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lucienarcheron · 8 months ago

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Spirit Meets the Bones - IV

Genre: Angst/Romance Warnings: Mentions of physical abuse.

biggest shoutout to @abruisedmuse ♥️ for keeping me sane while writing! ily.

Find it all here.

Iris jolted awake.

She blinked into the moonlight illuminating the room and then groaned softly.

This was the fourth time she had woken.

Every time she had settled in and drifted off, Iris had felt some phantom breeze caress her body. It caused a sense of panic that had her shooting up to whirl on Eris, assuming he was the one touching her.

Each time she woke, she had her dagger in hand because consequences be damned, she would kill him if he broke his promise not to harm her. But each time Iris woke ready to beat his ass, Eris was sound asleep. After what felt like an eternity of watching him with wide eyes, she’d try to go back to sleep.

Only to be woken again by her own irrational panic.

This time, Iris let her eyes shutter to a close and sighed.

She felt the glow of the moonlight through the windows touch her skin as the easy breeze fluttered around the room. The easy breeze that seemed to trigger her body awake.

But she kept her eyes closed.

Because this time when she woke, his body felt closer to hers than it should have, and if she opened her eyes and found him staring at her, Iris would likely commit murder — the victim unclear.

Iris listened carefully and when his breathing remained deep, she cracked an eye open and found the source of body heat; his position had shifted from the previous time she had woken.

Eris was now on his stomach, his head resting on the pillow facing her, and fast asleep.

Iris blinked and hugged the pillow between them closer to her, watching him breathe, the moonlight casting a serene glow on his face.

“I could also be your friend.”

It had taken Iris longer than she cared to admit to falling asleep after those words. She kept thinking about the fact that a male, her husband, was now sleeping next to her. The day that had felt like years kept replaying over and over in her mind. Iris had jerked awake so many times, thinking she’d felt his hands on her to find him still on his side, her silly little barricade between them and fast asleep.

She was exhausted. Whoever saw her later today would easily believe the expectations Eris had in mind.

Iris’ fingers dug into the pillow and her eyes found his face again, slowly scanning it. The ever-smirking mouth was relaxed but even in his sleep, his expression was serious, as if already thinking about what the day would bring.

She watched him then impulsively bought a finger and gently pressed between his furrowed brows then immediately hid her hand again as he shifted and his face relaxed.

He was pretty.

Iris frowned, hating the thought.

Giving up on sleep for the moment, she sat up and scooted a little closer, still holding the pillow between them like a shield. She might as well stare at him unabashedly and analyze him while he was asleep instead of when he was staring into her soul and trying to kiss her.

She scanned his face again, at the very faint scattered freckles. Her eyes moved to his arms half-hidden beneath his pillow, and the toned muscles reminded Iris that he was indeed, the son of a high lord, and power ran through those veins. Son of a high lord and likely, the next high lord.

And she was his wife.

Iris sighed quietly and pursed her lips, her eyes now moving to his bare back. She bit her lip as she took in the scarring found there — as if it was left unhealed on purpose.

Gifts. He had said gifts. A sour taste filled her mouth, thinking of who he had been protecting.

It filled her with sorrow and rage thinking about how she could have used protection from her own horrors.

Iris gripped her pillow even tighter and swallowed, her eyes glued to his sleeping face.

“I could also be your friend.”

Her heart had stopped when Eris had said those words. He had said it so casually, like it wouldn’t slide her whole world from beneath her feet.

Would he really be her friend? Or was it some kind of trick?

“I have no intentions of hurting you. I don’t want this marriage to be miserable.”

But her father — Iris took a sharp breath and tried to shut back the memory of his sneering the night before the wedding when she had begged tearfully not to let it go through. How she begged him not to marry her off to a stranger. Not to marry her off to this awful male who would tear her apart piece by piece until she was nothing. Until she was a husk of a person, the way his father had broken his mother. Or so she thought.

“He’ll break you in ways that I couldn’t.” her father had only said with a scoff. “And it’ll finally get you off my hands. You better not cause any trouble.”

Iris shuddered and stared at the male asleep next to her. Her father didn’t know that she’d go down swinging. If Eris tried to break her, she’d break him too. But...all the actions of the previous night seemed to indicate otherwise.

Her eyes flickered to the scars on his back then to his face, his brows furrowed once more.

Iris pursed her lips and again, before she could stop herself, pressed her finger to his forehead and his face relaxed. She froze as he mumbled something incoherent in his sleep and shifted, turning on his side, facing her.

When a minute passed and he didn’t move again, Iris relaxed her body once more then sighed, letting the pillow fall from her hands to the space between them. She hugged her legs to her chest and rested her chin on her knees, gazing about the room.

Her new home.

Could she find happiness here? Could this new place bring her the peace she hadn’t felt elsewhere?

Could her husband really give her the life she had craved? Freedom? Warmth?

Or would he cage her as her father had?

Iris’ face fell, glancing at Eris’s sleeping figure once more.

“Could you make me happy?” she whispered and felt her eyes well up with unshed tears. “Am I truly safe?”

And only because she was covered by the night did Iris let herself release the stress of the day and her fears once more. With a small sniffle, she curled up on her side and hugged the pillow between them. Iris stared at her sleeping husband, bringing a hand to wipe at the tears as they fell.

“Do you think you would eventually be willing to be my friend?”

She had said maybe. And maybe was enough for him for now.

Iris desperately hoped she could find it in herself to say yes soon. That he would be worth the yes. She needed someone in her corner. Someone to be her friend.

“Is it stupid of me to hope?” she whispered with trembling lips and sniffled, squeezing her eyes shut.

Hope was dangerous. Hope would hurt her.

But there seemed to be hope in his question. And hope in her answer.

Maybe was good. Maybe would be enough for now. Until she stopped being fearful he would change his mind, maybe could be enough.

Iris watched him sleep until her eyelids started drooping and with the promise to demand more from him in the morning, sweet sleep finally found her.

“You’re here bright and early.”

Eris pursed his lips, sitting across from his mother in her private room. The Lady of Autumn took a sip of her tea and gave her son a knowing look. “I didn’t expect to see you until later on in the day.”

“We always have a morning cup together, mother.”

Every single morning. He never missed it. Waking up next to Beron was enough of an awful start to her day that if Eris could brighten her morning with something as little as a cup of tea, he made sure to do it.

“Yes, but you have a wife now. And it is the morning after your wedding. Surely, you should be having a morning cup with her.” Lady Enya said with a chuckle, passing him his cup and then sliding a plate of delicate pastries towards him. “Why aren’t you spending time with your bride?”

His bride was currently sleeping like the dead in their shared bed. Eris had taken one look at Iris’ sleeping figure when he woke and knew he had to get out of the room as soon as possible.

She had turned in her sleep, hugging the pillow between them, and closer to him than he had expected. It took Eris several agonizing minutes to rip his gaze from her lips and the way her arms were wrapped around the pillow, hair fanned behind her.

He had taken a very cold shower to try and take the edge off his ridiculous hormonal response every time he looked at her but try as he might, it did not help. He had to be one of the few males in Prythian using his own hand for release the morning after his wedding.

Eris had waited until it would be deemed a reasonable hour for a groom to leave his bedroom before coming to see his mother. Thankfully, his father had been long gone.

And only because Eris was over five hundred years old, he tried not to pout as the top of his ears heated, avoiding his mother’s gaze. “Because she might stab me if I try to spend time with her,” he said with a scowl.

“Rough night?” she asked with a small smile, bringing her teacup to her mouth and Eris scowled further, drumming his fingers on the table.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were making fun of me, mother.” he said and his mother chuckled, bringing her hand over his and squeezing it.

“You’re too easy to tease.” she said and Eris met her gaze and shook his head with a faint smile, rubbing the tip of his ear. “How did it go then?”

He paused, unsure of exactly how to proceed. How would he tell his lovely mother he’d gotten several death threats from the female who now shared his bed?

“Well.”

Lady Enya raised her brows. “Yes?”

“I tried to kiss her and she kneed me in the balls.”

His mother blinked, resting the teacup back down on the table. “Oh?”

“Then she threw a chair at me.”

Her brows rose again. “I see.”

“Then stole my dagger and threatened to stab me with it if I touched her.” he grumbled and scowled as he watched his mother fight back a smile.

“Did she now?”

“She is more violent than I expected.”

“Oh...I like her.”

“Mother.” he said in what could only be described as an almost whine and his mother had the sense to at least cover her mouth with a hand to hide another smile.

He felt his whole body heat up, his cheeks reddening. Gods only knew if anyone found out he was talking to his mother about his wedding night, how mortifying it would be.

And he had the audacity to tell Iris he didn’t embarrass easily.

“I...helped her with her hair.” he said much more quietly now and his mother smiled softly, squeezing his hand again.

“Did you?”

Eris nodded, swallowing. “It was going well,” he began again. “Until I helped her with her dress and couldn’t stop myself from touching her.”

“Eris.”

“I know, mother. I stopped immediately.”

His mother nodded and Eris took the chance to take a sip of his cup as she gave him an encouraging look.“Did she like the room? Her clothes?”

Eris pursed his lips, feeling like a male who had just hit puberty and didn’t know what to do with his penis. “I think so? I don’t think she explored it much. She seemed too nervous.”

His mother gave him another encouraging nod. “She’ll have time. I hope you did your best to ease her worries as we discussed. Show her kindness?”

Eris took a breath, his cheeks now stained to match his hair. It took him a few minutes to finally mumble, “I asked her to be my friend.”

His mother blinked and then smiled. “And what did she say?”

“Maybe.”

“Well, that’s a good start. Maybe is very reasonable.”

“That’s what I also said.”

“Like mother, like son.”

Eris smiled tightly and squeezed his mother’s hand then sighed. “She keeps thinking I’m going to hurt her. I’m unsure how to convince her otherwise.”

“Think of who her father is, dear. She’s doing her best.”

Eris immediately scowled at that. “He’s an even bigger piece of shit than expected. Her father only told her about the wedding a week before...Were you aware of his sparkling personality?”

Lady Enya's lips went into a thin line. “I knew he had to be in the way he approached your father about the marriage. For your father to approve it...I had my guess.”

He ran a hand through his hair and glanced at his mother for a moment then looked away once more, wondering how to phrase the question so that he didn’t choke on his own embarrassment.

His mother squeezed his hand once more. “You know you can say anything you need to, my son.”

Eris let a few seconds pass in silence and in a soft tone he only ever used with his mother he said, “I’ve been with females before,” he began. “But this is different. She is different...Is it because she’s my wife that I feel...pulled towards her?’

His mother smiled gently and Eris immediately avoided her glance, his cheeks heating.

“Eris, look at me please.”

“Mother, please.” he mumbled, his body tensing, but his mother chuckled and reached out to gently pull his face towards her.

“There is nothing to be embarrassed about with me.”

Eris nodded and she patted his cheek, asking a question he had been thinking about since sitting here. “Do you think whatever this is between us...will work?”

“It will work if you fight for it.” his mother replied. “You’ve always wanted someone that’s yours. Iris is now your wife, and your wife should be your partner. Unfortunate choice of union aside, you can make the most of it and you should. I raised you. I know who you are. The mask you wear for others should come off the moment you two are alone together. She doesn’t need it.”

Eris rolled his shoulders back, his eyes on his teacup. “She wears one of her own.”

His mother shook her head lightly. “Until she feels safe with you, she always will.” she began. “And that’s going to be hard. You’re not the reason she feels unsafe but she came from a home that did that to her so it’ll take some time for her to believe she can find peace here. Let this home be one she doesn’t have anything to fear in.”

Eris thought back to all her actions and words from last night. Her final question before they had slept.

“Will you...would you ever force me? If I didn’t want to?”

He pursed his lips. “Any suggestions?”

“Spend as much time out of the house as possible. Get to know each other away from prying eyes and listening ears.” she replied with a knowing look. “You’re relieved from your duties for the next week. Spend it wisely with her.”

Eris nodded and let out a breath, looking over at his mother. “So. Seduce her in the garden, you say?”

His mother rolled her eyes and gave him an amused smile. “I hear she might stab you if you tried.” she said dryly and Eris chuckled.

“She just might.” he replied then sighed. “But I’ll do my best.”

“I know you will.”

Eris paused again, knowing his next question would shift the tone of the conversation. “Has father...said anything?”

His mother’s lips tightened briefly. “Don’t worry about him.”

“How can I not?” Eris said with a scoff, his voice low. His lips went into a thin line and he swallowed. “I’m afraid he’ll...I don’t want to put in the energy if he’s going to take it all away from me out of spite.”

The Lady of Autumn very carefully set her teacup back down on the table. “If he so much as looks towards you or Iris with ill intent, he will know exactly why I’ve put up with him for this long.”

A heartbeat of silence fell and then, “Just say the word, mother,” Eris said quietly. “And he’ll be gone.”

His mother reached over and squeezed his hand tightly. “Not yet.”

“Soon?” he practically begged and his mother swallowed.

“Soon.” she replied then patted his hand. “Now leave this dreary subject behind, eat something, and go spend time with your wife.”

“Iris?”

She blinked sleepily at the hand gently shaking her awake. The hand slid down her arm, pulling her to her side and Iris bolted up right away, a fist flying out and colliding with a face.

“For fucks sake,” came Eris’ hiss as he held his nose and glared at her but Iris only glared right back, moving the pillow aside to shove him back.

“Mind your hands, you heathen.” she hissed and before she could aim another punch or shove him again, Eris had grabbed both of her wrists.

“I was trying to gently wake you up, wife.” he said with a scoff. “Could you please stop aiming for my face? It’s a masterpiece I’d rather not have destroyed.”

Iris growled trying to break out of his grip and attempted to kick him instead, sending more of the pillow barricade flying but Eris only gripped her hands tightly and used his own leg to pin down her legs.

“I’ll show you a masterpiece,” she said through clenched teeth. “Let go of me!”

“Stop trying to hit me!”

Iris only wiggled further until Eris finally pinned her down completely, his whole body covering hers.

“Get off me!”

“Stop trying to maim me then!”

Iris glared at him as he held her hands and he had the nerve to smirk at her.

“Get off me and I’ll decide afterward if I shall maim you or not.”

“Good morning to you too, wife. Fancy seeing you in this position.”

Iris growled again and tried jabbing him with her elbows but he only chuckled, holding her in place. “If you don’t let go of me, I’m going to bite.”

“Gods, you’re like a feral little cat, aren’t you?” he observed and narrowed his eyes at her. “I will let go on the condition that you don’t try to jab me with anything, fingers or otherwise.”

“You deserve at least one jab so I won’t agree to that.”

“I could lay here all day, wife.”

“I will bite you, husband.”

“I’m usually the one leaving bite marks but by all means, go ahead and bite me.” he said with a raised brow. “You’ll have to forgive me if I moan a little when you do though.”

Iris glared as her cheeks flushed but her little shit of a husband only grinned broadly and she rolled her eyes. “Fine.” she grumbled. “Just get off me.”

Eris gave her a look of warning as he slowly peeled himself off her and Iris tried not to think about how she hadn’t felt the body of another against hers like this in the longest time. Even though any feel of a male’s body against hers had been stolen moments that were too quick to truly feel it.

Iris sat up, glowering at Eris who sat across from her on their bed, smirking. Running a hand through her hair, she huffed a breath and took in the way he was already dressed.

“And where were you?”

He smirked and tilted his head, observing her. “Did you miss me, wife?”

“Your absence was clearly not noted as I was having wonderful dreams of you violently being stabbed to death.” she said with a snort, quickly sliding away from him and off the bed.

“You seem to have quite the knife kink. Would you like us to explore this interest?”

“I’d like to explore the option of you drowning yourself in the nearest river.”

Eris chuckled again and Iris watched him slide off the bed and towards her, trying not to think about how the rumpled sheets looked. “Only if you go with me and we’re both naked.”

Iris tore her eyes away from the bed and gave him a disgusted look. “I don’t want to be naked with you anywhere.” she muttered and walked towards their shared closet, opening it to glance at what she’d wear for the day. But mostly to avoid looking at him and his stupid smug face.

“We’ll see how long you'll keep that resolve.” His response was almost a purr.

She flipped him off over her shoulder, bristling at his chuckle in response, and tried to ignore it, searching through the dresses hanging there. She stole a glance at him over her shoulder and found him nearing their dining table. She hadn’t even noticed the covered tray on it.

