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yandere-daydreams · 10 months ago

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Title: In The Serpent's Den.

Pairing: Yandere!Suguru x Reader (JJK).

Word Count: 4.7k.

TW: Non/Con, Hybrid AU, AFAB!Reader, Cobra!Suguru, Rabbit!Reader, Biting, Aphrodisiacs, Heat Cycles, Oviposition, Manipulation, Biting, Breeding Kinks, and Predator/Prey Dynamics.

“It’s time to come out, little rabbit.”

His tone was sickly sweet, lulled into something saccharine and tempting, only slightly distorted by the uncommon shape of his tongue. Despite his melodic coaxing, you curled further into yourself – pulling your thighs flush to your chest and burying your knees in your face, doing your best not to breathe, not to cry, not to make a sound. The temptation to uncurl yourself entirely and run, run, run until you found somewhere small and dark and safe gnawed on the back of your mind, but it never would’ve worked. You were in Suguru’s enclosure, Suguru’s territory, and there was nowhere to run where he wouldn’t be able to follow.

“I’m losing my patience, little rabbit. If you come out now, I promise I’ll try to hold myself back.”

Why was he even looking for you? It’d been weeks since his eccentric, white-haired owner forced you into the sprawling greenhouse that made up Suguru’s enclosure, and he’d never paid you a second glance. You did your best to avoid him, to make sure you never crossed his path while he was prowling for a meal. You could count the number of times he’d acknowledged you on a single hand, and he’d never so much as lunged at you. You couldn’t imagine why he’d decided you’d make a good meal now, after weeks of relatively peaceful cohabitation. Maybe he’d gotten tired of keeping you around, of having to share his territory with another hybrid – one so far below him on the food chain. Maybe, this was just the first time he’d gotten hungry enough to hunt you down.

You heard branches shift, twigs break, and instantly, all of your thoughts (rational and otherwise) were replaced with a frantic, buzzing static. “You’re only making this worse for yourself,” Suguru went on, and his voice was too loud, too close. You’d tucked yourself into the densest patch of foliage you could find, but your white ears and cottony tail stood out like blood on snow against the vivid greens and blacks of the flora. Suddenly, trying to hide at all felt stupid. Rabbits weren’t supposed to hide. Rabbits were supposed to die and get eaten by the big, mean snakes who preyed on them. “I’m going to find you, and when I do, you’re only going to be sorry you made me wait as long as I have.”

You could hear the dull drag of scales moving over rough stone, the ebbing ‘hiss’ that formed a slight lisp at the end of each sentence. You raised your head just far enough to see a large, black shape move in front of you, and something buried deep inside of you cracked and spilled open.

Running wasn’t a choice – it was the only option. You were on your feet in a second, sprinting deeper into the greenhouse in another. The direction didn’t matter. As long as you got away from him, nothing else mattered.

Blindly, you vaulted over fallen branches and overgrown roots, rotting leaf litter threatening to steal your balance as you veered away from the beaten path and threw yourself into the tangled wilderness. If Suguru was chasing you, you couldn’t hear him – the world little more than a blur of color and your own racing pulse. You just needed to find somewhere better to hide, somewhere he’d forgotten. A tunnel, or a tree hollow, or a cave dark enough to hide your snowy pelt from prying eyes. You just needed to—

Your trek came to an abrupt end as your collided with a pane of thick, emerald-tinted glass and were sent crashing to the ground. It took you a second to process what you’d run into – the wall of the greenhouse, the edge of Suguru’s enclosure – and another to remember that you weren’t in the wilderness, anymore, that you wouldn’t find a tunnel or a cave or anywhere else to hide that hadn’t been created deliberately to trick animals like you into to think they were safe. You might’ve cried, if you hadn’t been so desperate. You might’ve gone looking for Suguru yourself, if you hadn’t been too scared to remember what it meant to be caged.

Fighting back tears, you started to scramble onto your feet, but it was already too late. There was no sound, no warning, just a sudden pressure against your back and an agonizing pain burrowed into the side of your throat. His fangs were planted in your neck before you could so much as scream, his strong tail wrapped around your legs and his arms crossed over your midriff, keeping your body locked against his as he pinned you to the ground. You expected his venom to burn, to be able to feel death as it flooded into your veins, but instead, there was only a slight numbing sensation around the point of insertion, a distant fog over your senses that might’ve just been your own fading adrenaline. If anything, you felt…

You felt warm.

Suguru took his time pulling away, his ribbon-like tongue flickering over the skin of your throat before he lifted his head. You weren’t facing him, one of your cheeks pressed into the dirt, but you could just barely see him out of the corner of your eye, make out the dark hair tucked behind his shoulders, the pitch-black scales littered over his face, his chest. You knew he was a snake, but you thought you might’ve heard his owner call him something else, once or twice. A ‘cobra’, maybe, but you’d never met a cobra before. You felt safer thinking of him as a snake.

He opened his mouth, but you were already babbling. Trying not to cry had been useless. Tears poured down your cheeks unabashedly, blurring your vision and making it that much harder to spit something coherent out. “P-please don’t eat me – I’m really small for a rabbit, and I promise I won’t taste very good, and I—”

“Quiet, little rabbit.” You’d been wrong, before. You didn’t feel warm, no, you felt hot – something deep inside of you beginning to smolder at the sound of his voice. Immediately, you shut your mouth, and he rewarded you with a raspy chuckle. “You thought I was going to… to eat you?” You nodded stiltedly, and he went on. “Ah, no wonder you were so afraid. And here I thought my timid little bunny just didn’t like me very much.”

“…’m sorry.” You must’ve run farther than you realized. A few minutes of sprinting shouldn’t have left you this breathless, this dazed. “You… You aren’t going to eat me?”

“No, bunny. I’m not going to hurt you.”

“But, you bit—”

“I gave you a present.” Another dry chuckle, his tongue flitting over the back of your neck. “Just a little something to make sure you wouldn’t be so shy. You should already be feeling better.”

You weren’t sure that you felt better, but you didn’t feel scared, either. A different feeling had taken the place of your fear – the sensation viscous and churning and prone sending pangs of dull, burning pain to the pit of your stomach. You had to make a conscious effort to move your lips, and even then, it was hard to get any sound past your suddenly dry throat. Suguru waited patiently, seemingly more than happy to watch you stumble over your own tongue. “It’s really warm,” you managed, eventually. “I think I might be… tired?”

“Oh, of course. I forgot how easy it is for prey animals to wear themselves out. I’ll take you back to my nest, where you’ll be able to rest safely.” It wasn’t a question, but you nodded eagerly. Safe. You wanted to be safe. You couldn’t remember what you needed to be safe from anymore, though.

He uncurled, but didn’t pull away from you. Rather, your smaller body was pulled against his broad chest as he took you in his arms and carried you through the greenhouse. His destination was a raised loft – set above the wild foliage of his enclosure, accessible only by a sparsely wrung ladder you never would’ve had a hope of climbing on your own. His nest wasn’t at all like a rabbit’s nest, either. Rather than a deep, dark tunnel padded with fur and leaves, he’d taken you to a mess of tangled roots and woven blankets, all piled onto one another to form a box-like bed. Your form, limper than you would’ve liked it to be, was laid on a relatively soft patch, and Suguru positioned himself above you; upper body supported by his forearms, his never-ending tail taking up whatever space you left unoccupied. You wanted to sleep, to do what he said you should, but he was still touching you – dragging a single, clawed finger down your chest and over your midriff, only pausing at your waist to draw slow, swirling patterns into your hip. “My venom has a unique side-effect, you know,” he muttered, his voice low and soothing, the tapered tip of his tail lashing from side to side as he spoke. “A full dose would be fatal. It’d be fast, too – a few seconds of screaming, a few seconds of twitching, and then—” He paused, clicked his tongue. “—dead, just like that. It’s a little anti-climactic, to be honest.”

Something deep inside of you began to throb. You shrunk into yourself, trying to relieve the pulsing ache, but Suguru mistook your agony for fear. “In controlled portions,” he continued, splaying his open palm over your hip. “The symptoms are much more pronounced. Humans tend to get all feverish and clumsy, but hybrids—”

Again, he paused. His hand drifted lower – first to your thigh, then your cunt. You didn’t realize you were dripping until his cold fingertips skirted over your slit, gathering up the slick already staining the inside of your thighs.

“Hybrids go into heat.”

A cold wave of dread washed over you, and Suguru’s smile widened.

“…heat?”

“Heat, little rabbit.”

His hand lingered on your pussy, two of his massive fingers splitting apart your lips and making room for his tongue to lap gingerly over your entrance. The sensation was strange – not good and not bad, a little ticklish – but your hips bucked as it flickered over your clit. You knew better than to get so close to a snake’s mouth, but you couldn’t seem to move, to think about anything but getting closer, closer to anything that could touch and poke and lick you. “Is heat—” You started, only to be cut off by a cracked whimper as the throbbing in your core intensified. “Is it supposed to hurt?”

“Only for a while.” His deep voice reverberated against your cunt, and you couldn’t stop yourself; attempting to rock your hips against his mouth with a high-pitched whine. It was embarrassing to be so needy, so desperate, but Suguru didn’t seem to mind, only ghosting his lips over the inside of your thigh as he pushed you back down. “But, you’ll need a mate to help you through it. Do you want a mate?”

“Y-Yes! Mate!” You’d never felt this empty, before. It was a little like hunger, but not as jagged, not as desolate. It was more of an absence than anything more tangible; a total and complete vacancy that had to be filled. You tried to roll onto your stomach, to scramble onto your hands and knees and present yourself, but Suguru held you in place with minimal effort. Your protest came in the form of a drawn-out whine, a waving sound Suguru mocked with a low coo and an airy laugh. “Please, please, it hurts, Suguru, I can’t— I need—”

“You need cock,” he finished, his tone one of pure, undeniable satisfaction. With a sigh, he picked himself up, straightening his back and towering above you. You felt saliva pool at the bottom of your mouth as the junction between his upper body and his tail came into view – pale skin slowly giving way to ebony scales, the sculpted muscle of his chest meeting the plated armor below his hips. His hand fell away from you, but you couldn’t mourn the loss of contact, not when your attention was so fixated on the thin, almost invisible slit just below his pubic bone. His fingertips slipped shallowly inside of it, and his gaze shifted back to you. “Come, little bunny. I think you’ve earned another treat.”

The encouragement was appreciated, but unnecessary. You were already crawling towards him, your limbs uncooperative and your movements jolting but your resolve absolute. There was still a throbbing emptiness inside of you, getting worse and more demanding with each neglectful second, but all you could think about was settling onto your knees in front of Suguru and drooling at the sight of his fluttering slit. You weren’t sure what to do, whether to use your hands or your mouth, but Suguru didn’t leave much time for indecision. His free hand found its way to the back of your head, nudging you forward until your mouth was pressed against his slit, just starting to leak thick trails of translucent slick over his dark scales. Your tongue darted past your lips hesitantly, at first, but your trepidation didn’t last very long. It couldn’t, not when you had a hollow pit inside of you still begging to be filled.

Suguru’s fingers carded through your hair as you lapped and sucked at his slit. The taste was mildly acidic, but surprisingly sweet – your eyes quickly falling shut as you sank into a pattern of wet sounds and strange textures and point claws grazing over your scalp, scratching at your ears. Throaty moans (the loudest noise you would ever hear Suguru make, in hindsight) and mumbled praise trickled past his lips as you worked, letting you know that he liked the way you were curling your tongue, that the spongy spot you could just barely reach inside of him was particularly sensitive. It wasn’t long before a mix of your saliva and his arousal dripped past the corners of your mouth, before the end of his tail was lashing violently within the confines of his nest. Maybe Suguru was in heat, too. You hoped he was. You didn’t want to be the only one in so much pain.

You felt the tapered tip of something smooth and stiff against your tongue, and Suguru buckled forward, a ragged gasp tearing past his lips as he took your head in both hands and pressed you flush against his abdomen. Confused and panicked, you tried to pull away, but his grip was iron-clad and it was all you could do to whimper, to sit there helplessly while something filled your mouth – hard and ridged and hot enough to burn. Cock, the pulsing in your core filled in, but it couldn’t be. Suguru had made it sound like something you needed, something you were supposed to want, but you didn’t like the way the blunt head prodded at the back of your throat, the way the ridged underside ground against your tongue. For the first time since he’d caught you, your instincts agreed with your better judgement, both urging you to get away, to run, to put distance between yourself and this newfound threat.

Your pussy, though, couldn’t seem to do anything but chant mate, mate, mate.

You could feel something else, too – not in your mouth, but pressing into your chin, your throat. Reflexively, your hands shot up, wrapping around the thick intruder, and this time, Suguru let go of you entirely, biting back a half-choked groan as he pushed you away, leaving you sprawled out and alone in the center of his nest. The hollowness inside of you was nearly unbearable, and rubbing your thighs together only seemed to make it worse. You tried to look to Suguru, to ask him to do something, but instead, your eyes caught on the long, pale appendage pressed into his lower stomach. His cock. Or, his cocks, you guessed.

You hadn’t expected there to be two of them.

You hadn’t expected them to be so big, either. Even at a distance, it was clear they weren’t meant for a rabbit. Just one would’ve been more than you could handle – as long as your forearm, as thick as your wrist, the end tapered to a steep point but the base absolutely massive before they disappeared into his slit. The color was strange, too – the tip flushed a dull pink while the base was nearly as dark as his scales, creating an ombre that might’ve been pretty, if you weren’t so terrified. You couldn’t see any veins, but both were sculpted with pronounced, perfectly spaced ridges. You couldn’t imagine having something like that inside of you, but you couldn’t imagine not having anything inside of you, either.

You couldn’t be sure how long you spent staring up at him, trying to wrap your head around his size, trying to decide if you’d rather be torn apart by his cock or your own increasingly demanding needs. In the end, it wasn’t really your choice to make. His eyes darted from your clenched thighs to your heaving chest to yours, wide and watery, and a grin found its way back to his lips. For some reason, his smile wasn’t as comforting as it’d been, the first time you saw it. “I’m sorry, little rabbit. Did I startle you?” The tenderness in his voice was almost cloying. You didn’t move, didn’t respond, but he didn’t seem to need you to. “I didn’t mean to. Why don’t you spread your legs nice n’ wide for me, and I’ll make it up to you?”

Your gaze fell back to his cocks. One of his fists had wrapped around both, pumping idly while he stood above you. “Are those supposed to…?” You trailed off, shrinking into yourself. Suguru hummed, and you took it as confirmation. “But you’ll only use one, right? I don’t think I can— I mean, it won’t fit if you—”

“Really? I could’ve sworn you were begging to be fucked properly just a few minutes ago.” You stiffened, but he only laughed. “Fine, fine. If that’s what you think you want, I’ll only use one.”

You didn’t think you could trust him, but you could feel yourself getting hot, again, a haze forming over your mind. You could leave when he was finished, you figured, even if you weren’t entirely sure how to get out of his nest, or where to go once you’d escaped back into the greenhouse. After you got over your— your heat.

Hesitantly, you started to listen to the negging mantra still playing in the back of your mind, to obey the near-deafening voice in the back of your head urging you to get on your hands and knees and make him fuck you, but Suguru must’ve decided you weren’t moving fast enough. His tail shifted underneath you, a thick coil catching your side and leaving you bent over one of the thicker lengths, your stomach pressed into his cool scales and your feet barely able to reach the tangled roots of his nest. You scrambled for purchase, but Suguru was there to steady you – his hands finding your hips, his cocks pressing into your ass. The calloused pads of his fingertips pressed into your waist as he aligned one of his cocks – the upper one, you thought, just a little thicker than its twin – with your entrance. He was kind enough to give you a long, slow second to breathe before his hips rutted forward and he inside of you.

Immediately, it felt wrong.

You’d been right when you decided he was too big for you. He was only half-sheathed, and yet, the tip of his cock pressed into the floor of your cervix, the head of his cock alone enough to stretch your pussy as far as it could go. Thankfully, he didn’t try to force himself deeper, but feeling the smooth ridges of rub against the walls of your pussy as he pulled back wasn’t much better. Still, your cunt clenched around him eagerly, doing its best to suck him in despite your physical limitations. Suguru, of course, seemed more than happy to indulge you. His thrusts were slow and lethargic, as gentle as they could’ve been but still forceful enough to leave you pinned to the curve of his tail. You weren’t in control of your body, anymore. As he rolled his hips against your ass, you ground back against him, your greedy cunt never warm enough, never wet enough, never full enough. You tried to dig your blunt claws into his tail, to ground yourself, but it was a futile effort; a limping dear attempting to evade a wolf who’d already tasted its blood. Suguru’s only response was a stifled groan, a new roughness to the way he fucked into you. You felt his chest against your back as he bent at the waist, draping himself over you, his dark hair falling from his shoulder and replacing chunks of your vision with a curtain of thick, endless black. It didn’t matter. A fresh wave of tears would’ve left you just as helpless, not that Suguru seemed to mind the way you sniffled and sobbed between moans.

“They say— fuck, you know what they say about rabbits, don’t you, bunny?” His voice was barely audible, but it seemed to echo on and on and on in your overly sensitive ears. His cock ground against something softened and vulnerable inside of you and your back arched, your pussy clenching impossibly tighter around him. “That’s it,” Suguru encouraged, as you tried to pry yourself away from his freezing tail and chase the gentle warmth of his chest. “They say bunnies make the best sluts. Knock them up once, and they’ll never stop begging for it.”

Kits. A strong mate. A safe nest. The thought alone had you crying out for nothing, your convulsions growing that much more erratic, and Suguru chuckled in-turn. “Like that? Want me to make you into my little mate-whore?”

“Want it, please, w-want it so bad.” It was all you could do to force yourself to speak, to spit something out through the daze of lust and exhaustion and total, unrelenting fullness. You’d never been more sure of anything than you were in that moment, never knew something as deeply as you knew that you wanted Suguru’s kits inside of you. “Please, wanna be you mate, wanna—Suguru—!”

One more thrust, one more scape of his sleek scales against your clit, and you were coming undone around his cock in jolting, erratic convulsions. Suguru let out a ragged grunt and straightened his back, but the distance was short-lived. Strong arms snaked under your knees, spreading your legs and hauling you up to his height. Your back remained pressed against his chest as he pulled out of you entirely and slammed back in. Even through the overstimulation, the wrongness hit you immediately. His cock was too big, too thick, and—

And he was inside of you.

Completely inside of you.

You forced yourself to open your eyes, letting your head fall forward limply. The shock was minimal, but still devastating – both of Suguru’s cocks buried inside of you to their pitch-black bases, their outlines just barely visible against the plush flesh of your lower stomach. “You—You promised you wouldn’t—”

His face was buried in the dip of your shoulder, his lips parted as panted against you. You felt his teeth catch on your skin before sinking into you, had time to process the pure heat of his venom seeping into your veins. Instantly, anything you might’ve said died on your tongue, your mind going utterly, entirely blank save for a single thought: mate.

Your mouth fell open, your thighs spreading that much farther. Suguru pressed a lingering, open-mouthed kiss into the injection site, then pulled away, grinning wildly. “A few drops, and you’ll want everything I have to give you,” he muttered. “That’s better, isn’t it, bunny?”

Much better. You could feel something swelling at the base of his cock, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care, couldn’t bring yourself to acknowledge anything other than the utter bliss as a small, round shape was milked up the length of his cock and emptied into your core. Kits, you thought, and did your best to settle onto his twin cocks, to hold still as another egg was forced through your tight pussy. You stopped trying to count after the fourth – giving in completely to the shuddering, splintering euphoria every new member of your little family brought you. By the time the final egg was safe and snug inside of you, you were limp, twitching, and so full, it was hard to imagine ever feeling empty again.

As the last aftershocks started to fade, Suguru sucked in a stilted gasp and pulled you flush against his chest. You felt his second cock twitch once, then twice inside of you before something warm and thick flooded into your pussy. You whined miserably as he pulled out of you, but he didn’t stay gone for very long. Your pliable body was turned around in his arms, his cocks slid back into your leaking cunt as he carefully lowered himself onto the floor of his nest – your body laid on top of his. You strung your arms around his neck and pressed yourself against his chest, closing your eyes and giving in to your well-earned exhaustion.

You lasted just long enough to hear him mutter something about mates and clutches before your consciousness faded entirely and your mind went mercifully, blissfully silent.

Hours later, you woke up to the sound of a low, long whistle. “Really did a number on the poor thing, huh, Suguru?”

It took you a second to blink your eyes open, to raise your head and glance toward the man standing at the top of the ladder that led to Suguru’s nest, and another to recognize him as Suguru’s owner. His white hair was in a state of disarray, his eyes hidden behind circles of tinted glass, and for some reason, he was looking at you. You shrunk further into Suguru, but he only laughed – the noise loud and piercing to your foggy senses.

Suguru’s cocks were no longer inside of you, the flushed tips just barely visible at the base of his slit. You were still on his chest, and his arms were wrapped around your waist, his hold loose but possessive. There was a small bump over your lower stomach, and you weren’t sure whether to grimace or beam at the feeling of Suguru’s eggs shifting inside of you with every little movement. He was already awake – had been for some time, judging by the unimpressed scowl pressed into his lips. Something sharp and icy lodged itself into your chest, but his glare was directed towards his owner, not you, and the very tip of his tail curled around your ankle protectively as his owner stepped into his nest.

“Hasn’t anyone ever told you not to walk into a serpent’s den?”

“I don’t think it counts if I own the den.” He straddled the bulk of Suguru’s tail, then gestured to you. “Turn the pretty baby around. I wanna see the damage.”

You shook your head vehemently, clinging to Suguru’s neck, but his own response was an exasperated sigh, a fleeting hiss to your cheek as he flipped you over; leaving you slayed across his chest and exposed to his owner’s prying gaze. “Five minutes,” he said, as his owner shrugged the waistband of his pants down just far enough to free his cock, already half-hard, already enough to send a bolt of pure dread from your heart to the pit of your stomach. “I don’t want your scent on my mate.”

You opened your mouth, ready to whine that you were sore, that you were tired, that you didn’t want anyone but Suguru and your kits inside of you, but the words withered into nothing on your tongue as his owner eased himself into your dripping pussy, as Suguru caught you by the chin and pulled you into a shallow, lingering kiss – the points of his fangs just barely scraping over your bottom lip. Looking back on it, it had been silly to ever worry that he’d eat you.

