considering how the reaping of the 15th Hunger Games would commence in a weeks time. The sun's glare painstakingly reached my eyes as the tall man I was walking closely behind on purpose to shelter away from the heat veered off to the right to continue their way to wherever they may have been heading this afternoon.

I sighed, raising a hand to shield my eyes from the sun's harsh glare again, squinting against its intensity. The heat pressed down on me, heavy and relentless, but I pushed through it, determined to reach the bakery. As I walked, the familiar rhythm of my feet against the cracked pavement seemed to ground me. The air was thick with the usual scent of dust and sweat that lingered around District 12, but there was something different today. As I neared the bakery, the familiar scent of fresh bread slowly began to wrap around me, warm and inviting, cutting through the stale air like a breath of life. It was the comforting scent that had greeted me since I was a child, and it never failed to make me feel just a little lighter.

The smell of flour and yeast mingled with the sweetness of cinnamon and sugar, creating an almost tangible warmth in the air. It was a welcome contrast to the metallic tang of the factories that choked the atmosphere around the markets, where coal and smoke hung like a thick fog. The ever-present stench of sweat and soot was a constant reminder of the mines and the harsh reality of life here, but as I drew closer to Mellark’s Bakery, the mood shifted.

For once, the typical gloomy aroma of the town felt as though it was lifted, replaced by the soft, comforting scent of freshly baked goods, a rare reprieve from the ever-present heaviness of District 12. I inhaled deeply, letting the smell of bread and pastries fill my lungs, savouring the moment of peace it brought. The small corner shop, with its cozy windows and the soft sound of the bell above the door, was a tiny oasis amidst the chaos of the district.

My feet were unintentionally picking up speed as I weaved through the crowded streets, maneuvering between the hunched figures of coal miners, market vendors, and children lugging baskets of goods. I barely noticed the small glances of annoyance and disapproval I earned as I brushed past them, but their glares lingered in the corners of my vision. I could feel the heat of their stares, but it didn't matter. The promise of fresh food, the familiar comfort of warm loaves of bread, pushed me forward, and I focused solely on that. I quickened my pace, my breath coming in small bursts, until my feet were practically dancing over the uneven cobblestones.

A slight skip now punctuated my steps, a quiet defiance to the heavy, suffocating atmosphere of the district. It was one small rebellion against the grinding reality that we lived under, and for a moment, it felt almost freeing. As I neared the bakery, the tantalizing smell of fresh dough, golden and soft, wafted toward me, making my stomach growl in anticipation.

My hand reached for the worn brass handle of the door, and just as I pushed it open, the soft jingle of the bell above rang out, its light tinkling sound cutting through the din of the streets. The moment I stepped inside, the cozy warmth of the bakery wrapped around me like a blanket. There, behind the counter, I spotted Annie Mellark, the owner's daughter and one of my best friends. Her familiar face was the beacon of comfort I had been longing for, and I couldn't help the grin that spread across my face. I hastily entered, the bell ringing once more as I made my way to the counter, eager to greet her and take in the warmth of the bakery that felt like home.

Her head immediately sprung up from one of the wooden racks where she had been carefully lining up fresh loaves of warm, golden-brown bread. Her warm brown eyes, always full of life and kindness, crinkled at the corners as they locked onto me, a wide grin spreading across her freckled face the moment she saw me. The light in her expression was impossible to miss—her presence radiated a kind of warmth that seemed to chase away the cool gloom of District 12. Before I could even respond, she let out a joyful squeal of delight that echoed through the small bakery, causing one of the startled customers to jump and glance over, a mix of surprise and amusement on their face. Annie, completely oblivious to the minor disturbance, rushed toward me, her movements quick and graceful.

As she hurried past the counter, her flour-dusted apron—once pristine but now a canvas of white smudges—flapped at the edges, and I couldn’t help but notice the dab of flour on her left cheek, just beneath her eye, a mark that only added to her charm. Her ginger hair, straight and fiery, framed her face with a tousled bounce, the strands just past her shoulders blowing gently in the soft breeze from the open window. It was a striking contrast to the usual Mellark family appearance—where blonde and brown hair dominated. Annie’s fiery locks were like a flame in a place that often felt perpetually covered in ash, adding to her distinct presence. She was always so full of energy, a beacon of light in the dreariness of our everyday lives.

“Y/N!” she cried, her voice bright and unmistakable, cutting through the low hum of the bakery. The warmth of her tone made my shoulders relax, the tension from the day starting to melt away. Without missing a beat, she immediately abandoned her work, her flour-dusted hands leaving faint marks on the countertop as she hurried over to me. She pulled me into a tight, comforting hug, her arms enveloping me like a shield against the weight of the world. I closed my eyes for a moment, letting the familiar sensation of her warmth chase away the weariness that had been clinging to me all day.

“Hey, Annie,” I said, unable to hold back a grin. Her energy was infectious, like a spark of light in the otherwise dull routine of our lives here in District 12. I could feel her enthusiasm radiating from her, bright enough to momentarily banish the heavy thoughts weighing on my mind.

“Let me guess,” she said with a mischievous glint in her eye, hands on her hips. She leaned in, her gaze playful but knowing. “Two loaves of sourdough for you, and one for the Browns?”

“Impressive,” I teased, laughing softly. “How do you always know?”

She chuckled, her laugh as light as the breeze that occasionally slipped through the bakery's open door, vanishing briefly behind the counter to retrieve two paper bags. Her movements were fluid and confident, as if she had done this a thousand times, which, knowing Annie, she probably had. Each bag was carefully labelled in her neat handwriting. One bore my family name, the other “Brown,” the letters almost perfectly aligned.

“Magic,” she replied, her voice laced with playful mystery, as she placed the bags on the counter in front of me. Her eyes sparkled, and she was already anticipating my response. I reached for my coin pouch, ready to pay, but before I could even touch the leather, she swatted my hand away with a lighthearted but firm gesture.

“Oh, don’t even think about it, Y/N,” she scolded softly, her voice teasing but carrying a hint of protectiveness beneath the playful exterior. “This one’s on the house.”

“But, Annie—” I began, but she was already pushing the bags into my hands, her grin widening into something daring, as if she knew I wouldn't win this one. Her insistence was endearing, and I didn’t have the heart to argue.

“Go on,” she said, her voice softer now, urging me to leave, but with that same spark in her eyes. “I’ll see you tomorrow at the Hob! And tell Archer I said hi and to stop working himself to death.” She waved me off with a final, radiant smile, her eyes following me as I reluctantly turned to leave, the bags a small comfort in my hands as I stepped back into the sunlit street.

Laughing at her antics, I wave both her and her father goodbye, offering a subtle ‘Thank you’ to Annie as I exit the bakery. The warm, familiar chime of the bell behind me fades into the background, blending with the cacophony of the bustling streets of District 12. The momentary feeling of comfort vanishes as I step back into the crowd, the noise of the district swallowing me up again. I glance around, my eyes scanning the faces of the workers, traders, and children weaving between them. The weight of the day presses on me, and I start walking back in the direction I came from, my steps slow and measured as I make my way toward the seams.

As I walk, a gnawing unease settles in the pit of my stomach. The tension in the air is thick, almost suffocating. I notice the small, subtle signs of fear in the people around me: mothers clutching their children’s hands with a desperation I’ve never seen before, their gazes darting nervously toward the looming Capitol billboards and the distant, foreboding figure of the Justice Building. It’s as if the entire district knows that in just two weeks, their children could be chosen—ripped away from them, sent to a new arena to fight for their lives.

The thought is enough to make me shiver, my mind briefly racing with the dark possibility. Even the usual teenage troublemakers who typically roam the streets causing havoc seem quieter, their boldness tempered by an undercurrent of fear. They walk with their heads down, glancing nervously at the peacekeepers who now patrol the streets with even more vigilance. They know the rules have changed. No one wants to be noticed. No one wants to attract attention in case they too find their names drawn from the reaping bowl.

I feel a chill creep down my spine at the thought that I could just as easily be one of them, one of the unlucky ones, dragged from the safety of District 12 to fight in the Hunger Games. My stomach lurches at the dark thought, and I instinctively grip the paper bags in my hands tighter, the familiar crinkle of the packaging grounding me as I keep walking. I try to shake the fear away. Stop it—you’re fine, I remind myself, though my mind doesn’t listen. The oppressive heat of the sun is a constant reminder of how the world feels right now—too hot, too heavy, too tense. Sweat beads on my forehead, mixing with the apprehension that clings to me like a second skin. I swallow hard, forcing myself to focus on my steps, on the mundane task of getting home, even as I know deep down that the reality of the reaping is always just one slip away.

The longer I walked the further out of the central town I got. The already poorly structured buildings and shops progressively worsened as smoke and dust re-entered my lungs but it was nothing new to District 12. This place was never as fully advanced as the others with it’s materials and almost always smelt of smoke from the factories, coal mines and the train station, it seemed as though it was the first thing you breathed when you entered the world. Adjusting to the changes in the air like a second nature just like how the new President and all of the presidents before himself expected us to adapt to life in these broken districts like birds trapped in a cage and told to soar.