Eris caught her eye and removed the cover, waving his hand. “Breakfast for the bride and groom. Assuming my face hasn’t made you lose your appetite, of course.”

“You know me so well already.” she replied with a sarcastic smile then turned back to the rainbow of colors that was her closet.

She had barely noticed anything last night but now took the time to look through the pieces. The items were all new and whoever had made all these selections had excellent taste but...it was definitely not from her closets. Her father had only cared about what she wore in the few instances her presence was mandatory and those had been few and far between. Many days she stayed in comfortable dresses or a simple tunic and trousers.

Iris let her hand drag across the various clothing hanging there, most of which were dresses but she noticed a few pants and tunics. She felt the soft fabric of a wine-colored dress between her fingers as she turned back to Eris and asked, “You sure went out of your way to give your little wife the nicest clothes to get dolled up.”

She watched Eris bristle. A muscle flexed along his jaw and he cleared his throat, taking a seat at the dining table before answering her quietly. “My mother picked out everything,” he said, a slight sharpness to his tone. “Since she doesn’t have her own daughters, she likes to spoil her daughters-in-law. Elain is constantly getting packages.”

Iris blinked in surprise then swallowed, a simmer of shame coiled inside her.

“But if you’d prefer she didn’t include you in the spoiling or if there’s something you don’t like, you can simply decline and let me know. I’d rather pass the message along myself,” he added, fingers drumming on the table, meeting her gaze briefly then looking away. “She only wanted to make you feel welcome.”

Iris flushed and turned back to the closet with fresh eyes, embarrassed and sad all at once. Of course, her immediate reaction was to be rude about it. Of course.

She examined the clothing once more and bit her lip, pulling out an elegant tunic and pants set of emerald with gold threading. “None of the things I owed were this nice.” she finally said softly. “This is very kind of her...she has beautiful taste.”

“That she does.” he only said. “She was who I was with this morning.”

Iris turned back to him, surprised. “You...went to see your mother?”

“I spend every morning with her for breakfast or tea.” he said and Iris heard the defensiveness in his tone. “It makes her happy.”

“That’s — that’s very nice.” she said with a swallow, turning away from him. “I’m sure your mother enjoys it very much.”

“Whenever you’d like, you’re welcome to join us,” he said quietly. “She welcomes you whenever you’d be up for it.”

Iris froze, her expression softening. Oh, she would love that. She would — then her body went rigid.

“Did you...happen to talk to her about...us?” she asked without turning. She definitely didn’t want to see his expression. Would his mother have expected him to be awful to her as well? Iris couldn’t see that happening but...she blinked again. He had visited his mother. After their wedding night. Was that odd? Should she feel relief that he seems to have a positive relationship with his mother? What would her...mother-in-law expect from her now?

“Whatever you’re thinking about, relax.” he spoke and she turned back to him, finding an amused expression on his face. “She asked about you and if you were doing alright. I told her about your violent tendencies and rest assured, she already likes you very much.”

Iris blinked then let out a snort. “Your mother likes me even when I tried to stab you?”

“Her daughters-in-law seem to have a tendency to dislike her sons at first so she isn’t exactly surprised, to say the least.” he said with a snort of his own, picking up a piece of toast and waving it at her. “You’ll come around eventually.”

Iris rolled her eyes and at the sight of food, her stomach grumbled. She abandoned the closet and walked over to sit opposite him at the dining table, staring at him for a moment. He stared right back.

“That’s a confident assumption of yours.”

“I am a confident male.”

The two continued to stare at each other and a few silent moments passed.

“So.” Eris finally said and Iris squinted at him.

“So.” she answered, grabbing the piece of toast out of his hand and taking a bite.

His brow quirked at that but then he shook his head, grabbing another piece and the butterknife. Iris watched him butter his toast methodically while she munched on her own and when Eris finally looked up at her, she licked her lips, waiting.

His gaze dropped to her mouth and the corner of his lips lifted as he passed her the piece of toast he was holding. “I felt you shift around at night. Was it the bed or me?”

Iris hesitated for a second, then took the food from him, not breaking his gaze. “You.”

“Mm. Even after my promise?”

“My father made a lot of promises.” she said with a shrug and took another bite.

She watched his expression sour but Eris only poured her a drink instead and passed the cup to her.

“Wear something comfortable, I’d like to take you sightseeing.”

Iris blinked. “Really? Where will we go?”

“Out.” he said vaguely, waving a hand. “I’d rather we spent some time away from the house.”

“And do what?”

“We’ll go riding and see where the route takes us.”

Iris perked up. “Really? I love horseback riding!”

“Let’s hope it’s not the only kind of riding you like to do, wife.” he replied with a wink and Iris immediately shot him a glare and slouched at the smirk that accompanied his response.

“You’re so fucken annoying.” she muttered. “You have to ruin everything.”

“Oof, hearing you swear is just as sexy as you trying to stab me.” he said with a chuckle. “Which, by the way, you wouldn’t do well. You hold the dagger wrong.”

Iris scoffed, stuffing the rest of her toast in her mouth and reaching over for additional helpings of food. “I hold it just fine.”

Eris hummed, amusement written all over his face. “As someone who has stabbed and killed people, I can assure you. You do not hold it properly. You’d likely end up hurting yourself.”

Iris blinked, her drink paused halfway to her mouth. “...stabbed and killed in the war?”

“Before the war. During the war. After the war. Certain people need to be taken care of.”

Narrowing her eyes, she took a sip and then gently put the cup back on the table. “How much could I pay you to stab my father?” she asked with a lifted brow.

“Oh, I’d gladly kill him for free. Slowly and painfully,” he said with a feral grin. “But a kiss or two wouldn’t hurt.”

Iris rolled her eyes and then flipped him off again, to which Eris only laughed, pushing the breakfast tray towards her. “It’s been barely a day. Pace yourself, asshole.”

“You’re just so enchanting,” he said with a smirk, his head tilted as he observed her. “I can’t help it.”

Iris stared at him with narrowed eyes and ran her tongue across her teeth. “Just so we’re clear, buttering me up with pretty words doesn’t change our sleeping arrangement.”

“Are you afraid of me, little gazelle?” he asked, his smirk wolfish. “Unless you ask otherwise, I could be gentle with you.”

“Are you sure you’d even know how to do that?” she said with a sneer, though her cheeks had heated. “I’ve heard all about the number of females you’ve gone through.”

“While I am familiar with the art of lovemaking, I do prefer to fuck,” he began and Iris’ back went straight. “But for you my little wife, I would do my best to be as gentle as you want. Pleasuring a female is one of my favorite pastimes.”

It took Iris a moment before she could respond. He had to be one of the most obnoxious males she had ever encountered. The audacity was astonishing and he seemed to know exactly which buttons of hers to push.

“I’m not afraid of you.” she said quietly, her eyes never leaving his face.

“Because there’s nothing to be afraid of.” He replied, his gaze locked on hers. “I will keep saying it until you believe it.”

Iris swallowed and pushed the breakfast tray away, her eyes never leaving his. “We shall see.”

“We shall.”

Iris pursed her lips, her finger tapping gently on the table, her thoughts back to her sleepless night. She needed to make things clear and ask for what she wanted. So far, he was being reasonable and Iris wasn’t sure how long she had before he’d demand more and refuse to deliver until she gave it up.

“In the meantime,” Iris began, standing. “I have a few requests.”

Eris quirked a brow then waved a hand. “I am at your service.”

“You said I wasn’t holding the dagger correctly. That I would only end up hurting myself, yes?”

He nodded. “Yes. I’ve just let you have your fun. Your friend was clearly too busy trying to steal kisses to teach you properly.”

Iris scowled and Eris only smiled at her.

“Fine then, husband. You teach me.” she demanded and Eris blinked. “I want to learn how to fight better and properly defend myself.”

Eris paused and Iris held her breath. She knew whatever practice she had gotten before hadn’t been enough. It was too much sneaking and less time practicing with an actual partner. But if he said no…

“Alright.”

Iris blinked. “Alright?”

And he nodded. “Yes. I would be happy to teach you.”

Iris blinked again and rubbed her ear. “That was easier than I expected.”

Eris snorted and leaned towards her, his elbows resting on the table. “Do you think I want a weak wife? I want to be the next high lord. My wife should know how to defend herself and defend my people.”

Iris tried to hide the slight glee she felt rise in her. It was too much too early. Only yesterday she had wanted to slit his throat but now...they seemed to be on the same page. So she gave him a coy smile.

“Will you make me your High Lady?” she asked and Eris barked out a laugh.

“We’ll see how sweet your kisses are then I’ll decide,” he said with a wink. “For someone so reluctant to be my wife, my powerful position seems to seduce you.”

“I know what it’s like to be powerless,” she replied with a shrug. “I can’t help it that being your wife is the best chance I have to never feel that way again.”

Eris assessed her and she felt a faint sense of approval in his gaze. “And I have no interest in making you feel that way either. We seem to be in agreement.”

“Indeed.”

At that, Eris beckoned for her to come closer with two fingers. “Let’s quickly seal the deal with a kiss, preferably with you on my lap.”

Iris let out a soft laugh and waved him off as she walked towards her closet again, pulling out the trousers and tunic set she had eyed earlier. “You’re relentless. I admire how persistently you keep dreaming.”

“One day it won’t be a dream,” Eris said with a chuckle, standing as well and adjusting his shirt. “And oh my little gazelle, once you’ve gotten a taste? I’ll have you delightfully begging.”

Iris’ cheeks heated and she shut the closet door, making her way to their shared washroom. Refusing to let him keep flustering her, Iris turned to face her very aggravating husband, her heart beating rapidly at the sensual smile he gave her. “How could any begging of mine be more delightful than yours, princeling? If anything, you’ve inspired me to keep you on a leash while I have you on your knees.”

His smile turned downright wicked at that and Iris held back a shudder at the scent change in the room.

“I would gladly get on my knees for you, wife.” he said softly. “But it would require you on your back with your legs spread wide open for me and I don’t think you’re quite ready for that.”

Iris froze at the door of their washroom, her back straight as her whole body heated at his words and Eris’ chuckle at her expression was like a bucket of cold water poured on her.

“Are you ready for that?” she spat, flustered and annoyed all at once.

“More than you know.” He answered, an irritating smirk on his face and Iris’ flush deepened. “I already told you, I’m ready whenever you are, wife.”

“Aren’t you always.” she muttered and couldn’t hold back the shudder this time, causing Eris’ grin to widen.

“In the meantime, a cold shower will help you calm down,” he said with a wink. “But if you need any assistance, I’m one shout away.”

“Go die, please.”

“Only if it’s between your legs.”

Iris blinked and Eris could only chuckle as she stood there.

“You’re despicable.” she finally hissed and very viciously flipped him off for the millionth time since she’d met him.

But Eris only laughed. “Wishing you had my dagger to throw at me now, don’t you?”

“Desperately,” she growled and crossed her arms. “I have two other requests if you’re done being disgusting.”

“I’ve barely begun being disgusting with you, my little gazelle,” he replied, his smirk wide. “But yes, what else can I do for you?”

“I don’t want to be caged. I want to be free to go where I please.”

Eris gave her a thoughtful look and nodded. “Of course. Just be mindful of who you speak to. There are snakes everywhere.” he replied, a hand sliding into his pocket. “And your final request?”

Iris paused here, her fingers tightening on her clothes. “A piano,” she said softly. “I’d like to play the piano.”

The corner of his lips curled up and Eris nodded again. “We already have one set in a room close to my mother’s quarters. I’ll show you on our tour.” he said and hesitated briefly before adding, “Will I get to hear you play?”

Heart thundering at the question, Iris debated for a moment. “Maybe.”

He chuckled and ran a hand through his hair. “It seems like ‘maybe’ will become my new favorite word.”

With a squint that was more playful than she intended, Iris said once more, “Maybe,” then dashed into the washroom. Eris’ soft laugh followed her but Iris pretended the goosebumps that had erupted all over her body had nothing to do with him at all. Absolutely nothing to do with the whirlwind of emotions he seemed to be putting her through. Even as she aggressively scrubbed her body in the bath, she pretended, as if the more aggressively she scrubbed, the quicker she could wash away his inappropriate comments and what they were most certainly not doing to her mind and body.

#eris vanserra #eris vanserra x oc #eris vanserra fanfic #acotar fanfiction #gfics #smtb #smtb chapters

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arctrooper69 · 2 years ago

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hiii! i just found your hurt/comfort dialog prompt list you had tagged and i'm such a sucker for that kind of stuff. could you please do prompt 34. "you're covered in blood, need to tell me something?" with wolffe? maybe even a little bit of prompts 20 and 35 from the the hurt/comfort sprinkled in there too? i absolutely adore your work and your such a fantastic writer, i look forward to everytime you post, and you do such a beautiful job on your writing that i can't wait to read this once it is done (if you decided to do it) . feel free to change it how you want, and thank you for taking time out of busy day to read this. love you <333

Hey! I'm so glad you've been enjoying my work! Sorry it took me awhile to get this out to you. I had so many ideas for it but I couldn't decide what I wanted to do. Hope you enjoy it! 😁

Prompt# 20: "How long did you think that you could hide that?"

Prompt# 34: "You're covered in blood, need to tell me anything?"

Prompt# 35: "It's just a headache, I'm fine."

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Love is a Battlefield

The new General doesn't want to ask for help. Commander Wolffe does so anyway.

Warnings: Blood. Angst. Battlefield scenes. Hurt/Comfort.

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"Okay, today officially sucks." You grumbled under your breath, cursing whatever cosmic Force led you to be in your current state. Groaning you dragged yourself back over the ledge and collapsed in the mud. Everything hurt. Your clothes were stiff with dried and drying blood and at this point, you weren't sure if it belonged to you or to those damn splox who's nest you'd fallen into. Probably both.

Ok, now to find the rest of the company. You were sure that you hadn't strayed too far from the battlefield when you'd been drug off by battle droids and thrown from a cliff in the resulting fight. But hey, at least you took them down with you. You thought, cracking a smile. Master Plo would've been proud. On the other hand, you frowned, you had gotten separated from everyone else - so maybe not so much.

You drew a sharp breath between your teeth. A burning, grating feeling radiated from your side as you stepped over a rock and nearly fell to the ground. You paused for a moment to let your tunneling vision focus again, fighting back the urge to throw up. Maybe some of the blood was actually yours. The trek back to camp was going to take much longer than you expected.

Good. Maybe that would give you time to mull over the conversation you'd had yesterday morning with the commander of you battalion.

You were sure it was the reason that Commander Wolffe was ignoring you earlier today.

***

You'd chosen to continue on with the battalion after Master Plo had received an urgent message from the Council, recalling him from the field. Wolffe disagreed.

"You're injured!" He snapped, more forcefully than intended.

You sighed rolling your eyes. "It's just a headache. I'm fine. You know I've had worse, Commander." It was more than a headache, probably a concussion due to the nausea and dizziness that currently plagued you. But he didn't need to know that.

Wolffe pinched the bridge of his nose.

"General, I saw that spider droid fling you halfway across the battlefield. Can you at least go to medical to get checked out? I need you-" He froze, then coughed quickly, trying to pass off his slip-up as though he'd been interrupted mid sentence. "We. We need you. Your men need you at your best, general."

He coughed again and quickly left the room, leaving you frozen in place.

***

Did he really say that? You replayed his words in your head over and over again.

"I need you."

You couldn't deny that it had shaken you. You couldn't deny that it had hit you in such a way that made your whole body tingle and flood with warmth. As much as you tried to suppress it and convince yourself it was nothing, you had found yourself staring at the Commander a lot recently. The way he confidently carried himself, the subtle spark in his eye, the way he cared for his men even though he hid it behind that abrasive and sarcastic front - it was all so perfect. So attractive. So him.

No, he couldn't have meant it like that. You were his superior and even more importantly, you were a Jedi. No attachment allowed. He definitely couldn't have meant it like that. It was simply a slip of the tongue. He felt nothing for you and you felt nothing for him. You told yourself that your infatuation wasn't real. Commander Wolffe was a good solider and your fondness for him was simply a professional sense of pride. That's all.

Distant voices interrupted your brooding. Several clone troopers were searching high and low, calling out for someone but you didn't quite catch the name.