You should’ve been worried that he wouldn’t.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere imagines #hybrid au #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen imagines #yandere jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #yandere jjk #jjk imagines #yandere geto suguru #geto x reader #geto suguru x reader #yanderecore #yancore

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vunblr · 24 days ago

Text

Heartwood

Pairing: Lumberjack!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+ only. Fluff. Smut. Unprotected sex.

Summary: After Sam’s party, Bucky begins to navigate uncharted territory as he works to balance his growing feelings and lingering insecurities in his blooming relationship.

Word Count: 11k

notes: Follow-up of Roots and Branches.

Bucky stirred first, blinking against the pale light filtering through the curtains. It was a strange sensation, waking without the shadow of a dream, or worse, the weight of a memory. Instead, there was only the quiet of the room, the steady rhythm of her breathing, and the warmth of her body tucked into his side.

He shifted carefully, with slow and deliberate movements, unsure if he’d disturbed her. She murmured something unintelligible, with her face half-hidden against the crook of his arm, but she didn’t wake.

For a moment, he allowed himself to simply look at her. Something was grounding about seeing her this way, soft, peaceful, and completely at ease. Her fingers brushed faintly against his chest, the contact so light it felt almost subconscious, like even asleep, she couldn’t quite let go of him. He leaned his head back against the pillow, releasing a slow breath of contentment as he let the moment settle over him.

She stirred then, her nose brushing against his collarbone, and let out the smallest sigh. Her lashes fluttered, and her sleepy gaze lifted to meet his.

“Good morning,” she murmured, her voice thick with sleep, a soft smile tugging at her lips as she tucked herself closer.

“Morning,” he rumbled softly, and before he could second-guess, he bent to kiss her forehead. He hesitated just enough to wonder if he should’ve rinsed his mouth first, but her sleepy smile disarmed him completely.

Her hand reached up lazily, brushing the curve of his jaw. “You’re up early.”

“Didn’t want to miss this,” he said quietly, as if speaking too loudly might break the moment.

She hummed, nuzzling closer into his chest. “I could stay here forever.”

He wrapped his arms around her instinctively, tightening the space between them. “Nobody’s stopping us.”

And that was when the doorbell rang, three sharp chimes that shattered the stillness.

Her body tensed briefly before she tilted her head back to look at him. He met her gaze with a scowl that was equal parts annoyance and resolve. “Ignore it.”

“But-”

He hugged her tighter, the words almost a growl in her ear. “Nobody’s home.”

The doorbell rang again, sharper this time, cutting through the morning like an unwelcome guest.

She froze, her forehead creasing as realization dawned. “Oh no,” she murmured, sitting up abruptly.

“What?” Bucky’s voice was a gruff rumble, his arms tightening briefly as if to pull her back before she escaped entirely.

Her face flushed with mild panic. “Sam! He’s supposed to fix the cabinets this morning.”

Bucky groaned, rolling onto his back, and shot her an exasperated look. “Really?” His hand raked through his hair, the messy strands falling into his eyes as he scowled at the ceiling.

She scrambled for her sweatpants, hopping slightly as she pulled them on, her movements hurried. Despite the rush, she bit her lip to stifle a laugh when she glanced at him again. He looked like a picture of grumpiness, his brow furrowed and jaw tight, the image of a man who wanted nothing more than to barricade the door and pretend the rest of the world didn’t exist.

“So, uh...” she ventured awkwardly, slipping a loose shirt over her head. “What do you want to do? Stay here in secrecy? I can sneak you some breakfast if you want.”

His gaze slid toward her, unamused.

“Or, I don’t know... sneak out the back door like some kind of criminal?” She half-grinned, watching for his reaction as she tugged the hem of her shirt into place.

Bucky grunted, leaning up on one elbow. “What are the other options?”

The doorbell rang a third time, louder and more insistent.

“None!” she hissed, darting toward the door, her bare feet padding against the floor. She paused briefly, shooting him an apologetic glance over her shoulder.

“I’ll be quiet,” he muttered with a resigned sigh, lying back and draping his arm over his face.

Suppressing a laugh, she opened the door with the best attempt at nonchalance. “Sorry, overslept,” she said, offering Sam a sheepish smile.

Sam raised an eyebrow, looking past her toward the faint creak of floorboards inside. “You sure about that?”

Her heart skipped a beat, but she kept her face composed, stepping slightly to the side to block his view. “Positive.”

As they entered the house, Sam glanced around and didn’t say anything, but his brow lifted ever so slightly before he turned back to her. “Didn’t see you stick around long at the grill last night,” he commented casually, taking a seat at the small kitchen table.

“Oh,” she began, busying herself with tidying up the counter. “I had a headache, so I didn’t want to overstay. Besides, you looked pretty engaged with those guys, and I didn’t want to interrupt.”

Sam leaned back in his chair, muttering, “Uh-huh...”

They made small talk, mostly about the cabinets and how long the repairs would take. He occasionally shot her a curious glance, but she managed to deflect most of his subtle prodding.

Bucky, meanwhile, slipped out of the bedroom and padded to the bathroom, his bare feet making the wooden floors creak faintly. Sam’s ears perked up slightly at the sound, but he didn’t let on, instead continuing the conversation about varnish options and hardware.

The bathroom door creaked open again, and Bucky’s steps echoed softly as he made his way back toward the room. Sam’s lips twitched with a smirk he barely managed to suppress.

“You know,” he said, leaning forward slightly, “it’s a shame you left early. There was someone I wanted to introduce you to last night.”

She quirked a brow, her curiosity piqued. “Oh?”

“Yeah,” Sam continued, tapping his fingers on the table. “Since you’re still alone and, y’know, apparently still with no prospects.” His grin widened, barely containing the mischief lighting up his expression.

She rolled her eyes, though the corners of her mouth twitched with amusement. “And who, exactly, were you going to introduce me to?”

“John Walker,” Sam said, drawing the name out like it was some grand revelation. “Another wood supplier of mine. He bought blueberry pie in your booth at the festival and chatted with you for a bit. Tall, blonde, lopsided grin?”

She tilted her head, vaguely recalling the man in question. “Oh, yes. I think I remember him.”

“Well,” Sam said, his tone dripping with exaggerated lament, “he asked me to introduce you, but you’d already left. Such a shame.”

The sound of Bucky’s steps abruptly halted somewhere across the hallway. John Fucking Walker? That asshole?

Sam, pretending to be oblivious, leaned back in his chair with a satisfied sigh. “But hey, no worries. This weekend, I’ll be grilling again. Maybe then-”

Before he could finish, heavy steps thudded purposefully down the hall. Bucky appeared in the doorway, his broad frame filling the space, wearing nothing but his boxer briefs. The look he gave Sam was pointed, sharp, and entirely unamused.

Sam, the traitorous weasel, had the decency to feign surprise, though the grin tugging at the corners of his mouth betrayed him. “Well, well,” he drawled, crossing his arms with exaggerated ease. “Seems like someone else caught that contagious headache last night.”

Her head whipped around to find Bucky, standing in all his glory. Heat rushed to her cheeks as her gaze flickered instinctively downward, then back up, her mind racing. The situation felt like a slow-motion car crash she couldn’t look away from.

There was a beat of awkward silence, her flustered reaction contrasting with Sam’s calm, almost unimpressed observation.

He arched a brow and leaned forward slightly, his tone casual but laced with mischief. “You know,” he said, “you two might’ve thought you slipped out unnoticed last night, but let me tell you, your absence didn’t exactly go under the radar.”

Bucky’s gaze narrowed, his irritation now mingled with the dawning realization that Sam wasn’t just here to fix cabinets. He’d fallen right into his childish trap. He’d exposed himself confirming exactly what he had been baiting him for.

She scrambled for words, her voice faltering. “Well, you see...”

Sam, entirely unperturbed, waved her off. “The most exciting thing happening at that grill was the talk about the town festival, the weather messing up gardens, and the rock slide on the north road.” He leaned forward, his grin widening. “You didn’t think people would notice when the newest addition to the town and the hard-to-get collection figure of social events both disappeared at the same time?” Bucky’s eyes narrowed further, his annoyance deepening at Sam’s playful but undeniably pointed observation. “Oh, come on,” Sam added, gesturing broadly. “Small town, Buck. We’re starved for drama. Of course people noticed.”

She felt heat creep up her neck and settle in her cheeks, her blush betraying her sense of exposure. Meanwhile, Bucky grunted, his irritation simmering just beneath the surface. The thought of being a topic of conversation for the town sent a fresh wave of unease rolling through him.

“It’s not that bad,” Sam said breezily, clearly enjoying himself. “I give your story a week before it gets old and a new topic arrives.” His gaze appraised Bucky, his grin broadening. “Speaking of which, aren’t you cold?” He gestured pointedly to his state of undress.

Bucky crossed his arms over his chest, his scarred arm brushing against his side as he gave Sam a deadpan stare. “Aren’t you supposed to be fixing those cabinets?”

Sam snorted, shaking his head. “Look at you,” he teased. “Already the man of the house, bossing people around. Real domestic.”

Bucky’s lips twitched, just a hint of a smirk threatening to break through his otherwise stoic expression. “Keep talking, Wilson, and you’re gonna find yourself out on the porch with your toolbox.”

“Relax, big guy,” Sam shot back, grabbing his toolbox with an exaggerated sigh. “I’ll leave you to play house in peace.”

She bit her lip to keep from laughing, her blush slowly fading as Sam turned toward the cabinets, still chuckling under his breath.

“We’ll let you do your thing,” she called after him, with a light tone.

She placed a gentle hand on Bucky’s chest and gave him a little push out of the kitchen doorway. He went without resistance, though his brow remained furrowed. Without a word, she took his hand and led him down the hallway to the bedroom, closing the door softly behind them. When she turned, his expression hadn’t shifted. His jaw was tight, and his gaze lingered somewhere on the floor.

“Are you okay?” she asked, her voice soft but tinged with concern.

“Yeah,” he replied, but the lack of conviction in his tone was unmistakable.

She stepped closer, her hand brushing lightly over his forearm. “Bucky,” she pressed gently, “you don’t sound okay. What’s on your mind?”

He exhaled sharply, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t like the idea of feeling... watched,” he admitted after a pause, his voice low. “This whole thing with Sam stirring the pot... people noticing stuff, making it their business.”

Her heart ached at the vulnerability in his voice. She reached for his hand, lifting it to her lips and pressing a soft kiss to his knuckles. “I get that,” she said quietly. “But I don’t think the people here would give you trouble. They’re probably just curious. It’ll pass.”

He glanced at her, his hesitation obvious. Then, with a slight shift of his shoulders, he added, “It’s not just that.”

Her brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

He hesitated again, looking anywhere but at her, with a palpable unease. “I just... I don’t know what you want people to know. About... us.” He cleared his throat, awkwardly running a hand through his hair. “Or if there even is an ‘us.’”

Her stomach flipped, her breath catching slightly. “Bucky-”

“I mean, people say stuff in the heat of the moment,” he continued quickly, his words tumbling over each other. “Things feel... different in the light of day. And if you- if this-” He stopped, swallowing hard, still avoiding her gaze. “I don’t know if that’s what you want.”

His shyness was endearing and heartbreaking all at once, and it took her a moment to gather her thoughts.

“Wait,” she said, “You’re not saying you’re the one who wants a situationship, are you?”

His head snapped up, alarm flashing in his blue eyes. “No,” he said firmly, the denial almost a reflex. “That’s not- God, no.”

Relief washed over her, and a small smile tugged at her lips. “Good,” she said softly, stepping closer until there was almost no space between them. “We’re on the same page then.”

He relaxed marginally, his shoulders dropping as he at last met her gaze. The corner of his mouth twitched, almost imperceptibly, and he let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. Bucky leaned down, his lips brushing hers with a tentative softness that quickly gave way as his uncertainty melted. The kiss deepened, and his hands slid to her waist, pressing her against him as hers wove into his hair. The heat between them grew, his grip getting firmer as a soft sigh escaped her lips, drawn into the intensity of the moment… until the sharp, rhythmic crack of hammering shattered the haze like a stone tossed into still water.

Bucky groaned, pulling back just enough to press the back of his head against the bedroom door. He closed his eyes, his jaw tightening as he stared at the ceiling in frustration. “I hate him,” he muttered, growling the words.

She stifled a laugh, brushing her fingers lightly over his chest. “He’s just doing his job,” she replied softly.

Reluctantly, he let her go, running a hand through his hair. “I gotta go anyway,” he admitted with a resigned sigh. “Got a quota to fill. Need to deliver it by closing time.”

Her lips curved into a small pout. “You didn’t even have breakfast,” she pointed out, crossing her arms.

He shrugged, grabbing his jeans from the floor. “I’ll sort it out,” he said dismissively, but the way he avoided her gaze told her he didn’t have a plan.

She clicked her tongue in mild exasperation. “Yeah, no.” Before he could argue, she slipped out of the room, leaving him to dress while she headed to the kitchen.

In one swift motion, she grabbed a big tupperware from the cabinet and set it on the counter. Without hesitation, she got to work, spreading jam on slices of bread, stacking three sandwiches neatly inside. On the side, she crammed in four cookies and a few slices of freshly cut apple, tucking the lid into place with satisfaction.

Sam, hammer still in hand, peeked over from the corner of his eye, his grin unmistakable. “Oh, you’re gonna spoil him rotten, aren’t ya?”

She quirked a brow, unbothered. “I intend to, yes.”

Sam laughed, leaning against the counter briefly. “Good,” he said with an approving nod. “Someone has to, baking queen. He deserves it.”

Her expression softened slightly, and she gave a small, conspiratorial smile before putting the tupperware in a cloth bag and heading back toward the hallway.

Bucky was buttoning his flannel shirt when she returned, with the bag in her hands. He glanced up at the sound of her footsteps, “What’s that?” he asked, nodding toward the flowery sack as he reached for his boots.

“Breakfast,” she said simply, holding it out to him.

He stared at it for a moment, then back at her, his brows knitting together. “I told you I’d figure it out.”

“And I decided I’d save you the trouble,” she countered, unfazed, stepping closer and pressing the container into his hands. “It’s just some jam sandwiches, cookies, and an apple. Nothing fancy.”

His fingers wrapped around the handles reluctantly, his gaze flicking down to it. For a moment, he didn’t say anything, and she wondered if she’d overstepped.

Then, with a small, almost imperceptible sigh, he muttered, “You didn’t have to do this.”

“I know,” she said softly, her tone light but insistent. “That’s why I did it.”

Bucky’s lips pressed into a thin line, but his grip on the bag tightened slightly, betraying the quiet gratitude he wasn’t quite sure how to voice. “Thanks,” he said finally, his voice low and a little rough.

Her smile widened, and she reached out to adjust the collar of his flannel. “Just eat it, okay? And no excuses about being too busy.”

He huffed a soft laugh, his shoulders relaxing as he shook his head. “Yes ma'am. You’re something else, you know that?”

“Good to know,” she replied with a playful smirk, giving his chest a gentle pat before stepping back.

As he turned to leave, he paused hesitantly in the doorway, his brow furrowing slightly as if caught in a thought. Then, without a word, he turned back and crossed the distance between them.

Before she could react, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to the crown of her head. It was brief but gentle. “Thank you,” he said quietly, his voice rough but sincere. “Really.” He straightened and, without making eye contact, turned and exited the bedroom. The door clicked softly behind him, leaving her standing there with a flutter in her chest and a faint smile on her lips.

After Bucky left, she busied herself tidying up the kitchen and glanced at Sam, who was still diligently hammering away at the cabinets. “Want something to drink?” she offered casually.

Sam paused mid-swing and turned to her with a grateful smile. “Sure, whatever you’ve got.” She poured him a glass of orange juice, setting it on the counter where he could grab it easily before retreating to the living room.

The morning light filtered through the curtains as she settled on the couch, her laptop balanced on her knees. With a sigh, she opened the highlander’s document that made her roll her eyes every other sentence. She got through four chapters when Sam’s voice broke the quiet.

“All done for today,” he called from the kitchen doorway.

She glanced up, giving him a surprised smile. “That was quick.”

He grinned, wiping his hands on a rag as he stepped into the living room. “So, what’re you working on over here?”

Her stomach sank slightly. Oh no. Not this conversation again.

“Uh, just a manuscript,” she said vaguely, hoping he’d let it go.

But Sam, ever curious, tilted his head and leaned against the doorframe. “What kind of manuscript?”

“A romance novel,” she admitted reluctantly.

Sam’s grin widened. “Romance, huh? What kind? Cowboys? Pirates?”

She sighed, knowing resistance was futile. “It’s a Highlander one.”

That seemed to delight him even more. “Oh, like with the kilts and the swords and all that ‘My bonnie lass’ stuff?”

“Something like that,” she muttered.

Sam laughed, shaking his head. “My mom had a ton of those books, and my sister Sarah used to sneak them off the shelf when we were teenagers.” His grin turned devilish. “Boy, mom whipped her pervy ass when she found out. Thought she was scandalizing herself reading all those heaving bosom scenes.”

Despite herself, she let out a laugh, covering her mouth with her hand. “Poor Sarah.”

“Poor Sarah, my ass,” Sam said with a chuckle. “She’s still a sucker for those books. Says it’s the ‘only time she has to herself.’” He made air quotes, clearly still amused by the memory.

She shook her head, laughing softly as she accompanied him to the door. “Well, let’s hope she never gets her hands on this one.”

------

By the time lunch rolled around, she had advanced a lot on her scheduled work for the day and couldn’t stop herself from glancing at her phone. She typed out a quick message to Bucky.

Hey, what are you up to?

Minutes passed with no response. Then, about an hour later, her phone buzzed in her hand, his name flashing across the screen. She picked up immediately.

“Hey,” she greeted warmly, leaning back on the couch.

“Hey,” he replied, with a gruffy tone. She could hear the faint hum of machinery in the background. “Sorry for not answering. Still working.”

“Yeah? How’s it going?”

A long sigh crackled through the line. “The chainsaw broke. Had to switch to one of the old ones. Slower, heavier, and louder. Pretty much the worst.”

Her brow furrowed at the weariness in his voice. “Sounds like a pain. Did you eat anything?”

“Yeah,” he muttered, though it didn’t sound convincing.

She hesitated, then offered, “I can bring you something. A sandwich or-”

“Nah, I’m good,” he said quickly, though his voice softened just enough to take the edge off the refusal. “Appreciate it, but I’ll figure it out.”

She frowned but didn’t push. “Okay... What time do you think you’ll be done?”

There was a brief pause as he considered. “About seven. Maybe a little after.”

Her lips quirked into a small smile as she decided to push just a little. “Mind if I come by your place when you’re done?”

The line went quiet, the faint buzz of the machinery and distant thudding the only sounds. She held her breath, wondering if she’d gone too far.

Finally, his voice came through, quieter and tinged with something shy. “Yeah, sure. If you want. Can’t promise I’ll be much of a host, though.”

Her smile widened, warmth blooming in her chest. “That’s okay. I’m not expecting a five-star experience. Just... you.”

His exhale was soft but audible as if her words had taken some weight off his shoulders. “All right,” he said simply. “See you then.”

“See you,” she replied, “and take care.” she added before the line clicked off.

She stared at the phone for a moment, with a lingering smile. No matter how grumpy or tired he sounded, he was still Bucky, the guy who cared enough to try.

He looked briefly at the old phone in his hand, her voice still echoing faintly in his ears, before tucking it back into his pocket and exhaling sharply.

Rolling his shoulder for what felt like the hundredth time that day, he muttered a curse under his breath. The heavier chainsaw and the damp air weren’t doing his arm joints any favors, the ache setting deep into the bone. He flexed his fingers, trying to shake off the stiffness, but it did little to help. As he set the chainsaw down for a moment’s reprieve, his mind wandered back to her words. Mind if I come by your place?

He snorted softly, half-amused, half-bewildered. She wanted to come over after a day like this, to his place of all places. His gaze flicked toward the cabin in the distance, the thought of her seeing it exactly as it was sending a twinge of discomfort through him.

He started mentally ticking through the list of things he’d have to deal with before she arrived.

The plates in the sink. Take out the trash. Definitely need to dismantle the makeshift bed on the living room floor. His brow furrowed. Putting a few empty bottles of scotch out of sight wouldn’t hurt either.

The thought of her stepping into his world, even for a little while, made him pause. He couldn’t help the doubt creeping in, the same gnawing thought that had been with him for as long as he could remember.

How someone like her could bother with someone like me?

He shook his head sharply, as if to dispel the thought, and grabbed the chainsaw again. He didn’t have time to dwell on it, not with the sun dipping lower and more work to finish.

The sound of her pen clicking filled the quiet room as she glanced at the clock and mentally sketched out her plan. Bucky was clearly having a rough day, and if he wasn’t going to let her help during the daytime, she’d make sure his evening was better.

Her eyes scanned the kitchen counter before settling on the tenderloin she’d defrosted earlier. Perfect. A baked tenderloin, creamed potatoes, and maybe a good wine, it was simple but comforting, exactly what he’d need after a day like this.

She pulled out her apron and got to work, her hands moving with practiced ease as she trimmed the meat, seasoned it with rosemary and garlic, and slid it into the oven. While that baked, she started on the potatoes, peeling and boiling them before whipping them with cream and butter until they were perfectly smooth.

As she worked, her gaze drifted to the wine sitting on the counter, a thoughtful gift from a friend she hadn’t yet opened. Tonight’s the perfect occasion, she thought, setting it aside with a smile.

By the time everything was ready, the kitchen smelled warm and inviting, and she felt a sense of satisfaction at having put the plan together. With the tenderloin resting on a cutting board and the potatoes cooling in their pot, she finished her workload for the day and headed to shower.

Steam filled the bathroom as she rinsed away the day, her thoughts lingering on Bucky, on how tired he must be, on how much he tried to shoulder everything himself. She couldn’t erase the day’s frustrations, but she could lighten the load, even if only for a few hours.

After her shower, she picked through her closet, her fingers brushing over fabrics until they landed on a paneled skirt. It was soft and simple, and it paired well with a blouse she liked. Totally practical, she told herself. Absolutely no ulterior motives.

By the time the food was packed into containers and loaded into the trunk, the sun was beginning to set, painting the horizon in soft hues of pink and orange. She double-checked the tupperwares, the wine, and even threw in a small bag of cookies for good measure.

Satisfied, she slid into the driver’s seat with determination. Tonight, she was going to make sure Bucky felt better, even if he didn’t realize how much he needed it.