I was snapped out of my raging thoughts as the sound of fractured muffled sobs was heard from presumably a man further up the path, I tensed hesitating to walk further but pushed through not wanting to take the longer way home, I continued walking ahead the sound of broken cries becoming louder and louder than a ‘thwack’ was heard one that could only suit the sound of a baton no doubt being used by a peacekeeper on a poor district citizen.

I wince as it only gets louder knowing that I can’t do anything but continue walking past and continue with my day, but when walking past the alley where the beating was occurring I can’t help but look and glance down the alleyway calling it curiosity or plain stupidity. I felt my heart stop for a moment the young man probably no older than 22 left at the mercy of the peacekeeper above him. And he was not holding back his fist pounding down on the young man repeatedly. The peacekeeper snaps “Maybe this will teach you a lesson to stay away from the filthy district scum here. I’m not going to keep protecting you Rowan you’re lucky I'm the one doing this and not the others! You’re training to be a peacekeeper for Christ's sake! There is no time to be fooling around with that girl in town! No girl is worth swinging from a rope for!”

The sickening crunch of bone echoed through the alley, forcing me to look away, but my gaze betrayed me, glancing back as horror and anger simmered beneath my fear. Another punch landed squarely on his nose, making me suck in a sharp breath. The peacekeeper froze, his eyes scanning until they locked onto mine. Shit, I thought, turning and rushing down the path that was quickly giving way to the familiar dirt road leading to the Seam.

After a 15-minute walk, I find myself surrounded by the familiar landscape of the Seam as I head toward the Brown family’s home to deliver their loaf of bread. Archer, his father, and his youngest brother Oliver, who’s only 14 but already following in their footsteps, are busy working in the mines. This leaves just his mother and 12-year-old sister Jane alone in the house. Bringing them a little food is the least I can do for a family this large—and I'd do anything for Archer, knowing he’d do the same for me.

Soon enough their house came into view that was conveniently only a 5-minute walk from mine. I knocked on the door softly to hear the sounds of shuffling feet soon enough the front door swung open revealing Jane looking up at me with a toothy smile her brown locks tied away in a low ponytail and a blue dress custom-made from her mother on her birthday.

“Hey, Jane, mind if I come in?” I ask with a gentle smile, clutching two brown paper bags filled with sourdough.

Without a word, she hastily pulls me inside by the fabric of my dress, causing it to sway slightly where it flares out past my waist.

“You can come in anytime! Don’t even bother knocking,” she beams, her excitement evident as we step into the cozy room. I greet her mother with a warm hug and a kiss on the cheek before handing her one of the bags.

Jane and I settle at the rickety wooden dining table, its surface scratched and faded from years of use. She’s practically bouncing in her seat, eager to recount the day’s events, her words tumbling out in a rush. I listen, smiling, as she talks animatedly about the little things—the funny interactions at work, a new recipe she tried at the bakery, and the minor mischief she’d gotten up to. Her excitement is contagious, filling the space around us with a sense of ease.

Just as she’s finishing a story, a soft knock sounds at the door, and Jane’s breath catches. We turn our heads to see the rest of the Browns entering, calling, “We’re home!” Their tired faces tell of a long day in the mines, and my heart aches as I watch them kick off their dusty boots and set their belongings aside.

"Hey, Archer!" I call out with a soft smile, my voice a gentle thread in the room. His head snaps up at the sound of my voice, and I catch the brief flicker of surprise in his eyes before it melts into warmth. He stops untying his shoes, his hands pausing mid-motion. The corners of his lips curl into a smile, and without a second thought, he pushes himself up and rushes toward me. I can’t help but laugh softly as he nearly stumbles in his haste, his long strides carrying him quickly to my side. He scoops me up from the wooden chair, the motion fluid and sure, and pulls me into a big hug. His arms wrap tightly around me, enveloping me in his familiar, comforting embrace. The warmth of his body against mine is grounding, his gentle squeeze holding me for a moment longer than necessary, as if he’s savoring the connection. “How were the mines today?” I ask looking up at him and noticing the dirt and grime decorating his face and hands as he pulls back from the hug I see that some of that dirt is now scattered across the top of my dress clinging to the fabric. I let out a laugh, catching the look on his face as he started to stammer out a thousand apologies. Quickly, I cut him off.

“How about a walk?” I question him tilting my head faintly to the side as I glance up at him a smile forming on my lips.

I greet his father and brother as we leave his home, offering a smile that feels natural in their presence. Archer’s hand finds mine almost instinctively, the warmth of his touch grounding me as we make our way through the familiar path that winds through the nearby fields. The tall grass rustles around us, swaying in the gentle breeze as we walk, our footsteps light against the earth. We chat casually, exchanging stories about our days—small talk that feels comforting against the backdrop of the vast, open land. The sun is beginning its descent, painting the sky in warm hues, but the weight of the day lingers in the air.

As we draw closer to our spot, a peaceful quiet begins to settle over us, the kind that only comes when you are surrounded by nature’s stillness. The sound of the distant birds, the whisper of the wind, and the occasional rustle of the grass underfoot are the only things that break the silence. Archer’s presence beside me eases my worries, stilling my racing thoughts, if only for a moment. My hand in his is a reassurance, a promise that, for this time, everything feels right.

I glance up at the sky, where mockingjays soar freely above, their wings cutting through the air with effortless grace. They are unbound by fences, unburdened by the constraints of the world below. I watch them for a moment, and a pang of longing tugs at my chest. If only, I think silently, my heart aching at the thought of freedom. I’m pulled from my thoughts as we reach our destination, the sight of the swing hanging from the weathered post pulling me back to the present.

Archer leans against the worn wooden post of the swing, his arms crossed loosely over his chest as he watches me with a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. His gaze is soft, the setting sun catching in his hair, casting a halo-like glow around him. The ropes creak softly as I sway back and forth, the sound mingling with the distant chirping of crickets and the rustle of the wind in the trees. The evening air is cool against my skin, a welcome relief from the heat of the day.

The sky is awash in soft shades of blue and purple, the sun casting a warm glow over the land as it begins to sink below the horizon. My bare feet brush against the blades of grass with each swing, the coolness of the earth beneath me grounding me in the moment. My shoes are abandoned in a small patch of dirt, forgotten for now as I lose myself in the rhythm of the swing. My gaze drifts across the open fields, where the horizon stretches on, an endless sea of green and brown. Beyond District 12, the world feels both vast and unreachable, a reminder of the freedom that seems so far away. But here, in this small corner of the world, with Archer beside me, everything feels momentarily perfect.

“I have to get out of here, Archer,” I murmured, my voice low but laced with urgency as i beak the silence. “Before the 15th Hunger Games. I can’t stay here any longer. What if our names are next? I want to be free—away from all of this.” The thought weighed heavily on me, a desperate longing for escape that seemed impossible.

As I spoke, a vivid flash of a young man being beaten by peacekeepers crossed my mind, a haunting reminder of the brutality that loomed over us like a dark cloud. The sound of his cries echoed in my ears, a chilling reminder of the power they wielded over our lives, and I shivered at the thought of what awaited us if we stayed. I turned to Archer, searching his eyes for understanding, for the courage I needed to convince him to join me in this dream of freedom. “I can’t just stand by and wait for my name to be drawn. We have to leave before it’s too late.”

A pang of admiration and sadness tightened in Archer’s chest. You had always dreamed beyond the dusty smoke-filled streets and fields, your spirit too restless for the confines of District 12. He pushed off the post, stepping closer to you. Kneeling beside the swing, he rested a hand on the chain, meeting her eyes with a steady resolve yet a softness in his azure blue eyes.

“One day, we’ll be free,” he promised, his voice low, as if speaking it too loudly might shatter the fragile hope between them. “I swear it just… just give it some time.”

And as the sun set over District 12, I clung to his words, hoping that one day, they might finally ring true.

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holdmytesseract · 6 months ago

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moodboard by the wonderful @chennqingg <3

The Vest Stays On [EoH]

Daryl Dixon x fem!Reader

Summary: You always hate it when Daryl leaves Alexandria to put his life at risk for his friends and family. But as much as the farewell hurts, the reunion is all the better...

18+! Minors, do not interact.

Warnings: uhhh, very very suggestive smut/mild smut? Nothing too graphic, but it's definitely there.👀 fluff, swear words, let me know if I forgot something!

The Commonwealth Era!