"Who are we looking for?" You walked up to the trooper closest to you. His shiny white armor was streaked with mud and ash - one of the new guys. Splash, they'd christened him on account of the puddle of mud he'd landed in immediately after jumping from the gunship into the field. It was hard to believe you'd only been here for three days. It felt like three years.

"We're looking for the General!" He explained hurriedly, hardly giving you a side glance.

Your heart dropped. Surely not Master Plo. Had he not left for Coruscant after all? Your hero and former master had seemed invincible ever since he'd chosen you to be his Padawan.

"General Plo Koon?" You asked hesitantly.

Splashed grunted as he stepped over a log. "No, the other one."

A wave of relief washed over you. You could've laughed out loud if your head wasn't so cloudy. Your side screamed with every step. You took a shallow breath, trying to ground yourself.

I am one with the force and the force is with me. I am one with the force and the force is with me.

Supplementing with the force wouldnt last long and it was draining, but it was better than the agony you'd been in. You took a deep breath, allowing the pain to become a whisper and looked back up at the clone.

"Well you found her!" You joked.

"What?" He stood up looking confused. Then he looked over at you.

Splash straightened up upon realizing that he had indeed found the General. He was glad he was wearing his bucket because he could feel his face turning red with embarrassment. He scrambled stiffly to attention. "Uhm, sorry Sir. I mean Ma'am. Uh, General." He stuttered, trying to compose himself. You chuckled, wincing as the movement pulled at your wounded side. Splash looked alarmed as if he'd just realized that his General was covered in blood. "Are you injured, Ma'am?"

You grit your teeth to hide the pain. "No, I'm fine, thank you. I believe it all belongs to the splox that I killed. Fell into a nest of em."

He looked at you, unsure if you were being serious or not, trying to recall if the regulation manuals told him what to do in a situation like this.

"We should probably make our way to medical, all the same." He concluded. "Just to be safe. Get you checked out and all." He offered his arm.

You shook your head. "No that's alright. They're much too busy right now, seeing as the battle has just ended."

"Well I'm sure..."

You put a hand up to stop him. "It's fine, Splash. I can take care of myself. Let's worry about making our way back to camp."

"Of course, General."

***

You made your way back to camp and bid Splash a farewell. Exhausted, you yawned and slowly made your way back to your tent, passing the Commander's tent on your way there.

"General!" Commander Wolffe sprang to his feet the moment he saw you. "Are you alright, ma'am?"

His eyebrows knit tightly together with a frown. If you didn't know better, you almost thought he looked concerned. Worried even. But that would be stupid. You were reading too much into it. He was simply a solider looking out for the welfare of his commanding officer. That's it. Nothing more.

"I'm good!" You grinned, hoping he didn't notice the way your teeth ground against the pain in your head and now your side.

Wolffe's face became unreadable.

"Just good!?" He growled. "General, you are covered in blood. 'Good' does not even begin to cover it. Do you need to tell me something?"

Yes. I think I'm in love with you.

"No not really." You nonchantly shrugged. "It's not mine. Fell into a nest of those giant splox beetles and had to take em out before they ate me. You know how it is."

Wolffe rolled his eyes. He didn't believe you, but what could he do? He wasn't your superior, he couldn't order you to tell him. He made a note to ask Cody and Rex to let him into the clones-with-stubborn-generals club. He could sure use some advice.

"Could you be anymore bull-headed?" he wanted to yell at you as you left the room, interpreting his silence as the end of that conversation.

Wolffe groaned in frustration. Why did he care so much? Why did the thought of you being wounded send waves of terror cascading through his core. You were acting strange, subtly walking as though every step sent agony shooting through your body thinking nobody would notice. He noticed. He wanted to pick you up in his arms and bandage your wounds. He wanted to softly kiss each scar on your skin.

You were a good leader. He understood wanting to be tough, wanting to be strong for the soldiers under your command. If he was honest with himself, he did the same.

You trudged wearily back to your tent, ignoring the pain that was slowly returning to full force with a vengeance as though it was angry at being willed into submission.

You made it a point to avoid medical. The dwindling amount of medical supplies worried you. It was only a matter of time before they would run out if they weren't sent relief. The chief medical officer had drastically downplayed the dire straits the company was in when you asked him. You'd seen the inventory. It was scarce. It wouldn't be right, going to medical right now. Not when you could most likely patch yourself up with the small medkit by your bunk. The clones made up the backbone of the GAR, it was only right that they take priority over you.

***

It was a miracle of the Force that you hadn't passed out by the time you reached the tent. Biting your lip to keep you from making too much noise, you peeled off your shirt to assess the damage, grabbing a towel from the shelf.

You bit back a pained moan and your vision swam as you gripped the edge of your cot to steady yourself. A large gash curled around the side of your chest from the bottom of your breast to your hip. The torn skin bled heavily, quickly turning the towel a crimson red.

This was...not good.

The com chirped, making you jump. You felt dazed and exhausted. Closing your eyes, you took a deep breath before answering the com. Sergeant Sinker's brisk voice echoed from the device.

"General, the clankers are moving in from the North. They've engaged the front and the 501st is calling for aid. What are your orders?"

Your men needed you. Who were you to ignore them? What kind of leader would you be if you sent them off while you stayed behind. "A good leader leads by example" Master Plo always said. You were tired of the animalistic way the clones were treated - as if they were only droids or worse. You would be there for your men, fighting right up front beside them. Right beside Commander Wolffe.

You lit up the com. "Proceed with the request, Sergeant. I'll be there shortly."

You looked at the medkit. Well, so much for that. You quickly taped up the wound and slapped some bacta treated gauze on it. Then you quickly changed your clothes, willing yourself to ignore the nauseating pain. You steadied yourself with a hand on the wall before wiping the cold sweat from your clammy skin. You tried to breathe, once more closing your eyes in meditation once again squashing down the pain. The show must go on. The General must lead her men into battle.

***

General Skywalker was right to call for aid. The Separatist forces were throwing everything they had at you. You jumped over the guns of a tank, slicing through the controls to disable it. Droid after droid came at you from all sides and you cut them down. If only the Commander could see you now in all your glory.

An explosion knocked you off your feet, wrenching you from your stupor. Pain surged through your body as you pushed yourself to your feet. The continuous onslaught of enemy forces wasn't so fun now. You began to realize just how tired you were. Trying to catch your breath felt as futile as swimming in honey. Your mind felt sluggish and your arms felt like lead. A B2 took aim and fired. You saw him fire and raised your saber to block but it was a fraction of a second too slow and the blast hit your shoulder. Kriff. You hit the ground hard, letting the awful, searing pain wash over you. You wanted to close your eyes. You wished you could just rest. Just for a moment.

Your eyes flew back open. No. The men need you. Get up. Shakily you forced yourself to your knees and onto your feet. One more time. You knew this was abusing the force but it was for an honorable reason. Right?

I am one with the force and the force is with me. I am one with the force and the force is with me. Pain is temporary. Accept it simply as a signal sent by the body. Accept the pain. Respect it. Don't fight it. Ask your body to begin to heal.

You let out a feral scream, pouring every last ounce of energy and willpower into your prayers, knocking back an entire wave of droids. And then you felt nothing.

***

My head. The first thing you noticed upon regaining consciousness was the skull splitting headache that you could almost feel radiating down your entire body. It felt as though someone was spearing red hot needles through your eyeballs, twisting them through the many sections of your brain. The pain made you nauseous.

An agonized wheeze drifted from your lips as you tried to raise your hands to cup your face. When did my arms get so heavy? Pain shot through your side and shoulder as you tried to move. Panic gripped you when you couldn't.

"Ah kriff," a gruff voice cursed. "Hey! General. General, it's okay. Calm down. You're safe." You'd know that voice anywhere - it was the only clear thing that cut through the haze of pain. Commander Wolffe.

He barked a command at someone and after a few minutes the pain had loosened it's claws. It wasn't much but it was better than before.

"What do you need, General? Are you still in pain?"

"Lights," you managed to groan. Even that took too much energy and you desperately hoped that you wouldn't be sick in front of the Commander.

Wolffe immediately jumped from his chair, quickly shutting off the lights. That helped some, but not much. It still felt like your head was being lobotomized by a pickaxe. Your side and shoulder felt like they'd been broken off and trampled by a bantha. A bantha that was on fire maybe.

"You are so kriffing stubborn, you know that!?" Wolffe growled. Seeing you wince, he lowered his volume but continued with the hard and bitter tone.

"How long did you think you could hide that!? Hmm?" He motioned to your side.

"You almost died yesterday." He said, softening his voice ever so slightly.

Wolffe looked tired. His eyes were sunken and even his cybernetic one had a dark shadow beneath it. He looked like he hadn't shaved or showered since the battle. His grey armor was still scuffed up with dirt and grime. A small bacta patch adorned his right eyebrow.

You looked away, shame burning at the corners your eyes, adding to the overwhelming pressure in your head. You failed him and now he hated you. You turned your head away from him wincing at the pain but you couldn't bear to have him see the tears that rolled down your cheeks.

"Look at me." A command. He didn't have the authority to give you a command, but you felt compelled to comply all the same. Hastily wiping your eyes in a futile attempt at seeming alright, you turned towards him. Your breath caught as he wrapped his hand around your wrist, pulling it from your face.

"Stop kriffing pretending that you're okay." Still a command, but this one felt softer. His voice still held the rough, bitter edge that defined him so well but as you met his eyes, they held an uncertain gaze of vulnerability.

"Your men need you alive. They care about you, General." He paused, pacing back and forth in the dark room. He came to a stand still by the foot of your bed, refusing to meet your gaze, as though he had something he wanted to say. Finally he took a deep breath and slowly let it out.

"Oh kriff it." He snapped. "I care about you, damnit!" He shook his head and began to pace again, the anger returning to his visage.

"General Plo said you could've died." He spat. "He said that you had spread yourself so thin, used up so much energy that you could've killed yourself. Do you..." He cut himself off and took another breath, clenching his fists tightly. "Do you know what that would've done to this company. Do you know what that would've done to me!?"

There was fire in his eyes when he looked back up at you. "It would've killed me too."

You lay there in your bed staring at him - shocked at this outburst. What was he saying? That he cared for you? That he loved you? That he thought about you as much as you thought about him?

"I.." you began softly.

"No. I'm not done."

You shut your mouth.

"General, when you came back to camp covered in blood, I had to restrain myself from throwing you over my shoulder and taking you to medical myself. I knew something was wrong but I trusted that you knew what you were doing. It was the same when I saw you collapse yesterday. It took everything in me not to race to your side."

He shook his head, disappointed in himself, and angry with you. "I should be holding the line with my men, not babysitting my General!"

You stared blankly ahead, letting his anger wash over you. So that's how he saw you. That solves one problem, you tried to convince yourself. It was good that he didn't reciprocate your feelings. That made it easier to cleanse yourself of any feeling of attachment. But then why didn't hurt so bad? Why did it feel like a part of your soul had been sawed away? Wasn't letting go of your emotions supposed to bring you peace? This crushing weight of disappointment and heartbreak was anything but peace.

The room was quiet save for the beeps and whirs of the medical equipment around you. The silence felt deafening. Then finally Wolffe let out a sigh.

"I'm....sorry..." The words dragged themselves reluctantly from his mouth.

You didn't respond.

The bed buckled slightly as Wolffe sat down on the edge. He tentatively rested a hand gently on your back, expecting you to recoil or stiffen under his touch. His eyebrows shot up in surprise as you leaned into his touch instead.

He sighed, rolling his neck. "Look," he began awkwardly. "I'm not good at this kind of thing so I'm just going to be honest with you. I..." He stopped. You turned your face towards his. He took a breathe, not daring to make eye contact. "I think I'm in love with you. Kriff. No, I know I'm in love with you."

You gasped, the dam broke and tears began to stream down your face.

Wolffe jumped up, startled and clearly embarrassed. "I...I mean... I... I didn't mean..." The normally confident Commander stumbled over his words in a shameful horror.

"No," you sobbed. You felt so relieved. Everything felt right again. "You didn't do anything wrong." He looked down at you, eybrows knitted upwards in confusion. "Then why..." He motioned to your tearful face.

"Because I love you too and I was afraid that you hated me. I was afraid that everyone would see me as a terrible General. And also my everything hurts and..." you sobbed, "...and I love you so much."

Wolffe looked down at you with amusement and a strange softness took hold of his features - a foreign look for his usually serious demeanor.

"You look nice when you smile," you whispered with a small grin. "But you can go back to frowning if that's more comfortable for you."

Wolffe rolled his eyes as he settled down in a chair beside your bed. "You should get some sleep, General." Back to his serious old self again but he kept that twinkle in his eye. Only for you. he thought.

"I'll be right here when you wake up."

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If you want to be on my taglist, feel free to send me a message! Also, asks are open! Reblogging is very much encouraged and it makes me do a happy dance every time any of my writing gets reblogged 😂❤️

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pappydaddy · 1 year ago

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sweet nothing (j.m.)

tv show/movie: outer banks | pairing: jj maybank x fem!kook!reader

requested by a lovely anon as part of my 800 follower celebration

synopsis: jj comforts y/n after another draining day in outer banks

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When Y/N and JJ first started to go out, many people had opinions on their relationship. A kook and a pogue? Of course people had things to say. All bad coming from the kook side (naturally). Her parents had never let her go more than a day without letting her know how much of a disappointment her choice for a partner was. Claiming that she was just throwing her life away, that she should be dating someone better. Saying that JJ was just holding her back.

Her “friends” (former) always told her that he wasn’t enough. He wasn’t romantic enough because he wasn’t showering her with thousand dollar gifts every day. They would trick her into hanging out with them only to smother her in “eligible bachelors” - their words. People she rarely talked to even had an opinion. Anytime she attended (forcefully) a kook party JJ was surprisingly banned from, she was swarmed by guys who paid her no mind in high school, all trying to swindle her away from JJ.

She never budged. Not an inch. Putting up an ironclad facade, she ignored them. When she told everyone that her and JJ were moving to the mainland, getting an apartment in the city so they could both go to school, the opinions got louder and nastier. Now, criticizing JJ’s appearance, her ambitions, her talent, JJ’s ambitions, and JJ’s motives. Her parents cut her off, kicking her out in hopes she would choose them over her. Tossing her out with the possessions she wished to take, they threw insults at her, aimed right at her heart, she moved in with JJ and John B until they moved.

While her love and devotion never once was shaken by the ridicule, her heart and feelings were. Their fighting words and insults were like a tiny, sharp shard of glass cutting through her confidence and her feelings - piercing her heart. Especially when they came from her family or old friends. Shunned from the life she always had, losing everyone simply because of the person you love. It hurt. They wanted her to stay the same, but to accept them as they change.

Everytime she was out in town, the snide remarks shot at her in passing under people’s breaths crawled under her skin, imprinting themselves into her brain. “It’s gonna end and you’re gonna come crying.” “Idiot, throwing her life away for a no-good pogue.” “She’s kissing her life good-bye.” “Dirty Pogue Slut.” “Trailer trash.” The whispered statements swirled around in her head. She didn’t care that they didn’t approve of them. She could give a damn what they thought of them. But those words being spoken by people you had trusted your whole life stung. Knowing that they are saying worse about JJ and herself behind closed doors irked her.

Opening the door to the Chateau, the voices lowered in her head, the sound of JJ’s humming muting them enough. She looked up, seeing him in the kitchen rummaging through John B’s food. “Hey, Bubs! You got an early start today.” He smiled, eyes lighting up when he saw her. His torso was naked, his boxers hanging low, and his hair messed from the pillow he slept on. He crossed the space between them easily and quickly, his lips falling upon hers sweetly.

“I ran some errands, getting some things for the move.” She told him, her voice weak, surprising her. She didn’t think the insults today hurt her that much, but apparently they did. JJ pulled away from her, a frown on his face and concern filling his eyes.

“They were giving you a hard time again, weren’t they?” He asked. She sniffled, nodding as he gently took the bags she was carrying from her hands. Paper bags filled to the brim with toiletries, cleaning supplies, and things to help them when they first move into their apartment, more bags piled in her car parked outside.