By the time she reached the cabin, the evening light was fading, casting long shadows through the trees that lined the narrow road. Her car bumped along the uneven path, the crunch of gravel under her tires breaking the quiet stillness of the woods.

As she pulled up, her headlights swept across the clearing in front of his cabin, illuminating a lone figure by the side of the house. There he was, hauling a bag of trash toward a bin, his movements slower than usual.

Caught in the beam of her headlights, he froze momentarily, squinting against the brightness like a deer on the road. His workwear was rumpled, his shirt clinging to his broad frame from a long day’s labor. Dirt streaked his forearms and smudged his face, his hair slightly damp and pushed back haphazardly.

She turned off the engine and got out, the sound of the door closing drawing his gaze to her. His eyes flicked immediately to the bags in her arms, and he moved toward her with purposeful strides, leaving the trash bag forgotten by the bin.

Before she could say anything, he reached for the bags. “Here,” he muttered, his voice gruff but soft, his fingers brushing hers as he took them.

She tilted her head, a playful pout forming on her lips. “No kiss?”

He paused, his brow furrowing slightly, as though he were genuinely considering it. The truth was, he felt grimy and sweaty, dirt likely smudged across his face, while she looked effortlessly put together. The soft fabric of her skirt swayed gently in the evening breeze, and her fresh, clean scent drifted toward him, a stark contrast to his own disheveled state.

“I didn’t have time to… I don’t wanna stain you,” he admitted, his voice low and rough as his gaze flicked down to the bags in his hands.

Her expression softened, a warm smile curving her lips as she stepped closer. Without hesitation, she wrapped her arms around his waist, ignoring the startled grunt he made at the contact. Rising onto her toes, she pressed a quick, tender kiss to his lips. Before he could fully react, she pulled back, her eyes bright with affection.

“What kind of person would I be if I didn’t greet my man after a rough day at work?” she teased in a light tone.

His grip on the bags tightened slightly as he registered the words, and a faint blush crept over his cheeks, visible even through the dirt smudged on his face. Her man. The thought of it settled warm and steady in his chest, a sensation he didn’t quite know how to process.

He cleared his throat, his gaze darting away as he mumbled, “I guess you’re right.” Turning toward the cabin, he gestured for her to follow. “Come on in.”

As she stepped into the cabin, she paused to take it all in. The space was clean and warm, but undeniably spartan: bare walls, minimal furniture, and everything in its place. It was practical and functional, yet there was something distinctly Bucky about it.

Her gaze lingered on the small stack of books on the coffee table, a worn flannel jacket draped over the back of a chair, and a neatly folded blanket on the couch. Despite the lack of frills, it felt lived-in, quiet, and steady, just like him.

Bucky set the bags down on the small kitchen counter and turned to her, his brows furrowing slightly. “What’s all this?” he asked, gesturing at the containers with a slight tilt of his head.

“Dinner,” she replied simply, smiling as she stepped closer.

His eyebrows shot up, and he opened his mouth to respond, but before he could get a word out, she cut him off.

“What,” she interjected, her tone playful but firm, “did you think I’d come all the way out here after the day you’ve had just for you to take care of me? Maybe I didn’t make myself clear.” She stepped closer, her voice softening as her gaze met his. “I came to take care of you.”

His lips parted slightly, but no words came out. Instead, he blinked at her, his brow furrowing again as though he wasn’t quite sure how to process what she’d said.

“Come on,” she coaxed gently, placing a hand lightly on his arm. “You’ve been working your ass off all day, and I thought you could use a little help. That’s okay, right?”

He looked down at her hand on his arm, his muscles tensing slightly under her touch before relaxing. After a moment, he exhaled, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah,” he muttered, his voice quiet and a little rough. “Yeah, that’s... okay.”

Bucky stared at the bags on the counter. Of course she’d bring food. He slapped himself mentally for not anticipating it, given her nurturing nature. It wasn’t just something she did, it was who she was.

Still, a pang of guilt settled in his chest. He hadn’t asked for this, hadn’t even hinted at it, and yet here she was, going out of her way after what had probably been a long day for her, too. He felt, in some small way, like he was taking advantage of her kindness, even if unintentionally. Lost in thought, he barely registered her stepping closer until she wrapped her arms around him, hugging him tightly. His first instinct was to tense, the feel of her against his sweaty shirt making him self-conscious. But her warmth broke through the unease, and he found himself relaxing, his arms coming up to reciprocate the embrace. Inhaling the faint, sweet scent of her hair, he felt something in him soften.

“A penny for your thoughts?” she asked gently, her voice muffled against his chest.

He hesitated for a moment, then bit his lip before murmuring, “Just... not used to being cared for like this.”

Her hold on him tightened slightly, and she leaned back just enough to look up at him with a soft smile. “Well,” she said, her tone light but firm, “it’s better for you if you start getting used to it.”

He let out a soft, almost reluctant chuckle, the tension easing further from his shoulders.

“Go wash your hands,” she said, stepping back and gesturing toward the small bathroom. “I’ll set the table if that’s okay with you.”

“Maybe I should take a shower first,” he muttered, glancing down at himself, but she waved him off.

“You look starved,” she replied matter-of-factly. “You can shower after. Go on, wash up.”

Bucky arched a brow at her. “What’s in the containers, anyway?”

“Baked tenderloin, creamed potatoes, and a little wine,” she said as she started unpacking the food.

After her words, his face lit up like a kid on Christmas morning. “Tenderloin?”

She nodded, her smile widening at his reaction.

“I’ll be right back,” he said quickly, his voice filled with unexpected excitement as he disappeared into the bathroom.

A little while later, Bucky reappeared, his hands clean and his face looking freshly washed. His long damp locks were pushed back, though a few stubborn strands refused to stay in place, giving him a slightly tousled look. He’d clearly made an effort, even if it wasn’t much, and she smiled at the sight.

The table was already set, the food neatly arranged in the middle, with mismatched enamel plates waiting. As he stepped closer, his eyes widened slightly at the spread before him. The tenderloin, perfectly sliced, the creamy potatoes beside it, it all looked like something out of a dream after the rough day he’d had. The smell hit him next, warm and comforting, and his stomach growled loudly, reminding him of just how little he’d eaten that day.

“It’s still hot,” she said, breaking his awed silence with a smile. “I used insulating containers.”

He nodded, still a bit dazed, and took his seat as she filled his plate. The first bite hit like a revelation, the flavors melting in his mouth. For a moment, he just sat there, savoring it, before digging in with gusto.

She watched with amusement the way he seemed to focus entirely on his plate. When he finished the first serving, he hesitated, glancing at the platter but not quite making a move. “Go on, you know you want more,” she said with a playful shake of her head, adding another helping to his plate before he could protest.

Bucky grumbled something under his breath, though the small, grateful smile tugging at his lips gave him away. He didn’t hesitate with the second helping, and by the time that plate was empty, he finally gave in and asked for the third himself.

“All right,” she teased as she served him again, “better than dino mac and cheese?”

His fork paused mid-air, and a gruff and warm laugh escaped him. “By a mile,” he admitted, shaking his head. “No contest.” The meal continued with more appreciative noises from him, low hums of approval and muttered compliments that only grew as he polished off every bite.

When his plate was finally clean, he leaned back slightly in his chair, his hand resting on his stomach. “I could get used to this,” he said softly, almost to himself, before his eyes widened slightly, and his ears turned faintly pink. “I mean... if you, uh, want to do this again. Another day. No pressure.”

She bit back a laugh, leaning her chin on her hand as she looked at him. “I’ll keep that in mind,” she replied warmly.

Bucky glanced down, his blush deepening, but the small smile lingering on his face betrayed how much her answer meant to him.

“So... how’s your arm?” she asked gently as she began clearing the plates, glancing at him with a mix of curiosity and concern. “You rotated your shoulder earlier, and you seemed a little stiff.”

Bucky froze, his eyes snapping to hers. He hadn’t realized she’d been paying that much attention. His first instinct was to brush it off, to tell her he was fine, no big deal. The words hovered on the tip of his tongue… but he’d promised himself not to shut her out. With a sigh, he leaned on the table, running a hand through his hair. “Using the old chainsaw today didn’t help. Heavy as hell, and the weather’s been a pain. Humidity makes it worse. Arm’s been bitching all day.”

She nodded thoughtfully, setting the plates aside before returning to her seat. “How about a massage?”

The question caught him off guard, and he stared at her, his thoughts muddled. He didn’t quite know how to respond, so he fell silent, mulling it over. It wasn’t like he’d ever been the type to ask for -or accept- things like that. But the idea of her hands working out the knots in his shoulder and biceps sounded almost too good to pass up after the day he’d had. “That’d be... really good,” he admitted finally, with a soft voice, “but I should take a bath first.”

She tilted her head, her expression turning stubborn. “Nonsense.” His brow furrowed as he started to protest, but she cut him off with a shy smile, her cheeks tinged pink. “I like how you smell, okay?”

He blinked at her, taken aback by her words. His gaze softened, and the tension in his shoulders eased just slightly. He didn’t know what to say to that, how could he argue when she looked at him like that?

“Okay,” he said finally, the corner of his mouth twitching into the faintest of smiles. “If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure,” she replied, with a steady but warm tone. “Now, take off your shirt and go sit on that stool over there,” she instructed, nodding toward the wooden stool tucked near the fireplace in the living room.

Bucky arched a brow but complied, standing slowly and pulling his shirt over his head in one fluid motion. As the fabric cleared his torso, she couldn’t help but stare. His muscled frame was on full display, the scars etched across his skin like unfinished stories. He hadn’t spoken of them yet, and she was determined to wait until he was ready to share those chapters himself. Her gaze lingered on the sharp cut of his shoulders, the way his muscles flexed with each subtle movement. Her hands twitched slightly at her sides, eager to touch him, to ease the tension she could see in every line of his body.

He turned and caught her staring, his lips quirking into a knowing smirk. “Did you plot this to take advantage of a tired and wounded man?” he teased, his tone dry but amused. “You stuff me full of food so I can’t move, and then you attack?”

She blinked, her cheeks warming, but a mischievous grin spread across her face. “Maybe,” she said with a playful shrug, reaching into her purse and pulling out a small bottle of lotion.

His eyes narrowed slightly, though there was a glint of humor in his gaze. “You planned this, didn’t you?”

“Perhaps it was a little premeditated,” she admitted, shaking the bottle in her hand as she stepped toward him. “Now sit.”

Bucky chuckled softly, shaking his head as he lowered himself onto the stool. “Remind me never to underestimate you.”

“Oh, you have no idea,” she quipped, uncapping the bottle and squeezing a small amount into her hands, her gaze flickering briefly to his bare skin.

As she stepped behind him, her heart beat a little faster. She placed her hands on his shoulders, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath her fingers, and began to work the lotion into the tight muscles.

The moment her hands touched his shoulders, Bucky tensed, his first thought lingering on the sweat still clinging to his skin. As her fingers pressed firmly into the tight muscles at the top of his shoulders, the tension in his neck began to ease almost immediately, but his mind stubbornly clung to his unease. He shifted slightly, the thought of her hands on his clammy skin making him self-conscious.

She seemed to sense his hesitation, leaning closer until her lips brushed against the pulse point at his neck. The kiss was soft but deliberate, and he stilled completely at the unexpected touch. Her fingers pressed deeper into his shoulders as she murmured, her voice low and teasing, “I’m not feeling any relaxation, Buck.”

Her lips trailed a warm, wet line from his pulse point to his earlobe, and he groaned, a deep, gravelly sound that rumbled in his chest. The tension in his body began to dissolve, his shoulders sagging as he exhaled a long breath.

“There we go,” she said softly, a satisfied smile tugging at her lips as her hands resumed their steady, soothing rhythm.

She worked her thumbs firmly along the base of his neck, coaxing the tight knots free, before moving down to his shoulders. Her fingers dug into the thick muscles with just the right amount of pressure, and he let out a low hiss that melted into a sigh. His scarred arm caught her attention next, the touch growing gentler as she kneaded the firm swell of his bicep. Her fingers traced over the ridges of the scars there, not hesitating but mindful, lingering in a way that felt both tender and intentional.

Bucky didn’t say a word, but his body told the story, how his shoulders slumped further under her touch, how his breathing slowed, and how the stiffness in his arm seemed to melt away. With each stroke, he let go just a little more, his head dipping forward slightly, his lips parting as another sound escaped him, a softer, more relieved groan this time, like unburdening himself of a long-held weight.

By the time she finished, her hands moving back up to smooth over his shoulders one last time, Bucky’s body was practically putty under her touch. The knots in his muscles had vanished, leaving him loose and blissfully relaxed. Yet, beneath the calm she’d so carefully drawn out, a different tension simmered. Her warm breath against his neck, the soft brush of her chest against his back, and the intimacy of her touch stirred something deeper, and despite his best efforts to stay still, a part of him was very much paying attention to her ministrations.

She stepped back slightly, wiping her palms on a towel she’d grabbed from her bag. “All done,” she announced lightly, her voice warm. “How are you feeling?”

Bucky straightened slightly, forcing himself to keep his breathing even as he glanced back at her. “So good,” he said honestly, his voice low and husky. “Thank you.”

Before she could respond, he moved with quiet intent, his hands finding her waist as he gently pulled her into his lap.

Her eyes widened as she settled sideways on his thighs, his hands firm and steady, holding her as though she belonged there.

“What kind of host would I be,” he murmured, his voice thick and velvety, sending a delicious shiver down her spine, “if I didn’t thank you properly?”

And then his lips were on hers, warm and insistent, his hands holding her in place like he couldn’t bear the thought of her slipping away. The kiss deepened quickly, and she let out a soft moan as she shifted in his lap, the movement drawing her attention to the unmistakable hardness pressing against her. Her breath hitched, her heart pounding as heat rushed through her body.

When they finally parted, her gaze met his, taking in the tired lines around his eyes. She quirked a brow, a playful smile tugging at her lips. “Weren’t you exhausted?”

Bucky leaned in, his lips brushing against her pulse point before nipping at it lightly. “Never for you,” he murmured, in a low and rough voice. The statement sent a thrill through her, her cheeks flushing as she bit her lip, her hands instinctively tightening on his shoulders. “You know,” he continued, his tone soft but teasing as his hand traveled under the hem of her skirt, his rough fingers brushing against her bare thigh, “last night I told you why I liked you in dresses and skirts.”

Her breath caught as his hand moved higher, his touch deliberate and unhurried. “Oh, I took note,” she answered playfully, kissing his cheek as her fingers traced idle patterns over his chest. Her gaze held his with a spark of anticipation. “What are you going to do about it?”

Bucky’s eyes darkened, the corners of his mouth twitching as his hand slid higher, his grip firm but coaxing. “Guess you’ll find out,” he said, his voice barely more than a growl as he kissed her again, deeper and more insistent this time. She gasped softly against his mouth, threading her fingers into his hair and pulling him closer.

His touch became more insistent, one hand sliding up her side, the fabric of her blouse bunching under his fingers. Without breaking the kiss, he unbuttoned it promptly and removed it in two smooth motions. He leaned back just enough to take her in, his eyes trailing over the curves of her body with open appreciation. His lips parted slightly, and a low, almost reverent hum rumbled from his chest. “You’re so damn beautiful,” he muttered, his voice rough with need as his hands moved to unhook her bra.

The straps fell away, and he cupped her breasts, his thumbs brushing over her sensitive nipples. She let out a soft whimper, slightly arching her body into his touch. “Perfect,” he murmured, leaning down to press a hot, open-mouthed kiss to the swell of her breast. His lips trailed down, and when his mouth closed around her nipple, sucking gently, a sharp moan escaped her lips. Her hand flew to his nape, her fingers tangling in his hair as she arched again, pressing him harder against her chest. The pressure of his mouth and the flick of his tongue were enough to send her mind spinning.

He growled softly against her skin, his other hand sliding down from her waist, hooking his arm under her knee, spreading her leg with ease, and angling her body to fit perfectly against his, with her back against his chest. His free hand trailed down, his fingers teasing the edge of her panties before pressing against the damp fabric. Her hips bucked instinctively at the contact, a sharp gasp escaping her he traced slow, deliberate circles over her clothed pussy.

“Today was a shitty day,” Bucky said huskily as his fingers pressed a little harder, drawing another moan from her lips. He leaned forward, pressing his face into the crook of her neck. “I appreciate it a lot... what you did here, sweetheart.”

His hand slipped under the waistband of her panties, his rough fingers finding her slick folds with ease. A strangled sound escaped her, as her hand flew to the back of his neck.

“I’m not very good with words,” he murmured, his voice vibrating against her skin. As he spoke, he pushed two fingers inside her, slow and deliberate, the stretch sending a wave of pleasure through her. “But I’m happy. Really.” His confession was soft, almost vulnerable, as his thumb began circling her clit with a practiced rhythm that sent her thoughts scattering.

Her head fell back, a moan spilling from her lips as her body arched against him. “Well, I can’t argue,” she panted, her words broken by pleasure, “this is a... a nice way of appreciation.”

His lips curved into a small smile against her neck as his fingers moved inside her with a slow, steady rhythm. Each motion drew soft gasps and moans from her lips, her body arching against him as the pleasure built. “Such a good girl,” he murmured, his lips brushing her skin. “You take care of me, and this is how I take care of you.” His voice was husky, laced with affection, and something darker, rougher.

Her breath hitched as he adjusted his angle slightly, his fingers curling inside her, hitting a spot that made her cry out. He chuckled softly, the sound low and rough in her ear. “There it is,” he growled, his pace quickening just enough to keep her teetering on the edge.

Her hands clutched at his thigh and neck, her nails digging in slightly as her hips moved instinctively against his hand. “B-Bucky,” she panted, her voice shaky, her head tipping back as she lost herself in the sensation.

When he shifted his arm slightly, a dry chuckle escaped him. “Fuck, I smell,” he muttered, half to himself, his self-consciousness creeping back in despite the moment.

She turned her head sharply, her flushed face meeting his. “My God, James,” she said firmly, her voice a mix of exasperation and arousal. “I told you, I’m okay with it.”

His brows quirked, his lips twitching into a faint smirk. “So I’m James when you scold me?” he teased, pushing his fingers deeper, harder, making her gasp and stutter.

“T-That’s right,” she managed, her breath shuddering as his pace picked up. “I don’t mind you sweaty after a day of work... I think it’s hot, okay?” she confessed, her cheeks flushing an even deeper shade of red.

His hand stilled for just a second, his gaze lifting to hers in surprise before a wide, wicked grin spread across his face. “You think it’s hot,” he repeated, his voice a low, teasing drawl. “Well, sweetheart, I think you’re hot when you’re like this.”

Without another word, his fingers moved faster, curling and pressing in ways that made her moan loudly, her head falling back as the pressure built to an unbearable peak. He trailed open-mouthed kisses along her throat, his stubble scraping lightly against her skin as his pace became relentless.

“Maybe,” he murmured between kisses, his voice a husky whisper that sent tremors through her, “I could be Jamie when you cum. What do you say, darlin’?”

Her moans turned into breathless cries, her body trembling as his words pushed her closer to the edge. His thumb pressed harder against her clit, and with one final, precise movement, she shattered, her climax crashing over her in a wave of heat and pleasure.

She called out his name, her body arching as her walls clenched around his fingers. He didn’t stop, coaxing her through every aftershock, his lips brushing her ear as he whispered, “That’s it, good girl. Let go for me.”

When she finally slumped back against him with ragged breathing, he pulled his hand back, cradling her against his chest with a satisfied smirk. “So,” he said softly, his tone laced with playful arrogance, “Jamie it is, huh?”

She swatted his shoulder weakly, though the smile tugging at her lips betrayed her.

“And now,” Bucky murmured between kisses at the back of her neck, his voice dark and laced with promise, “I’m going to show you exactly what I’m going to do about this skirt of yours.”

Before she could respond, his hands gripped her hips firmly as he shifted them both to the floor in one fluid motion. Her knees hit the soft rug beneath them, and he pressed himself against her back, slowly grinding his erection against her rear. One of his hands slid up to her waist, holding her firmly in place as his other hand moved to the nape of her neck, pressing her down gently but firmly against the coffee table.

The rough wood met her forearms, her body bent at just the right angle to have her completely at his mercy. Her breath hitched as she felt his hand leave her nape briefly, the sound of his belt unbuckling and the zipper of his jeans being drawn down making her pulse race.

With one hand still firm on her hip, Bucky gathered the fabric of her skirt and lifted it, baring her ass to him. His large, rough palm cupped one cheek, squeezing it firmly. “Seems to me,” he said, his voice gravelly and dripping with lust, “you came here intending to be taken advantage of.”

A low chuckle escaped her lips, her body reacting instinctively as she arched her back and parted her thighs slightly, lifting her hips toward him. “Can you blame me?” she teased, with a breathy voice, the words laced with anticipation.

His lips curled into a grin as he hooked his fingers into the waistband of her panties and tugged them down in one swift motion, leaving them tangled around her knees. “Who am I,” he murmured, his tone dark and teasing, “to deny you what you want, especially after you pamper me, hm?” His pupils were blown as he stared at her pussy, slick and glistening with arousal. A low groan rumbled from his chest as he wrapped a hand around his cock, thick and heavy, precum already beading at the tip. He ran the swollen head through her folds, spreading her wetness over his length. The sensation made her gasp, her hips pressing back against him instinctively.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, savoring how wet and ready she was for him. Gripping her hip tightly, he lined himself up and began to press into her slowly, the blunt head of his cock stretching her open inch by inch.

She mewled at the stretch, the fullness making her fingers clutch the edge of the coffee table for support. As he slid deeper, a low moan spilled from her lips, as her body adjusted to take him to the hilt. He paused there, his chest pressing against her back as he leaned forward, his lips brushing her ear. “Are you alright, sweetheart?” he murmured, his voice was rough but tinged with genuine care, though he already knew the answer. The feel of her walls clenching around him, pulling him in even tighter, made it clear she was more than alright.

Her breath hitched again, her body shuddering under his, and she nodded quickly, her voice a little shaky but firm. “Yes,” she whispered, her tone carrying a mix of need and reassurance.

Satisfied, he let out a low, satisfied hum, pressing a kiss to the side of her neck before rolling his hips experimentally, drawing a sharp gasp from her lips.