Word Count: 1,6k

a/n: Well... Somehow, this happened... 👀 I am absolutely no pro in writing smut or such, but I hope you'll enjoy it anyway! ☺️

EoH Masterlist °☆• Daryl Masterlist °☆• Masterlist

"Ya sure the kids 'r asleep?" Daryl panted out; his chest heaving with every ragged breath he took. You bit your lip and smiled up at him as you leaned against the doorframe to your shared bedroom; hands fumbling with the lapels of his angel-winged vest. The archer had caged you with his bulky figure. One forearm pressed against the wood just over your head and a firm grip on your right hip which left you not much space to escape. Something you wouldn't even want anyway.

Your eyes travelled up and down your man's body; taking in the dishevelled state he was in. His chestnut brown hair a mess, black shirt halfway unbuttoned and his already low hanging ripped jeans hung even lower around his hips now since you had opened the belt, button and fly.

Yeah, he was a mess - but certainly a hot mess.

Forcing yourself to redirect your gaze on his face again; you nodded. "Fast asleep. Checked on 'em before we got ourselves in this... situation." Daryl's eyes thoroughly scanned your features. "Does that mean ya did tis on purpose, sunshine? Gettin' us in a situation?"

You couldn't suppress the small smirk your lips wanted to curl in. "Maybe..." Was all you answered. "Naughty girl," murmured Daryl in a low voice. It caused a shiver to run down your spine. "Mhm," you hummed; pulling gently at his leather vest to encourage your husband to lean in closer in the hopes of getting to taste his lips again.

To say you were desperate for him was almost an understatement. After all, was he five long days gone. Five long days in which you didn't know if you'd see him again or not. Time with the people you love was precious in the apocalypse; not knowing when it was running out. You just had to have him all over you and in every which way possible.

The archer gave into your gentle tug, of course and leaned in; brushing his lips against yours. Kissing him felt like balm on your aching heart - but you needed more.

Your fingertips travelled over his clothed stomach; quickly finding the last button you opened and continued your good work to expose more of his strong torso.

"I should shower first, sunshine. Got quite a bit dirty on that mission..." Daryl whispered against your slightly opened lips. You shook your head, "Don't care." and just kept on kissing him.

Skin met skin, as your hand travelled back up to cup his cheek; deepening the kiss. Mostly you were the one calling the shots when it came to sex, but this time was your husband the first to make a move...

The hand on your hip twitched and pulled you forwards against his body, before Daryl bent his knees and cupped your ass to lift you off the ground. A small squeak escaped your lips, since you hadn't seen that coming.

He made quick work to close and lock - which was important when you had a teenager and a four-year-old running around the house - the door, and literally threw you on the bed; causing you to giggle.

You were slightly disappointed when you noticed that your man didn't join you right away, but when he started to strip himself off his clothes, you weren't complaining at all. Biting your lip and raking your hungry eyes over his body, you watched his every move. First, he took off his angel-winged vest and placed the leather garment he loved so much in front of him on the mattress. Then he shrugged off his black shirt and threw it carelessly aside.

In every other situation, you'd have giggled at the difference between how he treated his vest and other clothes. In this situation, though, it was just downright sexy.

Since you already opened the archer's tattered jeans halfway, he only had to remove his knives and get out of said jeans - only the jeans. His boxershorts still clung to his hips. Was he teasing you?

Nevertheless was the sight he graced you with enough to turn you on even more. Clenching your thighs to relieve at least a little bit tension, your eyes got stuck on what he was packaging inside those shorts. You could clearly tell that Daryl was more than excited; the small wet patch unmistakable.

A small smirk tugged at the archer's lips as he noticed your staring. He stepped closer to the bed; taking his vest in his hands once more and wanted to move it out of the way. That was the moment you stopped him; snapping out of your lustful thoughts.

"Wait."

Daryl's blue-grey eyes met yours; slight confusion swirling within them. "Put it back on. Please." Your husband frowned. "Wha'? Ya want me ta wear ma vest when we...?" You nodded shyly; biting your lip. "Yeah... 'S kinda hot." Daryl shrugged, "Aight." and threw the leather garment over his head; slipping inside. "Whatever ma lady wants." The he proceeded to crawl on the bed. His knees settled between your opened legs; hands digging in the mattress beside your shoulders, keeping him towered above you.

You smiled and ran your palms from the lapels of his chest up his neck and buried your fingers in his curls. "Mh, yeah... That's it. Can't believe I never asked you to wear your vest all those years before..." Daryl just scoffed playfully and leaned down to capture your lips in another feverish kiss.

"Less talkin'..." His gravel voice urged to your ears then, "... 'n more doin'." as his calloused fingers danced over your clothed skin; starting to undress you.

With the anticipation and desire running through your veins, you loved to give your man a helping hand; getting rid of the unnecessary clothes even faster.

Once your whole body was entirely exposed, Daryl sat back on his haunches, letting his eyes roam now. "Fuckin' hell... 'M never gonna get tired of seein' ya naked in ma bed. Yer beauty stuns me every damn time, sunshine."

You almost blushed at his sweet words and wanted to give him an answer for his compliment, but the words died down in your throat as he started to kiss his way up from your navel to your chest. A soft moan was all that slipped past your lips.

"D-Daryl..." You breathed; hands fumbling with his boxershorts. You didn't want to wait a minute longer. He was driving you crazy - and you had to have him. Now.

The archer showed mercy and helped you along to get rid of it; throwing the piece of clothing carelessly to the bedroom floor, before he flopped on the mattress beside you. Shaking a few curls out of his face, he outstretched his arms to grip the headboard, before he gave you a nod. "Wanna take a ride?"

It was an offer you couldn't deny. You never could.

Sweat rolled down the archer's temple and forehead; causing a few strands of chestnut brown hair to stick to his hot skin. A frown adorned his face; eyes shut close and mouth slightly agape. His knuckles had already turned white at how hard he was gripping the headboard. You could feel his heaving chest underneath your palms as you moved with a slow pace on top of him. Too slow for Daryl...

"Goddammit, woman!" He growled lowly. "Stop teasin' me, will ya?!" You tried to hide your smile; biting your lip instead. You loved to tease him a little. Of course, you'd not always do it, but when you did... Oh boy, then you were in for a long night...

You stopped in your movements - causing a frustrated grunt to slip past your man's lips, before you leaned down to whisper in his ear. "Do something about it then."

And he did.

The words had barely left your lips, when your husband released his grip on the headboard and placed his hands on your hips instead. Quicker than you were able to react, flipped you Daryl over with a grunt.

You squeaked up; your back hitting the soft mattress. Now the archer was on top - and he didn't intend to lose any time.

Casually throwing your legs over his shoulders, he tested the waters with a sharp, strong thrust - which literally knocked the wind out of your lungs and left you breathless. Well, it's been a little over two weeks since you lastly got down to it... "O-Oh my g-god!" You breathed; face contorting in sheer endless pleasure.

What you didn't see was the little sneaky and satisfied smile on your man's lips, but then you felt him picking up a steady pace; almost making you see stars already.

"Shit, D-Daryl!" You panted; fingertips digging into the bedsheets. Seconds later, you felt his hand on top of yours. He gently took your smaller one in his bigger one; intertwining your fingers. It was a gesture you knew too well. Especially after all those years. He was checking in on you; making sure he wasn't too rough.

Daryl wasn't. Not today. Not after all that shit both of you went through in the past days. You needed this. Him. So, you gave his hand a reassuring squeeze; signalling your man that he was good to go.

The next minutes passed for you in a haze. You were lost. Lost in the feeling; lost in the pleasure; lost in Daryl.

Only when you felt your husband's body slightly collapsing onto yours did you slowly come back down to earth.

Daryl's sweaty forehead came to rest against your forehead; feeling his laboured breath on your lips. He was barely holding himself hovered above you; afraid to crush you if his arms gave in.

A smile tugged at the corners of your mouth. You ran your hands up his bare arms and over his shoulders, before burying them in his damp hair. "I missed you so much, sweetie."

The archer smiled back and captured your lips in sweet, gentle kiss. "I missed ya, too, sunshine."

Tags: @erebus-et-eigengrau @fictive-sl0th @suniloli @loz-3 @celtic-crossbow @km-ffluv @mischief-dream @sweetz1919 @stitchintimefan @in-this-minute @fuseburner @mandywholock1980 @crimson25 @buttercupcookies-blog @salvinaa @javagirl328

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nebulablakemurphy · 3 years ago

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Miss American Pie

Chapter Five: This Will Be The Day (Finale)

Warning: this series features a romantic Yelena Belova x Fem!Reader pairing.

Summary: Everyone has returned but the battle for humanity against Thanos wages on.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

You wake in a coughing fit, the rubble surrounding you sears your lungs. “Natasha.” You call into the rocks and flickering lights. Clearing your throat, you try again. “Natasha!”

“Here, I’m here.” Her voice is rough, pained.

You push yourself toward the sound, through the dust you can make out her hair. “You ok?”

“Mostly.” She’s laying face up, a few scratches visible.

“What the hell does that mean?”

“I can’t move.” She nods at the piece of collapsed cement. “My leg is broken, you should go.” Nat says, staring up at the sky.