He wrapped his arms around her as he guided her towards the couch. “I try to look unaffected, but JJ,” She paused, tears welling in her eyes. “I’m just too soft. I’m not ironclad, the shit they say hurts.” She whimpered, burrowing her face into his chest, tears leaking out.

His arms tightened around her, holding her closer to him as he rocked them gently. “I know, Bubs, I know,” He shushed her, hand rubbing up and down her back. “They are upset because they all wanted something from you that they aren’t getting anymore,” The vibrations of his words rattled in his chest, soothing her. “Just think, in a few days we will be packing up your car and the twinkie, hooking up my bike, and leaving this place behind to where their words can’t reach us.”

“What about when we come back to visit?” She sniffled.

“They will find something else to bitch about by then. And even if they are still up to things, I will protect you from them.” He told her. The tears had slowed as she let his comfort surround her. While everyone else wanted something from her. Wanted her to carry on the family fortune. Wanted to get expensive gifts for their birthdays. Wanted her unconditional support but not offering any in return. JJ didn’t want anything from her. He just wanted her. Sweet, sweet nothing.

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madangel19 · 3 months ago

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6. their touch on your nape when they're clasping a necklace for you. (hey god its.. uh me again heh).

With Swiss and Deliah maybe?

Ooooo this is a very nice prompt :3 It says necklace in the prompt, but I went with a nice collar, especially the type that have those rings for people to put their fingers in and bring you close. Very spicy and perfect for Swiss and Delia

Tags: Nothing too spicy in here. Mention of cocks, nudity and choking

Word Count: 506

Delia’s eye twitched as she tried to figure out how to put on the new collar she had bought. She stood naked before the mirror in the bathroom, struggling with the clasp and trying not to get frustrated when she missed her mark once again. She wanted to surprise Swiss with something new, but this new purchase was turning out difficult.

The circle shaped rings of the collar jingled beautifully and she closed her eyes as she imagined what it would be like having Swiss gives those rings a nice tug to pull her closer during passionate moments. It would be so nice if she could just figure out how to put the damn thing on.

“You okay in there, Delia?” Swiss asked from the bedroom.

“Not…really,” she replied, sighing while dropping her hands and looking down at the collar in her hands. It wouldn’t hurt to ask for help.

“You need help, sweetheart?”

“I do.”

One second passed and a shirtless Swiss was already opening the door, looking concerned for his mate. His concern melted away when he saw what she had in her hands.

“I…wanted to surprise you with this…but it’s hard to put on. Can you help me, Swiss?” She asked, showing the collar to him.

“Of course I can, Delia,” Swiss cooed, stepping over to her and taking the collar in his hands. He inspected it, his smile growing all the more playful before he moved behind her.

“I saw it today and I knew you would love something like that. Those rings are just perfect for bringing me closer to you,” Delia said as the ghoul pushed her long purple hair to the side before placing it around her neck.

“I’ve heard so many good things about these. It’ll look beautiful on you, Delia,” Swiss purred, clasping the collar with ease. Delia shivered at the tightness around her neck and she looked back at her reflection. The collar fit her perfectly.

“Perfect,” the ghoul whispered, his fingers brushing along the nape of her neck. The necklace was so cool, but his fingers were so deliciously warm on her flesh. Delia closed her eyes in bliss as she thought of his hands around her neck.

“Thank you, love,” she whispered, her heart racing in her chest as she thought of many other lewd things he could be doing to her now. The ghoul let out a happy chuff as he lightly curled his fingers around some of the rings and gave them a gentle tug.

“You wanna test out the necklace now, Delia?” Swiss asked.

Delia opened her eyes, smirking when she felt how hard he already was in his gray sweatpants. She turned around, tapping at her necklace.

“Of course, Daddy,” she giggled.

Swiss let out a rumbling growl as he curled a single claw around the middle ring, pulling her close into a hungry kiss. Delia didn’t resist as she kissed him back, eager to enjoy this moment with him and not wanting to get away from him anytime soon.

#the band ghost #ghost band #nameless ghouls #swiss ghoul #ghost band fanfic #fanfiction

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mbrowne-writ-344 · 5 months ago

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The Promised Neverland (and why season 2 is dead to me)

Hello again my wonderful readers! I hope my introduction got you interested in the goodness i want to bestow upon you.

Today, the manga and anime I shall introduce you to is:

The Promised Neverland

(Credit)

BOY! do I have some words.

When I first found out about this anime, I was in my sophomore year of high school and was still wet behind the ears when it came to buying or reading manga. It only had trailers that showed a bunch of kids having fun in an orphanage so I thought "sweet! a new slice of life anime for me to watch on my free time"... I was dead wrong.

Episode 1 comes out, and I decided to watch it while I was eating dinner. I dropped my fork at some point while watching, and in the time it took me to pick it up, it was like a switch had flipped. I came back up to look at my phone and thought I had accidently switched to a different show! (I will not spoil what I saw, but for those who know, you know what I'm talking about) One other thing I forgot to point out is that while I did see a trailer for this anime, what I DIDN'T do was read the genre tags, which would have told me that was I was watching was NOT a slice of life, but a PSYCHOLOGICAL THRILLER.

I mean just look at this! Does this look like something that would be a thriller?!?

(Credit)

Lord have mercy, I was clutching my pearls for the rest of the episode. Once it was over, I knew that i was determined to stick it through to the end, however I was too excited to wait. Thus I found The Promised Neverland's manga online and had 131 chapters ready for my eager eyes. This was the start of my manga reading obsession. Now just because I read the manga, doesn't mean it took away from watching it be animated. My blood still ran cold, and I still cried at moments that i saw beautifully adapted.

Now then, after telling you about my mesmerizing experience without spoilers, surely you'll want to check it out right? But before i send you on your way, I must let you know of one fatal flaw.

If you choose to read AND watch The promised neverland, DO NOT go into it's season 2 thinking that they adapted it to the manga. (Because they went the anime only route and broke my damn heart!😭) They decided to completely cut out one of the most important character development heavy arcs, thus cutting out an entire cast of characters that were very near and dear to my heart. (R.I.P -Goldy Pond)

So small TLDR just in case things seem all over the place:

The promised neverland is a psychological thriller/ mystery anime about a bunch of children living happily in an orphanage until they weren't. Season 2 never happened (Just like there never being a war in Ba sing sei) and I am a proud owner of all 20 volumes that were published paperback.(With the REAL ending)

I implore you to give The Promised Neverland episode 1 a watch, though maybe not during dinner where your fork might drop, don't wanna miss anything!

A question before you go! What do you think makes the show a psychological thriller?

Here's a final picture of season 1's spotlight characters. My favorites are Ray and Phil(Middle right & Bottom right. Such cutie patooties)

Thank you for reading! <3

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chevvy-yates · 1 year ago

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WIP Wednesday

got tagged by @wanderingaldecaldo. Thank you dear <3

What can I show you now?

1st.

A week ago I saw Kala released a new(er) eye mod all with white rings like Ryder has. I was tempted to try out some specific ice blue ones on Ry. Voilà:

For those who do not know; Ryder's original eyes had been ice blue (some visual trait that runs in the von Scharfenberg family for centuries). For reference here's him in 2066 again:

A more or less shorter history how Ry's actual eye mod came to be used:

When I created him my original thought was to give him yellow eyes (Kakto eyes – eden on sacred geometry) because I once again got inspired by Supernatural — yup the yellow-eyed demon xD. But back then I could not get the supposed eye mod to work. Vijay's eye mod however worked without any problems and so I selected Ryder's gray ones with the white ring instead he kept until today and is going to keep them as well (unless a better mod comes out or I can manage to edit them in some way because they sometimes look a bit lifeless - to less contrast or sth.). My plan was to have V's and Ry's mods not conflicting so I do not need to drag and drop in and out all the time (but this was wishful thinking).

The ice blue ones however might be a thing I may want to use on past days Ryder (2071—74). It requires me to rewrite some minor parts and retake some pics (I want to redo some day anyway) but it makes sense to me: He's had ice blue, then changed them to ice blue with a white ring and some time later got his gray ones he got now installed to match his overall dark dress code.

buuuuuut

I gotta say like them on him, he makes me weak — yet the white ring doesn't come through so nicely as in his gray ones, so he looks less intimidating in my opinion. And to be intimidating is what he wants in the first place, so people stay away. So gotta keep those darker ones. <3

2nd.

Thyjs sneak peak:

3rd. Another snippet? Another snippet:

The next second, he is kissed all the way down along his chest by warm darkened lips and every inch of the wet traces left by Ryder’s tongue seemed to burn on his skin. The fangs ensure to arouse his skin even more. De Wit manages to kick his clothes completely off his legs and just decided to pull those damn Jinguji briefs down too, so he could remove it from the younger man’s hips now that Ry was on top. The younger man aimed for traveling down south, and his tongue could instantly feel the change of surface, moving from sweet tasting, almost silky warm skin over to colder hardened cyberware tasting rather metallic yet still exciting while he scratched his nails along his chest and soon they followed down along the wet kissed path Ry’s tongue left. “Never tasted a metal belly.” “It’s just metal,” Thy answers as he feels Ry’s tongue exploring now the part where a navel was supposed to be. Nonetheless, Thyjs let out a satisfying sigh. It felt completely different, since the sensors under the metallic cyberware only told him, there’s some rather soft pressure right now, but watching Ry doing it, and how he’s doing it, makes Thyjs go almost crazy making him say “I almost pity now I replaced my belly to be stronger.” Ry looks up with a mischievous grin. “Guess I need to go explore somewhere else then where there is more sensation, hm?” he asks and proceeds further making his lover gasp even more.

tagging:

@morganlefaye79, @wraithsoutlaws, @kittenchrissy, @imaginarycyberpunk2023, @elvenbeard, @therealnightcity, @humberg, @theviridianbunny, @genocidalfetus and @gloryride

no pressure as always!

#wip wednesday #this time I made it on time #cyberpunk 2077 #about: ryder von scharfenberg #these blue eyes are hitting differently #fic wip #otp: black camo #I put Thyjs' missing navel into some written form yes #I need to retake past ry pics (sceduling it for October then)

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phoenix-d-shunko · 10 months ago

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Whispering Inferno Part 1

First post to Tumblr please be kind

I'm not supposed to be writing but with my brain screaming here we are.

"Lord Cimmerian " still didn't like the name or the title, but it did its work—evident by the flinch the secretary couldn't hide as he snarled through the heavy iron mask. Identities were treasures, and Lord Cimmerian couldn't risk losing his with all the baggage his life was tagged with.

"Your rundown on the agency's new recruits."

He took the heavy binder in his hands, and although it seemed tedious and boring—much like everything was since he claimed the city for his own—it was always worth looking into new recruits and nipping them in their pathetic buds before they could bloom and cause more problems.

That being said, the agency's recent batches were nothing to worry about, and he flipped through pages and pages until -

"Incendra?"

"Ah yes, she's an annoying one. The foot soldiers report she has been hitting our decoys regularly—but with no tact, it seems. She's quite popular with the public as well, and her Phoenix fire is annoying as much as her desperate efforts to find our headquarters."

Strong build, the sword in her hand that didn't seem to cave to her flames, and those flames—something about them looked very... alluring. But that look in her eyes told him what he had to do. She had to be dealt with.

"Do we have her location?"

"Yes, Sir. She was last seen in today's incident involving Chimera's team. Since then, she's been creating quite the ruckus at the abandoned buildings between Main Street and Elm Avenue."

"What the hell is she doing?" He tried to zoom in on the feed being displayed on the tablet the secretary had handed him.

"It seems like she's trying to...fly...with the flames."

The secretary almost lost it when he saw his lord smile and then chuckle a short laugh. He was... Amused? Amused? Amused. His eyes bulged out at the realization, The Cimmerian amused by a rookie? Something was indeed special about this one, but he was still surprised when the lord himself started to prepare for a bout with the rookie hero.

"Put her location in my tracker and box her if she starts to get tired by her little 'flight practice' and starts to leave. Chimera might want a round two with her. And Bloodshot. Him too. Give them a squad and set up a parameter until I arrive."

"All this for her, lord?"

"Don't doubt my judgment." He snarled. The secretary instantly gulped. "And tell them to get the hell out of there as soon as I arrive. Unless those idiots want to get impaled."

---

Kaida looked at the daunting height of the abandoned building and let out a calming breath. "You just need more airborne time, Kaida Davis. Just more airborne time. You'll be okay. You'll be okay."

She assured herself that no matter what, she could soften her impact with her flames. But as she climbed the stairs, a certain uneasiness kept creeping into her bones to the point she was ready to talk herself out of the whole thing when she reached the rooftop.

She took one peek over the edge and felt her stomach drop - "nope, nope," she kept saying the word as it would make her feet move from the edge, but they didn't. She knew she had to try flying with her flames so she could take care of her biggest weakness, but this was stupid. Sure, it would be cool to fly, and sure, it would fit her actual name perfectly (even though nobody was gonna know "Incendra" was her). Ugh, that name. She broke herself out of the damned thought track, focusing more on the 80 ft drop.

Gosh, why is this building abandoned? She tried to focus her feet more when she felt herself teeter and almost had stabilized herself when she felt a jolt to the back, and there she was, falling. Snapping her out of the sudden feeling of weightlessness, her instincts took over as she conjured flames out of her boots and hands, much like all those 90s cartoons.

She considered letting her flames roar, but then decided against it as the thrust would have propelled into the opposite building and instead let her flames just slow her descent and stopped just 5 feet short, letting herself fall on her back, the impact still stinging but not like an 80 ft fall.

But what she saw made her wish she had taken the huge fall instead. The Cimmerian. He was the one who had pushed her.

"Shame the push couldn't make you fly... at least it could have killed you." He sounded offended and almost sassy, but the voice through the mask made it sound more ominous.

"Didn't think you would go as low as pushing someone from the back, Cimmerian."

Yep. The mask was what made him more fearful. Kaida made all the effort to bite back both mentally and through her voice, but the pain and fear rendered the attempt futile, and her voice had broken halfway through her poor dialogue.

"I hope you fight better. So far that retort and the name isn't doing it." The Cimmerian bit back as he sent a piercing column of iron near Kaida's neck, barely missing it. She quickly put the pain and fear to the back of her mind and got moving. Springing quickly to her feet and gliding out of the range of attack by propelling herself using her flames, she took her scabbard, swinging it from the back to her side, and drew her sword, lighting it and her mask with flames.

"Well, I think this does it."

In an instant, The Cimmerian had descended from the building commanding an iron plate much like the Silver Surfer.

"Not the time to make comic book connections, Kaida Davis. Focus," she muttered to herself.

"I still have my reservations." The Cimmerian barked as he sent a flurry of nails towards 'Incendra,' who just surrounded herself with some blue fire that rendered those nails into small molten iron puddles.

"This will be interesting." He boomed. For once, the prospect of a fight brought The Cimmerian a certain high. A high he loathed. A high that probably led him to this path in the first place.

#hero x villain #hero vs villain #my fic #my ocs

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buckybarnesdiaries · 4 years ago

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wakanda

bucky barnes x reader. ⎢ masterlist.

Steve gives you Bucky's dog tags for a reason.

word count: 2.4k (lol, sorry)

warnings/tags: none. bucky being a cutie.

author notes: none of my stories contain reader’s body descriptions to be inclusive.

Join the tag list here.

“Welcome to Wakanda, agent (Y/N)”.

A second after you crossed their airspace, you were courteously greeted. The views from your ship were indescribable. Peace invaded you just at the sight of the open fields and the warm colors of autumn. You could get used to that place too. To live in calm, work hand-to-hand with Shuri, and have time to spend it with Bucky. The reason why you were flying there. Removing your right hand from the control and grabbing in a fist the dog tags hanging on your chest, you took a deep breath while closing your eyes before getting ready to land. T’Challa was waiting for you at the entry of his kingdom, accompanied by his excited little sister and some of his guards.

Pressing a sequence of buttons above your head, to pull the control back, the ship went down slowly folding its wings. As you landed and turned off the engineers, you freed yourself from the seatbelt and the huge headphones to step out. Shuri received you with a friendly hug, breaking protocol and being just Shuri. You built a strong relationship since you met a year ago, when you brought Bucky to that beautiful and magical place, to let him recover. To let him rest.

“Your highness”. You uttered to T’Challa crossing your forearms in the traditional salutation of Wakanda.