Bucky pulled back almost completely before thrusting forward again, his pace slow and deliberate, letting her feel every inch of his cock stretch and fill her. The low, guttural groan that escaped his lips was unrestrained, a sound that vibrated deep in his chest as he rolled his hips again, savoring the way her pussy clenched around him.

It was like something unlocked inside him, the tension he carried in every interaction, every moment of his day, dissolving as he lost himself in the heat of her. Here, he didn’t have to hold back or second-guess. There was no space for hesitation, no room for what ifs, just her body arching beneath him and her soft moans urging him on.

“You feel so fucking good,” he muttered with a rough voice, the words falling from his lips without filter or pretense. He pulled back to watch the way his cock disappeared into her, his grip tightening on her as he snapped his hips harder, a sharp slap of skin meeting skin filling the air. “Made for me, aren’t you?”

Her whimper in response only spurred him on, his hand sliding up her back to press between her shoulder blades, bending her further over the coffee table as his thrusts picked up a relentless rhythm.

Her cries grew louder, her fingers clutching at the table for stability as she pushed back against him, meeting his movements with desperation. “Bucky!” she cried out, her voice breaking as his relentless thrusts sent waves of pleasure coursing through her.

“That’s it,” he growled, his lips brushing against her shoulder as he drove into her harder, deeper. “Say it again, sweetheart.”

“Bucky,” she gasped, her breath hitching as his fingers worked her clit with precision with her body trembling beneath him.

A grin spread across his lips as he leaned closer, his voice rough and teasing. “What about… Jamie? Hmm? Can I be your Jamie when you fall apart for me?”

Her head tipped back, and a flush crept up her neck as the name fell from her lips, breathless and needy. “J-Jamie...”

His groan was low and guttural, his hips stuttering for a moment before he caught his rhythm again. The way her voice carried his name sent a thrill through his body.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his pace quickening as his free hand slid up her back, holding her steady. “Say it again, darling. Let me hear it.”

“Jamie!” she cried, her voice trembling as the pressure in her core built to a breaking point.

“Good girl,” he murmured, his lips pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along the curve of her neck. “You’re so good for me. Taking all I give you.”

Her walls clenched around him, and she shuddered beneath him, her voice breaking as she gasped his name.

That was his undoing. His thrusts became harder, more erratic as he chased his release, her pleasure pulling him closer to the edge. “That’s it,” he growled, his voice strained but commanding. “Come for me, sweetheart. Come on my cock.”

She shattered, her cries echoing through the room as her climax ripped through her, her body arching and trembling under his hands.

Hearing her call his diminutive over and over as her body convulsed around him was enough to send him spiraling. With a guttural groan, he followed her over the edge, his hips driving into her one last time as he spilled inside her.

As the intensity ebbed, she slumped forward, her body draped over the coffee table, with a ragged and shallow breathing. Bucky followed her, his chest pressing against her back as they both came down from the high with their bodies still connected.

For a moment, neither of them moved, the only sound in the room was their uneven breaths. Then, with a soft grunt, Bucky wrapped his arms around her waist, his grip firm but gentle as he pulled her upright. “C’mere,” he murmured, his voice still gravelly, though softer now. He shifted, sitting back on the thick rug, and dragged her with him, settling her in his lap. Her back rested against his broad chest, his arms enveloping her in a warm, protective hug.

She melted into him, her head tipping back to rest on his shoulder as his chin came to rest atop her head. One of his arms enveloped her below her breasts holding her securely against him, while the other traced slow, idle patterns on her thigh.

“You’re amazing,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper as she reached back with her hand and caressed his stubbed cheek.

Bucky stilled for a moment, her words catching him off guard. He swallowed hard, his arms tightening around her slightly. “I think that’s my line,” he muttered, his lips brushing against her hair. “You’re the one who...” He trailed off, shaking his head with a small, self-deprecating chuckle. “You’re just amazing.”

She turned her head slightly to look up at him, her lips curving into a tender smile. “I like this,” she said, full of affection.

“Hmm?” he hummed, tilting his head slightly to glance down at her.

“This,” she repeated, gesturing to the way his arms were wrapped around her. “You. Holding me like this. Feels like home.”

His breath hitched, and he kissed the top of her head gently, tightening his embrace even further. “You… feel like home too.” he admitted, with a softer voice.

After a few minutes of quiet, she broke the silence, her tone turning playful. “So,” she said, glancing up at him with a teasing smile, “Will I get this treatment every time I cook you a hearty meal?”

Bucky froze for a moment, her question pulling him from the comfortable haze of their embrace. His body tensed slightly, and his usual awkwardness crept back in as his brain finally caught up with what she was saying.

“... maybe,” he mumbled, his voice barely audible as his fingers fidgeted against her waist.

She blinked, her smile widening as she tried, and failed, not to laugh. “What was that?” she teased, twisting in his lap just enough to catch the faint pink creeping up his neck. “I didn’t hear you, Jamie.”

At the sound of the name, his eyes widened briefly, and a groan rumbled from his chest as he pressed his face into the crook of her neck, trying to hide his embarrassment. “Don’t...” he started, his voice muffled, but she cut him off with a laugh, her fingers brushing through his hair.

“You are so cute, you know that?”

He let out a dry chuckle, a sound tinged with disbelief as he leaned back slightly to meet her gaze. “I’ve been called a lot of things in my life,” he muttered with a wry tone, “but it’s a first time for cute.”

She leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his jaw. “Well, you are,” she said firmly, her eyes bright with affection. “And I dare anyone to say otherwise.”

His lips twitched, the faintest smile breaking through his usual reserve. “You’re something else,” he murmured, his arms tightening around her as he buried his face in her hair again.

He held her close for a moment longer, her warmth making it harder to let go. Finally, he cleared his throat, breaking the comfortable silence. “You... wanna stay the night?” he asked, his tone casual, but laced with a hint of hesitation.

Her lips curved into a soft smile as she leaned back just enough to meet his gaze. “I’d love to.”

“Good,” he said, the word gruff but filled with quiet satisfaction. Then, almost as an afterthought, he added, “And no one’s gonna be ringing the doorbell early in the morning here,” his tone carrying a touch of grumpiness.

She chuckled, shaking her head. “Well, that is definitely a bonus.”

Her laughter eased some of the tension in his chest, but it crept back just as quickly. For a moment he froze, a flicker of doubt crossed his features as his mind wandered to his unused bed. Do I even have sheets on that thing? The memory hit him almost instantly: yes, he did. A week ago, he’d tossed a spare set on there after doing laundry, figuring it was better than leaving the mattress bare. He sighed with relief, and his lips curved into a small grin.

Without warning, he wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her effortlessly, standing with her in his arms as if she weighed nothing, getting out of his pants with a little work of his legs.

“Bucky!” she squealed, laughing as she grabbed onto his shoulders for balance.

“You said yes,” he replied with a smirk, adjusting his hold as he headed toward the bathroom. “Now, come on. We both need a good scrubbing.”

Her laughter bubbled out as her hands slid up to cup his face. “You’re full of surprises tonight, Jamie” she teased with a playful tone.

Bucky’s brow quirked, a smirk tugging at his lips even as a faint flush crept up his cheeks. Tightening his hold on her, he leaned in, his voice dropping low and rough. “Oh, Jamie’s gonna teach you a lesson about poking bears,” he muttered, the teasing edge in his words sending a shiver down her spine.

Before she could fire back, his hand shifted, delivering a swift smack to her ass.

She gasped in surprise, jerking slightly, then bit her lip with a playful grin. “Is the big bad bear planning to plunder a honeypot tonight?” she asked, with a teasing undertone.

Bucky’s eyes went wide for a moment, and his steps faltered. His ears turned bright red as he stammered, trying to regain some semblance of composure. “What do you read in those novels?” he muttered, avoiding her gaze as his grip on her tightened slightly.

She grinned wickedly, undeterred. “It’s not like you haven’t already-”

Before she could finish, his hand came down with another sharp slap to her ass, making her squeal. “Enough outta you,” he growled, though the pink on his ears deepened.

“Oh, you can dish it out, but you can’t take it?” she teased, still grinning as she tightened her arms around his shoulders.

He let out a low groan, shaking his head as he adjusted his grip, carrying her effortlessly into the bathroom. “You’re a menace,” he muttered.

“And you like it,” she countered, leaning in to kiss his cheek, her lips brushing against his flushed skin.

His stride slowed as he turned his head to look at her, his tired blue eyes softer now. The teasing glint had faded, replaced by something deeper, more vulnerable. “Yeah,” he admitted quietly, his voice low and raw. “I do.”

As they crossed into the bathroom, he leaned his forehead against hers. “You make it easy to forget everything else,” he murmured, his voice barely audible but weighted with a truth he rarely allowed himself to share.

Her arms tightened around him, as she pressed a kiss in the corner of his mouth. She could feel the unspoken heaviness behind his words, the burdens he carried in silence. But she didn’t push. She knew he would tell her when he was ready, about his struggles, his past, and the shadows that still lingered in his mind. “I’m glad Bucky, you deserve that.”

His chest rose and fell with a deep breath, his arms tightening around her as he held her close. For a moment, the world outside the bathroom, outside this cabin, ceased to exist. He dipped his head slightly, brushing her lips in a tender, unhurried kiss, filled with gratitude and unspoken promises, a glimpse of the feelings he couldn’t yet bring himself to express.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky smut #bucky barnes fic #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes x curvy!reader #bucky x curvy!reader #Lumberjack!Bucky

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reignpage · 17 days ago

Text

Frat Boy!Gojo

Estrella Damm: don't drink and run

Contents: general dumbassery, cursing, slight sexual language, violence, lots of cursing, wrote this high so idk if this even makes sense, I'll reread it and let you know whether its bs lol

It’s the same scene again.

Three guys are circling you, laughing so irritatingly, and you’re just sitting there, doing your very best to shrug them off. The park is empty, it usually is at 3pm and especially these days with the nippy weather. Whenever Gojo strolls along the place to get to campus, he sees you resting on a bench, watching the tree branches sway above the pond.

You’re hard to miss.

A mass of black like an omen amongst the peace of nature, a blob of ink on a Monet, and he sees you everywhere. It’s funny, he thinks, how prior to the announcement of the engagement during the summer, he had never seen you on campus before.

He can’t fathom how it was possible that he missed you. You stand out so badly, all eyes are on you everywhere you go. What with your lace frocks, thick platform boots, and terrifying piercings.

You’re rolling your eyes at the lanky guy in front of you, thin lips curling over yellow teeth to snarl insipid insults that the other two chortle at. You just wanted a peaceful break in between your lectures, to take in the fresh autumn air, and watch people pass. But then again the universe has never really liked you. That became abundantly clear when your parents threw the news at you.

Was Nietzsche right?

So now you’re stuck watching disgusting idiots pick up a layer of your dress, mocking the fabric as if it’s something cheap. Little do they know.

“Where’s the funeral, hot stuff?”

You cringe. It’s the repulsive roll of his tongue, the way he flashes you a grin as if he’s such a catch and you should be happy he’s giving you any kind of attention. He probably thinks of himself as something akin to a wolf, wild and feral in the sexiest way, but from where you’re sitting, he more closely resembles a rabid hyena, slobbering all over itself.

His breath surely smells like it too.

Exasperated, you stand, snatching your dress from their grimy hands and sneer, “Don’t touch me, you ugly trolls.”

They don’t like that.

Just as you’re stepping away, someone grabs your hair with a harsh pull and you gasp, tears brimming in your eyes from the burn on your scalp. Whoever has your hair drags you back to him, his face too close to yours, and you can see every pore, every hair, and you resist the urge to gag at the feeling of his breath skimming your skin.

“Who the fuck do you think you are, you prissy little pri—“

Before he can finish his sentence, a hand is gripping his wrist, wrestling it back at an awkward angle, forcing his body to follow suit. He yelps and you stumble back on the bench, rubbing at your head.

Your heartbeat is galloping like crazy, air robbed from your lungs and you’re rearing back to see a white-haired man looming over all of you with a menacing grin.

Gojo looks terrifying.

A shiver claws up your spine, fear prickling your skin, and it feels as if the park had just become colder, dropping into the negatives. There’s something devoid of light in his eyes and it knocks you off balance. You’re dazed and his withering look full of disdain and contempt isn’t even targeted towards you.

"You guys again?"

The sheer revulsion, the abhorrence and loathing seeping through his words creates a flurry of shame through you all. You see it in the flush that reddens one’s guys face, and in the deep gulp the second one makes. It’s as if you’ve committed a fundamental wrong, like the whole affair was an abomination that he had happened to stumble upon.

He’s still twisting the guy’s arm back and ignoring the broken moans coming from him, choosing instead to direct his ice cold stare at the other two guys. They stand uneasily, glancing between each other as if deciding what to do. Seeing the resolve in the newcomer’s eyes, and the promise of pain, they grab at their friend and hastily walk away, not sparing a glance back.

Not even at you, like you were never there to begin with.

Huffing, you stand up, brushing imaginary dirt from the skirt of your dress and muttering a reluctant ‘thanks’ to Gojo. He’s studying you, sunglasses hanging low on his nose bridge so he can look at you over them.

What kind of idiot wears sunglasses when there's no sun?

He doesn’t say a word and you begin to feel uncertain.

The man before you is a mystery. You don’t know what he’s thinking. One minute he hates you and has declared you public enemy number one and the next he’s defending you from slimy perverts.

What is wrong with him?

Sure, you’re glad he didn’t just leave you to fend for yourself but you also wish he just left as soon as he came so you wouldn't have to deal with the awkward aftermath. Now, you’re left staring at him waiting for a stupid comment to come.

But it doesn’t.

“Got something to say?”

Your voice is snarky, but wavers just ever so slightly, the effects of the shock still coursing your veins. Gojo doesn’t flinch, he just shrugs and gives you one final look over, before he’s stalking off, long legs carrying him away like he was just strolling past to begin with.

One step for him is like three for you.

You begin walking too. And you scowl when he looks back at you over his shoulder, his hands tucked into his trouser pockets, swinging his crazy long legs like a giraffe.

Why does he walk like that?

“You following me?”

His tone is so disgustingly arrogant you feel a sudden urge to whack him over the head with your boots. But you don’t. Because your boots are limited edition and much too pretty to scuff up with his ugly face.

Not to mention your parents would kill you, and so would his, probably. And maybe even the entire campus.

Because according to the 'Bulletin' and this so called ‘List’ Gojo introduced you to, your fiancé is apparently the most beloved man in EdenU. Known for being friendly, approachable, charitable and charismatic, everyone either wants to be friends with Gojo, date Gojo or be Gojo.

Having read every single piece written by some girl with poor tastes in men, clearly, you realise that there must be something wrong with the entire student population-- and even the staff, if the blushing some lecturers do when he passes is anything to go by. There are direct quotes from people detailing first-hand experiences with Gojo’s ‘kindness’, with how he took the time out of his day to give directions, helped an old lady cross the street, claps at the end of lectures as an expression of gratitude.

Classic bourgeoisie propaganda.

How could anyone consider him as a) a good guy, and b) a hot one?

That question has been bothering you for about a week now. And it continues to do so as he looks at you like you're bothering him.

You speed walk, pumping your legs as hard as you can so you can glide by him. Who’s following who now?

It’s petty, you know that. But for whatever reason, the guy just brings out that bitter child inside of you, the one that wants to be mean, to spit back as good as you get, and to put him in his place.

Because clearly, the campus gossip has gotten to his head.

You hear him scoff before he starts speed-walking beside you. It looks effortless on him. What a prick.

His jacket brushes against you and you recoil, aghast that his bacteria touched you. With a new wave of determination, you begin jogging. It’s the most exercise you’ve gotten in years but it’s so worth it to see him jog as well.

“Give it up, I’m way faster than you.”

Wordlessly, you jog a little faster every time he does.

“Surprised to see you sober enough to walk in a park,” you voiced with a taunting tone.

Gojo retorts, just as quick, “And I’m surprised you’re out in broad daylight.”

Dodging fallen branches and puddles, you leap and clutch your dress, lifting the thick skirt so your legs can push and push. There is no way you'll lose to the likes of him. You just need to reach the park edge, where grass meets concrete, and once you pass it, you'll claim victory.

Huffing, you barb, “I’m sure you like the weather just fine, right, Periwinkle?”

He snorts. “That must make you Vidia.”

“She’s hot so I’ll take that.”

Throwing you a side glance, he rolls his eyes and maintained, with a singsong voice, “Silvermist is hotter.”

Eventually, you’re both running through the park, overtaking each other in a give and take, and you grin every time you get the best of him by cutting corners. You know this park like the back of your hand. The cool wind doesn’t even register on your skin, adrenaline urging you forward, winding along the path and dodging bystanders who look on with half confusion and half amusement.

This is probably the most excitement this park has seen in years.

Gojo doesn’t seem the least bit embarrassed.

"Move, you're in my way, Eric Draven," he jab, not even slightly breath.

You sneer.

"No, you're in my way, Johnny Bravo."

You screech when a sudden force knocks you into a hedge. Sharp twigs poke at you, you struggle to gain footing against the mud, and you flail your arms. Your hair is caught, so is the lace of your dress, like a moth trapped in a spiderweb.

The motherfucker shoved you.

He actually shoved you.

Gojo's staring, with his mouth gaping, at his hand and then at you and then back to his hand, like he didn't mean to push you, like his body just moved on its own. And you see him take a step, hands stretching out to reach for you.

The fucking dick is so childish you don’t feel any guilt when you grab him by his jacket and yank. He falls with laugh like he had been anticipating your revenge, a light and airy sort of chortle, so childlike and youthful it almost makes you smile. Almost, because then you're both going quiet when he lands on top of you.

That wasn't very well thought out.

You’re both angled slightly back on the thick hedge, so out of breath, the tiny branches prick at you both, leaves no doubt catching on your dress. Gojo’s holding his body weight, trying to find his footing on the wet grass but struggling to press his hands on anywhere concrete. Your legs are tangled, hips pinned to each other, and your hands are clinging to his jacket so you don’t fall deeper.

“Woah,” he breathes out, panting slightly, “you want me this badly?”

Your frown deepens until you’re sure your lips will stay stuck in that position. He really just can’t help himself. It’s like it’s in his DNA to say something stupidly arrogant just to avoid the silence. With a grunt, you try to push him off you, feet kicking. The fucker is heavy. And he doesn’t even look like he’s trying.

Gojo smells clean and you hate it. He smells like fresh laundry and sea salt and fluffy clouds. With every movement you make against each other, you become more aware of his broad shoulders and narrow hips. It’s like he’s got a sleeper build. His chest is firm beneath your palms and your face is buried in his neck, feeling his Adam’s apple bob.

“Move, fat ass,” you say through gritted teeth.

He makes a sound of indignation, “Fat ass? Me? How dare you! I don't calorie count for nothing.”

Always fucking joking, the little shit.

You shove at his chest. “Move, Gojo, I swear to God.”

"Yeah, yeah. I'm trying," he huffs and puffs, clambering away, and then he adds, like he just cannot fucking help himself, "Siouxsie Sioux."

With awkward shuffles and uncomfortable twists and turns, you both manage to free yourselves. There’s a blush on both of your faces, yours is certainly from anger, raging at the sudden turn of events and the sheer humiliation at falling, and ashamed that you had stooped to his level and raced him, like a toddler.

What the fuck is wrong with you?

You were raised better. For goodness sake, your mother would keel over and die if she saw you sprinting in a park, almost pushing an old lady out of the way just to beat your fiancé. God, you hate calling him that.

And you hate to admit even more that you might have actually enjoyed it.

Catharsis, that’s all it was.

Just a physical and mental need to let out the pressure building up from months of the most restrictive schedule, with the frequent dinners with stuffy guests, the constant handshaking and ass kissing, the indignity of it all.

Sometimes you wished you could be Murakami's Ice Man, maybe then you could rise above these petty emotions and let nothing bother you. But you aren’t free of your past. You’re defined by it.

Gojo isn’t meeting your eyes. He’s settled on adjusting his clothes and sunglasses, plucking leaves from his jacket, mouth opening and closing like he wants to say something. But you don’t let him. You dash past and ignore his existence, like you should have done from the beginning, and head to your lecture.

Your hands are clenching and unclenching, neck creaking as you try to relieve the tension wound so tightly in your body you’re afraid you might combust. Everything about this is wrong.

An engagement with Gojo is one thing, but to like the feel of his body on you, is a whole other thing. It’s stupid and it’s dangerous. Just like your mother said, emotions have no place in a marriage. You only need respect, and sometimes not even that. And as much as you hate her Machiavellian attitudes to life, you understand. You need a husband who'll mind his own business. Gojo is not that kind of man.

The guy refused to be friends, despite the many opportunities and chances you had granted him, so you won't do yourself the disservice of seeking a friendship.

You will not let the ‘hottest guy on campus’ sway you. His charming grins and arrogant comebacks will not warm your chest, and his muscular frame will definitely not haunt your dreams. There’s too much riding on this arrangement, on you. You cannot be distracted.

Man might be condemned to be free, but that doesn't apply to women. Not women like you, anyways. Thanks for nothing, Sartre.

Those are the thoughts you come away with from the encounter.

Gojo, on the other hand, is still standing where you left him, hand rubbing his chest whilst lost in thought. His head is tilted, sunglasses hanging low on his nose bridge again as he watches your retreating figure.

It’s kinda hard to see your features through the pile of black clothing and accessories, but having been close enough to rub noses, he realised, you’re pretty. The kind of pretty that would inspire art, not that he knows much about that.

He licks his lips and he swears he can taste the sweetness of your scent lingering, and when he looks down on his chest, he also swears he felt the unmistakable sensation of small metal balls scraping at him through his thin jacket.

A Cheshire grin pulls at the corners of his mouth. He stuffs his hands in his pockets once more and carries on walking at a leisurely pace, a slight pep in his steps gained from a victory over a game he didn’t even realise he was playing. He strolls to class with just one thought filling his mind.

My future wifey’s got nipple piercings.