“I should’ve never let you go to Vormir. I’m so sorry, I didn’t know.” You try uselessly to budge the blockage over her leg.

“What is Vormir?” She asks.

“Doesn’t matter.” You swallow the lump in your throat. “How much do you remember?”

“The red room.”

“Do you remember getting out?”

“No one gets out.” She shakes her head.

“We did.” You inform her. “Yelena did.”

“Yelena?” Her gaze finds yours. “You know Yelena? Is she here?”

“Yes, I know her.” You press your lips together. “She’s not here though.”

“The rest of this building is coming down. If you were really trained in the red room you have to know that.” Natasha frowns. “You need to leave.”

“Not gonna happen.”

“Don’t be a hero.” She whispers. “Let me go, it’s ok.”

“No, it’s not.” You argue. “I won’t do it again.”

“What about Yelena?” Natasha gives you a pointed look.

“She’ll understand.” This is what she would do.

“Hey,” Natasha pushes herself up on her elbows. “Would it be a good thing or a bad thing if a giant man in a metal suit carrying a smaller man and a raccoon appeared behind your head?”

You turn toward the man in question. Scott Lang. “It would be a good thing.”

———————————————————————

Natasha is taken somewhere safe. She can’t fight.

As the strange doctor and his disciples start opening portals you see that you’re not alone. Through one comes Alexei, Melina and Yelena.

Her white suit is pristine, dirty blonde hair held away from her face in ponytails.

On shaky legs you move toward her, taking your rightful place at her side. Facing what lies ahead together.

Yelena catches your hand, “this isn’t much of a welcome home.”

You can’t help but laugh, “pretty cool way to die though.”

“Very,” she agrees. “Natasha?”

“She is a little worse for wear.” You warn her, “but alive…and safe.”

Yelena gives you a watery smile, squeezing your fingers. “And you?”

“A tower fell on me.”

“Of course it did.”

Thanos’ army is nothing to scoff at. Giant airborne creatures hover over his troops. Larger monsters stand in their ranks, space ship overhead ready to destroy.

Steve is almost unrecognizable, covered in dirt, his shield battered and broken. But you know it is time when he gives the order. “Avengers, assemble.”

Fighting is easy, it’s what you know. What you were trained to do. Fight to stay alive, fight for what you believe in, fight with Yelena; for Yelena.

The two of you move together like a well oiled machine. Like riding a bike, even after all this time you could never forget.

“We’ve got company to the left.” Yelena says through gritted teeth, kicking at the alien creature beside her. Dropping an empty cartridge to the ground and reloading her gun seamlessly, firing several shots.

Despite everyone’s best efforts they just keep coming. “Do we have a plan here?”

“Getting there,” Steve replies. “Anybody have eyes on the gauntlet?”

“Yeah!” Clint rushes past you with the glove in hand. “What am I supposed to do with it?”

“Get it out of here!” Tony insists.

“What’s happening?” Alexei shouts over the chaos. “I still don’t have ear piece.”

“Just keep their army away from that guy in the tank top.” You grunt, falling backwards from the force of one of Thanos’ soldiers colliding with you.

“We have to get the stones back where they came from.” Rhodey reminds everyone.

“The time space tunnel is completely collapsed.” Tony points out.

“That isn’t our only time machine.” Lang cuts in.

“Does anyone see an ugly brown van out there?” Captain America’s voice hums through the ear bud.

“I do,” a female voice chimes in. “But you’re not going to like where it’s parked.”

After grappling for far too long, you manage to knock the creature from you. Using your knife to dismember it.

“Next time, we get the cool laser guns.” Yelena yells loud enough to be heard by everyone on the network, as she hauls you to your feet.

“Friday, please add laser guns for the ballerinas to my grocery list.” Stark gives his smart ass remark.

“What’s the word on the van?” Rhodey wonders.

“Working on it now.”

The ship at Thanos’ disposal begins raining fire, no regard for their own troops.

“We’ve got people going down!” Rocket hollers.

“Clint,” you call into the microphone. “How’s that gauntlet?”

“Moving down the field.” The archer replies, “I’m alright too, thanks for asking.”

“Good.” You bite back a smile.

Hell continues breaking loose around you. Glowing circular orbs unfold in the air above, providing coverage from the missiles. You’re not sure if this is winning or losing. It feels like a bit of both.

———————————————————————- Thanos and his army are dusted away. Leaving you surprised and still swinging as the shock wears off.

You won. You. Won.

And you lost.

You lost Tony Stark. The man you’d barely known, but offered you clarity that will stay with you forever.

You lost the Natasha you’d come to know over the five years that Yelena was gone. Some parts of the redhead stripped away for the price of the stone.

But she’s still here. Waiting in the wings to be greeted by Yelena and their little makeshift family. You share a look of understanding when your eyes meet over the blonde’s shoulder.

Others come, Banner refuses to leave her side. Despite the fact that Natasha doesn’t remember him.

Clint falls to the ground at her feet. Breaking down at the sight of his friend, his family alive and well. She doesn’t remember him either, but welcomes him into her arms somewhat awkwardly.

Her expressions flicker from happy to overwhelmed. Hesitant to open herself up to the possibility that she is wanted, needed and loved.

Too confusing for the girl who only remembers the red room. Adjusting to this life will take time.

Everyone begins clearing out, their jobs finished. Rushing home to reunite with their loved ones. Tomorrow will bring about new challenges. The world is in shambles, and so are you.

Steve decides that he should be the one to return the stones. His goodbye tells you that he has a bit more in mind. But this is his life. His choices, not yours.

“Well, I guess we should head out too.” You say after a while. Your car is gone, lost in the wreckage from the explosion.

The setting sun is eclipsed, causing all of you to turn your gaze upwards just in time to see the ship’s door open.

“Is that a raccoon?” Melina asks, pointing toward Rocket.

“Do you want a ride or not?” Rocket shoots back.

“Not the avenger’s super jet, but it will do huh?” Alexei smiles, this is his dream.

“This is better!” A man’s voice carries down from the interior.

“Well,” Yelena shrugs, “if you say so.” She leads the pack up the ramp and onto the ship.

“Fanny and the pigs will be expecting dinner soon.”

“How are they?” Melina asks, “have you been taking care of them.”

“That was me!” Alexei says proudly, bending at the waist to gather Natasha into his arms. “Aye honey,” he grunts, hoisting her up. “You are only little girl in my heart.”

Nat pushes against his chest in retaliation.

“Do you mind if I hitch a ride too?” Clint asks.

“The extra stop will cost you,” Nebula stares blankly at him from her seat.

“They always do.” He remarks, trotting up the ramp.

Bruce paces at the foot of the metal grate, watching the rest of you load up. “I gotta hang back, make sure Steve gets there in one piece.”

“After what happened with Scott the first time I’d say that’s probably the best bet.” You agree, standing near the entrance.

“Yeah,” he smiles, kindly. “Keep me posted on Nat, will ya?”

“I will,” you return the smile.

“I’ll see you around.”

You nod, “I’ll see you.”

The captain of the ship introduces himself as Star-lord, and after a moment without response, Quill.

“Any requests?” He asks, finger hovering over the control panel.

Alexei creeps over to the younger man, quietly relaying a message.

“Alright,” Quill nods. Stroking the keys until a familiar set of notes ring out.

“A long, long time ago-“ The singer croons.

You let out a chuckle.

“I can still remember how that music used to make me smile. And I knew if I had my chance, that I could make those people dance. And maybe they'd be happy for a while.”

“We’re really doing this?” Yelena puts a hand to her head, the corners of her mouth turning upward.

“But February made me shiver, with every paper I'd deliver. Bad news on the doorstep, I couldn't take one more step.” The melody carries on.

“It’s your song.” Natasha turns to her sister.

“I can't remember if I cried. When I read about his widowed bride.” Melina’s eyes are far away, carried back to their years in Ohio. Before the world had been so cruel.

“Something touched me deep inside, the day the music-“

“Died.” Yelena joins in, lulling her head to the side to gage your reaction.

You sigh, all of this beyond surreal. But you allow yourself to live in this moment, because you might not get another. “So bye, bye Miss American Pie…”

“Drove my Chevy to the levee, but the levee was dry.” The roaring chorus of voices fills the silence you’ve grown used to. Fills the parts of you that were empty for so long. “And them good ol' boys were drinkin' whiskey and rye. Singin', “this’ll be the day that I die.”

“This’ll be the day that I die.” Yelena sings, her face alight with a childlike glee.

——————————————————————-

Melina, Natasha and Alexei stay with you for a while. A few weeks as Natasha heals and becomes acclimated to her life.

She claims to hate the attention, but deep down you know she’s full of it.

The Ohio house is bursting at the seams with five adults, nine pigs and one dog.

That isn’t enough to keep visitors at bay. Namely Clint, his wife Laura and their three children.

Things feel a bit off when everyone begins moving out. Alexei, Melina, and their pigs return to the farm outside of Saint Petersburg.