“Agent (Y/N)”. He corresponded walking closer. “The white wolf asked me to let you know he wouldn’t want to be… bothered with visits today”.

You couldn’t help but frown. The last time you saw him was around three months ago. You usually interchanged letters from week to week, being one of the fewer persons he trusted in. And it wasn’t just a question of trust. Steve told you about his feelings, his shyness, and insecurities, his fears. What Bucky didn’t know, again, it wasn’t a question of trust from you either. That’s why the Captain gave you the dog tags, after more than thirteen years under custody. You wanted to see him, to know if he was happy there as he wrote you in his letters one million times.

“He doesn’t wear his arm here”. Shuri clarified, taking a position close to his brother.

By the look on their faces, you were aware of two things. One, they noticed too that something was growing between Bucky and you, and that it wasn’t a simple friendship. Two, they weren’t going to stop you. Oh, quite the opposite. They’d bring you to him on a golden platter and a big red bow on your head. The king beckoned a hand to urge you to follow him to the inside of the building and use one of their ships to fly above the place to the white wolf’s location.

You were nervous. You didn’t sleep more than a couple of hours last night thinking about him and how he’d react to having back his tags since the forties. Your eyes were focused throughout the window on your left, watching different citizens taking care of animals and plantations, children running from one side to another, playing and having fun. Oblivious to the horror of New York, where you resided. One of the cities in the world with the highest rates of street violence. Serial killers or simply killers, rapists, kidnappers, drug dealers (...). It was a minefield and Wakanda seemed and felt like Heaven.

“Did you think about the offer?” Shuri nudged you to push you back to reality, turning your head towards her.

“Since you dropped it to me”.

“So?”

“I…” You needed to put away your gaze again, focusing on the blue opened sky in front of them. “I want… to consult him first if you don’t mind”.

“Of course, (Y/N)”.

“I don’t want to put his world upside down, now that he’s not the…” You couldn’t finish the sentence. You couldn’t pronounce that detestable nickname and the pain beneath it.

Shuri nodded in silence, not needing your explanations. She knew how you felt. She understood you. The talk didn’t continue, stretching your right hand on your lap to calm your nerves and make you comfortable with the situation. The flight didn’t last longer than five or ten minutes, losing the track of time deep in your thoughts. The pilot indicated to you through the headphones that you were about to land, glancing at a complex of small houses in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by trees and wilderness.

You were the last one jumping outside with your hand grabbing the tags on your chest, trying to find the encouragement there to follow T’Challa’s hand pointing at a man working with goats and collecting hay for them. Licking your lips and assenting with your chin, you guided your steps towards him. Slowly. As if you wanted to turn around at some point. But you knew it was too late when he was the one turning at the sound of your heavy boots cracking the grass under them.

Bucky didn’t look annoyed for your visit, nor the lack of attention to his petition. Although there was something in his pale blue orbs you weren’t able to decipher, until he bowed down his head unconsciously to his left shoulder covered by a dark fabric matching his eyes. You had to do your best to not roll yours, shortening the distance setting you apart. You had been dreaming about that encounter since the last time you were there before Shuri accessed the darkest place of his mind and cleaned it from any trail of HYDRA. Now, he was free. And he looked in good condition as the bags under his eyes had disappeared and his hair was almost tied with a bun. His cheeks seemed a little more chubby and you just wanted to pinch them. But it’d be weird and out of place. For the time being.

Bit by bit, a sweet smile widened in your lips, curving them as Bucky stared at you again when he was conscious that you didn’t care. With or without a metal arm, your feelings were exactly the same. You couldn’t admire him more than you were admiring him at this point. You couldn’t love him more than you loved him already. And God was a witness of how many times you practiced to confess to him and tell him that the only thing you wanted in life was to be by his side. Bring happiness to his days, bring him peace and harmony.

“I'm sorry…” “I brought you…”

You two spoke at the same time, breaking in a soft giggle that jumped your hearts in complete sync.

“You first”. He let you, waving his hand.

“I… brought you something”. You susurrated, loosening the grip around the metal hanging on your chest to take off the necklace.

You noticed the way his eyes widened in surprise and confusion. Why did you have them? Who gave them to you? Why now? Bucky gulped watching you stretching the dog tags between your fingers towards him. He didn’t know what to do, taking a second before he was able to react. He couldn’t remember when was the last time he saw them, and the amount of memories they gave him overwhelmed his whole brain.

In slow motion narrowing his eyes, Bucky held the chain with two fingers to hang the necklace from it. You thought he was about to wear them, but he destabilized you as he directed his hands to above your head, to place them where they were an instant before. You didn’t understand. Didn’t he want them back?

“I want you to keep it”.

“But…”

“I want you to have something mine”. Bucky recognized with a shy smile decorating his lips. “Those tags and my arm are the only things I have from my past. And… I won’t give you my arm…”

“Well, I bet it’d look good hanging from my neck”. You jocked tilting your head.

In his gift, you found the encouragement you needed to talk about T’Challa’s job offer. It wasn’t as if you were proposing to him, in the end, you were just friends even if it felt quite the opposite. You licked your upper lip, kissing your teeth after it, earning more than his attention.

“Shuri said, uh… I could come here, work with her. We’d do great things together, not only for Wakanda but for the world”.

Bucky’s gesture didn’t change a single inch, focused on the nervousness you were trying to hide from him and reading the reasons beneath.

“So T’Challa offered me to stay here”.

“Permanently?”

“Yeah… Permanently”. You assented pressing your lips, breathing through your nostrils.

“Did you accept?”

“Not yet. Not until talking to you about”.

He nodded then a couple of times, turning to the goats behind him coming closer. “Got to finish some stuff… Maybe we can talk later about it unless you have to leave”.

“No, no. I, uh… asked for the day off. Banner didn’t need me at the lab today”.

“Okay, good”.

While the king was showing you the new level for research and investigations, Bucky took the advantage to go and find Shuri without your knowledge. He found her in the surroundings of the main building, working on your ship as you said it made some kind of random noise that put you out of your nerve during the flight.

“I need my arm”.

The princess squatted close to the left wing, turned at him without standing up. Pulling her sunglasses to the top of his head, she raised an eyebrow.

“For what”.

“You know for what”. He clicked his tongue, placing his hand on his left shoulder.

“No, I don’t”. She lied while cleaning the grass and oil in her expert fingers.

“I need to have two arms”.

“You’ve been working the last months with one arm only. Why do you need it now?”

“C’mon… Argh…” Bucky rubbed his face with boredom. “I want to hug her, okay? Can you just… give me back my damn arm?”

“Not enough reasons, you can hug her using your right”.

“I want to have two hands when I kiss her”. He finally confessed in a hiss, provoking a triumphant smile growing on Shuri’s lips.

“If you lie to me, if you don’t kiss her, Sergeant Barnes… I’ll code it to punch your face”.

“Wait…” Bucky wrinkled his nose drawing a horrified gesture on his face, as he turned his blue eyes towards his left shoulder. “Can you… do that?”

“Try me”.

No, of course she couldn’t, but he didn’t know. Which were a good push for him to not go against her and her petition.

“C’mon. I’ll set it up and help you to put it on”.

Your eyes were traveling from one picture to another. He put some of them around his small house and it looked better now. More like a home. A place to stay. And for a second you felt a twinge straight in your heart when you noticed one photograph of the two of you, close to his bed. It was after your first mission together. Steve insisted on taking it, after noticing the sparkles between you. But you didn’t know he brought it to Wakanda with him, as your copy is on your nightstand too. And you used to fall asleep every night looking at it.

The curtain being moved and some steps in pulled you out from your thoughts, turning to find Bucky staring in silence at you. Your orbs landed on the metal arm. It was different too since the last time you saw it, with golden strips forming between the silver ones. You couldn’t help but sigh.

“You didn’t need to…”

“Yes, I did. I did need it”. He interrupted you, breathing through his parted lips and his heart about to fly off from his chest.

“Why?”

“Because, otherwise, I couldn’t do this”.

You were about to ask what he was referring to, watching him breaking the distance between the two of you in three fast strides. You closed your eyes at the moment his hands held your neck and Bucky slammed his lips on yours. The kiss, the contrast of cold and warmth on your skin, the everlasting longing for it to happen… All of this caused you to gasp, tangling the tunic at the height of his chest in your fists, not wanting him to take a step back. Your mouths fit perfectly without looking for it, made for each other, as he secured his fingers on the back of your neck. And you felt your knees weak when he pecked your lips one more time, before caressing your nose with his, not being able to open your eyes. Neither of you.

“I don’t have the right… to ask for anything”. He babbled. His insecurities coming afloat even if you hadn’t pushed him away. “But… I want you to stay here. With me. I… I don’t have much to offer you, but I promise to make you happy”.

At this point, your eyes were filled with tears, strongly closing your eyelids to not let them fall. You swallowed a sob, moving your hands from his chest to his middle back, embracing him tighter as you could.

“You’ve been making me happy since we met, Bucky”.

He chuckled breathless, intuiting he was too at the edge of his crying because of that affirmation.

“Every Tuesday, I wait at the stairs of my apartment for the mail, for your letters. I’ve… read them so many times I can recite them… by heart. Every word you've written to me”.

“I will continue writing them for you, even if you stay with me”.

Your voices were low, barely audible out of his place. Like secrets. Bucky kissed you again, bending enough to raise you by the back of your thighs and urge you to surround his waist with your legs. The dog tags on your chest clicked against the other, as you moved your arms to his shoulders and neck, and you were unable to stop kissing him. You two could die right now and not be bothered because you were finally together, and that was all you deserved in life.

“Tell me you will stay… please”. His beg brushed your lips, still pecking them between syllable and syllable.

“I will…” You replied without hesitating as you could, eager to correspond to every gesture from him. “I will stay with you”.

feedback is appreciated, please, leave a comment to let me know if you liked it and/or reblog it.

tag list: @mystic-232 @homesicam @theresnoplatypus @i-love-scott-mccall @slutfornat @thewilloesapphire @goldielocks2004 @whatrambles @the-mystery-spot @multiyfandomgirl40 @purrrrfect @gemini0410 @nikkixostan @spidergirla5 @amethyst-butterfliess @mariska0610 @wanniiieeee @fanofalltheficsx @goldielocks2004 @spideysimpossiblegirl @nocturnalherb16 @jointhehunt67 @the-witty-pen-name @valenquei @golden-hoax @hunter-of-baker-street @missusstark

@mayans-sauce @peoniarose @band-psycho @myakai13 @petlaufeyson @-im-fantastic- @horsesandwolvesaremyanimals @rocketqueen @rosieposie0624 @ellyseveronica @diaryofkali @ravenmoore14 @starrynite7114 @monkeyluver4546 @sheeshgivemeabreak @jadesamhart @rawrlittlepanda-95 @megapeacelovemusic-blog @skits90s @littlekittymeow @tenderclio @greeneyedblondie44 @phoenixhalliwell

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes #sebastian stan imagine #sebastian stan x reader #james bucky barnes x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky x you #bucky x reader

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maatryoshkaa · 4 years ago

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between the lines | lee minho

𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐘 𝐊𝐈𝐃𝐒 𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐇 𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐋 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒!𝐀𝐔

✑ Late fines, shared lockers, and a missing love letter:

In which a frantic search for an overdue library book leads to you finding other things that are...long overdue.

✑ PAIRING: student librarian!minho x bookworm!reader

✑ GENRE: retro!high school au, slow burn, slice-of-life romance, slight enemies-to-lovers shenanigans

✑ WORD COUNT: 9.7k

✖︎ TAGS/WARNINGS: fem!reader, mild language, bullying themes, skz are all around the same age. mc is insecure and a bit of a valentine's day grinch. minho is whipped but too hardheaded to admit it. also, an embarrassing amount of classic literature/pablo neruda references.

Ah, Valentine’s Day.

Call it the most romantic day of the year if you will, but in the treacherous hallways of Levanter High, it meant a minefield of hormonal couples, crushed chocolate boxes, and supermarket rose bouquets. Clutching your backpack with a grimace, you narrowly dodged a pigtailed cheerleader as she leapt into her jock boyfriend’s waiting arms. Turning into another hallway, you plugged your ears to block out a senior boy’s cold rejection of a freshman’s nervous love confession.

You finally caught sight of your locker and breathed a sigh of relief. Levanter High’s lockers were split in half lengthwise—one top row, and one bottom row. You dropped to a crouch to wrench yours open—you’d lost your lock a couple of weeks ago—trying to block out the early morning commotion as you rummaged for your English books.

“Hey, watch ou—”

The locker above yours opened with a screech, and you looked up just in time to see a pink avalanche of cards and chocolates raining down on your head in a painful, deafening crash. The student who had called out the warning was frozen with a comical look of shock on her face. You swore the entire hallway fell silent, blood rushing to your cheeks as you slowly raised your gaze at the person who had opened the locker.

Lee Hana—head cheerleader of Levanter’s pep squad, and in your humble opinion, the spawn of Satan herself.

“Ohmigosh,” she exclaimed, raising one hand to her mouth in mock horror, “I’m so sorry! I didn’t see you there.”

The crowd around you was beginning to snicker and point, and you felt your face growing redder by the minute. “What are you doing here?” You asked tersely, motioning towards the locker above yours. “That’s not even your locker.”

Hana smiled and held up a small, glittery package. Oh. You didn’t have to look closer to know that the envelope was a love letter, elaborately tied to a box of expensive chocolates—the kind your parents would probably have to work overtime to afford. “My Valentine—for your locker buddy,” Hana replied matter-of-factly, then added, “Not that you would understand, hm? Since you’ve never received one yourself, and all.”

A smattering of laughs erupted from the crowd that was building around you. Biting back a retort, you looked down at all the other Valentine’s trinkets that had spilled around you. Of course—you should have gotten used to it by now. After all, your locker was right underneath the one that belonged to the student librarian, school heartthrob, and the absolute bane of your existence, Lee—

“Minho!” Hana exclaimed, and you looked up to see him shuffling through the crowd, his eyes briefly falling on yours. You immediately turned away as the pretty cheerleader skipped up to him, and shoved your books into your bag. Slamming your locker shut—twice, because Levanter’s damned lockers always jammed before shutting properly—you snatched up as many of Minho’s fallen Valentine’s Day trinkets as you could before shoving them back into the now-emptied top locker. The metal door was still swinging wide open. You’d overheard Minho complaining to the boy who always did the announcements—Han Jihyun? Han Jisung?—about how he kept losing his own lock. Both of you seemed to have a habit of misplacing things (not that you liked to admit to that similarity).

Out of the corner of your eye, Minho was still watching you over Hana’s shoulder, his lips tilted in a half-smile. Your gut twisted unpleasantly. Four years and counting—that was how long you’d ended up with a locker right under Minho’s.

“You’re so lucky!” Lia—your best friend—had gushed, while you had scoffed in utter disbelief.

“Oh, sure. Just my rotten luck.”

“Come on, y/n. Are you still hung up about that love letter from freshman year?”

Yes, you had thought sourly. “No way,” you had snapped, and Lia had giggled, unconvinced.

It wasn’t like you’d always had a personal vendetta against Minho. In fact, in ninth grade, you’d been head over heels for him, just like the rest of the student body—to the point where you’d even slipped a small love letter into his locker on Valentine’s Day, too. It had been one of those gaudy 99-cent corner-store cards, and you'd saved up your pocket money just to buy a matching pack of candy hearts. Then you’d spent the day with butterflies in your stomach, anxiously waiting nearby his locker to see his reaction.

But when he hadn’t shown up, you'd shrugged and begun heading home—and that was when you had caught sight of Minho, throwing all the love letters he’d received straight into the Dumpsters in the back parking lot.

Talk about a reality check.

As if that hadn't been traumatizing enough, you’d been forced to face him nearly every morning for the following three years. To make matters worse, being Minho’s involuntary locker mate also meant that all the girls—and guys, for that matter—saw you as little more than a stepping stone to him, always asking you to relay party invitations or trying to curry favour with you to get to him.

“We’re not close,” you’d insist to his persistent admirers every time, but it didn’t help. Minho, on the other hand, you thought bitterly, seemed to think he was too good for anyone—he didn’t even respond much to Hana’s advances, and she was drop-dead gorgeous. There was no way he’d even look twice at you—you’d been firsthand witness to that. You finally gave up trying to clean up the fallen Valentines, and stood up with a sigh. Throwing him a death glare, you pushed past the crowd just as the bell rang and students began scurrying away.