#jjk drabble #jjk fluff #Gojo x reader #gojo fluff #gojo x reader #jjk x reader #jjk crack #jjk x you #gojo satoru #jjk angst #Gojo angst

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galedekarios · 7 months ago

Text

Dragon Age: Veilguard | The Ultimate Preview Summary

shinobi602 on twitter shared this amazing in-depth summary of all new information about the game that we have so far:

Coming to PS5, Xbox Series X and PC in Fall 2024

Consoles: Quality and Performance modes (60FPS)

Photo mode is confirmed

Fully offline single player, no EA account linking, no micro-transactions'

Play as a human, elf, dwarf, or Qunari

Choose your backstory, 6 factions to choose from when you create your character, all with "deep roots in Thedas": Antivan Crows, Grey Wardens, Shadow Dragons, Veil Jumpers, Lords of Fortune, The Mourne Watch

Each faction offers 3 distinct buffs each, like being able to hold an extra potion or do extra damage against certain enemies, and the odd reference in dialogue

You can customize your Inquisitor from Dragon Age: Inquisition in the character creator and "make a few key decisions that will impact how The Veilguard begins"

There are some "killer cameos" from past games that show up

Warrior Class: Use a sword and shield or two handed weapon to send enemies flying

Rogue Class: Utilizes quick movement and reflexes. You can wield a bow or dual swords with "powerful, precise strikes for lethal damage"

Mage Class: Use magic to incinerate, freeze, electrocute and crush. Some cast from afar, while others prefer close quarters combat

Each class also has 3 sub-specializations, such as duelist, saboteur, or veil ranger for the Rogue

Classes also have unique 'resource system's, for example, the Rogue has "momentum", which builds up as you land consecutive hits, and each will always have a ranged option

One Rogue momentum attack is a "hip fire" option we saw for the Rogue's bow, letting you pop off arrows from the waist

Another momentum attack for the Warrior lets you lob your shield at enemies

Quests are more handcrafted and mission based, curated with alternate paths, secrets to discover and optional content

There are also open ended explorable areas

Party size of 3 during combat, ala Mass Effect

Combat is focused on real-time action, dodge, parry, counter, "sophisticated animation canceling and branching", using risk-reward charge attacks designed to break enemy armor layers

Enemies have elemental weaknesses and resistances, and you can chain together elemental combos for extra damage

One example is a squadmate using a gravity well attack to suck enemies in, another slowing them down, and the player then unleashing a big AOE attack

You don't take direct control of companions like past Dragon Age games, but you can still pause and issues ability commands for you and your allies

There is a hub area for the player like Skyhold and the Normandy, called The Lighthouse

Companions can eventually start romancing other characters if you opt not to romance them

Each companion also has unique missions tied to them that play into the larger story

Nudity confirmed - romance scenes can get "a little spicy"

"Incredibly deep" character creator: 5 categories including: Lineage, Appearance, Class, Faction, Playstyle

Players can also choose different body sizes and shapes

Dozens of hairstyles to choose from, with "individual strands of hair rendered separately and reacting quite remarkably to in-game physics", pulled from EA Sports

Character creator lets you adjust the lighting so you can be sure your character looks good

The team wanted to balance the look of the game with both light and darkness. "When everything is dark, nothing really feels dark. For this one, we really wanted to build that contrast again."

Skill tree is "vast", you can also set up specific companions with certain kits, from tackling specific enemy types to being more of a supporting healer or flexible all-rounders

There are tarot cards you go through during the character creation process that will let you choose decisions from past games to implement into Veilguard

The team teases you may lose some characters during the story

#i found this super helpful because there was so much that you kind of lose track and get overwhelmed #dragon age 4 #dragon age #dragon age: the veilguard #da:tv #vg: dragon age 4 #series: dragon age

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moonstruckme · 11 days ago

Note

Ok, your little jily about hypothermia gave me the urge to see :

The reaction to the marauders to you falling through the ice. Like you were skating on the Black Lake with Sirius and James because they convinced you (against you initial worry) while Remus stands off to the side and watches (the most unsure and worried of them)

And I can see James and Sirius trying to race each other as you try to get a hand of ice skating. Then a crack and you fall through.

It’s like you know that scene with Amy in Little woman

I would totally get if you don’t like it since you’ve just written a similar one.

Your work is amazing ! Hope everything is ok for you ❤️

Thank you lovely <3

cw: ice skating trauma?

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1k words

It’s just like Sirius and James to goad you out onto the lake and then get bored of you when--as you tried to warn them—you can’t skate. James is fizzing with energy, promising to come back as soon as he makes one quick round of the cove, and of course when he challenges Sirius to a race your boyfriend is too competitive to decline.

They take off at light speed, blades schwicking across the dark ice. Remus, sitting bundled up on land, eyes you worriedly over the top of his book.

“Be careful,” he warns, not for the first time.

You are nervous, with no handholds and no boyfriends to help you, but you’re eager to reassure him. “Don’t worry.” You smile. “I’m not going to go racing after them.”

Remus returns your smile, and, mollified, returns to his book.

The ice on the Black Lake is far from pristine. There are dips and ridges, and soon you find yourself being channeled down curving paths away from the shore, hardly moving your skates and arms out to your sides for balance. The ice beneath your feet begins to look darker, less of the frosty sheen or slashes from other skates. It feels smoother, too.

You let yourself glide forward, raising your head to see if any of your boyfriends are looking to witness your success. The first crack is a light sound. Almost negligible, but it gets your attention. You scream as the ice falls out from beneath you.

The cold shocks you down to your bones, freezing the blood in your veins and pressing in on your lungs. Instinct propels you upwards.

“H—help!”

Your voice is a tight cry. The air doesn’t feel much better, colder even, but you try to stay above the surface, the blades on your feet slicing uselessly through the water below. Each time you try to grasp at a piece of ice and pull yourself onto it, it breaks away. Your breaths are gasping, panicked puffs that send white clouds into the air in front of you.

You can hear your boyfriends shouting.

“Pads, wait—wait—”

Sirius is crawling towards you on the ice, another shape moving quickly in your direction.

“Accio branch!”

James tosses the long stick to Sirius, who holds it out for you to grab onto. The bark bites into your palms, but you don’t let go as both boys use it to drag you out, ice jutting into your middle. As soon as you’re out to your hip you’re in Sirius’ embrace, his strong arms bringing you closer and helping you pull your legs from the water.

“You’re okay,” he says, firmly. As though daring anyone to prove him wrong. “You’re okay, baby, we’ve got you. We have you.”

James and Sirius keep you tucked between them, pushing you on dripping skates and wobbly legs to the edge of the lake. Remus looks like he tried to come out wearing his shoes. His face has drained of its wintery flush, brow set tense with worry.

Sirius helps him back to the shore, but not before Remus casts a warming charm on you. You give an odd shiver at the change.

“How’s that, angel?” James scrubs a hand up and down your arm. His voice is light, but its lightness is so forced and so different from his exuberant tone of a few minutes ago.

Remus pulls you into a hug as you start to cry. Tiny sobs mixed with shivers, your frame shaking in every way possible. Remus holds you securely to him as he lowers you both to the ground. He casts another warming charm for good measure.

“You’re lucky she didn’t get dragged under by the grindylows,” he says with your head tucked beneath his chin. He sounds angry, but it’s quickly succumbing to weariness. His arms wind around you tighter.

“We didn’t know she’d try and go into the middle!” Sirius argues as he kneels beside you, James at his side. Your boyfriend’s face is lined with guilt as he reaches for you, unsticking a damp piece of hair from your cheek.

“How was she supposed to know?”

“Sorry,” you offer wobbily. Each of them makes some sound of sympathy.

“No, sweetheart, it’s not your fault,” Remus soothes, covering your cheek with his warm hand. James rubs up your calf from your ankle as though he intends to warm you inch by inch. “It was only your first time, you couldn’t have known.”

“Yeah,” James agrees, “you’re fine, lovie. Nobody said for you to be sorry.”

You try on a smile. There’s snot frozen above your top lip. “So I can only be sorry when you say?”

“Yes,” says Sirius, very seriously.

He grins when you laugh. Remus cracks, too, and James looks relieved at no longer being scolded. Sirius smooths another piece of hair from your face, looking at you carefully.

“You okay, baby?”

“I’m okay,” you confirm. “The warming charms are helping a lot. Thanks, Rem.”

“That’s our Moony.” Sirius smiles at him, clearly eager to be back in your boyfriend’s good graces. “Always knows the perfect spell.”

“You know that one, too,” Remus grumbles as James starts to unlace your skates for you. “You could’ve done it the moment you got her out.”

“Ah, but we’re not all as quick on our feet as you, you swot.”

“Do you think you can walk back inside?” James asks you, slipping your shoes on. “One of us could go get some tea from the great hall while you warm up in the common room.”

“Fuck that,” says Sirius. “I know where Slughorn keeps his nice cocoa now. I’d say we’re entitled to some of that after our trials.”

“One of us is,” Remus corrects him drily.

“Right, then.” James takes your hands, standing you up slowly and fitting an arm around your waist for support. If the wet of your clothes chills him, he doesn’t complain. “We’ll pilfer enough of Slughorn’s cocoa for one person, and you’ll be good as new by dinner.”

“I already feel okay,” you try to reassure him.

“Shh, shh.” Remus takes you by the hand, squeezing gently. “Don’t correct them. Take your dues.”

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dantakeyoman · 2 years ago

Note

the, “his secret mate.” part in your fic where she took the bullet from neteyam had me tearing up huhuhu can we get the detail of their intimacy in relationship before that war? not always to be nsfw, but fluff with full of lovesick moments aarghhwbd

You and Neteyam Mate In Secret (Slight-NSFW / Comfort)

Prologue of "You Take The Bullet"

CW: nsfw implied ( and a little described ), right after his second birth ( he is now a tribe-observed man, and part of the People ), you and Neteyam are so in love, kinda magical ngl, reminder that Utral Aymokriyä is the place Jake and Neytiri mated, Neteyam is a consent king

"You skxawng! Where are you taking me?" you laughed, Neteyam's hand in yours as he ran through the forest with you, his trademark smile plastered on his face.

"You'll see," he teased, jumping off a large tree root and landing on the mossy ground.

You did your best to keep up, jumping as well, but you landed off balance, and were about to fall.

Neteyam noticed this and quickly turned around, yanking you toward him so you landed in his chest, instead of the mud.

You sighed, pulling your face out of his pecs, and resting on it instead.

You were tired.

This man had made the both of you sprint from Hometree, all the way to....wherever here was.

Technically, the both of you weren't even supposed to be out right now.

Neteyam had just had his Second Birth, and was supposed to be spending it with the People.

But through the commotion, he managed to sneak the both of you out.

"I must show you something. Come!" his words echoed in your head.

If Neteyam wanted to sneak out, then it must be something incredibly important.

"Irayo," you panted, breathless as you took your quick break.

A dark tint of blue rested on his cheeks as he nodded, his hands instinctively going to rest on your hips.

"Kea tìkin," he assured, averting his eyes from you so you could not see his blush.

Noticing the slight purple-ish glow that was shining from behind him, you lifted your head, peeking over his shoulder and gasping at the sight.

Utral Aymokriyä.

"Oh, Neteyam!" you gasped, quickly breaking from the hug and walking over to the large tree.

It stood tall, and proud, like the might of thousands lay hiding in it's branches.

Despite being Omaticaya, you had never been to this place. Though you had constantly told Neteyam how you dreamed of doing so one day.

Out-stretching your arms, you walked toward the base of the tree, smiling as you allowed all of it’s tendrils to rake over you, softly.

Neteyam did the same, but not without letting his gaze linger on you.

He couldn't help but smile as he watched you experience the tree in wonder.

You were adorable.

The tree bathed you in purple light, accentuating your every feature.

Your beauty was a sight to behold, that was what caught his attention first.

Your face was sculputure-like, ethereal.

Even if he were to stare at your face for hours, he wouldn’t be able to find a single thing wrong.

You laughed, dancing with a tendril of the tree as if it were another person.

And your voice. It came out so smooth and silky, like his favorite song on repeat.

Sitting down on the ground, you rested your hands on the ground, shutting your eyes and allowing yourself to feel the beautiful energy the tree was emitting.

It wasn’t just your physical features, either.

It was the way you carried yourself, the way you were strong, and tough, yet soft and kind for your people and Pandora.

You had this man weak in the knees every time you crossed paths, and it was getting to the point where it was affecting his day-to-day life.

All he thought of was you. Eat, sleep, breathe, repeat. You.

You were a distraction, but a beautiful one. One that deserved to be protected by every ounce of his being.

"My mother took me here when I was no older than a baby," Neteyam started, walking over and sitting down next to you.

"She said this was a place for prayers to be heard. ....And sometimes answered."

He took his queue, making tsaheylu with a soft sigh, before turning back to you, who was watching him in peaceful, silent awe.

It made him blush.

You did the same, a soft gasp leaving you lips as you shut your eyes, the songs and chants of past peoples dancing through your ears, as clear as day.

When you opened your eyes again, Neteyam chuckled at your child-like expression, your mouth slightly gaped in wonder.

“I can hear them,” you nodded, eyes trained on the tendril you were bonded with.

Neteyam disconnected the bond, and looked up at the mighty tree, your gaze burning holes into his face.

"My mother told me that now I am truly one of the People, I can make my bow out of the wood of Hometree.....and choose a woman," he cheesed, the thought of you being his mate bringing a smile to his face.

But you did not think the same.

Oh. He has already chosen.

You expression fell, but you did your best to keep your smile happy.

"Who are you going to choose? We have many good women for a future Olo'eyktan," you tearfully recommended, a quiet gasp leaving you lips as a atokirina floated down to you, resting in your palms.

Neteyam snapped his head over to you, confused.

What in the world are you talking about?

"Eyati is a good hunter."

"I do not want Eyati," he quickly shut down, looking at you intently.

Lovingly.

"Oh," you nodded. He didn't want a huntress, then.

"Ilyena is a good dancer."

Neteyam internally facepalmed.

You were not understanding.

He thought he was being quite obvious with his admiration.

His frequent touches, talking of finding a woman, taking you to a spot where people literally go to mate.

You were the only one he wants. The only one he could ever want.

What else would he have to do to get that through your head?

Once the atokirina flew away, you returned your hand to the earth, where Neteyam smoothly interlocked his with yours.

"I do not think you are understanding. I have already chosen," he smiled, looking down at your conjoined hands.

"Oh," you sighed, averting your eyes from him. "Who is the lucky woman?"

Oh, for Eywa's sake.

He groaned, cupping your face in his hand and turning you to face him, where he roughly landed his lips on yours, practically knocking the wind out of you.

At first, you were shocked. All this talk of women, and now he was kissing you?

But you decided to let a good thing be.

You kissed back, matching his roughness as you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer.

His hands immediately went to your waist, resting his hands on your hips as he pulled out from the kiss, staring at you like a lovesick fool.

And his heart seemed to pick up speed when he saw that you were looking at him the exact same way, a beautiful smile on your face.

It seems you liked it better when he showed, not told.

He would remember that for the future.

"(y/n), it is you. You are the woman I have chosen. I cannot think of anyone better to be at my side," he beamed, switching his gaze to the glowing tendrils around him, along with the many atrokirina that decided to make an arrival.

"Do you not see? Eywa has chosen us for each other."

You were on the verge of happy tears.

You had loved this man for so, so, so long, and so hard. And to hear that he has loved you with the same intensity, if not more, was something that warmed you from the inside out.

"I see you, my Neteyam," you smiled, cupping his face in your hands, resting your forehead on his.

"I see you, my love," he smiled back, giving your lips a peck.

It wasn't enough.

As he pulled back, you chased him, attaching your lips once more, throwing your arms over his shoulders.

He groaned, his hands softly caressing your hips as he kissed back with just as much fervor.

"My Neteyam," you sighed, trailing your kisses from his lips, down to his jawline.

He understood your quiet plea, shifting his position so he sat on his knees, before lifting you into his lap.

With this new angle, he peppered your chest with loving, heavy kisses, making you sigh once more.

You raked your hands through his hair, one sensually trailing down his braid and carefully holding up his kuru.

Using your other hand, you found yours, and were about you connect them when Neteyam stopped you.

"My love, are you sure? We do not have to do this if you are not ready," he asked, firmly.

Don't get him wrong. He wanted do to this more than anything in the world.

Having you in his arms, kissing him like this, was his greatest dream come true.

But just because it was his, did not mean it was yours.

And he wanted you to do this of your own volition.

"I am ready, Neteyam. I have always been ready," you assured, resting your forehead on his as you landed another heavy kiss on his lips.

With that, he nodded, and you made tsaheylu.

And the moan you two set loose surely reached the stars.

The feeling that enveloped the both of you was too much.

You could feel everything the other was feeling perfectly. Their heartbeat, their longing, their love.

Oh, the feeling of Neteyam's love was flooding your senses so much it was overwhelming.

Every piece of exposed skin he touched burned with fiery heat, but it felt so, so good.

You had no idea he loved you to this extent.

And as he lay you down on the mossy ground, him placing feather-light kisses across your exposed chest, the vision of children flashed through your head.

His vision.

They were your children, the kids running around the tent as the two of you lay in the corner, curled into each other.

Even in a moment so intimate, even as he entered you, his thoughts still traveled to something so wholesome and domestic.

It made you blush uncontrollably, and he sensed this.

"I....hnngh...see you, my (y/n). And there...fuck....is no one else I can see to be the mother of my children...shit...," he said huskily, peppering kisses on your shoulder with each thrust.

As tears welled in your eyes, you tightened your grip around his neck, another moan escaping you lips.

"I see you....ohhh!....my Neteyam," you sighed, bringing your hands to rest on his chest.

But for the first time, the both of you felt like that word didn't express enough.

Your love for each other expanded farther than just I see you, it was indescribable.

There was no Na'vi word for it.

But there was an English one.

One Jake had taught both of you, respectfully.

"I love you!" the two of you exclaimed in unison as you finished together, Neteyam making his final thrust.

And as you both lay on the ground, intertwined, coming down from your high, Neteyam said something that made you feel all the happiness in the world.

"I am with you now, (y/n)," he sighed, a tired smile on his face.

"We are mated for life."

#avatar #avatar 2 #avatar the way of water #na'vi x y/n #na'vi x reader #neteyam x y/n #neteyam x reader #neteyam smut #atwow x reader #atwow

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cafegraces · 2 years ago

Text

for @starlcved cont from here.

at his prompting, she looks up, surprise flitting over her features faster than she can contain it when she realizes what exactly he's holding in his hand. the note she'd left him all those years ago, the one that had tasted like regret even as she wrote it. she'd known she could never have left if she had to say good bye to his face, but she'd still hated having to do it that way. why he'd kept it... she could hardly understand. " chris, i... " it's far too late for an apology though, so she swallows it back, brown eyes still fixed on the worn bit of paper. " you kept that? " the question is so quiet that she wonders if she even asked it aloud for a moment. her eyes finally lift from the paper to meet his again, fingers reaching absently again for the silver pendant at her chest, like holding onto it could be a replacement for reaching out to him as it had been when there was distance between them. but there's no distance now; he's right there, and she could reach out to him if she wanted. all the more reason to hold onto the bullet instead.

#starlcved #chris & vera.#✰*∙ ⎯ rivera callaghan ⎨ ic interaction ⎬#okay but i'm sobbing now #✰*∙ ⎯ balancing on breaking branches ⎨ queue ⎬

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cafegraces · 2 months ago

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alarm makes her eyes widen, but her smile is still bright and innocent as she shakes her head, laughing softly, if with a hint of hysterics. " why would i lie? i certainly believe you'd be the wrong person here to cross! " color drains from her face slightly at the question, mouth going dry as she glances around them furtively. her smile is held in place by sheer force of will at this point, her reply strained as she looks back to the other. " what makes you think that? " her heart is racing now, hardly assuaged at the agreement, only mildly calming once they're inside the tent and at least somewhat removed from the wider public. so much for her hopes and dreams of attending a market. the reminder of dru hits hard as she rummages in her pouch for the coins they'd stashed away when she reaches the vendor's table, heart thumping painfully in her chest. a couple of sticky buns in hand, she turns to the other with a renewed apologetic smile. " sorry, again. i hope this makes up for the inconvenience. "

brows dip into a scowl at her shocked expression, eyes lifting to the sky as she exhales a huff through her nostrils. " if you're lying, trust me, busy markets will be the least of your problems. " arms fold over her chest, though her offer surprises her enough for a brow to lift, head tilting slightly to the side. " are you being serious...? " it seemed much too kind an offer, especially considering the hatred in most people's eyes when they looked at her, realised what she was. " you're not from around here, are you olive ? " her realisation is spoken quietly, realising now the attention she might have drawn to them both, the danger. " fine. come on then. i'm hungry anyway. "

#inkedwaters #pyria & olive.#✰*∙ ⎯ gwyneth saskia ⎨ ic interaction ⎬#✰*∙ ⎯ balancing on breaking branches ⎨ queue ⎬

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gracexthoughts · 6 months ago

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Seven

jacaerys velaryon x targaryen!aunt!oc

content/warnings; canon typical incest, slight talk of death/violence, Alicent being rude, angst and fluff

summary; Jacaerys and Aelyria were childhood bestfriends, inseparable and mischievous, until the princess Rhaenyra moved her family to Dragonstone, leaving her youngest half sister without her closest companion. Nearly a decade later, King Viserys has decided the feud within his family too far gone and declared the betrothal of Prince Jacaerys to his youngest daughter to help heal the rift.

a/n; inspired by seven by taylor swift and jace’s talk with baela about fathers. I know this pairing has been done a lot but I really love it and hope I did it justice. about 4k words.

Please picture me In the trees I hit my peak at seven feet In the swing Over the creek I was too scared to jump in But I, I was high in the sky With Pennsylvania under me Are there still beautiful things?

“Aely!” The young prince Jacaerys called after the princess as she sprinted off into the woods. “Slow down!” Even though he was taller, she was quick and had run off before he could even get ready. Her laugh rings out over the grass as she darts into the woods, Jacaerys on her heels.

The entirety of the royal family, accompanied by many lords and ladies, had traveled to the Kingswood for a royal hunt in celebration of the Prince Jacaerys' 10th name day. As he is the future heir to the Iron Throne, the crown had spared no expense for the celebration. Jacaerys himself, however, was not at present interested in whatever creature was being tracked down in his name, his sights set on adventure with the young Princess Aelyria, the King and Queen’s youngest child. Having been born mere months apart, they had grown to be quite close; they trained with their dragons together in the Dragonpit, had discovered and begun exploring the passageways in the Red Keep, and Aelyria had taken to sneaking into the princes’ training sessions in her own desire to learn to fight along with her favorite nephew. And when she would inevitably get dragged away by her mother or the septa, Jace would sneak into her chambers later that evening with two training blades in hand to teach her what he had learned that day.