Natasha finds herself drawn to New York, with Bruce and the makeshift building he’s using as a lab.

You adjust to the steady thrum that is daily life, with Fanny and Yelena.

After dinner you load the dishwasher, drying your hands on the nearby tea towel before selecting a cycle.

“So how does it feel?” Yelena asks, leaning against the doorframe.

“Hmm?” You turn to face her.

“Being a hero.” She clarifies, a smile playing at her lips.

“I’m not-“

“Oh cut the crap, Y/N. You saved the world.” Yelena narrows her eyes at you.

“I did it for you.” You say simply, because it’s true.

Yelena closes the space between you, “why?”

“You know why.” You whisper as she cups your face in her hands, gently stroking her thumb over your cheek. “It’s ok if you wouldn’t have done the same.”

“I’d do more for you, and worse.” She assures you. “But do you really want to spend the rest of your life fumbling around feelings in the dark when you could have someone who-“

“I want you. I only ever want you.” You beckon her closer. “Anyway I can have you, that will be enough for me.”

Sometimes wires get crossed and you want things you never have before. And she provides them before you have a chance to ask. You give back to her tenfold, so that neither glass is ever empty. That is love. True love, the only way you’ve ever known it.

“I am yours…in every way a person can belong to another.” Yelena breathes, “and then some.”

Series taglist: @jeyramarie @freeshavocadoooo @ilovewinter101 @3and30aresoultwins @yelenabelovv @miphas-trident @1800-fight-me

If you loved this series as much as I did, you can check out the prequel here!

#yelena belova x reader #yelena belova #marvel fanfiction #black widow fanfiction #black widow #yelena belova fanfiction #yelena belova imagine #yelena belova x y/n #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff fanfic #natasha romanoff imagine #yelena belova x you #yelena belova x female reader

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inviouswriting · 3 years ago

Text

Endurance

As always minors DNI with my blog it is 18+

This is a smut. Pretty straightforward.

Arjuna x fem!reader

warnings below

Warnings - hetero!sex, fingering, grinding, overstimulation, a little dacryphilia, scratching, biting, love making, squirting, all the good things I can muster for this one.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Arjuna loves the time spent together with you, from the soft moments spent talking, to where he is now. You are straddling his lap with a hand between your legs teasing you thoroughly. His fingers buried inside your soaked folds; enough for you to feel them but not quite deep enough to really stimulate you.

No stimulation was your chore to do, just below his hand is his cock, hard and already dripping with his own need. How long has he kept you dancing on his hand? You lost count how many times he brought you close to that blissful brink only to stop.

“What’s the matter Master? Too much for you? You did want to work on your stamina with me.” You feel his fingers slip free to rub circles on your clit, using your slick to make you feel good. You let soft gasps out, surprise on your face when his thumb and index finger touch the sides of the nub to roll between them.

You begin to rock your hips in the rhythm he sets, your wide eyes locked on his dark brown ones. A look of pure pride on his face, making you involuntarily move your hips to his hand. Arjuna’s thumb touches the very end and your legs quiver threatening to give out on you. You keep yourself upright when you shift down and feel the tip of his cock lined to your pussy.

Instead of letting you rise up, Arjuna holds your waist in place guiding your hips to roll with the motion he creates. You feel the head of his erection barely brush along the crease of your folds. You look at your archer pleading him to push in, to let you drop down onto the thick shaft.

“Hold yourself here.” You are instructed as Arjuna uses the hand toying with your clit to spread your folds for himself. His other hand down along his shaft to grind himself along your slit. You bite on your bottom lip at the teasing, feeling relief being pressed along the full of your pussy, the tip brushing your opening where he pushes in just enough for you to feel the stretch. Just enough for him to feel that slick along it making him moan out in anticipation of when he finally will push inside.

“Does this mean, my Master needs me to satisfy her every need? Do you wish for me to abandon our training and completely take care of you?” Your hands finds purchase on his shoulders, your fingers tugging the ribbon attached to his neck to get him to tilt his head back.

“Not abandon our training, but a break from it... please my archer. I need you. I want you.” Your eyes plead him, the grinding between you two, Arjuna pushes you down on his lap to have you feel the entire length of his cock pressed against your folds. You meet the pace with your own grinding desperate to feel stimulation against your aching core. You need him, you really need him to the point your eyes dot with tears of frustration in your pleasure.

Arjuna sees every emotion cross your face, and he couldn’t help the slight sadistic pleasure in watching you squirm on him. Barely getting enough to stimulate your insides, barely getting enough besides the promise of the thick flesh pressed against you as hot as you are wet.

“Endure just a little longer my Master.” Arjuna leans in and you feel him mouth kisses along your neck, kissing along just underneath your ear, and down to your shoulder where he deftly bites down enough to make you yelp. You feel his fingers dig into your back gliding down flesh while yours scratch his leaving thin lines to mar his dark skin.

Arjuna guides your hips to lift up, and his right hand returns to your folds spreading them apart. He guides his cock to crest the opening, you almost instinctively push your hips down if it weren’t for him preventing you from doing so. You sob in frustration into his shoulder even biting on the flesh when it graces your lips.

Your archer rubs your clit again using slick to coat his fingers and tease you like earlier. He leaves tender kisses while you bite and suck at his neck, he’ll hide it under the white clothes he possesses. The hickeys you leave behind as your legs buckle, and after he pinches your clit playfully it sends you giving out on your legs.

You both moan out together as you falter and drop down on his lap, sending Arjuna deep inside you. He bucks his hips against yours, and you are far too caught up in pleasure to care further, you cry into his neck as you bounce on his lap, sliding your legs further apart to allow him deeper.

Arjuna feels the stings on his neck and shoulder from your constant biting, fangs digging in to where he gently pulls your mouth off his skin, already dark from the mark you leave behind. He stills you, grinding within you, you press your forehead damp from sweat against his, sharing a needful stare with him. You need him, he tilts your head so he can claim your lips in a full kiss.

Your lips part allowing him to deepen the kiss, allowing him to wrap his arms around your waist as he guides you to bounce on him, you moan into the kiss feeling him deeper, feeling him throb and twitch inside.

You are lost to pleasure that you barely feel his nails returning the scratches you made on him leaving lines of his own along your shoulder blades. When you part from the kiss, you toss your head back to moan freely, to ride him properly, You raise on your own only to roll your hips down to his.

Arjuna is entranced by how blissful your face is, a dark blush on his face seeing you lose yourself like this. His arms keep wrapped around your waist to assist, making you grind down when you drop on him.

“Feeling good? Tell me? How do I make you feel? What do you feel?” Arjuna presses his face into your neck near an ear, he catches the helix of your ear to tug gently with his teeth, then breathe hot on it. You can feel your eyes burn with tears from the pleasure.

“You make me feel so good, your so hard and it reaches so deep. I feel so good. Please, my Archer. I don’t know how much longer I can last.” You wrap your own arms around him, his chest so you can bury your face into it. Arjuna feels the heat off your face, and has mercy on you. He slips one hand down between you both, to rub your clit while his thrusts are precise into you.

Your hands snag the ribbon in back to pull it, threading your fingers with it as Arjuna uses his other hand to guide your waist on his, his hips thrusting up harder till he feels your walls flutter around him.

“Go ahead then, cum on me. Look at me as you come undone.” Arjuna gets you to lift your head to look him in his eyes, you feel his fingers tweak and roll your clit. His cock hitting deep into your g-spot, being stimulated from both sides as well as him making you look at him as you cum.

Arjuna feels you gush on his lap, his fingers soaked in your slick as he moans out thrusting through your orgasm for his own. Feeling you clamp down, he lets out his own melodious moans till he pushes your hips down till he reaches the deepest inside you, and floods you with his cum.

You keep your eyes locked with his, both of you entranced by each others blissed out face. Arjuna matches you with panting out how tired you both are. How you both needed it together. He’s leaning in and you meet him for another feverish kiss, he’s far from done with you.

Your tongues dance with each other, Arjuna’s hands slipping up your back again to scratch along the skin. You yelp into his kiss, as you grind down again on him, desperate for more. Arjuna feels this too, you notice he is still hard, and without warning to you, he moves you both off the couch you were sitting on for the floor.

Your archer is quick to have you on your back, he pins your hands down above your head while he tugs his pants down further. Lifting one of your legs over his shoulder he kisses the ankle in his hand before resuming his earlier pace only much more powerful in his thrusts.

You cry out louder as the angle lets him in deeper, he’s constantly hitting that one spot, your hands flex and try to grip anything till he gives you his hand to hold onto. You arch under him, letting him see a range of emotions.

“That’s it, show me more, show me how much you want me. How much I give you pleasure.” Arjuna shifts his hips up and sees your wide eyed stare again when you feel that one spot hit perfectly everytime, furthering you faster to another orgasm on top of the one you just had, the sensitivity makes your toes curl, he sees this but his attention is drawn down to where his cock slides in and out, seeing the dark skin covered in a mix of your slick and his cum.