What did it matter if Lee Hana was trying to get with Minho? If anything, they were a match made in heaven. Or hell. With a decided huff, you plopped yourself down at your desk just as your English teacher began class.

“We’re starting the poetry unit today! Remember, you’ll be writing a love poem of your own for the final project—so I suggest you all get started on reading!” You teacher had winked and clapped her hands excitedly while a collective groan had swept through your class. A few couples had nudged each other meaningfully, already promising to write their poems about each other, and you’d thrown up a little in your mouth.

Romance was a bit of a touchy subject for you— now, you didn’t hate the notion of love, per se, you’d just always been somewhat...wary of it. After watching your friends fall in and out of disastrous relationships and fleeting feelings from the sidelines too many times to count, your own defense mechanisms had skyrocketed, and now you found yourself trying not to roll your eyes at every piece of romantic writing you read. Still, this inexperience only made you more determined to get a head start on the topic— and so, once the last bell had rung, you made a beeline for the school library. You would tackle love the only way you knew how to—by hitting the books. Pushing open the door, you overheard Hana and her friends muttering in disappointment and immediately recoiled.

“You said he’d be in here!”

“Well, I thought I saw him! Let’s wait for a bit.”

You peeked over the librarian’s desk, and sure enough, it was vacant— save for a tray of half-shelved books and stamping cards. Maybe Minho left early today, you thought, shrugging. That’s a relief. Then you shook your head quickly. What’s it to me whether he’s here or not? You tried to ignore Hana’s disdainful glance at you, heading straight towards your favourite nook at the back of the library instead: a cozy alcove tucked behind the last row of shelves. With a deep sigh, you pulled out the first book of poetry your teacher had assigned—Shakespeare’s Complete Sonnets—and sank into the bean bag chair.

‘Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?

Thou art more lovely and more temperate:

Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May…’

A couple lines in, and the Englishman’s words were already making your head spin. You grimaced, massaging your temples. ‘A summer’s day?’ Seriously? You could swear you’d seen something less cheesy on a dollar store card. After a couple of pages, you could already feel your treacherous eyelids beginning to droop, fighting to stay awake as you tried to make sense of Shakespeare’s verses. But thy eternal summer...shall not fade...nor lose...possession…

“The library’s closing.”

You jolted awake, hands fumbling blindly before you could even force your eyes open. The library came into focus first—the lights had been dimmed, the flickering EXIT sign from the empty hallway casting a warm glow through the panelled window across the room. A dull headache still throbbed in your temples.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, rubbing your eyes groggily. You had to practically peel your cheek away from the Shakespeare book, fingers gingerly feeling the dent the cover had left in your cheek. “I-I’m so sorry, I must have—lost track of time studying.”

A familiar chuckle sent your heart plummeting to your stomach. “I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

When your eyes finally adjusted, your expression automatically soured into a glare.

“Now that’s more like it.” Smirking, Minho crossed his arms, leaning back on a bookshelf. He glanced down at the book in your lap—the book that you clearly hadn’t been studying. “Didn’t know you were one for Shakespeare.”

“I—” You threw your hands up in exasperation. “I’m not. His writing gives me a headache. It’s like it’s all in another language or something.”

Minho raised an eyebrow. “Old English. Why are you reading it, then?”

“We’re doing poetry in class—and our final project is to write an actual love poem, based on the poets we’ll study. Shakespeare was just first on the reading list, so…” you felt yourself trailing off, flustered. Why were you even bothering to explain this to Minho, who probably couldn’t care less? “Nevermind.”

You felt his piercing gaze on you as you shoved your books into your bag, glancing outside at the nearly emptied parking lot. If you squinted, you could spot a couple—Seo Changbin, judging by the male’s iconic leather jacket, and his lover—making out under the bleachers. You shook your head incredulously. Valentine’s Day. Love poems. Hormonal couples galore. It was like the universe was playing a long, cruel joke on you: Ha-ha, look who’s spending Valentine’s Day studying in the library alone.

Well, alone except for a student librarian with whom you had a mortifying history. Not much better. Eager to leave, you got to your feet, only to see Minho flipping through a smaller book he’d pulled off the shelf next to him. “If you want some real inspiration,” he began slowly, pushing up his glasses, “I’d suggest you start closer to our time period.”

You looked down at the book he was holding up, brow furrowing as you read the title out loud. “Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair. Pablo Neruda.”

“The best Chilean poet of the 20th century,” he nodded. “‘I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you simply, without problems or pride: I love you in this way, because I do not know any other way of loving but this.’”

It took you a second to realise Minho was quoting a poem, and you were suddenly grateful that the dimly lit library hid the flush of red that had betrayed your cheeks. Clearing your throat, you mumbled, “That actually sounds...kind of pretty.”

He didn’t look up, but you thought you saw the corners of his mouth shoot up ever so slightly. Maybe the shadows were playing tricks on you? Flipping through the book, Minho fished out a pad of sticky notes from his back pocket and marked a few pages. “Here. ‘The Song of Despair’...‘Tonight I Can Write’...‘Here I Love You.’ Those are good.” Clamping the book shut, he held it out towards you.

You almost thanked him, but the words faltered on your tongue as you took it from him suspiciously. “What’s with the sudden helpful attitude?”

He shrugged. “It’s my job.” You raised an incredulous eyebrow, and he smirked. “Consider it my apology for this morning, then.”

That left you at a real loss for words, and for the first time, you struggled to find a retort. “That’s...considerate of you, apologising on behalf of your girlfriend and all.”

“Hana’s not my girlfriend.”

You breathed a small laugh. “Soon-to-be, then. Don’t break her heart.”

Minho scoffed, bringing the book to the front desk and scrawling your name on the sign-out card. He stamped the dates, then held it out at you before glancing out the window. Dusk had fallen, the empty football field lit only by rows of flickering lampposts. “You can get home safe?”

“Screw off, Lee Minho.” You eyed him warily, shoving the book into your bag before practically running to the double doors. The strange atmosphere that had suddenly built up in the library felt terrifyingly foreign to you, and your first instinct was to be rid of it as soon as possible. In the hallway, you spotted a janitor dumping a bin into a trash bag. A familiar avalanche of pink envelopes and gifts caught your eye, and you felt a wave of humiliation. Just the memory of Minho throwing yours out—after reading it and having a good laugh, no doubt—made you want to ram your head into the lockers all over again. You’ve got no chance with him, y/n, you thought blearily. Right when you’d thought you’d finally come to terms with Minho’s brutal (albeit unintentional) rejection, here he was again: crashing back into your life like some...cat-eyed, pointy-nosed meteor.

“Oh, y/n! One more thing.”

You’d already had one foot out the front door when Minho called your name again, making you jerk your head back in surprise. Minho had his bag slung over one shoulder, a pile of books in his arms as he waved to get your attention. His smile looked almost...genuine in the warm shadows, his round glasses softening his usually sharp gaze. Despite yourself, you felt your heart skip a beat.

Then Minho made a wiping motion over his face and grinned. “You’ve got drool on your chin.”

Your face reddened, and you slammed the library door shut, earning a glare from the janitor down the hall. Smacking the heel of your palm against your forehead repeatedly, you stormed out of the school muttering curses under your breath. Typical Lee Minho.

To your surprise, you practically devoured the poems in less than a week, taken aback at how much you genuinely enjoyed them. It was the first time you didn’t find yourself cringing at romance—and sure enough, in a couple days’ time, you found yourself reluctantly standing back in front of the double doors of the school library once again.

Carefully, you craned your head to peep into the panelled window, scanning the room for Minho. As per usual, a gaggle of girls were huddled on the other side, blocking your view.

“Looking for someone?”

Flinching, you nearly tripped on Hana’s long legs as she came up beside you. Before you could respond, she fixed you with a withering look. “You’ve got some explaining to do, Little Miss Perfect.”

“I—sorry?”

The cheerleader rolled her eyes, sneering. “Don’t act all innocent with me, you sneaky b—”

Sighing, you pushed open the doors before she could finish. Hana followed you into the library, still sputtering angrily. Her hand snatched your arm, French manicure digging painfully into your cardigan.

“The Valentines,” she hissed, and it finally clicked.

She’s talking about the love letters, you realized. The ones Minho throws out every year.

Gut twisting, you looked up to see all the other girls crossing their arms and looking back at you expectantly. “None of you...got a response?” You asked incredulously, already knowing the answer. This happened every year: Expectant admirers showered Minho’s locker with gifts, Minho wouldn’t even glance at them— and then, for some reason, you were left to take the blame. A twinge of annoyance shot through your chest.

“You stole them from his locker, didn’t you?” Hana continued accusingly, pupils shaking. “You sneaky, jealous bitch— of course you did.”

He threw them all out, you wanted to scream back at her, but the words wouldn’t budge from your tongue. Somehow, saying them out loud felt like tearing off the stitches of an old wound; a painful reminder of your personal humiliating memory. And—though you hated to admit it—a small part of you still didn’t have the heart to throw Minho under the bus just yet, even after all that he’d done.

Feeling defeated, you sighed and turned towards her. “Why would I want to do that?”

Hana scoffed, tossing her chocolate curls over one shoulder. “Oh, please. We all know you’ve had a massive one-sided crush on him since ninth grade.”

A rush of heat flooded your cheeks, the other girls’ snickers at your reaction drowning out any of your protests. “That’s not—”

“Not true? Then—is it mutual?” Hana sneered mockingly. “Don’t make me laugh. He wouldn’t be caught dead with the likes of y—”

“Can I help you with anything?”

The small crowd fell silent as Minho appeared from one of the aisles, eyebrows raised slightly in his usual nonchalant manner. A chill of panic rushed down your spine, palms growing clammy with cold sweat. H-how much did he overhear? In your peripheral, Hana was practically batting her eyelashes at him, but Minho’s mild eyes were focused on yours expectantly.

“I—uh. Well,” you stammered eloquently, your entire body suddenly paralyzed. Hana’s cherry red lips were twisted in a smug smirk, clearly waiting for you to embarrass yourself. “The book,” you blurted, immediately rummaging for the poetry book in your bag and holding it out to him.

Minho took it from you, fingertips grazing yours slightly. They were surprisingly warm. “How’d you find it?”

“R-really good, actually.” Then, you hesitantly added, “I...like the way Neruda uses imagery—he’s precise without being plain, and artful without deviating too much into purple prose. I think I liked Tonight I Can Write the most— y’know, ‘Tonight I can write the saddest lines...’” You swallowed, then instantly began regretting having ever spoken. Great job, y/n, now you sound like a full-blown nerd.

But Minho nodded, his eyes gleaming. “‘I loved her, and sometimes, she loved me, too.’”

“That’s the second verse,” you muttered automatically, and his lips twitched.

“It’s one of my favourite lines.”

The other girls had begun to awkwardly shuffle out of the library, their absence easing your racing heart. With just a few mildly spoken words, you noted, Minho had managed to make you feel as though you had blocked out the rest of the world. Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted Hana glaring daggers at you, and the small smile dropped from your face.

“Do you need something?” Minho asked her blankly, his gaze trailing down to Hana’s hand, which was still painfully latched onto your arm. With a roll of her eyes, she spun on her heel and stormed out of the library.

As soon as she was gone, you breathed an audible sigh of relief. Minho was peeling the sticky notes off from the poetry book you’d returned, eyes still watching you intently. Giving him the side-eye, you deadpanned, “She’s pretty, you know. Maybe you should go talk to her sometime.”

There was a small smile on Minho’s lips. “Does she like Chilean poetry?”

You could only give a short—slightly too shaky for your liking—laugh in response, ruffling your own hair as you tried to calm your frazzled nerves. Don’t forget, y/n. One, that he’s out of your league. Two, how this was all his fault to begin with.

“Is that all you came here for?” Minho’s voice broke into your thoughts again, making you jump. There was a glint of amusement in his eyes. He finds this—me—amusing.

“Well…” you looked down at your feet, then grudgingly nodded at the poetry book you’d just returned. “Do you...have any other recommendations?”

Minho’s face broke into a shit-eating grin, and you bit back a groan. before your pride got the better of you and you changed your mind, he was already heading towards the back of the library, sliding books out as you struggled to keep with his pace. “First of all, Dickinson. Hit-or-miss, but you never know. Then there’s Sylvia Plath, some Emily Brontë…”

Before you knew it, you’d been whisked into a world of verse and metaphor, flying between numerous time periods and continents as you and Minho perused the shelves. Just like the time when you had accidentally fallen asleep in the library, the library seemed to grow cozier, quieter, more peaceful during moments like these, as if the entire world was holding still as you lost yourself in pages upon pages of books. Soon, you found yourself heading to the library nearly every day after school. Despite yourself, you found yourself looking forward to that sunset hour, the fleeting period where most students had left, and the entire library would glow warm as though it were blushing under the swathes of golden light. And in these same fleeting moments, you found your gaze lingering more and more on Minho—the way he would push his silver glasses on, furrowing his brow in concentration whenever he searched for a book, or run his long fingers over their worn spines whenever he was lost in thought—

“Like what you see?” With a flinch, you realised Minho had begun walking back towards you, a crooked smirk on his lips as he set a new pile of books down at the desk you were sat at.

“No!” You snapped, too quickly. “Just—spaced out for a bit. Too concentrated on the project.”

The smirk hadn’t budged from Minho’s face, and you resisted the urge to throw a copy of Emily Dickinson’s Selected Poems at his long, pointy nose. “Mm. You seem to be coming here a lot more often.”

“That’s because the due date is coming up.”

“No. I mean, you seem to be talking to me a lot more.”

You rolled your eyes, snatching a book from the top of his pile as you muttered, “Screw you, Lee Minho.”

His eyebrows shot up in wicked mischief. “You’re more than welcome to try.”

With a cry of exasperation—and surprise at having been heard—you hoisted your book bag onto the table, building a makeshift wall between the two of you.

You didn’t catch the way Minho’s laughter slowly faded as he rested his head on one hand thoughtfully, quietly watching you read. Your lips were pursed in concentration as you muttered your notes under your breath. Cute, he couldn’t help thinking.

Minho had always been good at memorizing things, but he couldn’t remember exactly when you’d begun disliking him so much. You had always intrigued him—what with the way your locker always seemed to be overflowing with books, or how you used to lend him your copy when he forgot his, back in ninth grade. That Valentine’s Day, four years ago, your name had been the only one he’d hoped to find as he rifled through the cards he’d received. But he’d come up empty, and so he’d thrown them all out. And for some reason, you’d been cold to him ever since.

Minho had assumed that you were probably annoyed with all the letters that would fall out of his locker and onto you, and so every year he tried his best to get rid of the Valentines as soon as possible. Nevertheless, you only seemed to be getting more and more annoyed with him.

And now here you were, right in front of him, four years later, and he still couldn’t bring himself to ask you why. Confrontation had never been his strong suit—his words always seemed to come out too blunt, too cold, too soon, and so he’d always avoided bringing it up with you again. Minho sighed, raking a hand through his hair. Written words—that is, books—had always been so much easier than people.

He did, however, remember when he’d started falling for you.

Tenth grade, literature studies. He’d begun arguing against your thesis during one of your presentations, and the two of you had ended up bickering the entire class—pulling out quotes from nearly every chapter of Pride and Prejudice before the class president had to intervene, and your teacher had sent you both to detention.

You had glared at him once, and he’d fallen head over heels.

These violent delights have violent ends, he’d mused in his head back then—Romeo and Juliet—and with the murderous stare Minho sometimes caught you fixing him with, he was willing to bet that you were wishing a violent end on him, too.

He couldn’t pen a love letter to save his life, either— and so, he resorted to pettily glaring at any admirer that approached your locker like Gandalf—you shall not pass—until they backed off. Minho didn’t think you would appreciate him revealing that, either. The more he thought about it, the more ridiculous his actions seemed—and like a poorly written plot twist, you had ended up stumbling back into his life again. Never in his life, however, did Minho think that Pablo Neruda would become his wingman. Glancing down at his portrait on the back cover of the book, Minho could almost imagine the Chilean poet pointing his pen threateningly: “Don’t screw this up.”