As Jacaerys breaks through the treeline, he runs straight into Aelyria, who had stopped suddenly in the woods, sending the pair tumbling forward in a heap of limbs. “Jace!” the princess cried, a laugh in her voice as they disentangled themselves and their cloaks.

“You’re the one who stopped!” Jace laughs in his defense. “Why did you? I thought we were racing to the creek,” he wonders, standing and extending his hand down to help up the princess, a princely boy even at his young age.

“I thought I saw something but we must have scared it off now,” she says, taking his hand and standing, not bothering to brush the dirt off her skirts. The princess’ lilac eyes flicker with mischief as she looks around the woods surrounding them, her eyes settling on a nearby tree with low branches fit for climbing. “C’mon!”

Before Jacaerys can respond, the princess is pulling herself up to the lowest branch, swinging her legs over with ease, not a care in the world for the preservation of her skirts. She was always quite boyish, never heading her mother’s lessons of ladylike manners and behaviors. The young prince has never minded though, enjoying her wildness and sense of adventure. A day with her was never boring.

Soon the young royals were high in the treeline, standing on either side of the large trunk balanced on branches as they took in the view around them. Their breaths were labored from the climb, their cheeks flushed and smiles wide. The ruckus of the hunt was left far behind and below them, not able to reach them in the trees. “I wish we could stay here forever,” the princess sighs, sitting down on her branch, her legs swinging.

“Why?” the prince asks, watching her curiously.

“It’s quiet,” she says softly, looking up at the still standing prince. “And beautiful and here my mother can’t yell at me to be more ladylike.” She rolls her eyes and mimics her mother’s intonation. Jacaerys laughs, climbing over and sitting next to the princess on her branch.

“When we are older, I’ll be King and I’ll command your mother to leave you be.”

“Will you let me be a knight?” the princess asks, excitement in her voice.

“If you’d like!” Jacaerys laughs. “You could be my sworn protector.”

“I’d be a brilliant knight.” the princess declares, straightening her back and puffing out her chest and the pair fall into giggles.

“Well I promise then, once I’m King I’ll make sure your mother can never tell you to be ladylike again!” Jacaerys declares, holding out his pinky to the girl, who smiles and links hers with his, thankful for him.

Sweet tea in the summer Cross your heart, won't tell no other And though I can't recall your face I still got love for you

Jacaerys makes his way through the dark halls of Dragonstone, his footsteps echoing through the hall as he makes his way to the Great Hall. Nearing his destination, the voices of his mother and stepfather leak out through the ajar door. He pauses for a moment, not wishing to walk in on an intimate moment.

“He says he wishes for it in the hope it will heal the rift between our families,” his mother says, her voice smooth and calm.

“So he may fall prey to their vicious children? How do we know this isn’t a Hightower scheme?” Daemon challenges with clear disdain in his voice.

“I cannot believe this idea came from Alicent nor Otto,” the princess responds.

“Does not mean she won’t take advantage of it. She may be instructing Aelyn on how to best manipulate him at this moment.”

“Her name is Aelyria, Daemon,” Rhaenyra corrects, peaking Jacareys’ interest further. His mother’s youngest half-sister was not a common topic of conversation in their home, even if she far preferred her half-sisters to her half- brothers. “They were friends when they were children; Jace doted on her even. It may prove to be a good match.”

Daemon opens his mouth to respond but stops when he sees Jacaerys entering the room with a questioning look on his face.

“Jace,” his mother says happily, smiling at him and motioning for him to come in. He obliges, his long stride carrying him through the room quickly to stand at the Painted Table with his mother and stepfather. “Apt timing. We just received word from your grandsire the King, he has suggested a match for you.”

“A match? Who?” the young prince inquires, his gaze darting between Rhaenyra and Daemon, acting as if he had not been eavesdropping.

“The Princess Aelyria. You are the same age, both unwed, and the King remembers how close you were as children,” his mother states, setting down the scroll of parchment in her hand on the table. “He thinks you would make a fine pair, and she a good Queen to have by your side.” Daemon scoffs slightly to her left, walking away to lean against the mantle above the hearth. Jacaerys stays silent for a moment. Marriage was something he knew would be coming but in truth, he hadn’t given it much thought. The princess he remembered was a small, spirited little girl with a quick wit and even quicker temper. She often snuck out of her own lessons to join the princes in their trainings, and trained in the Dragonpit alongside them for many years. He’d certainly held a boyhood crush on her then but Jacaeyrs struggles to imagine who she has grown into.

“What say you, Mother?” he asks finally, looking up from the Painted Table to meet her eyes.

“I quite agree with my father,” she says after a moment. “It would do well to have our line of succession shored up, and the princess would make a fine match. While she has a reputation for being a little wild, I also hear that she has a good heart and a kind reputation among the smallfolk that would strengthen your reign when the time comes,” She says, moving closer to her son, “But it is your opinion that matters most in this.”

“And of the Hightowers?” Daemon interjects from his place at the hearth, his eyes fixed on the flames.

“Even they are not above the will of the King,” Rhaenyra responds, “We would have to go to King’s Landing for the wedding, but we needn’t stay.” Jacaerys holds his mother’s gaze for a long moment, mulling the idea of marriage, to someone he hardly knows any longer, over in his mind. “So?”

“Yes, I accept,” he says with a nod, attempting to look more sure of himself than he feels. His mother smiles, raising his confidence slightly, and nods.

“Then I shall write to my father,” she says, and kisses Jacaerys’ forehead before retrieving the scroll from the table and retreating from the room. Jacaerys lingers for a moment, watching Daemon whose eyes are trained on his wife’s retreating figure.

“The Hightowers are scheming and dangerous. You should watch this girl carefully,” he says to the young prince finally.

“She’s not a Hightower, she’s a Targaryen,” Jacaerys responds quickly, already feeling protective over his betrothed.

“Same thing for that lot,” Daemon responds darkly before grabbing his sword from the table and following after the princess.

Your braids like a pattern Love you to the moon and to Saturn Passed down like folk songs The love lasts so long

The Prince grunts slightly as his feet hit the solid ground after lowering himself from Vermax’s back, stiff from the long ride. He and his mother have come to King’s Landing for the first time in many years so he and the princess can be reacquainted before their wedding in a moon. The rest of their family will come for the wedding but Rhaenyra wanted to avoid any repeat of the last time they were all together.

Jacaerys would never reveal this secret but he was quite nervous. He could barely remember the face of the princess, let alone what she could look like or what her personality was now. Was she still as wild and rebellious and boyish as she was or has she relented to her mother’s will and become a lady? Jacaerys watches quietly as his mother speaks with the guards, requesting a carriage be brought to take them back to the castle, and as the Dragonkeepers escort Vermax and Syrax into the Dragonpit. Jacaerys wonders if Vermax remembers his first home still, the place they first bonded. He is quickly torn from his thoughts as a shadow passes over them and looking up, he sees a beautiful white and golden dragon making its descent to the ground.

The dragon and her rider’s backs are facing the prince once they land but the woman in front of him was undoubtedly the princess, for he’d recognize her dragon, Starfyre, anywhere. He watches as the princess pats her dragon on the neck, before leaping from the saddle and landing easily on the ground. She faces away from him still, speaking to the Dragonkeeper in High Valyrian but the prince finds himself taking in every detail he can. Her silver gold hair is intricately braided to hang down to the small of her back, her legs are long and wrapped in trousers made for riding, and a black riding coat accentuates her curves and hangs to her knees, her voice is melodic and sure in her High Valyrian. She nods to the Dragonkeeper and turns, pulling her riding gloves off with her teeth before her lilac eyes find Jacaerys and Rhaenyra.

“Jace?” she calls, stepping away from her dragon and closer to him. She has the wide doe eyes of her mother still but everything else of her is Targaryen through and through, sharp features and high cheekbones, and her smile more beautiful than Jacaerys remembers it.

“Aely,” he responds with a smile, resting his hands on the hilt of his sword, unsure of where else to put them.

“I didn’t think you were arriving until later this evening,” the princess says, her eyes scanning the prince. Like Jacaerys, she has spent much time wondering how the boy she knew has changed into the man she’s been betrothed to and she is stunned at what she finds. His face is angular and handsome framed by long dark curls. He is tall and lean while still appearing strong, his warm brown eyes the exact same as she recalls.

“We got an earlier start than expected,” Rhaenyra steps forward, “How are you, sister?”

“I am well, and you?” Aelyria nods. Rhaenyra has always been her favorite sibling, even if they weren’t close. She looked up to the women as a child, and her mother’s distaste towards the princess made Aelyria feel a certain kinship with her half sister.

“We are well. Are you headed back to the Keep?”

“I am, would you ride back with me?” she offers, motioning to the carriage pulling up to the gates of the Dragonpit.

“That is kind, thank you,” Rhaenyra says with a smile, and a wink for her son, and moves toward the carriage but Aelyria hangs back, her eyes trailing over her betrothed again.

“You are much changed since I last saw you,” the prince says, stepping forward.

“I can say the same for you, nephew,” she says, failing to keep her mischievous smile from her face. Jace had always hated when she called him that as children, but he can’t find the annoyance in him at the moment, too entranced by the sound of her voice. Instead he laughs and shakes his head, holding his arm out to escort the princess to the carriage so they can make their way back to the Red Keep.

And I've been meaning to tell you I think your house is haunted Your dad is always mad and that must be why And I think you should come live with Me and we can be pirates Then you won't have to cry Or hide in the closet And just like a folk song Our love will be passed on

Jacareys wanders through the halls of the Red Keep, familiarity and strangeness battling in his mind. The castle has changed much in the near decade of his absence and yet, he could see it as it was in his youth: the halls the same he and his brother ran through, the Dragonpit the same as it was the first day he rode Vermax, the secret passages the same as when he and Aelyria discovered them as children. Jacareys found himself mindlessly making his way to the training yard, allured by the sound of steel against steel.

Jacareys steps into the training yard to find Princess Aelyria and Prince Aemond sparing in the center. He remembers well how she would watch the princes in training, even picking up a sword and practicing herself before being run off by Ser Cristen or her mother or the septa. She’s grown much in the years since he last saw her, her skills far outpacing that of which he had imagined. Jacareys watches as she circles Aemond, striking, blocking and dodging with surprising speed and accuracy. Jacareys finds his gaze drawn to her legs, unhidden by skirts as she stands in trousers, the riding coat she favors tossed over a training dummy.

Princess Aelyria’s laughter echoes off the walls of the yard as she stands up from her dodge of her brother’s blunted sword, having ducked and rolled under the blade to recover behind him. Aemond turns around in frustration, swinging again with his blade as Aelyria reaches up to block his attack before stepping under his reach and elbowing the prince in the side. With her small stature and lesser strength, the princess had learned that speed and agility were her friends in bouts and quickly excelled in her capabilities. Aemond grunts from the blow to his side, his steps staggering slightly as his sister circles him, waiting for her to recover.

“Ready to yield, brother?” she taunts, her lips turned up in a smirk.

“You’re the one running,” he bemoans, righting himself and raising his sword, readying to strike again but lowers his blade, his eyes fixed over Aelyria’s shoulder with a sly smile. “Come to train, nephew?” The princess turns, her eyes finding Jacaerys pushing off the wall, his brown eyes trained on the prince.

“To speak with my betrothed,” he answers, his gaze shifting to Aelyria and softening for her. Aemond eyes narrow, upset at the match as much as his mother, leveling a menacing glare at his nephew before taking his leave without another word. “He doesn’t like me,” Jacaerys states, as the door to the yard slams, and turns back to Aelyria who chuckles.

“Aemond likes no one,” she responds, leaning on the training blade, "He merely tolerates me as he has no one else to spar with save Cole."

“It may be,” the prince says, suddenly feeling uneasy under her gaze. “When did the Queen surrender to your training?”

“Soon after your leave, if I remember correctly. They grew weary of disciplining me with no effect,” the princess smirks.

“As you always hoped,” they chuckle, a hint of their old familiarity returning. The prince glances at the table of training weapons. “Care for another round?”

“If you can keep up,” she smirks, tossing him the blade Aemond had left in his wake. Aelyria makes the first move, but Jacaerys quickly counters. He holds back at first, unsure of fighting with a woman, but he quickly learns that Aelyria is quite capable and a formidable opponent and he begins to let loose. They are well matched, meeting blow for blow until both of them are sweaty and panting.

“You fight well,” the prince compliments, his chest rising and falling quickly and a curl sticking to his damp forehead.

“Thank you, you do as well. Much better than when you would teach me in my chambers,” Aelyria laughs, wiping at her hairline where baby hairs stick to her skin.

“You make it sound quite scandalous,” Jacaerys jests, setting aside the training blades.

“It was to us then,” the princess points out, remembering how careful they were to not get caught.

“True enough,” he laughs, his eyes lost in hers, the soft lilac of her irises beautiful and intriguing to him as ever. “You know, I’ve missed you, in truth. I never had as much fun alone as with you here,” the prince says softly, stepping forward and brushing a stray hair from the princess’ brow. The air becomes thick between them, their eyes locked together.

“I missed you too, my brothers are poor company compared to you-”

“Aelyria!” The voice of the Queen rings out over the courtyard, startling the Jacaerys and Aelryia who back away from each other quickly. The queen stalks over to her daughter, grabbing her arm roughly. Aelyria’s face sours and she yanks her arm from her mother’s grip, leveling her with a hard stare. “You have a dress fitting you are currently missing and you look a mess. I thought you could put away this foolishness for one hour. You would think this is my wedding for as much as you seem to care about it!”

“Mother, I-”

“I apologize, your Grace. The princess had finished near an hour ago but I stepped in. I don’t have many sparring partners save my brothers on Dragonstone. The fault is mine,” Jacaerys steps in, unable to ignore the anger bubbling in his stomach at the queen’s treatment of her daughter.

“Price Jacaerys, it is good to see you again. I am afraid I cannot stay, but I hope you are settling back in well,” Alicent says to the prince, her face barely masking her distaste of him, before she turns back to her daughter. “Come, Aelyria.” Jacaerys watches as the princess takes a deep breath and, flashing him an apologetic smile, turns to follow her mother back into the castle.

Please picture me In the weeds Before I learned civility I used to scream ferociously Any time I wanted

“Come in,” Aelyria calls softly at the knock on her door. Jacaerys steps into her chambers at her permission and smiles as he closes the door. “Hi.”

“Hi,” the prince says softly, moving to sit next to Aelyria at the table in the center of her room. “I wanted to apologize for earlier. I did not mean to keep you and I regret that I did.”

“I do not. I could have been bathed and early and perfectly excited and she still would have found something wrong. The fault is not yours,” the princess assures, placing a hand over his and squeezing gently. Before she can pull her hand back, Jacaerys clasps his hand to hers, relishing the feeling.

“I’m sure it is hard for girls and their mothers as it is with boys and fathers,” the prince says sympathetically.

“Is it hard, with you and your stepfather?” The princess asks, her eyes on their hands.

“Sometimes, it was strange at first but he’s been my father almost as long as my actual father was,” Jacaerys shrugs.

“You know, I don’t think I ever got to tell you how sorry I was for you when your father passed,” Aelyria says softly.

“Oh,” the prince says, surprised by her and shakes his head. “Seems so long ago now but I was glad he passed on Driftmark, I know he missed it while away.”

“That’s not who I meant,” the princess says, and Jacaerys, on instinct stiffens at the realization she means Ser Hardin Strong, and not Leanor Velaryon from whom Jace received his name. “I don’t hold it against you like my mother and brothers do. Seems a silly thing for them to care so much about,” Aelryia adds quickly, sensing his unease.

“Really?” Jacaerys eyes find hers, shock shining in the dark brown of them.

“You wouldn’t be you if you had another father and I’ve always quite liked you as you are,” the princess smiles, her thumb grazing against the back of Jacaerys’ hand as a slight blush colors his cheeks. “What was he like?” She asks after a moment.

“He was gentle, and fierce… They called him Breakbones,” Jacaerys smiles, Aelyria along with him, but there’s a sadness in his eyes still. “He loved us, I think.”

“Of course he did. Otherwise he would not have defended you so fiercely against Cole.”

“You remember that?”

“I do,” Aelyria nods, leaning back in her chair. “It was the first time I saw a true fight. I remember thinking that I had to learn how to fight like that. It felt so necessary, like it was all I wanted… Your father gave me that.” Jacaerys blinks at her for a moment, a strange smile on his lips. “What?” He shakes his head slightly.

“No one ever calls him my father, not even my mother,” he says after a moment, looking down to where their hands are intertwined on the table. “It’s nice,” he adds after a breath.

“He’d be proud of you, of who you’ve become,” Aelyria says suddenly, sitting forward and using her free hand to lift Jacaerys’ chin.

“He’d be happy we’re betrothed,” Jacaerys smiles, leaning closer to the princess.

“Really?”

“Yes,” he nods, “I remember one time, he happened to be watching training and you had just gotten dragged away by the Queen but you had put up a good fight before you left and he said, ‘There’s a warrior if I’ve ever seen one.’ I remember looking up at him and he just winked at me, almost like he knew.”

“I wish I had known him better,” Aelyria says softly after a moment and Jacaerys nods, squeezing her hand.

“Me too…” Jacaerys nods. For a moment, the pair sit in a comfortable silence, gazing at each other, taking in the fact that they’re together again after all this time. “Do you remember that hunt we had on my tenth nameday? When we ran off into the woods, hiding in the trees?” Aelyria laughs, the memory washing over her at his question and nods.

“Yes, I do. Oh, what fun we had that day. We only got found because we could not stop laughing as they rode underneath us. Mother was so angry I ruined that dress,” they laugh at the memory together. Even though it had ended in a scolding for each of them, neither ever regretted that day.

“I remember what I promised that day, and I swear I’ll keep it. Now that we’re betrothed, you are mine, and I am yours and once we’re wed, I’ll make sure you never have to heed your mother unless you wish to,” Jacaerys leans forward, intensity in his gaze as he makes this promise to Aelyria. “I quite like you as you are, and I won’t have her try to change you.”

Aelyria smiles gratefully, wondering how she got so lucky as to be marrying this man; the boy she grew up with and loved as a girl, and the man sitting in front of her, with all his fierceness and devotion. Aelyria, too moved to speak, leans forward instead, pressing their lips together softly in thanks. Jacaerys doesn’t miss a beat, his hand reaching up to cup her cheek as he kisses her back. Her hand winds in his hair and their hands hold to each other tighter on the table between them. As their lips part, they don’t move away, instead connecting their brows together. They smile at each other, giddy in their love, hearts beating rapidly as one, as they always have and always will. I, I Sweet tea in the summer Cross my heart, won't tell no other And though I can't recall your face I still got love for you Pack your dolls and a sweater We'll move to India forever Passed down like folk songs Our love lasts so long

#jacaerys targaryen x reader #jacaerys velaryon x reader #prince jacaerys #jacaerys valaryon #jacaerys strong #jace velaryon #jacerys velaryon #jacaerys velaryon #jace targaryen #Jacaerys velaryon fluff #Jacaerys velaryon angst #house of the dragon fanfic #hotd fanfic #jacaerys x reader #hotd jacaerys #jacaerys targaryen #jacae

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deadpresidents · 1 month ago

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"Mr. Trump's election demonstrates how American tolerance for the unacceptable is nearly infinite. There are hundreds of absolutely mind-boggling things I could point to from the past decade...But three election in a row, Mr. Trump has been a viable Presidential candidate and our democracy has few guardrails to protect the country from the clear and present danger he and his political appointees will continue to confer upon us. Clearly, Mr. Trump is successful because of his faults, not despite them, because we do not live in a just world...And now Republicans will control the executive branch, the Senate and the House of Representatives. There will be few checks and balances...

...Mr. Trump's voters are granted a level of care and coddling that defies credulity and that is afforded to no other voting bloc. Many of them believe the most ludicrous things: babies being aborted after birth and children going to school as one gender and returning home surgically altered as another gender even though these things simply do not happen. Time and again, we hear the wild lies these voters believe and we act as if they are sharing the same reality as ours, as if they are making informed decisions about legitimate issues. We act as if they get to dictate the terms of political engagement on a foundation of fevered mendacity.

We must refuse to participate in a mass delusion. We must refuse to accept that the ignorance on display is a congenital condition rather than a choice. All of us should refuse to pretend that any of this is normal and that these voters are just woefully misunderstood and that if only the Democrats addressed their economic anxiety, they might vote differently. While they are numerous, that does not make them right.

These are adults, so let us treat them like adults. Let us acknowledge that they want to believe nonsense and conjecture. They want to believe anything that affirms their worldview. They want to celebrate a leader who allows them to nurture their basest beliefs about others. The biggest challenge of our lifetime will be figuring out how to combat the American willingness to embrace flagrant misinformation and bigotry.

As Mr. Trump assembles his cabinet of loyalists and outlines the alarming policies he means to enact, it's hard not to imagine the worst, not out of paranoia but as a means of preparation. The incoming President has clearly articulated that he may dismantle the Department of Education and appears to be giving the wealthiest man in the world unfettered access to the Oval Office. He plans to begin mass deportations immediately and has announced his pick of a Fox News host as the defense secretary -- the list goes on, each promise more appalling than the last.

We would like to believe that many of the ideas on Mr. Trump's demented wish list won't actually come to fruition and that our democracy can once more withstand the new President and the people with whom he surrounds himself. But that is just desperate, wishful thinking. As of yet, there is nothing that will break the iron grip Mr. Trump has on his base, and Vice President-elect JD Vance is young enough to carry the mantle going forward for political cycles to come.

Absolutely anything is possible, and we must acknowledge this, not out of surrender, but as a means of readying ourselves for the impossible fights ahead."

-- Roxane Gay, "Enough", The New York Times, November 17, 2024.

This is one of the best, most spot-on pieces about where we are and what we must prepare ourselves for in the aftermath of Donald Trump's re-election to the Presidency. These gift links will allow you to bypass the NYT paywall and read the entire article, and I urge you to share these links with as many people as you'd like.