You see him lick his lips, wild stare focused when his hands go down to spread your folds so he has a better view of himself. Where only he has claimed you, you whimper a little at how he slows down deliberately.

“Your clit is really hard, you must be enjoying this. I want to please you with my mouth later. You’ll enjoy my mouth right? Do you want me to do it now?” He lifts his gaze to yours, you just want to feel him inside. His fingers sweeping side to side along your clit feeling it beneath them twitch specially after a small flick just to see you jolt from the treatment.

“Later, please! I just want to feel you inside me for a while.” You manage out as a whisper, voice hoarse from the moans and screams you were doing. Arjuna gives you a coy smile at how much he’s reduced you to a writhing mess underneath him. He takes mercy on you with speeding up his plunges into you till your pleading under your breath for more.

You’re shaking by the time your next orgasm hits you, alot more forceful, a silent cry on your tongue and full arch underneath Arjuna. He buries deep to thrust and grind through your orgasm as it squirts on his lap again. Your walls squeeze and milk his dick of cum till he gracelessly plops on top of you. His head resting on your chest as he breathes hard.

Arjuna feels your fingers card through his hair soothing. Tracing an ear, he closes his eyes as he listens to your thudding heartbeat and winded breathing. He stays like that lost in you and your arms till tiredness catches up to you. You drift off a little to sleep, while your archer brushes the side of your face with a hand.

“Rest for now, my Master. I’ll take care of you. After my own strength returns. Please let me stay like this for a while, you’re too comfortable.” You nod to his request, letting him settle inside you and stay buried deep. His arms snake underneath your back while he focuses his hearing on your heart and breathing again.

“We’ll work on your endurance later too.”

#arjuna #fgo arjuna #arjuna smut #arjuna (fate)

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aaron-despair · 4 years ago

Text

Coming home (Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader)

A/N: I don’t own any of the characters on this fic, they belong to Marvel.

Warnings: got some angst, but it ends well, I promise!

Not my best work, but I finally got it done. I really struggled with this one. Anyway, this is Light Remains’ second part! Hope you guys enjoy!^^

“Wanda, come on, you need to eat something.” Clint pleaded, leaning against the still closed door.

She hasn’t left her room since the day she lost the love of her life.

She hasn’t left her room since she lost you.

“I’m not hungry.” Came the girl’s answer, earning a sigh from the archer.

“You need to take care of yourself. Please, just come out for a bit.” Silence is his only answer, and Clint just shakes his head as he stands to leave. “I’ll come back later, okay?”

Again, Wanda just remained silent, earning another defeated sigh from Clint. He returned to the kitchen, where the whole team awaited any news about the situation of their heartbroken friend.

“How is she?” Bucky asked when they noticed Clint’s presence looming in the doorway.

“She still refuses to come out. Said she isn’t hungry.” The archer explained, watching as all lowered their gazes.

“Did you get to see her?” Sam quizzed next, to which Clint shook his head.

“No, Wanda didn’t open the door. I sat outside, trying to get her to come with me.”

A tense stillness spread around the room, weighing down on everyone present. They just wanted to help the poor girl, but her despair and sorrow was something they couldn’t simply erase.

All of a sudden Natasha stood up, almost knocking over the chair she was previously on, and sped across the kitchen in the direction of the sokovian witch’s room.

“Nat-”

“No.” She cut Steve off. “I understand the pain she’s in, but I’m not gonna leave her to go through this by herself. Let alone allow her to starve herself to death. ” The redhead knew she was being harsh, but she cared deeply for Wanda. She couldn’t stand seeing her suffering so much.

The rest of the team didn’t dare contradict her, so Natasha marched along the hallway and stopped in front of Wanda’s room. Taking a deep breath, the spy knocked on the door and waited, but no sound came from inside.

“Wanda? I know you’re in there. Let me in.” She asked softly.

Nothing.

Instead of leaving, Natasha carefully picked the lock and slipped inside.Better to ask forgiveness than permission, they said.

The room was dark, but didn’t show any sign of disorder. Natasha silently approached the bed, sitting at the edge.

“Hey, I know you’re hurting. So please, don’t shut me out.” The russian spy mumbled, running a hand up and down Wanda’s arm.

“I don’t want to talk…” The younger girl said, voice raw from crying.

“I understand, and you don’t have to. But don’t distance yourself from us, okay? We want to help, you just need to let us try.”

Wanda shook as tears blurred her vision again. She turned to face the redhead, letting Nat pull her into a comforting hug. She clung to her shirt, sobbing, as Natasha ran her fingers soothingly through her hair.

Neither of them said anything, they didn’t need to.

“It hurts…” The brunette whispered brokenly once she managed to calm her ragging emotions. “It hurts so much…”

“I know. But you can’t throw away your life like this, she wouldn’t want that.” Natasha said carefully, in case her words had the wrong effect on the grieving witch.

“I miss her…” Wanda whimpered, clinging harder to the russian spy.

“I know.” She repeated, letting out a few tears of her own. “Don’t lose hope just yet. I’m sure (Y/N) will come back. She’ll come back home…”

Slowly, and with the team’s help, Wanda started getting better. As the days passed, she kept getting healthier, recovering step by step. She still felt numb without you by her side, but she realized Nat was right. She couldn’t lose her hope.

She had to believe in you.

*********************************

“Miss Maximoff, Captain Rogers is requesting your presence in the medical wing.” F.R.I.D.A.Y. alerted her, and Wanda frowned. What could Steve need from her in the med-bay?

Not giving it much thought, she left her room and started making her way there, accidentally bumping into Banner.

“Sorry Bruce. Hey, do you know why Steve called me to the med-bay?” Wanda asked, frowning when the scientist fidgeted with his hands nervously.

“I think it’s better if you find out by yourself…” He answered softly, before disappearing down the hallway.

Even more confused than earlier, the brunette fastened her pace and entered the room. Instead of focusing on the supersoldier, her attention was drawn to another person, who was currently lying unconscious in one of the beds.

“(Y/N)...” She whispered, tears already streaking down her face, as she neared your bloodied and beaten form. Taking your hand carefully, Wanda turned to Steve. “How-”

“Fury sent a search party to scout the place. Found her near, she was already unconscious. She must have found her way out of the base after you left, but she lost a lot of blood.” He explained. “I think it’s best if I leave you alone. Call us if you need anything, okay?”

Nodding, Wanda sat on the empty chair by your bed. She didn’t even notice Steve leaving.

“Hey…” The sokovian witch mumbled, thumb stroking the skin on your knuckles. “I- I missed you. A lot. I thought-” Her voice caught in her throat, tears still falling uncontrollably. “I thought I lost you…” She sobbed.

Pausing to regain some control over her emotions, she finally looked at your injuries (or what could be seen that wasn’t covered by the bandages).

Your face was covered in cuts and bruises, your arms as well. She couldn’t see the rest of your body, but the cast on your left leg showed that it was broken, probably because of the rubble falling over you.

“It hurt so much, believing that I’d never get to see you again…” She continued, gaze locked into your intertwined hands. “You promised me- you promised you’d never leave me so, please-” Wanda choked out, “please, you have to wake up.”

She repeated the same plea over and over again, until she fell asleep.

It took you two weeks to regain some strength. Wanda never left your side during your recovery, watching over your unmoving form. She was scared that if she moved, the slow and steady beeping of the heart monitor would suddenly stop, leaving her broken all over again.

That never happened though, and exactly fourteen days after they found you, Wanda woke up to the feeling of slightly calloused hands running softly through her brown locks.

Stirring a bit, Wanda slowly opened her eyes, before bolting upwards.

“You’re awake!” She cried, hands moving to cover her mouth in disbelief.

You laughed, and moved your arm to take one of her hands.

“I am.” You said, wiping some stray tears from her face.

“How- How can you LAUGH at something like this?! Do you have any idea of how much I suffered?!” She nearly screamed, furious. That made you sober up immediately, struggling to sit without worsening your wounds.

“Wanda-”

“Do you know how much it hurt to think I’d never see you again?!” She rambled, not even looking at you as the young witch poured her heart out to you. “It broke my heart leaving you behind like you asked me to, it felt like losing a piece of my soul. I-”

She finally broke down and hugged you tightly, mindful of your injuries. You wrapped your arms around her carefully, trying to soothe your distraught girlfriend.

“I- I thought I lost you. You really scared me...”

“I’m sorry.” You whispered. “But I told you I’d always come home, right? I’ll always come back to you.” You added, pulling her into a tender, loving kiss. You moved slightly over to make room for her on the bed. “Come here, love.”

Wanda hesitated, but ultimately allowed you to pull her onto the bed, and laid down beside you. She placed her arm over your chest, running her fingers over the bandages peeking out when she felt you place a kiss to her forehead.