“Hey, Minho?” He snapped out of his thoughts to see you waving your hand at him from the other side of your book bag. “You were right. I don’t get any of Dickinson’s poems.”

Your words took a moment to register, Minho caught off-guard by the soft golden hour light illuminating your pretty features. You waved your hand in his face again, and he blinked, breath caught in his throat. Almost tripping over his tongue, he finally quipped, “How on earth are you passing AP English?”

You glowered and smacked his shoulder, the near-silent library ringing with Minho’s laughter once again.

With a week left to the deadline, you were planted at your desk in your room, the wastebasket littered with crumpled up half-sheets of notebook paper. To your dismay, none of the words seemed to be coming out the way you wanted them to. Gnawing the back of your pencil in frustration, you dumped the contents of your book bag onto the desk, and spotted your latest library book—100 Love Sonnets, by Pablo Neruda. Inexplicably, out of all the poets Minho had introduced to you, you always found yourself coming back to him.

Flipping through the well-thumbed pages, your fingers stopped at one titled Sonnet XVII. “I love you without knowing how,” your eyes scanned the verse curiously, “or when, or from where. I love you simply…”

It was the poem Minho had quoted that evening in the library, you realized, heart skipping a beat. “...without problems or pride / I love you in this way, because I do not know any other way of loving / but this, in which there is no I or you / so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand / so intimate that when I fall asleep, your eyes close.”

With a sigh, you buried your head in your arms, lying face-down onto the desk. Maybe the reason why you instinctively disliked reading love poems so much was because of the sheer sincerity of them all. You envied their ability to put feelings into words—with unabashed, unapologetic ardour, and be celebrated for it, to boot. Eyes scanning the verses again, your mind wandered to the way Minho’s eyes had lit up as he’d explained the lines to you, his brow furrowed in focus.

At Levanter High, you had grown used to being pushed around and out of the spotlight. It was either the popular girls and their backhanded compliments, or the boys who spoke to you condescendingly just to a) get you to do their homework, or b) get in your pants. But Minho had always taken you seriously, albeit while driving you half-insane with his infuriating remarks. And as much as you hated to admit it, that same fiery look in his eyes whenever he got worked up—so different from his usual reserved facade in front of the teachers and swooning students—had always made your heart skip a beat. In tenth grade—back when he seemed to pick a fight with you nearly every English class until Bang Chan had to hold the two of you back from killing each other—you’d thought you’d successfully quashed your feelings for the mild-voiced, hazel-eyed librarian. Yet every time he spoke, he left you feeling vulnerable, disarmed, and you were back—though you refused to admit it—to square one.

“‘I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul,’” you whispered, fingers tracing the words on the paper. Feeling a sudden surge—of confidence, or simply exasperation, you weren’t sure—you seized the pen and began scribbling on a new piece of paper. For years, you’d been afraid to face your feelings, terrified of the humiliation if Hana—or anyone at school—found out. But if getting them all out in one cheesy, hot mess of a love letter could give you some closure, you thought tensely, you were more than happy to oblige. You would write it all out under the guise of a love poem, and then it would never have to see the light of day again.

Words began coming to your head like a floodgate had been thrown wide open, and you began scrawling onto the page. “‘I love you as the plant that never blooms, but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers,’” you quoted thoughtfully as you drafted your own poem. In a way, it felt cathartic—you could get all your feelings out, pass it off as an assignment, and never think about the forbidden fruit again. For all you knew, it was a win-win situation. The pen kept wobbling, ink spilling out haphazardly and skipping, but you relaxed slightly. Maybe this assignment wasn’t too bad, after all.

Head filled to the brim with poetry, you set the pen down and dozed off.

“You’re not coming to the football game?” Lia flashed puppy eyes at you, and you smacked her hand playfully, swiping a french fry from her plate.

“Lia, since when have I ever gone to one?” The two of you had dropped by the Sunshine Coffee Shoppe for a quick pick-me-up during lunch hour, but one smile from the cute waiter—Yang Jeongin, if you remembered his name correctly—had dazzled Lia into ordering an extra burger combo, complete with a plate of fries. “Sports and crowds—not my thing. And I have an English project due the next day.”

She pouted. “Oh, come on! Knowing you, you’ve probably already finished it by now.”

You grinned, thinking back to your love poem and fighting the urge to cringe. You’d read it the morning after, and it had taken every fibre in your being to hold yourself back from ripping it to shreds. Piercing, catlike eyes, you’d written in one line. Silver spectacles. Long fingers on dusty pages. Shuddering, you’d stuffed it into the Neruda book before banishing them both to your locker and going about your day. Love poems are supposed to be cheesy, y/n, suck it up. It’ll only be this one time. Besides, it wasn’t like anyone other than your teacher would ever read it.

When you dropped by the library after school, you spotted Hana’s familiar figure by one of the cubicles. As she tossed her hair over her shoulder with a laugh muted by the plexiglass windows, you saw that she was talking to a grinning Minho.

“Are you sure you’re not coming to the game on Thursday?” Hana was whining as you pushed open the doors to the library. She patted his arms playfully. “You could be on the football team if you wanted to, you know! Why don’t you try?”

He laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m not that quick on my feet.”

“Well, tell you what. They’re having a party at Hyunjin’s place right after—his parents are out of town. If you don’t feel like coming to the game, at least join us at the afterparty to loosen up a little—have a little fun.” She blew him a kiss and stood, throwing her purse over her shoulder and spotting you. You instinctively froze, bracing yourself for whatever slew of insults she had for you today, but all Hana did was beam and wave at you.

As she passed you by the door, she threw you a knowing wink. “Have fun on your little study date!”

Her words made your ears grow hot again, but to your surprise, there was no trace of venom in her voice — only a lighthearted teasing, as if she had been your friend all along. Hana really did look sweet when she smiled genuinely, and you could see why she had so many people easily wrapped around her finger. Maybe people do change. Or she’s just in a good mood. Before you could shrug and turn away, you sensed Minho’s presence behind you and yelped.

He held his hands up in mock surrender, and you could swear he was suppressing a laugh. “Here to work on your project again?”

Hana’s strange exchange with you on her way out had left your mind reeling, and you scrambled to form coherent sentences. “No, I, um—I actually finished it last night. I just…” Thought I’d just drop by to say hi. But your pride turned the words to mush before they had even formed, and you ended up trailing off awkwardly.

“Really?” There was a flash of disappointment in his face, then Minho’s gaze landed on the book-borrowing register on the front desk. “Right—your book is due today. Did you want to return it?”

Your eyes widened, silently cursing at your own forgetfulness. “Um—yes,” you lied, pretending to search in your bag before giving an awkward laugh. “Yep. I think it’s in my locker—let me go get it.”

After jogging to the other side of the school, you flung open the bottom locker, making another mental note to replace your missing lock. Still catching your breath, your hand sifted through the notes and textbooks before coming up empty. Where is it? You could swear you remembered putting it there, unless—

Breath catching in your throat, you shut the locker with a mortified bang. The English classroom. You practically sprinted down the hallways, earning another dirty look from the janitor as you raced past. Bang Chan looked up in alarm when you nearly crashed into the English classroom door. The entire room was empty, save for the class president, who looked like he was helping to file the teacher’s papers.

“Where’s the fire?” He asked jokingly as your eyes frantically raked the room.

“Have you—seen a book, by any chance? 100 Love Sonnets. Pablo Neruda.”

Chan frowned. “We shelve all the books after class, and if it’s one we don’t recognize, we keep it until the students come back in the morning.” He shrugged. “I don’t remember seeing anything.”

Your heart sank, and you saw the corners of Chan’s mouth lift bemusedly.

“What’s the hurry, anyway? I thought you hated love po—”

With a groan of frustration, you left the baffled class president staring after you as you turned on your heel and back into the hallway. Your mind was racing, panic making your ears buzz. The love letter’s in there. Where the hell did I put it? You sprinted to the Sunshine Coffee Shoppe next, but only got an apologetic shrug from Jeongin even after you’d scoured every nook and cranny of the diner. The sun was already beginning to set as you trudged, defeated, back to the school. Spotting the library’s dim windows in the distance, you wrestled with your options — if it weren’t for that cursed love letter, you could’ve probably just told Minho you’d misplaced it. But now the book—along with everything you’d never dared to tell anyone, crammed onto a sheet of notebook paper—could be anywhere, and there was no way in hell you were going to stop looking until you found it. Heart heavy with dread, you did a full 180 and began walking home.

It was no use. You’d practically pulled an all-nighter tearing your room apart searching for the book— and then, the better part of the following day running around town. But no matter where you looked—the record shop, Blockbuster’s, or even the laundromat—you came up empty.

It’s like it’s disappeared entirely, you thought as the lunch ladies piled your tray with a few sad-looking burritos. The cafeteria was buzzing with teenagers jittery with caffeine and sugar, and you had to duck as a boy chucked an apple at another across the room. You passed the cheerleaders’ table, trying to avoid eye contact, but their giggly conversation carried over the chaotic commotion.

“Did you see how cute Hyunjin looked today on the field?”

“Are you sure he doesn’t have a girlfriend? Maybe Hana can talk to him for us—if he doesn’t fall for her first.” The blonde cheerleader that had spoken nudged the older girl insistently.

“Me?” There was a smile in Hana’s voice. You could feel her eyes on you as she mused, “Oh, I don’t know, Hyunjin’s not my type. I much prefer boys with—how should I put it—catlike eyes, silver spectacles, and long fingers perfect for turning dusty pages…” She clasped her hands together in mock adoration, and her friends erupted in giggles.

“What the hell was that? Sounds like a cheesy love poem.”

You had frozen stiff as soon as she had uttered the words, stunned eyes finding Hana’s only a couple feet away. She gave you a winning smile—the same one you’d deemed friendly just a couple days ago—and winked.

“Give me my book back.”

You pulled her aside after the last bell had rung, voice shaking. Hana only tilted her head innocently, eyes round as a puppy’s. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Before you could spit a biting retort back at her, the taller cheerleader tapped her chin thoughtfully with one bejewelled nail. “But I might think harder if...I got a little something in return.”

You grit your teeth. “What do you want?”

“Make your librarian boy come to Hwang Hyunjin’s party as my date,” Hana beamed, “and tell the office you want to change your locker.”

“You’re crazy,” you blurted, and her face immediately darkened. Dropping her voice, she leaned in closer, until her voice was right beside your ear.

“Oh, I can be even crazier. What would happen if I made copies of this little letter on Monday, hm? Or published it in the school paper for everyone to read? I’m sure Han Jisung would love that—”

Your eyes trailed down to the slip of paper she’d pulled out of her purse, the sight of your own familiar handwriting making panic surge through your veins like ice. Snatching it from her hand, you quickly began tearing it apart before noticing the calm smirk on Hana’s face.

“Photocopy, silly,” she giggled in a sing-song voice as you peered more closely at the shredded pieces, hands shaking. “Oh, all right, don’t cry. If you want the original so badly…” she leaned in again, cruel smile on her lips. “Then you might want to look in the library.”

Eyes widening, you immediately pushed her away and bolted for the stairs. “Don’t forget the deal! Thursday night,” Hana called after you, and you broke into a run.

Most of the classrooms were already empty, their dark windows reflecting your own face back at you as you hurtled past them. Your heart pounded in your chest as the library finally came into view at the end of the hallway, but you nearly came to a screeching halt when you saw that the lights had been turned off. Had Minho gone home early? Chewing your lip anxiously, you peered past the plexiglass. Aisles empty, books all shelved neatly, chairs stacked. The library was quiet as a tomb. Desperately, you tried the knob—and to your surprise, the door creaked open. Maybe he forgot to lock it. You had nothing to lose. Holding your breath, you slipped in.

Even the faint click of the door closing again sounded deafening. You rifled through the front desk first, dropping to a crouch as you inspected the carts and borrowing-bin. To your dismay, they were all empty—they must have all been re-shelved already. Heart sinking, you began tip-toeing through the shelves, fingers trembling as they ran over the laminated Dewey Decimal labels. Please, please, please…

You reached the poetry section at the back of the library, eyes squinting to try and read the spines of the books under shrouds of shadows. Poets— Nash. Naidu. Nemerov…

“Neruda,” you gasped, eyes falling on the book you had practically gone through hell searching for. 100 Love Sonnets. Almost sobbing in sheer relief, you reached out to grab it—just as another hand shot out from beside you. Your yelp of surprise broke the still, dim quiet, and you didn’t have to look up to know who the warm, pale fingers belonged to.

“Care to explain what you’re doing here?”

Spectacles glinting under the twilight, one hand in his pocket, nonchalant as ever, was the boy that had gotten you into this mess. Lee Minho.

As you stared back at him, mouth slightly agape, you felt as though your entire world was balancing precariously over a yawning abyss— as if one wrong move would send everything you’d spent the last two months—no, the last four years—repatching. You swallowed hard. His hand had landed a split-second later than yours, holding both you and the book in place, and you tried to ignore the feeling of his warm fingers on your chilled skin. Forcefully, you yanked the book from the shelves and out of his grasp. “The—book. I-I realised I still needed it for the project. It’s due this Friday, you know.”

He raised his eyebrows, unconvinced. “Today’s only Wednesday. Why not come back tomorrow morning?”

Shit. “I, um, promised Lia I’d go with her to the game tomorrow,” you fibbed, flipping through the book quickly, ready to grab any stray piece of paper that flew out. Nothing. “So I—need to finish the assignment today. Could you renew it for me?” Trying to plaster on an unbothered smile, you flipped through the book again. Still nothing. Had Hana lied to you?

In your peripheral, you saw Minho slowly shift his weight, crossing his arms as he mused, “Well, I’m not too sure about that. We’re getting...careful about letting students borrow books for too long. People tend to leave some...strange things in them.”

Your eyes snapped up, fingers freezing on the fluttering pages. “What—then did you—see anything? S-strange, I mean.”

A flicker of amusement passed through Minho’s eyes, and then it was gone. He cleared his throat, humming thoughtfully. “Why? Do you have something in mind?”

The strange intensity of his gaze seemed to corner you into the shadows, and you swore your heart was pounding so hard it seemed to echo through the room. “Nothing,” you stammered, throwing your hands up in exasperation, “I mean, I just—accidentally left—” Kill me now. You shook your head rapidly. “N-nevermind. I’m heading home.”

“Y/N—”

“Oh, one more thing.” You turned, remembering Hana’s sly words to you back in the stairwell. “You’re invited to Hwang Hyunjin’s party, after the game on Thursday.” Then, hoping you sounded more convincing than you felt, “Hana’s really counting on you to be her date.”

Minho chuckled. “You know I go to parties as often as you do.”

You rolled your eyes, but there was no malice in his words, only that same, airy indifference Minho always carried himself with. “Please? Hana—I mean, it would make her really happy if you went.”

“Would you be happy?”

The strange question caught you off guard, making you look up again. Minho was no longer smiling. His hand was still resting lightly over the missing space the book had left on the shelf, and his expression looked strangely lost under the twilit sky.

“Would it make you happy if I went?” He repeated, and you felt your mouth go dry.

Make your librarian boy come to Hwang Hyunjin’s party, and I won’t publish your little love letter for everyone to see on Monday. You nodded firmly, laughing in an attempt to ease the strange atmosphere that had settled over the two of you once again. “Y-yeah. Ecstatic.”

You turned on your heel, breath leaving your lips in a shaky sigh. If the poem wasn’t in the book, where on earth could it be? Option one: It had fallen out somewhere along the way, and hadn’t fallen into anyone’s hands. The best case scenario. Option two: Hana had been playing with you again, and she had had the original all along. Option three…

“By the way, Hana told me not to give this to you.”

You whirled around in surprise, and your eyes landed on a horribly familiar piece of notebook paper dangling from Minho’s fingers. Option three, damn it all. Mortified, you snatched it from his hand, crumpling it into your fist as he laughed lightly.

“It’s a very good poem.”

“Shut up, Lee Minho,” you wailed, wishing the ground would just swallow you up and bury you six feet under for all of eternity. “It’s a cheesy, cliché wreck.”

He hummed in amusement. “What were you writing about?”