#Presidential Election #Politics #Presidency #United States #America #Presidential Transition #Donald Trump #President Trump #President-elect Trump #Trump Administration #Trump Transition #MAGA Movement #Cult of Personality #Roxane Gay #New York Times #New York Times Opinion #ELECTIONS HAVE CONSEQUENCES #Consequences #This is your life

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mushgloomz · 8 days ago

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A New Perspective

Joel Miller x F!Reader OneShot

• an: y’all i have been GAGGED over some of the sex pollen fics I’ve read recently and i truly couldn’t help myself. as usual, this is not proofread whatsoever and was merely written in a horny-for-Joel-Miller induced haze, so apologies for any errors you may come across <3

• warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI - SMUT/NSFW CONTENT. SEX POLLEN (DUBCON). unprotected p in v (not worth it irl!! don’t do it!!), reader is afab, able-bodied and has hair. language, descriptions of genitalia, pet names (baby, baby girl, sugar etc.), joel has a fat cawk but what’s new, creampie

• wc: approx 5.2k

Late spring had washed over Wyoming, introducing a plethora of flora and fauna to what was a barren waste of ice all but a few months earlier. Luscious greenery stretched as far as the eye could see; the snow-capped mountain range barricaded by acres of plentiful forestry. It was beautiful. A soft breeze swilled around your head as you took in the view from your vantage point.

“Would’ve asked for a different partner if I knew you’d stand around gawpin’ all day.”

Reality trickled back into focus as the grumble from your foraging partner reached your ears. Joel Miller, Jackson’s own resident asshole, had been paired with you four days prior to complete a week-long expedition. You’d been sent off to retrieve anything of value from abandoned settlements, and to stock up on ingredients for herbal remedies. How you’d fallen under the misfortune of being partnered with the most miserable bastard in the county was beyond you.

Joel hadn’t even turned to voice his complaint, continuing to walk toward the tree line. You mentally weighed up whether being left to raiders could really be that bad, before scampering off to rejoin him with a huff. “Didn’t exactly choose to be here myself, dickwad”, you hollered, falling on deaf ears as you closed the distance between yourself and the man ahead of you.

You reached the tree line, standing to inspect the foliage before you.

“If you’ve got anything stupid to say, get it out your system now. I ain’t dying on your count ‘cause you can’t keep your mouth shut.”

He couldn’t be more condescending if he tried. He stood at arm’s length beside you, rich brown eyes staring you down, arms crossed across his chest in a display of patronising authority. A singular eyebrow raised in your direction, prompting you to break the silence. “Oh fuck off already”, you mumbled as you barged past him and onto the dirt path, intentionally knocking into him with your shoulder as you went.

The woods were thick. Shrubbery of all varieties grew between the trunks and twisted roots of staggeringly tall trees as you edged your way further inwards. Insects provided a constant thrumming sound, broken only by the twittering of small birds, high above the underbelly on which you walked. Once in a while, a twig would snap underfoot, followed by a hushed shut up from Joel trailing behind you.

You peered through branches, your mental checklist of ingredients being ticked off gradually as you foraged through the underbrush, scoping out your remaining items. The ground was unforgiving, swelling and receding with reckless abandon, threatening to throw you off balance at any given moment. You continued your trudge, until you came across a small and unusual clearing.

You kept your volume low as you enquired about the strange plant ahead of you. “What… what the fuck is that one?”, your curiosity piqued by the shrub in the middle of the clearing, seemingly warding off any and all other vegetation. You stepped forward, wanting to get a closer look at the vibrant blooms spreading across the tangled mass of deep green leaves and twisted branches.

“Christ, don’t you have any survival skills? Where’d you learn to stick your nose into plants that you don’t recognise? G’damn FEDRA didn’t teach you shit, clearly.”

The hiss of Joel’s words were delivered straight into your ear as you were yanked backwards by a firm hand on your shoulder. Not to give him any credit, but you hadn’t realised quite how close you had gotten to the bright red petals in front of you. You jerked your shoulder from his grasp and shot him a warning glare.

“Get movin’, next settlement should be ‘bout a half mile from here.”

It was Joel’s turn to barge past you, leading the way around the small glade and past the shrub. You couldn’t tear your eyes from the blossoms adorning it’s branches, the crimson colouring almost magnetising to your eyes. You hadn’t been paying attention to your footing as you passed, and before you could rebalance, you stumbled over an overgrown root and found yourself tumbling into the sprawling clump of petals and greenery.

Despite the prickle of broken branches, toppling over had been less of a pain in the ass than a majority of the expedition. The smell, for one, was divine. It was powdery and light, yet simultaneously heady and almost nauseatingly sweet. You couldn’t describe it even if you tried. And tried you did, as you sat and breathed deeply through your nose, not even attempting to right yourself. A calloused hand breached the branches directly in front of your face.

“Get. Up. Now.”

But even Joel’s sour tone couldn’t distract from the aroma. You clasped both hands around the one ahead of you, and with a grunt coming from the other side of the branches, you were hauled up and out of the bush onto your feet. The smell clung to your clothes as you brushed twigs and squashed petals from your body. Joel did the same, having leant a fair distance into the centre of the plant to retrieve you.

As soon as you were stable again, Joel took off without another word. You didn’t care particularly. You trailed a few feet behind, cautiously watching your steps to avoid another fiasco. You walked in silence, arms swinging gently by your side, ambling along. You sighed. As you scanned the environment, you realised that everything had become slightly hazy, the borders of your vision tinged with a fuzziness that hadn’t been there before.

“Did I hit my head on the way down?”, you questioned out loud. It was the only explanation you could think of; the only answer as to why everything in your field of vision had taken on an almost shimmering iridescence. Sunlight breaching the canopy of trees beamed down and quite literally sparkled. Warm hues were more pronounced - an ambience that you hadn’t noticed before surrounding you as you continued to sidle along the path. Joel didn’t answer, remaining steadfast in his pace.

Ten minutes passed, and you noticed that your skin felt hot and clammy underneath your clothing. Trailing a hand toward your neck, you unclasped the buttons of the denim jacket that suddenly felt all too much for this weather. Shit, maybe you did hit your head. But this didn’t feel like a typical concussion; everything looked far too pleasant, the melding shades of green and brown making you hum unexpectedly, as if you were purring. Everything felt… good.

“Sh-should be five minutes from here now.”

The sound reached your ears, a rumble from just ahead of you. It was warm, much like yourself, like everything else; viscous like honey and borderline blissful to hear. Heavy eyelids lifted from the path in front of your feet as you glanced toward the source. Joel. Unlike everything in your periphery, Joel was crystal clear.

You took him in, in all his glory. And glorious he was, as he swaggered in front of you, strong legs stepping rhythmically across moss and detritus. You’d never noticed quite how broad he was across his shoulders as your eyes worked their way up his back. Curls sprung from his nape, perspiration making unkempt hair even more unruly. It made you salivate. A source of light just beyond him let you know that you were nearing the edge of the forest, the settlement you’d be pitching up in for the evening just ahead. And that’s when he turned his head, painfully slow, to glance over his shoulder at you as he walked.

It was like you had been electrocuted, or stung, or something. Eyes that had rarely held anything but disdain for you now frenzied looking, pupils blown out. Ravenous. The glance lasted far, far too long, or at least it seemed like it did. A plush pink tongue swept over parted lips and you damn near gasped. A singular bead of sweat sat atop his usually furrowed brow, now knitted in a delectable blend of need and desperation. That’s when the ache started, deep in the pit of your stomach, inescapable. Your breath sat heavy in your chest, each inhale seemingly adding to this godforsaken pressure now lingering between your legs.

Not once had you thought of Joel in a sexual manner, you thought to yourself as you stepped into the sunlight beyond the tree line. He was always so unimpressed by you, so harsh and scolding. He was handsome, no one would argue that point, but his sharp tongue and unrelenting judgement of others made him unapproachable. How stupid of you, to overlook something quite so beautiful. Your stomach knotted, painfully aching as you continued to watch him head toward the small building a mere few metres away.

Each step became arduous as you reached the abandoned house, your thighs rubbing in your jeans. Joel didn’t hesitate to enter, swinging the door open, mumbling bathroom in your direction before slinking off upstairs. It was so unlike him, to act so precariously. Why did it make you wet? You eyed an armchair, hideously upholstered in a carpet-like fabric, before approaching and resting. As soon as your ass hit the cushion, your thighs pressed together as though your very own body may betray you if you didn’t seek to contain yourself. Teeth clasped your bottom lip, a stifled whimper echoing in the room. Did you just make that noise?

You were desperately uncomfortable. The armchair played no part, the discomfort stemming purely from yourself. You rubbed your legs together, the friction offering no relief. Hazy-eyed, you peered around the room. Joel hadn’t returned. God, how long had it been since he went upstairs? You crossed your legs, your core hot with an unrelenting need to act. The thought of touching yourself, slipping a hand under the waistband of your jeans, sprung to mind. You shook it off, and no sooner had you done so, you whined. Animalistic, like a bitch in heat. You were no better than any wanton animal, desperately seeking out relief from the ache that consumed you.

What the fuck was going on? Why were you acting like this, so uncontrolled, so unhinged? Your back arched against the chair behind you, eyes squeezed shut and inhaling deeply. You had to do something, anything, to settle the ache inside you. You hesitantly unfurled your legs, biting your lip harder. Your thighs trembled as you stood, and you willed them to carry you toward the staircase that Joel had disappeared up.

After braving the stairs, you could see a number of doors. One was open, a trail of wet footprints leading from it and toward another, the end of the path being cut off by a closed oak door. You followed the footsteps in reverse, heading toward the bathroom. You could smell the pine shower gel that had been wrangled from the mirrored cabinet above the sink, the cracked tile underneath you slippery.

You closed the cabinet and looked at yourself. Staring back at you, eyes wide and dazzling, pupils stretching your irises into a thin circle of colour around a bottomless pit of pitch black, was a version of you that you’d never seen before. Your hair was windswept, flyaways sticking to damp skin on your face. There was something feral about the woman that looked back at you. She was beautiful. Without thinking, you reached out to touch the cool surface of the mirror, in awe of how her lips parted just so, cheeks flushed and chest heaving. The ache returned and interrupted your admiration with a ferocity unmatched.

You wanted relief. No, needed relief. As you stood, you trailed a hand down your chest, past your naval, and down to the button of your jeans. Your fingers fumbled for just a moment before threading the button through its hole, immediately seeking out the metal zipper after. You didn’t even bother with shedding the denim from your legs. A supple hand slid its way over your mound and toward your clit, slick and saturated with want. Bracing yourself with one hand on the porcelain sink, forehead pressed against your own cold reflection in the mirror, you began to draw slow circles around yourself.

A heady moan left your mouth, your clit sensitive under your touch, the relief your fingers could offer barely scraping the surface. The frustration swelled inside you as your fingers drew tighter circles, adjusting both pressure and pace in a bid to meet your climax. A strangled sound escaped your throat, high pitched and breathy, as you came, the ache inside you merely ebbing before burning brighter than before. This wouldn’t be enough, you thought, as you rinsed your fingers under icy water from the tap and wiped them on your jeans.

That’s when you heard it. Quiet, muffled by brick and wood, coming from a different room. A groan, somehow both pained and yet drowning in bliss. You’d barely finished re-buttoning your jeans before your feet had moved of their own accord, seeking more of the sweet sound that you knew could only be coming from one person. There was something so wrong, so obscene, about you stood outside of the doorway, ear pressed against chipped wood. The breathing inside was laboured, part grunt, part sigh. It may as well have been a live wire entering your eardrums, the way that it electrified you and made the hair on your arms stand on end.

You pressed harder against the door, pleading for more of the delicious noises to reach you. Your stomach coiled and churned, painful and hot, tension brewing across your shoulders as you fought to keep yourself upright. Teeth found your bottom lip once more, stifling your own lewd sounds, praying that you wouldn’t be caught in such a compromising position. It was then that you heard it, quieter than any noise that proceeded it, but it was there. Your name, moaned at a volume no louder than a whimper, intoxicatingly melodic as it reverberated inside your head. Your jaw was slack, spit pooling, and a moan left your mouth with no warning.

You clapped a hand over your mouth the moment it had happened, but it was too late. The sound of springs shifting, of feet making contact with floorboards, replaced the lusty melody as you span on your heels and pressed your back against the wall beside the door. You sank to a crouch as footsteps neared the doorway, and clarity breached your mind just for a moment, the consequences of your voyeurism being weighed up. Joel was a dangerous man, that much you knew, and you silently hoped that he would be forgiving as the doorknob twisted.

The door cracked open ever-so slightly. You could hear panting through the gap as you willed your own chest to settle. Door edging open, you squeezed your eyes shut, as if not seeing Joel would make the whole scenario better, as if you hadn’t just been caught in the act. With your eyes closed, you could smell him, like your remaining senses had been switched on for the very first time. He smelt of vetiver and musk, of leather and whiskey. Had your eyes not been shut, you’re sure you would’ve seen stars.

The crouch that had been holding you against the wall failed you, your thighs trembling and buckling, and your knees made contact with the hardwood floor underneath. Head ducked, you opened your eyes slowly and were met with the view of unlaced boots. Your gaze lingered as you raised your head, taking in strong thighs wrapped in starched denim, a shirt thrown haphazardly over an otherwise bare torso. A trail of dark curls closed the gap between naval and waistband, a runway for your eyes to follow, leading you to the thick imprint of a cock aching to be released from its confines. You drew your eyes away from it after a moment, and with your heart hammering inside your chest, you glanced up to Joel’s face.

“Get up.”

His voice was commanding but non-aggressive. There was a hint of desperation, as if you needed convincing. He looked down at you, soaking you in, and you wondered whether he too saw the beauty in the wild woman you’d seen in the mirror. Cheeks and neck pink with warmth, he held out a hand, which you took gratefully. Touching him, touching skin that wasn’t yours, was exhilarating. His hand swallowed yours, the skin of his palm firm and coarse, fingers thick and long. He hoisted you up to your feet, dropping your hand and scanning your face.

“Can’t be around you. Ya gotta go downstairs, can’t trust myself.”

Joel could’ve been speaking in tongues for all you knew. All you had heard was a throaty grumble, your attention all but consumed by the shape of his mouth as he spoke. The way his jaw tensed as he paused, Adam’s apple bobbing as he gulped in air. You swear his cock twitched in his jeans as your name left his mouth. You felt hotter than the sun, resisting the urge to double over as pressure reached a crippling peak between your thighs. “J-Joel, I need you to help me”, your voice cracking, pleading with him. You watched pink swipe over his lips, now glistening, hand reaching out and clutching at his bicep to steady yourself instinctively. “I don’t know what’s happening to me, please. Please, just-“.

Your sentence was cut short as a firm thumb found its way to your lips, coaxing them to part as it pulled the lower one down. Strong fingers held your chin up. Muscles flexed beneath your hand, tensing much like the ones you watched in Joel’s jaw. Tears welled in your eyes, threatening to escape as your insides boiled, only fueled by the contact on your skin.

“Shhh now baby. You feelin’ it too? Reckon it was that damn plant, not been able to walk straight since you fell in it.”

Baby. The way it rolled from his tongue so naturally, like he’d always wanted to call you it. It made you feel giddy, head lulling harder into his grasp. You didn’t attempt to stifle the whine that left you. His fingers flexed around your chin, and he hummed his approval, the sound emanating from low in his throat.

“Oh darlin’, gotten yourself in a real state ain’t ya? Tell me what you need. Tell me how I can make it better.”

Was this really happening? His thumb brushed over your bottom lip before he removed his hand, placing it on your upper arm and squeezing gently. Your breathing was shallow, words unable to form. A wave of pressure swelled low in your abdomen and without thinking, you tip-toed, tilting your head up to reach Joel’s, and kissed his cheek. Stubble scratched at the swell of your lips, and the smell of him so close drove you to the brink of frenzy. It appeared the same happened to Joel, as he tightened his grip on your arm, bringing his other hand to sit flat on the small of your back and pressing you toward him in one fluid motion.

His mouth met yours with a vigour unparalleled; his tongue forcing its way into your mouth, all-consuming and dominant in its nature. You were putty under his touch, his hand following the arch in your spine up toward your hair. Breathing was no longer a priority - you needed this man more than oxygen. A fistful of your hair found itself wrapped around Joel’s hand, and with a firm tug, your neck was exposed. You were his for the taking.

Lips traced along the length of your neck, occasionally nipping and sucking as they made their way down to your clavicle. Flat-tongued and panting, Joel worked his back up toward your ear, licking as he went. Any self-restraint you may have possessed was long gone; begging him to give you all that he had. “Please, I need - oh fuck - I need you”, your hushed tone perceptible only to his ears. He stopped his attack on your neck and collar, eyes dark with desire, releasing his grip on you only for a moment before grabbing at your wrist and pulling you into the room that he had left.

The room contained little more than a double bed, a nightstand and a dresser. The bed was in a state of disarray, sheets peeling at the corners, a pillow lost to the floor. The smell of sex hung in the air, the aroma giving Joel and his earlier activities away. You squirmed from his grip to remove your jacket, far too aware of its weight on your aching body. Hands deftly made their way to the hem of your t-shirt, before lifting and shedding yet another layer. You stood, your upper half bare, and looked at Joel.

“Fuck, look so pretty for me baby. Gonna make you feel so good, promise.”

The words fell from his mouth, rumbling and low, and it sent chills up your spine where his hands had not long been. You’d no doubt soaked your panties, and at this rate, your jeans wouldn’t be far behind. With an almost pained expression, Joel tore his eyes from you and moved toward the bed, shrugging the shirt off of his bare torso and letting fall to the ground. He turned, facing you again, and sat himself on the edge of the bed, patting his thigh, beckoning you over. He leant back on a single propped arm, shifting his hips to accommodate the somehow still growing bulge in his jeans. It was vulgar to witness, and you moved quickly toward him.

Hands found your hips as you stood before him, feet planted between spread legs. He worked one hand over your zipper, and tucking both thumbs into your waistband, pulled both your jeans and panties to the ground in one fell swoop. He drew his lips toward your stomach, placing wet kisses in a downward direction, his breath hot against your exposed flesh. Goosebumps prickled along your legs, blood replaced entirely by red-hot adrenaline, as he neared your core.

“S’all mine, you hear me?”

No sooner had the words reached your ears, did you feel Joel’s hand snaking it’s way up your inner thigh toward your cunt. In a desperate bid to stop yourself from rocking your hips forward, you instead opted to nestle your hand into thick brown curls, tugging hard and reaping the rewards - a moan cascading from Joel’s mouth. “Please, Joel, I can’t - need something, anything”, you begged, as though your life depended on it. It very well may, you thought; the heat in your core reaching a precipice and threatening to bring you to your knees with its blistering pain. You felt a number of fingers drag through your folds, hot and slick, before two were pushed inside you without warning. You yelped, not with pain, but with a scorching desire for more.

“So fuckin’ wet for me baby. Must be hurtin’ real bad.”

You whined as the fingers inside you curled, brushing against the velveteen walls of your cunt, deeper than you’d ever been able to reach yourself. You felt yourself clench around the soaked digits, pumping themselves in and out, stilling only to drag themselves across your g-spot.

“Make me wanna cum just watching you, sugar. See what you’re doin’ to me?”

You glanced down past the curls still tangled around your fingers. Joel had unbuttoned his jeans, his cock thick and leaking, almost purple and just begging to be attended to. He held the shaft steady around its base, his other hand continuing to unravel you from the inside out. “P-please, I need-“; your words were cut short as Joel moved his thumb to your clit, nothing more than a strangled moan escaping you. He pressed firmly as he swept the digit left to right, his fingers now curling inside you - you felt as though you’d left your body as your orgasm drew closer, grounded only by the rhythmic motion of thick fingers and the blissful sounds of Joel’s humming.

“Cum for me baby, I know you’re needin’ it. Wanna see you make a mess of this pretty little pussy.”

Spurred on by the obscenities leaving his mouth, you held your breath as your orgasm rushed through you. As the wave of pleasure hit, momentarily replacing the ache in your abdomen, a cry left your parted lips, your head tipped back. Joel’s fingers worked you through the bliss, coaxing every last sound he could from you, murmuring as he went.

“Such a good girl for me.”

“That’s it darlin’, gonna make it all better.”

“So tight around me baby, don’t think I can hold on much longer.”

Your breathing was rapid, your chest rising and falling in shudders, knees desperately trying to refrain from buckling beneath you. And yet, before you could discern exactly what had just happened, your stomach tensed with a vengeance - it simply wasn’t enough. With his jeans still around his thighs, you gawped at Joel, sat cock in hand, precum dripping in glistening beads from its tip. Your fingers unwound themselves from his head as he slipped his fingers from your heat, slick release coating your inner thighs. You stepped out of the remaining clothes that sat bunched around your ankles, and made for Joel’s lap, wide and inviting.

He leant back further, using both arms to hold himself upright, as you climbed across his thick thighs and sat on him. Your chest was at his eye level, and he took full advantage of such a fact, dipping his head toward your breasts and nipping at the swells. God, if only you had the foresight to see what you’d been missing out on this whole time.

You weaved your hand between your bodies, further down until you made contact with his cock. It was girthy and solid, the weight of it surprised you as you curled your fingers around its length, your thumb not quite reaching the other side of your hand. Hesitation zipped through your mind, questioning whether or not you could actually take him, but the visceral groan that met your ears was enough to dismiss any and all doubts.

Steadying his shaft in one hand and balancing yourself on your knees, you lined him up with you. He stared up at you, brows pinched and pleading, surely feeling the heat radiating from your core. Hands remained at his side as you made your descent, the stretch as you engulfed him inch by inch borderline painful, but oh so worth it. The gasp he let out as you reached the hilt of his cock was downright criminal, his face flashing with both shock and desire. You let yourself adjust to his size, the fire in your belly quelled for now.

“Don’t know how long I’m gonna last; been a while since I last-“

You’d rocked your hips as he was speaking, and in turn had unintentionally cut him off, your name interrupting his flow of words, jolting out of him as if it were the most obscene curse word he could muster. It was music to your ears. You’d never felt so full, packed to the brim with Joel, cock-drunk and giddy as though you’d been fucking him for hours. He’d not done so much as thrust, and yet he had you enraptured.

“You’re so tight baby girl, I can’t - Christ - I can’t think straight.”

You rolled your hips, not just once but repeatedly, making light work of the friction that the smattering of curls at the base of his cock offered against your throbbing clit. You mewled as you pushed your hips down harder, seeking as much purchase as physically possible, Joel twitching against your walls.

“Such a pretty girl, making me feel so good. Always knew you’d take me so well.”