“I missed you so much.” The sokovian girl muttered, breath tickling the skin of your neck.

“I missed you too. I’m really sorry, sweetheart.” You apologized again, hearing her soft hum.

It would take some time for both of you to heal, physically and emotionally, as this was a terrifying experience for you two. But right now, lying in your arms, Wanda knew that you’d always keep your promise.

You’d always come back to her.

You’ll always come home.

***********************************************

Taglist (let me know if you want to be added!):

@imnotasuperhero @marvels-writings @rooskaya-yelena @natasha-danvers @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @trikruismybitch

#wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x fem!reader #scarlet witch #scarlet witch x reader #scarlet witch imagine #marvel #marvel imagine

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sparklingchan · 4 years ago

Text

Chapter 3|| Stormbringer- Stray Kids Demigod AU

Pairing : Reader(fem.) X Felix

Word count : 3.3k+

Warnings : A fight scene but it’s just practice XD

Genre : Romance, Demigod AU, fluff, angst.

Description: An unexpected incident brings you closer to Felix, but there’s one person who’s not very excited about this blossoming friendship.

A/N : Things start getting interesting from here *insert the moon face emoji* Enjoy!

SERIES MASTERLIST || Click here for introduction to the story and glossary and here for the Stray Kids demigod diaries!

"A near miss, y/n." Felix whispers in his deep, raspy voice sending shivers through your entire body.

You blink awkwardly at him for a few seconds before he gets off of you and offers you his hand to help you stand up.

You hear the Aphrodite girls whispering behind you, giggling.

"I'm sorry, I wasn't paying attention." Your eyes are looking everywhere but at Felix, the heat from your cheeks making your whole face warm.

"It's alright, " he chuckles, "Are you hurt anywhere?" His freckles look even more gorgeous up close, his toothy smiles reminds you of bright skies and beaches and picnics and fresh fruits. And when the warm afternoon sunlight falls on his eyes, his brown orbs turn into a gentler shade of golden. Breathtaking.

"You're beautiful." You blurt out, involuntarily, loud and clear so everyone hears you. A loud chorus of gasps run throughout the dining hall.

And you decide to run away back to your cabin with the little dignity you had left of yourself.

And there you are, once again thinking back to yesterday's events while polishing your precious arrow heads as you sit on the Zeus cabin's verandah.

You sigh, "It was the Aphrodite effect, right? It has to be!"

You've been pep talking to yourself all morning long, making up excuses for the way you behaved yesterday. You're too embarrassed to face your friends or the other people at camp.

"I mean he is good looking, but why did I say it out loud. Does he have powers? Like that of Hyunjin? Maybe he can charmspeak. Yes! That's probably it!" You mutter to yourself.

(a/n: Charmspeak is a rare type of hypnotic ability that Aphrodite kids possess)

Or perhaps he'd induced a new sense of adoration in you, like how Aphrodite kids usually can. But then again, they cannot actually induce these feelings. They can only manipulate them which means they'd have to exist in the first place.

You put the arrow back into it's case.

"Ugh!" You let out a loud groan, covering your face with your palms.

The image that you'd spent years to portray in front of everyone is all destroyed in the blink of an eye. Now no one's going to respect you as an only child of the Big Three, they're going to see you as a girl who gets smitten easily and not as the headstrong person you always acted like.

All because of that Lee Felix!

(a/n: big three refers to the three major Greek gods namely Poseidon, Zeus and Hades)

You stand up from the floor, not being able to handle the bombardment of thoughts in your mind, and decide that practicing sword fighting is the right thing to now.

So you find yourself making your way from behind the Athena cabin (where you can clearly hear Seungmin and another Athena kid debating over mortal politics) and then through the Jasmine fields that Apollo personally tends to and down the hill to the weapon practice arena.

"Hey, y/n."

Oh no, no no no.

Why is it that when you are trying to avoid a person that exact person is the one who keeps popping up everywhere? Why is it, you tell me, that Lee Felix happens to be in the practice arena just when you arrive there?

The Gods must be having a nice laughter up there, especially your father Zeus.

"H-hey!" You try to reply with fake enthusiasm.

He has his bronze sword in his right hand while he jogs up to you, his messy blonde hair shining like the sun.

"Did you sleep well?"

No, you hadn't.

"Yes, I did." You laugh awkwardly, "Slept wonderfully."

Felix laughs back, eyes hooded with a hint of shyness that hadn't existed till yesterday afternoon.

He tucks his bottom lip in between his teeth, "Hey, um about what you said yesterday-"

"Do you wanna duel with me?"

If you cannot escape him, you might as well divert his attention.

He looks at you like you'd just punched him in the face. His smile threatening to disappear any moment.

And that’s when you realise asking him to duel with you might not have been the brightest ideas, and not to mention how you'd called him beautiful in front a hundred other demigods last afternoon.

"I'd love to!" He replies, with an excited voice, "Swords?"

You open your mouth to reply, but only air slips out so you subtly nod. He doesn't have to know you're a nervous mess that's lowkey about to pass out.

You walk up to the armory and grab the first sword that you lay eyes on. Truth be told, a sword wasn't really the best choice of weapon for you. It's always been a bow and arrow for you. Bows make you feel at control, like you know what you're doing and you'd always been good at archery, without even trying to.

"Do you not have a sword of your own?" Felix asks almost as if reading your mind.

"No, I don't. Actually I'm more of an archer." You admit.

"Ah, of course. I remember how you killed that Cetus in a single shot. I must say, I was very impressed."

Your cheeks heat up at his compliment. It's not like people haven't complimented your archery skills before - they have, in fact they do it all the time yet you wonder why is it so much more meaningful to you when coming from Felix. Has your biggest fear finally come true?

You shake your head mentally, no, it cannot be.

"Thanks. You're not very bad with your sword either."

Felix acknowledges your compliment with a smile. He then stands up straight, the sword in his right and bows gently, a silly smile playing at his lips.

"Oh we're following the courtesies?" You whisper to yourself, copying his actions.

The both of you stand facing each other, a silent understanding flowing between the two of you while you take your dueling positions.

You expect him to attack first but he doesn't; instead he watches you with a smirk, as if trying to make you flustered.

(It was working but you'd rather never say that out loud)

So he attacks first. He aims his sword near your abdomen but you quickly jump to defend yourself, blocking his attack with your sword. The metallic clang of your swords ringing throughout the otherwise quiet arena. He stumbles back, a surprised gasp leaving his lips as your sword brushes swiftly past his neck while he's still catching his breath, barely touching him though.

Of course, hurting the opponent isn’t the aim here. Disarming them is.

"She's not bad with the sword." He thinks to himself, a little proud.

He then retorts back, swinging his sword right in front of your face, missing by merely an inch.

Your heart does a backflip, both out of excitement and fear.

You don't waste a second, gaining back your balance, thrusting your sword in the space between his arm and abdomen. Your sword clash together as you try to push his sword back with yours, yet this time he resists, putting in all his energy to make you loose your grip on the sword.

And it seems to have worked because the next moment, he sees you losing your strength, your face scrunched in concentration as you let out a few grunts. He takes a single step towards you while applying more force on your sword with his, and there goes your sword, falling onto the ground gracefully, like a martyred soldier.

"Do you accept defeat, miss y/n?" Felix teases through laboured breaths and you only have enough energy to roll your eyes at him, hitting his arm in response.

Felix passes you back your sword, as he walks over to the bench and slumps down.

Your body is too tired to worry about Felix bringing up yesterday's incident, so you follow him and sit by his side. Neither of you say anything, your fanning breaths and thumping hearts and the buzzing of insects are the only sounds in the arena. You'd never experienced this kind of peacefulness in the camp before, at least not unless you were by yourself.

When you recover from your momentary exhaustion, you look over at Felix and softly begin, "I was wondering..."

He glances at you with a smile.

Does he ever stop smiling?

"I was wondering...since Hyunjin already told you about the game, would you like to be my partner for the capture the flag game next week? I usually go with Minho but he's a referee this time." You say.

He is taken aback for a second - mostly because he'd never thought someone as cool as you would ask him to be your partner. Team games are very important in camps and its important to make sure that the teammates do not turn out to be poor players. It somehow makes Felix very happy that you'd have such faith in him despite having known him for only two days.

He nods, "I'd be honored to do that."

Your heart beats furiously as you suck in a deep breath, "It's a deal then."

Gosh y/n, what has gotten into you!

You decide to take the longer route back.

Felix left early after finishing the duel so you spent the next hour practicing Archery alone before deciding to head back to your cabin.

Your thoughts are all over the place as it is, but the quietness of the woods help you to sort things out with yourself. You feel rather uncomfortable, experiencing emotions that you'd not felt in a long time, past insecurities and memories fighting their way back from the dungeons you'd locked them up in. This was ridiculous, wasn't it? How Felix comes out of nowhere and just flips everything up?

The sun rays fall on you from the gaps between the tree branches and as you listen to the birds chirp around you, you start to slowly hum to their tune.

"Wow, who hurt you, y/n?" A male voice calls you from behind, the sound of leaves getting crushed under a pair of hooves indicate the approaching entity.

"No one hurt me, Eden."

Eden is still as handsome as ever, you wonder to yourself everytime you return to the camp, with a sturdy upper body and beautiful grey eyes and two strong goat limbs instead of normal human legs, yet he's so much more alluring than any satyr you'd ever seen. (Then again, maybe you're just biased because he’s also your childhood friend) He flashes you a handsome smile and you immediately pray to the gods that he doesn't see you blush.

(a/n: Satyrs, also known as Fauns by Romans, are creatures with the upper body of a man and the lower body of a goat as well as goat horns, and the pointed ears of a goat. )

"What's up." He stands in front of you and kisses you softly on the head, "I had gone out yesterday so I couldn't come see you. Hope you didn't miss me too much."

You hit his chest, "You're so full of yourself, goat-boy." You continue walking back towards your cabin, Eden following right behind.

"Woahh. Using Minho's nicknames now, are we?" He snickers, "One of the kids told me that you had a little hormonal outburst last afternoon?"

An embarrassed sigh leaves you lips. The camp kids really couldn't miss out on one day of gossip now could they?

"I don't wanna talk about it." You mutter as yesterday's events flash into your mind. Felix, his face, his voice and your words. Oh God.

"Hey, no judgment here, okay? If you like the new Aphrodite boy then I support you. Do you want me to play wingman?"

You turn around and smack his chest once again. "I do not like him." Yet.

"Okay, okay. I get it." His tone falls serious, "Anyway I heard about Poseidon's trident. It scared me, I won't lie. Something as powerful as that trident has never been forged in a millennia. And I can only imagine how powerful one has to be steal it. Are you sure only nine demigods are enough to find it?"

"It has to be, Eden." You say, "We don't have too many options. It's either this or we all drown and die or get killed by a monster. I'd like to choose the former."

Eden nods at your words, patting your head encouragingly.

You are about to speak up again when your eyes fall on a woman sitting on a log of wood just a few meters ahead of you.

"Is that one of the Aphrodite girls?" You whisper to Eden, only for him to shake his head in response.

The woman sits with her back facing you, a beautiful white dress adorning her small skinny frame and her brown hair tied in a tidy floral braid. Either the woman is a daughter of Aphrodite's or a Nymph, you conclude.

Without thinking much, you approach her, "Um, hello? May I know who you are?"

A startled gasp escapes your mouth when the woman turns around and looks at you with a very familiar smile playing at her lips - you'd grown up seeing that smile on Hyunjin and very recently on Felix. It's the very same smile, a Xerox copy of it.

"Aphrodite?" You mutter and she nods in response.

"Hello, y/n. Mind if I have a word with you?"

"So you were out with y/n? Dueling?" Changbin asks for the umpteenth time this morning, his usually playful eyes now focused seriously on Felix's body language.

"Yes, Changbin," Felix groans, lying flat on his fluffy bed, "Can you stop making a big deal out of it?"

Chan chuckles at the conversation, his eyes though focused on the book in front of him but his ears are on his two best friends' conversation. Chan knew Changbin wasn't the kind to trust people easily, especially Zeus' children so it's not surprising of him to be suspicious about you but what does come as a surprise to Chan is how oddly giggly Felix has been since last afternoon. After that awkward encounter with you. Could it be that Felix..?

"Do you like Zeus' daughter?" Changbin asks even before Chan can finish his line of thought.

Felix's eyes widen, but the tips of his ears are bright red, "Dude I just met her. Can you not act like a love guru out of the blue?"

"Hey, you're the love expert here. Literally. So, I should be expecting a better answer from you, no?"

"No, I do not like her. Okay?" Felix groans, "But she did ask me to be her partner for the game next week and I'm telling you beforehand Seo Changbin, do not say or assume anything that would make her uncomfortable. "

The warning comes off as rather cute to Chan since he’s always seen the Aphrodite kid as his little brother while Changbin finds his words a tad bit alarming. A Zeus kid is not to be trusted this easily.

"Fine." Changbin mutters, his lips pressing into a thoughtful line, "But just be careful because I - "

"Don't trust the Children of Zeus easily, yeah we know. Come on, Bin. Let him have some fun and make new friends. You should do it, too. We're not on our own anymore." Chan pipes in to save Felix this time and Felix secretly sends a thankful wink to him in return.

"Okay, okay." Changbin gives in.

The door to Felix's room creaks ever so slightly and the three of them turn their heads in anticipation of who it might be.

"Hey. Sorry to disturb you guys but we're being called for dinner." Hyunjin says, still getting used to having three new demigods around in the camp.

Chan closes his book, "Oh, come on, Hyunjin. You're not disturbing us. Come on in."

Felix gets up to greet his half brother with a fist bump and when he stands beside Hyunjin, the two older guys find it hilarious how terribly small he looks. Almost like Hyunjin were his father.

Felix almost as if reads their minds and narrows their eyes at them, "Dinner is ready guys. Can we move?"

"Shortie." Hyunjn whispers incoherently and makes a run towards the door.

"Hey, come back here you piece of -" Felix dashes right after him.

Changbin and Chan chuckle at their tactics, a foreign feeling of calmness settling between them. "This feels like home, Chan. We're finally home." Changbin admits, almost emotionally.

"Yes, Bin." Chan adds, "And I hope we never have to leave again."

"Aphrodite said what now?"

You sigh, running your index finger mindlessly along the lines of the wooden dinner table.

"She wants us to take the new demigods with us to find Poseidon's trident. Especially Felix." You look at your friends, "And she asked me to specifically visit the island of Sicily when we go on the quest. I asked her why but she said she doesn't know it herself."

Hyunjin grunts, almost irritated, "Y/n, I don't know how much you can trust my mother. She's known to cause drama for her own entertainment. "

Well, you do agree with what Hyunjin says but you cannot deny that Aphrodite didn't seem like she was purposely creating drama this time.

"Listen, y/n, you have to go to The island of Sicily. It will lead you to the trident, trust me." She whispers as if she is afraid of someone overhearing your conversation, "Take Felix with you. You'll need him. He'll need you."

You shudder at the memory of her unusually spooky tone.

"What do you think, dad?" Jisung turns to Apollo who has ever so naturally claimed a spot at your usual dinner table tonight, "Do you think we should let new demigods on a quest?"

"I don't think Aphrodite is playing this time. We should listen to her." He taps his finger against his chin, deep in thought, "We need as many people as we can get."

"Well, yeah. That makes sense." Minho says and you nod, "Yeah, Eden can talk to the three boys. He's always been good at all that."

The lack of protests from your friends indicate their approval and after talking about the quest for a few more minutes, Apollo leaves your table.

"So," Jisung chimes in as soon as his father is out of sight, "Our Y/n has been dueling with Lee Felix?"

You let out an exasperated growl, "Oh God, Jisung! It was just today!"

Jisung snickers and sticks out his tongue, rendering your words useless. Minho raises an eyebrow at your banter while the other boys giggle, "Eden tells me you are already smitten."

Eden! God, that Eden, you mentally vow to punch that smirk off of Eden's face the next time you see him. Why does he keep pushing ridiculous ideas into other people's head!

"I'm not smitten -"

"Who are you talking about?"

Your blood runs dry.

Please tell me Felix didn't just overhear this one conversation which includes me having a crush on him.

"Hey, Lix." Hyunjin laughs, "Took you three long enough to get here I went to your room like an hour ago."

Felix rubs the back of his neck, guilty, "Changbin spilled water on my favorite sweatshirt. "

A short guy - probably Changbin - slaps Felix's back. "Ouch!"

"Liar!" Felix rolls his eyes, turning to speak with you, "Anyway, y/n, I'm assuming you're the only to not have met my brothers yet."

"Yeah, i think so." You reply with a small smile.

Felix pats the back of the two boys on his right and left respectively. "Chan, Changbin, meet y/n, she's Zeus' daughter and y/n, meet Chan, he's Poseidon's son and Changbin - Ares' son."

Oh wow that is a new combination.

The guy introduced as Chan has a kind smile and messy brown hair while the Changbin dude has jet black hair and very intimidating eyes. He looks up and down your form, as if checking whether you were worth being Felix's friend - vibe checking, if you may.

"Hi, I'm y/n."

With the introductions done and dinner served, your group of old and new friends enjoy this peaceful evening together. The loud laughs and sassy remarks and friendly banters make you feel somewhat calm, but a part of you knows this isn't for long.

It’s like the calm before the storm.

"So, are we meeting for practice tomorrow too?" Felix whispers into your ears when he finds the others too indulged in conversation.

Your heart picks up its pace but you manage to nod with pink cheeks, "Yes. Same time as today."

A few seats away from you, Changbin overhears your conversation and decides that he doesn't really like you.

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