If it weren’t for your state of bottomed-out delirium, you’d have questioned Joel on what he meant by always. Had he pictured this exact scenario before? Was it as good as he’d imagined it would be? Selfishly, you didn’t care. You had started to lift yourself along his length, finding a pace that quickly filled the dank room with a cacophony of moans. Your knees ached against the mattress as you brought yourself up and down repeatedly, thighs trembling once more. You couldn’t be contained; a woman unraveled. Joel dug his nose into the crook of your neck, breathing you in deeply, muffling his groans of pleasure with your shoulder. He filled you to such a degree that you could feel him pressing against your cervix, hard and wanting.

“That’s it, fuck yourself on my cock, sugar. Gonna squeeze the cum straight outta me, so g’damn tight.”

The crude description alone would’ve been enough to send you tumbling into your next climax, even without the swell of Joel’s cock inside you. You bore down and rutted against him, dizzy and blissed out as you sought out your release. You choked on his name as you came, bracing yourself against his tensed shoulders, milking his cock as your walls quivered and clenched around him. As you rode out your climax, Joel wrapped an arm around your waist, holding you in place. He lifted you ever so slightly, creating just enough leverage for him to buck his hips up into your pussy, chasing his own orgasm.

You watched as he set a ruthless pace, sloppily thrusting upwards, eyes screwed closed. The slapping sounds as his hips met your own nearly overpowered the guttural moaning escaping his mouth. “Cum for me Joel, p-please - fuck - please fill me up”, you babbled, too enthralled by pure lust to consider the consequences. You needed him to fill you, claim you.

Your begging tipped him over the edge, and with a groan he shuddered his hips up, painting the walls of your cunt with hot, thick ropes of cum. You could feel him pulse inside you with each spurt, the muscles in his chest and stomach tensing, shoulders heaving with strain. He pressed his damp forehead against your chest, still hard inside you.

“Don’t think I’ve ever cum so hard - damn near knocked me out, pretty girl.”

He chuckled, still panting as he spoke. You shifted your weight and leant against his shoulders as you lifted yourself off him and to your feet. No more than a minute after you had unsheathed him from your walls, his spend still dribbling down your thighs from your slit, did the ache return. It brewed inside you, bubbling low in the tender flesh of your stomach, freshly bruised from the frivolities you had just taken part in. The building pressure made you whine, and as you glanced at Joel, cock still throbbing and stood to attention, you realised that your evening was far from over.

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sadnymi · 7 months ago

Text

Lovefool

[Mattheo riddle × reader]

Summary: Being the only girl in the group, and now stuck in the middle of nowhere with them, you found myself in a tricky situation. You had to share rooms, and Mattheo, leaving no room for negotiation, insisted that you would share with him. The problem was, there was only one bed. From uncovering feelings to heartbreak, it was a night you wouldn't forget.

Warning: Smut,Strong language, oral (f!received),Fluff,Angst.

Words:4k.

We arrived in a small, shadowy village. The air was thick with an eerie mist, and the dark, gnarled trees seemed to reach out with twisted branches, making the place feel even more foreboding. It was far from the safety and familiarity of Hogwarts, and I couldn't help but feel a shiver run down my spine as we approached the only inn in sight.

The inn's receptionist, a wizened old wizard with a long, silver beard, looked up from his desk as we entered. "Welcome," he said in a raspy voice. "I'm afraid we only have three rooms available tonight."

I glanced at our group: Mattheo, Theo, Enzo, Draco, Blaise, and myself. Sharing rooms wasn't an issue, but the arrangement was bound to be awkward, especially since I was the only girl.

"Looks like we’ll have to pair up," Theo said.

Glancing at Mattheo, jaw tightened, and I could see the tension in his eyes. He wasn’t comfortable with the idea, and I understood why.

"I can stay with Draco," I suggested, trying to ease the situation.

"No," Mattheo said immediately, his voice firm. "You'll stay with me."

His tone left no room for argument, but I could see the conflict in his eyes. He was trying to balance his protectiveness with his discomfort, and it made my heart ache a little.

"Okay," I said softly, trying to sound reassuring.

We collected our keys and made our way up the creaky staircase. The inn was old, and every step seemed to echo through the halls. When we reached our rooms, the guys exchanged looks, each of them aware of the unspoken tension between Mattheo and me.

"Alright, let's get some rest," Theo said, clapping Mattheo on the shoulder. "We have a long day ahead."

Blaise and Enzo nodded, giving us a final glance before retreating to their own rooms. Draco offered me a small, reassuring smile before disappearing into his room with Theo.

Our room was small and modest, with a single bed , a couch and a worn-out armchair in the corner. I set my bag down, feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on me. Mattheo stood by the door, his shoulders tense, watching me with an unreadable expression.

"I'm sorry if this is uncomfortable for you," I said, breaking the silence.

He shook his head, taking a deep breath. "It's not you," he said, his voice softer now.

I knew Mattheo had problems with sleep, something I shouldn't have known if I wasn't so focused on him. I couldn't help it. I couldn't help watching him and realizing what annoyed him and what didn't, what made him uncomfortable and what made him angry in a minute. It was torture to care so much about someone who had no idea and wouldn’t see me as more than a friend (and that’s if I were lucky).

"I'll take a quick shower," I said. He nodded, and I made my way to the bathroom, grateful for the excuse to escape the tension for a moment. The bathroom wasn’t bad, and all I wanted was some warm water.

When I finished, I changed into my pajamas and stepped out. Mattheo was sitting on the bed, looking at a book. "Pride and Prejudice," I said, smiling nervously. "It's a Muggle author, but I like her works."

He nodded, his eyes softening just a fraction, before heading to the bathroom himself. I settled down on the bed, opening my book and trying to lose myself in the familiar words as I listened to the sound of the water running.

I was so lost in the book that I didn’t notice the water stop. When Mattheo emerged from the bathroom, his hair was damp, and he looked so handsome. I smiled at him, but he didn’t respond, instead heading straight for the drawer.

"What are you doing?" I asked, curious.

He didn’t answer.

"Mattheo, what are you doing?" I repeated, getting out of bed.

He was pulling out extra blankets. "I'm sleeping on the couch," he said bluntly.

"No, the bed is big enough for both of us," I argued.

"I’m not sharing a bed with you," he snapped, his voice harsh.

"Why are you being like this?" I asked, my voice trembling. "I know what you’re trying to do. You’re trying to push me away, but I won’t let you. If you refuse to share the bed, I’ll go see if one of the boys would like to switch rooms."

"You won’t," he said, his eyes narrowing.

"Watch me," I said, holding his gaze.

After a long moment, he sighed heavily. "Fine," he muttered, climbing into bed beside me.

I lay down, trying to ignore the awkward tension between us. "Do you want me to turn the lights off?" I whispered.

He was on his back and without looking at me he just said, "No, keep reading."

I smiled nervously, trying to relax. Sharing a bed with Mattheo felt surreal, and I could see how hard he was trying to keep his distance.

"Do you want to read with me?" I asked, hoping to ease the tension.

He turned to look at me, and I blushed. I started explaining the plot of the book up to the chapter I was reading, nervously detailing Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy's brooding nature. Mattheo's gaze softened as he listened, his eyes flicking from my lips to my eyes and then to my fingers holding the book, nodding occasionally.

"Here," I said, scooting closer and showing him the page I was on. "I really like Mr. Darcy. He's misunderstood, but he has such depth and integrity."

Mattheo nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Once you’re done reading, let me know to turn the page."

He shook his head. "No, read to me," he said softly.

I blinked, taken aback but then whispered, "Okay."

I continued reading aloud, my voice steadying as I immersed us in the story. When I reached Mr. Darcy's love confession, I felt a lump form in my throat:

"In vain I have struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you."

I paused, the intensity of the words hanging in the air. Mattheo's eyes were fixed on me, a softness in them that made my heart ache.

"You know," I said, my voice barely above a whisper, "she was in love with him, but she had to turn his proposal down because she couldn't just forget what he did to her family. But can you see the way he just bared his heart out to her?"

Mattheo smiled, watching me closely. "What do you think?" I asked, curious about his thoughts on the characters.

"I think Elizabeth is remarkable," he began, his eyes not leaving mine. "She’s strong and brave, even when faced with someone like Darcy. She sees the best in people but isn’t afraid to stand up for herself. She’s... unforgettable."

His words struck a chord deep within me, and I realized he wasn’t just talking about Elizabeth. My heart fluttered at the thought.

"Unforgettable?" I repeated, my voice almost a whisper.

"Yes," he said softly. "Someone who can see the truth about people, even when they try to hide it. Someone who isn’t easily swayed by first impressions, who digs deeper and finds the good, even when it’s buried under layers of pride and prejudice."

My breath caught, and for a moment, I was lost in his gaze. It felt like he was seeing right through me, seeing the parts of me that I tried to keep hidden.

"Do you think... do you think Darcy deserves her?" I asked, my voice trembling slightly.

Mattheo's eyes softened even more. "Yes, I do. Because despite his faults, he’s willing to change. He’s willing to be better for her. And that kind of love... it’s rare."

My heart ached with the weight of his words, and I couldn't help but wonder if he was speaking from his own heart.

I recalled a moment from the past, a moment of clarity and pain when he had dismissed the idea of love entirely.

"You said you don’t believe in love once," I said, avoiding his gaze. I still remembered the day he said those words, the hurt I felt, the realization that he probably would never return my feelings.

"Do you?" he asked instead of answering my question.

"I do," I said, my voice firm. "I have so much love in my heart. That’s how I know love exists."

We were so close now, our faces just inches away. His eyes searched mine, and then he reached out, gently pushing a strand of hair from my face. Nervousness bubbled up inside me, and I blurted out, "Did you know that the light from the stars we see has traveled for millions of years to reach us?"

He chuckled softly. "Are you nervous?" he asked, his tone gentle.

I nodded, biting my lip.

"You don’t have to be," he said, his fingers brushing my cheek softly. My heart was beating fast, my chest rising and falling with each breath.

"Relax, my love," he murmured.

I nodded again, trying to calm myself. "What do you love about Mr. Darcy?" he asked, his eyes locked on mine.

"He loves deeply and passionately," I said. "He’s willing to change for the person he loves, to be better. He’s flawed, but his love is unwavering."

"Sounds like you’re quite taken with Mr. Darcy," Mattheo said, a hint of jealousy in his voice.

I smiled softly. "He’s just a character in a book, Mattheo."

His fingers trailed down to my lips, brushing them gently. "Every time you talk, I just want to kiss those lips." he murmured.

Before I could respond, he leaned in, his lips meeting mine in a soft, tender kiss. His hand cradled my face gently, as if I were something precious and fragile. When he pulled back, I opened my eyes, searching his for any sign of regret.

He leaned in again, this time kissing me longer, his lips moving against mine in a perfect rhythm. His tongue brushed against my lips, and I parted them, allowing him to deepen the kiss. A soft moan escaped me as the kiss intensified, our breaths mingling, our bodies drawing closer together.

When he finally pulled back, he placed soft kisses on my lips, whispering, "Am I your first kiss?"

I nodded, my cheeks burning with a mixture of embarrassment and joy.

"Good," he said, a smile playing on his lips before he kissed me again, and again, and again.

His kisses moved slowly down to my neck, each one more intoxicating than the last. "Your skin is so soft," he murmured against my neck. "And you smell so good."

I gasped as his lips found a sensitive spot, my body arching into him. His hands roamed over my body, cupping my breast through my shirt. His fingers brushed against my nipple, and I couldn't help but arch my back and let out a small gasp.

He smiled against my neck, sucking gently. "So sensitive, baby," he whispered, his voice low and teasing.

I was lost in his touch, his smell, his lips. My hand instinctively moved to his, which was still cupping my breast. He kissed his way back up to my lips, his breath warm against my skin.

"What is it, my love?" he asked, his lips brushing against mine.

I was too embarrassed to speak, my cheeks burning. "Just tell me what you want. Anything, and I’ll give it to you," he said, cupping my face gently.

I bit my lip, feeling shy and unsure. His eyes searched mine, full of understanding and patience. "Talk to me. Tell me if you want to stop," he urged softly.

"No," I blurted out quickly, then blushed even more. He smiled, his eyes twinkling with amusement and tenderness.

"So, what is it you want?" he asked, his voice a soft caress.

I looked at him, begging him to understand me without having to say it. He leaned in closer, his forehead resting against mine. "Don’t be shy now, baby," he whispered.

"I... I don't know how to say it," I admitted, my voice barely audible.

"Then show me," he said, his hands gently guiding mine.

I placed my hand on his, urging him to touch me more, to explore further. His eyes darkened with desire as he understood my silent plea. "You want more?" he asked, his voice husky.

I nodded, unable to form words. His lips found mine again, more insistent this time, his tongue exploring my mouth. His hand moved under my shirt, his fingers brushing against my bare skin, sending shivers down my spine.

"You’re so beautiful," he murmured, his lips trailing down my neck again. "So perfect."

I moaned softly as his hand cupped my breast again, this time without any fabric between us. His thumb brushed against my nipple, and I gasped, arching into his touch.

"Does that feel good?" he asked, his voice a low rumble against my skin.

"Yes," I breathed, my body trembling with need.

“Good,”He smiled, his lips trailing kisses down my chest. "I want to make you feel good," he said, his hand moving lower, exploring every inch of my skin.

I was lost in a haze of pleasure, my mind unable to focus on anything but his touch, his words, his presence. "Please," I whispered, not even sure what I was asking for, just needing more of him.

"Please what, my love?" he asked, his fingers teasing the edge of my waistband.

"Just... more," I managed to say, my voice shaking with desire.

He chuckled softly, his fingers slipping under the fabric. "As you wish," he said, his touch sending waves of pleasure through me.

I moaned, my body arching into his hand. "Mattheo," I whispered, my voice trembling.

He kissed me again, his lips claiming mine with a fierce passion. "I’ve got you," he whispered against my lips. "Just let go. I’ll take care of you."

I moaned, my body arching into his hand. "Mattheo," I whispered, my voice trembling.

He kissed me again, his lips claiming mine with a fierce passion. "I’ve got you," he whispered against my lips. "Just let go. I’ll take care of you."

He lifted my shirt over my head, slowly trailing kisses down my chest. His mouth found my nipple, and he sucked gently while his hand teased the other. I gasped, my fingers tangling in his hair as he kissed his way down my stomach. He looked up at me, and I nodded, giving him silent permission. He pulled my shorts down, leaving me in just my panties.

He kissed his way back up, pausing to murmur, "You have a birthmark here," his fingers brushing the spot on my hip, "and a few moles here, here, and here," he continued, placing gentle kisses on each one.

I smiled widely, touched by his attention to detail. I reached out to touch his face, then pulled him into a hug, hiding my face in his neck. He held me close, his hands rubbing soothing circles on my back.

"Can I touch you?" he asked softly, his breath warm against my ear.

"Yes, please," I whispered.

He started to circle his fingers over my panties, feeling how wet I was already. My breath came in heavy pants as he touched me. "Relax, my love," he murmured, his voice a calming balm. I nodded, trying to calm my racing heart.

He slipped his hand inside my panties, and I shivered when his fingers found my clit. "Is that okay?" he asked, watching my reaction closely.

"Yes," I breathed, my body trembling under his touch. "It's more than okay."

He circled my clit with gentle precision, building the pressure slowly. Then, he carefully slid one finger inside me. "Just one. You can take it," he said soothingly.

I nodded, gasping as he entered me. He kissed me again, whispering, "Good girl."

I started to moan, my hands gripping his shoulders for support as he continued to pleasure me. He placed tender kisses all over my face, his finger moving inside me while his thumb pressed against my clit. The sensation was overwhelming, and I felt the tension building rapidly.

My body arched against the bed, and I screamed as the orgasm crashed over me, shivering in his arms. "Fucking hell, this is the most beautiful thing I've seen," he said, his voice full of awe as he pulled his finger out of me and put it in his mouth.

I opened my mouth, breathing heavily, still riding the waves of pleasure. He leaned down, his lips brushing against my ear. "Can I taste you?" he asked, his voice thick with desire.

"Yes," I whispered, my body trembling with anticipation.

He kissed his way down my body again, his hands gently spreading my thighs apart. His eyes met mine, and the intensity of his gaze made my heart race. As he lowered his mouth to me, I felt a surge of nervous excitement.

The first touch of his tongue against my clit made me gasp, my hands flying to his hair. He moved slowly, his tongue circling and teasing, driving me wild with need. I moaned his name, my hips bucking against his mouth.

"Relax, my love," he murmured between kisses, his hands holding my hips firmly.

I tried to relax, letting the pleasure wash over me as he continued to work his magic. His tongue found a rhythm that had me writhing beneath him, my fingers gripping his hair. He was relentless, his mouth and tongue bringing me to the brink over and over again.

"Mattheo," I moaned, my voice a breathless whisper. "Please, don't stop."

He didn't stop, his tongue moving faster, more insistent. I felt the tension building again, stronger this time, and I knew I was close. My moans grew louder, my body arching off the bed as the orgasm hit me like a tidal wave.

I cried out his name, my entire body shaking with the force of it. He held me through it, his tongue and fingers never stopping until I was completely spent, lying boneless on the bed.

He didn't stop, his tongue still moving in slow, deliberate strokes. "Just one more," he said, his voice rough . "Give me one more."

I shuddered, my body still trembling from the first two orgasms. "I can't," I whispered, but he was relentless, his tongue and fingers working together to build the pleasure back up.

"You can," he insisted, his eyes locked on mine, his fingers sliding inside me as he continued to lick and suck my clit. "You can," his voice a low rumble. "And you will."

I couldn't help but moan, the sensation of his fingers and tongue working together to bring me to the edge once again. "Oh, god," I gasped, my hips bucking against him.

"That's it," he murmured, his voice a soft whisper against my skin. "So beautiful so responsible."

I couldn't hold back any longer, my body trembling with pleasure as my orgasm washed over me, my cries echoing through the room.

He finally lifted his head, his lips glistening with my juices. "You're so fucking beautiful when you cum ," he said, his voice a low growl.

I could feel my heart racing, my body still trembling from the aftershocks of my orgasm. "Mattheo," I whispered, my voice barely audible.

He kissed me, and I could taste myself on his lips. The intimacy of it made my heart swell. He pulled back, his eyes searching mine. "Let me take care of you," he said softly.

He got up and grabbed a cloth, wetting it with warm water. He gently cleaned me, his touch tender and reassuring. When he was done, he handed me a glass of water. "Drink," he said, his voice gentle but firm.

I took a few sips, feeling the cool liquid soothe my parched throat. He lay down next to me, pulling me into his arms. I rested my head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart.

"Do you think someone heard me?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Yeah," he said with a smirk. "Let them."

I looked up at him, pouting. He kissed the words I was about to say away, his lips warm and comforting. When he pulled back, he said, "You'd be so blind if you didn't notice that Blaise and Draco have a crush on you."

"No, they don't," I said, shaking my head.

"Believe me, they do," he insisted, his eyes serious.

I hugged him again, exhausted, and held his hand. "I know you have trouble sleeping," I said softly. "Here, hold my hand."

The smile on his face faltered, but he held my hand tightly and kissed it. "Now you're going to sleep well," I said, resting my head on his chest.

I couldn't fight the exhaustion any longer and let myself drift off to sleep, feeling safe and content in his arms.

I woke up the next morning with a smile on my face, but it quickly dropped when I found the bed empty. Sitting up, I clutched the blanket to my bare chest, looking around the room frantically. There was no sign of Mattheo. My heart pounded as anxiety began to take over.

Did he regret it? Did he leave? Did I do something wrong?

Tears pricked my eyes as I fought to calm myself down. I forced myself to get up, feeling how weak my legs had become, and made my way to the bathroom. It was empty too. The loneliness hit me like a tidal wave, and I couldn't hold back the tears any longer.

After a shower, I dressed and headed downstairs, where I found the boys except Mattheo and Theo sitting together. I sat next to Enzo and Blaise, trying desperately not to ask about Mattheo.

Blaise noticed something immediately. "What's that on your neck?" he asked.

"What?" I replied, my voice strained.

"You have a fucking hickey on your neck, Darling," he said.

"No, I don't," I said quickly, trying to brush it off.

"You do," he insisted.

"Leave her alone, Blaise," Enzo said. I could feel Draco's eyes on me too, scrutinizing.

Unable to handle their stares, I got up and went to the bathroom. Looking in the mirror, I saw it—several purple and red marks on my neck. I quickly pulled out my hairpin, letting my hair down to hide the evidence.

Trying to walk back with some semblance of dignity, I nearly ran into Mattheo.

"Hi," I said, trying to sound normal.

"Hi," he replied, avoiding my eyes. The awkwardness was palpable, and I felt a wave of humiliation wash over me. I glanced at Theo, who was talking quietly with Mattheo, and then hurried back to my room. I couldn't face any of the boys after this.

I spent the entire afternoon in the room, trying to make sense of everything. When Enzo came to tell me we were leaving, I nodded and grabbed my bag, following him downstairs. As we approached the others, I heard Blaise talking to Theo, his voice loud and angry.

"You know Mattheo loves to fuck them thenleave them, Theo. But she's not just anyone. He fucking ruined it. He'll do to her what he's best at—destroying."

Theo tried to defend him. "It's not like that, Blaise."

Blaise cut him off. "You know she likes him. And you know damn well it meant nothing to him. Just another fuck."

I looked at Enzo, who tried to step in and stop them, but I shook my head, gripping his arm. "It's okay," I said softly.

Blaise continued, "He should have never done that."

I slipped out, making sure they didn't notice me or realize I had heard them. "You okay?" Enzo asked, concern etched on his face.

I nodded, forcing a smile. "Yeah, don't worry."

"Listen, Blaise doesn't mean—" Enzo began, but I cut him off.

"It's okay, really, Enzo."

I saw Mattheo standing next to the van Theo had gotten for us. I stepped to the very back, choosing a seat as far away from him as possible. He looked confused for a second but didn't say anything. The rest of the boys climbed in, and I felt the crushing weight of my heartbreak.

Just last night, I thought I owned the whole world, and now I felt like it was so small that I couldn't breathe.

As the van started moving, I stared out the window, the landscape blurring as tears welled up in my eyes. I tried to keep it together, but the pain was overwhelming. Every word Blaise had said echoed in my mind, making my chest ache with each beat of my heart.

I had opened myself up completely to Mattheo, and now it felt like he had torn me apart. The thought of facing him, of seeing his face and knowing how little I meant to him, made me want to disappear.

Enzo kept giving me worried glances, and even Draco seemed to be watching me with an unusual intensity. But I couldn't bring myself to care. I felt broken, and no amount of concern or sympathy could fix that.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

Part-Two

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