Paralyzed, your eyes flickered towards the window before sputtering, “The—sunset. Figurative approach, you know? Emily Dickinson-inspired—”

“Mm. Then what was that quote about—” He tilted his head in thought, fingers snapping. “Catlike eyes, silver spectacles, and long—” He stopped when you plugged your ears instinctively, eyes glowering at him in disbelief. If looks could kill, Minho was sure he’d now have died more times than the characters in a Shakespearean tragedy. “—was that about the sunset, too?”

“Of course,” you snapped, your voice a tad too pitchy for your liking. Damn Lee Minho and his knack for memorizing things. “Haven’t you ever heard of extended metaphors? Rest assured, Lee Minho—I will never, ever, ever—have feelings for you.” You crumpled the sheet of poetry into a ball as you spoke with a note of finality, jamming it into your back pocket for good riddance.

Minho looked unfazed, the light curve of a knowing smile playing on his lips. After a moment, he took a step towards you, making you stumble back in alarm. “‘You can cut all the flowers,” he mused, glancing down at the crumpled love letter, “‘but you cannot stop spring from coming.’”

“Wh-wha—”

“Neruda quote. Tell me if I’m making you uncomfortable, and I’ll stop,” he murmured, eyes growing serious for a moment before his lips twitched with mirth, “but something tells me I deserve to hear more about that sunset from your poem.”

Gulping, you felt hot tears brimming in your eyes, and suddenly wished you were anywhere but here. This confrontation had been your worst nightmare, what you had always wanted to avoid. Your pride’ll be the end of you, y/n, you remembered Lia remarking when you’d sworn up and down that your feelings for Lee Minho were a thing of the past. And it was true—your pride had always gotten the better of you. You were a hypocrite, and a terrible one at that—always telling yourself you had gotten over that stupid, ninth-grade heartbreak, before unravelling into a nervous mess whenever Minho so much as threw a glance at you. And now, you could feel everything you’d feebly repressed for the last four years caving in. Crashing down on you like an avalanche of cheap supermarket chocolates.

“It was about you. You, alright?” You hissed, voice coming out more wounded, rather than venomous like you’d intended. “There. Are you happy now?” You were glad the shadows hid the humiliated tears beginning to roll down your cheeks, and wiped at your eyes furiously. Damn it all. So much for not crying.

“Then why didn’t you—”

“Say anything?” You breathed a short laugh. “Because I didn’t want to see you just throw it out again, okay?”

The silence that met your words was deafening, and when you finally mustered the courage to lift your gaze you saw that Minho’s look of disbelief mirrored your own.

“'Again?'”

Damn Lee Minho and his two-faced ass. Had he already forgotten? “In ninth grade. I left you a—stupid love letter in your locker, with all your other Valentines. Then I s-saw you throwing them all out, behind the school.”

“But I read every name on the cards,” Minho insisted, running a hand through his tousled hair. I left you—a stupid love letter in your locker. Your words sent his head spinning, and he felt his flustered cheeks heat up as he mumbled, “I’ve never—seen yours on any of them.”

Now it was your turn to blink in confusion. Minho’s brow furrowed in vague recollection. “But I did see Hana pulling an envelope out from my locker that day. She said that—she’d heard someone had been sending chain mail on Valentine’s Day, so she was helping the principal clean them up from people’s lockers.”

Hana? Your mind flashed to the missing locks, and the cheerleader that always seemed to be hanging around your locker, and suddenly everything dawned on you. “What did the envelope look like?”

“A corner store card. With—”

“Candy hearts. Right.” You muttered, watching Minho nod slowly. Your anger faltered slightly, feeling a slight shame wash over you, but you weren’t willing to give up just yet. “That still doesn’t explain why you dump out all the gifts you get every year.”

He sighed. “Look. Why would I keep love letters from people I don’t like? That’s just...narcissistic. And I don’t...like chocolate, either,” he added as an afterthought, and you couldn’t help exhaling a short laugh at his ridiculously blunt sentence. Another silence fell between the two of you, the angry tension in the air replaced with an almost childish awkwardness.

“I really did like the poem,” Minho spoke tentatively after what felt like an eternity, and you buried your head in your hands.

“Shut up, Lee Minho, oh my g—”

“And I wouldn’t have thrown it out.” The soft edge to his voice made you stop, peeking out of your fingers to look at him questioningly.

“Why not?” You asked, swallowing hard. “You said keeping letters from someone you don’t like would be narcissistic.”

He was barely a foot away, and the sheer proximity of his face from yours made your stomach flop—with irritation or butterflies, you weren’t sure you wanted to find out. Nonetheless, a tiny voice at the back of your head told you that you were heading towards the latter.

“You know, for someone who reads so many books, you sure are dense,” Minho murmured, shaking his head.

“Wh—”

“I throw out all my Valentines every year because I never see your name on them, alright?” His expression was as careless as ever—that cool, calm facade he wore like a suit of armour—but you didn’t miss the slight tremor in his voice, the flicker of apprehension in his eyes. Lee Minho, you realized with a jolt, was nervous. “I...only ever wanted to receive one from you.”

Your eyes widened, hands lowering from your face in shock. The book tumbled from under your arm to the ground. “But—Hana always told me about how much you hated me.”

“Hmm.” He dropped down to pick it up before fixing his piercing eyes on yours. “Funny. She’s been telling me the same about you. How you’re a two-faced, back-stabbing...such-and-such,” he smiled at the indignant look on your face before his face grew serious. “You’ve always let people walk all over you, and you never retaliate. It’s both admirable and frustrating to watch.”

“I’m not good at confrontation,” you mumbled, still shifting your weight from one leg to the other nervously. “Every time I think I’ve finally got the guts to try and say something back, I...I get all terrified that the words’ll jumble up and I-I’ll start to cry like an idiot again—”

“You’re not an idiot,” he interrupted sternly, “You’re probably more clever—and genuine—than everyone in our grade combined. Your thesis was brilliant.”

You snorted incredulously. “Then why did you keep attacking it every class?”

“It was the only time I could get you to talk to me.”

“Weirdo,” you muttered, but you couldn’t find it in you to make the word sound insulting anymore. Minho chuckled, hand grazing yours as he handed the book back to you. You didn’t move your hand away, and neither did he.

“It is weird. I must be out of my mind. Whenever you look at me, it’s like the whole world stops, and suddenly every cheesy line of poetry I’ve ever read just seems to make sense.”

Your heart was pounding so hard you were more than certain Minho could hear it. The way he was looking at you was nearly overwhelming, stomach fluttering with a feeling so strange and foreign it terrified you. Never in your wildest dreams had you thought that you would be here, in this delicate, unreal moment, and you felt all your insecurities threatening to swallow you up again. Out of everyone in the school, he likes you? A voice snickered at the back of your mind. Don’t kid yourself.

Shrinking away, you mumbled, “Y-you—don’t have to say stuff like that, you know. I mean, i-if you feel bad because of the letter and everything, you don’t have to pretend you lik—”

There was a flash of an exasperated smile on Minho’s lips. Before you could finish, his hand reached to pull your chin towards him again, and suddenly his mouth was pressed flush to yours. You froze, lips parting in surprise, but the kiss was light—barely even a brush of soft skin, and bringing with it the faint scent of vanilla and old books. Minho pulled away almost as quickly as he’d pulled you in, stammering, “I-I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

That seemed to send what was left of your hesitation crumbling into dust. You grabbed the collar of his dress shirt to pull him back in, and the library fell silent again.

Minho kissed the way he talked—soft but firm, and always leaving you struggling to catch your breath. Each touch had the growing intensity of something long overdue, starting out careful—as though you were treading over the newly shattered, four-year-old misunderstandings of one another—before your hands instinctively tangled in his hair and Minho pulled you in impossibly closer. You could feel his heartbeat pressed against yours, the crumpled poem and Neruda’s sonnets long forgotten on the carpeted ground.

The click of the library door opening sent the two of you flying apart, Minho hitting his head on the shelf with a comical thud. The kiss left you dazed and out of breath, and Minho’s face was flushed as both of you whipped around to see a livid Hana at the front of the library. Mouth opening and closing in silent fury, she shot you a death glare before storming out the door, leaving both you and Minho blinking after her.

Several moments passed, the whiplash of the unexpected interruption having sent both of your heads reeling. Then, the two of you broke into stunned laughter, slowly sliding down to the carpet as you doubled over in giggles.

When you finally stopped laughing at the ridiculousness of it all, Minho’s gaze was fixed fondly on your face. You poked his cheek. “You’re blushing, asshole.”

He didn’t respond, eyes falling to your lips again, and you felt your own face flush. “W-what?”

Minho grinned. “And you have drool on your chin again.”

“Hey, Minho! Minho, you won’t believe this!”

That enthusiastic voice belonged to none other than Han Jisung—voice of Levanter High’s morning announcements, and notorious school gossip. He hurtled down the bustling hall towards you and Minho, hunching over with his hands on his knees to catch his breath.

“Shit, ‘sung—did you kill somebody?”

The dark-haired boy shook his head rapidly. “Did you see the school newspaper?”

Your mouth went dry, Hana’s lingering threats still ringing clear in your ears. Jisung continued excitedly, “Two people submitted anonymous love poems over the weekend—at the same time! Can you believe it? I’m supposed to cover it on the announcements in a bit!”

Two? You peered at Minho, who hadn’t looked at you, and glimpsed a knowing glint in his eyes. “W-who submitted them?”

“Well, Lee Hana was handing out copies of the first one to everyone first thing this morning. But when I showed her the other one, she refused to tell me who the first belonged to.” He pouted.

Minho looked like he was trying hard not to laugh. “Do you have a copy of the paper, ‘sung?”

The dark-haired boy grinned. “Yeah, ‘course! You guys can have mine. See ya!”

As Jisung disappeared into the crowd of students, you turned back to Minho. He had been in the middle of putting a new lock on your locker, and was now setting the combination on his own. “They’re matching,” he’d pointed out when you’d gone into town together to buy them, and you’d groaned.

“Gro-oss.” The old, PDA-hating you would have probably thrown them away on the spot, but now the sight made you smile like a dork. If you can’t beat em, join ‘em.

You looked down to read the papers Jisung had deposited into your hands. Sure enough, on the left column, you spotted a photocopy of your own love letter. But on the right, there was a completely new one—and you had a sneaking suspicion you knew who the anonymous writer was.

“You know, Minho,” you deadpanned, “I don’t think either of us are cut out to be poets.”

“I stayed up all night writing that love letter, you know!” Minho exclaimed indignantly, and you just shook your head laughing. “But you’re right. I could feel Neruda turning in his grave.”

“You’re going to be the end of me, Lee Minho.”

His face broke into a mischievous grin at that, pinning you playfully to the lockers and stealing another kiss as you yelped in surprise.

“Can it be a happy ending?”

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giorno-plays-piano · 4 years ago

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Soft and Supple

Pairing: wolf!Bucky Barnes x bunny!reader

Warnings: dubcon, breeding, some a/b/o references, dirty talk, degradation.

Words: 1317.

Summary: The Big Bad Wolf was going to get you this time.

P.S. Please don't even ask me why 😩😩

__________

“Where are you going, baby?”

You could feel him hovering over you from behind, his arms getting restless as he cupped your breasts, breathing in your neck - you could feel the airy touch of his lips on your gentle skin. That cocky bastard had the audacity to fondle you in broad daylight like some pervert! Desperately trying to get away from Bucky, a wolf living in the forest close to the market where you were heading to buy some food, you squirmed when he turned your head towards him to give you a heated kiss, silencing your protests.

If a stranger saw you, they would call for help, but you knew it was useless: first, no one would hear you deep in the woods; second, it wasn’t the first time Bucky was doing that to you, but he had never gone further from there, usually slapping your ass and letting you run away as fast as you could, mocking you with his whistling or yelling something dirty. It looked insane, but you felt it was his way to communicate - in the end, he was a wolf, and you were born a little, weak bunny. His instincts kicked in every time he saw you.

“I’m... I’m not y-your baby.” you mewled when he finally let go of your lips, grinning at you like a predator willing to play with its prey. “You have to stop it! We’re n-not some savages.”

“Yeah? Would you like me to eat you like a Big Bag Wolf should, baby?” his breath was warming your long bunny ear, and you giggled, unable to hide your reaction from him. “Don’t tell me you don’t wanna fuck, bunny girl. You’ve been wagging that sweet fluffy tail in front of me the whole time like a slut.”

Oh, he was really getting riled up today, you thought and glanced back at him, shaking a little: while he would manhandle you every time you passed through this part of the forest, Bucky had never forced you to have sex with him. It looked like he was barely holding on today, his long rock-hard cock rubbing against your ass.

“Bucky, please. I was just passing by.” You muttered when he lowered his lips to your neck, his sharp teeth scraping it a little and drawing a pained sigh from you.

Shit, his hand was quickly travelling down your stomach: he cupped your pussy through the fabric of your shorts, leaving a hungry kiss on your neck and making you shiver with want, your hormones raging, making it even harder to resist him. Nonono, you couldn’t do it, you couldn’t submit to that damn cocky wolf who had been harassing you for months and was really going to rape you this time. You had to get out and report him, make police issue a restriction order or something, anything to keep Bucky away...

“There are lots of paths through the forest, but every time you come to my house like a girl who can’t help herself, knowing what’s gonna happen.”

He already had you pinned against the wall, your basket dropped somewhere to the ground, but you could barely focus when the wolf grabbed your ears, pinching them between his calloused fingers and making you squirm like a pathetic little bunny you were. It’s your weak spot, those damn soft, overly sensitive ears Bucky kept massaging with his thumb, making your knees tremble. Shit, shit, shit, it’s so good when he’s doing that, it’s so good your pussy got wet in a couple of seconds.

“I’ve heard pretty bunnies like you can cum real hard from just a small tickling of their ears. That’s true, baby? You gonna cum for me?” He tainted you, his lips ghosting over yours when he stared you in the eyes, watching you giving him a cute little sob, your lower lip quivering.

You wanted to tell him to leave you alone, let you go and never do this again to you, but you couldn’t, you couldn’t say anything but mewl when he stroked your soft, fluffy ears, his rough hands playing with them so good it turned off your brain, your juices leaking to the point Bucky could see the stains on your shorts, getting hungry for more. He then massaged them harder, pressing his thumbs to the inner part of your long ears, punching them with his fingers, crumpling their ends until you let out a high-pitched moan all of a sudden and started cumming right in front of him, your eyes rolling back into your skull when you opened your mouth, showing the wolf your little bunny tongue.

“Shit. Didn’t know it was true.” He muttered at the sight of you, your knees trembling as you quickly slumped down, unable to keep yourself standing - your shorts had been so stained Bucky wondered if it were easier to just throw them away rather than make them presentable again. “Oh baby, we’re gonna have so much fun.”

He was going to knot you. Shit, he was going to get his knot so deep inside you that you’d cum just from it alone, dumb little baby who had been flaunting her pretty tail in front of him for so long, hoping he’d dick you down and fill you up real good. You didn’t even realize you had been in heat, but Bucky wasn’t angry at you: he knew his baby bunny was too dumb to admit she needed a good mate and a good fuck. Luckily, your hormones worked better than your brain, so you would pass in front of his house every time your little pussy throbbed, giving him a good look at you. Sure, you acted like you didn’t want it, a fucking tease, but Bucky knew what he needed to do.

It just took him a bit more time to reorganize the rooms: his own desperately needed a makeover since you’d share it with him soon enough, and the nursery had to be built from scratch. Dumb little bunny, you had no idea how hard it was for a wolf like him to keep calm, stopping himself from jumping at you the second you walked near his house. Bunnies like you wanted to fuck till they could no longer speak, but wolves like him had to take care of their families, providing for them so that their sweet little babies would live in a safe place and have food on the table. Bucky didn't blame you, though. You were his cute, dumb bunny who needed a strong and smart wolf like him to live a good life.

"Bu-Bucky." you squirmed when he took you in his arms, lifting your from the ground and barging in the house, getting straight up to the room he finished renovated just yesterday, a new comfy bed awaiting for you two. "We c-can't do that... What if I get pregnant?"

"Of course, you'll get pregnant after you milk my cock like a good bunny girl you are." he growled into your ear, stripping you of your clothes, watching your wet throbbing pussy asking for a cock when he started fingering you just in case your cunt wasn't loose enough to fit him all, his knot getting painfully big. "How many babies you gonna give me, huh? Three? Four? Maybe more if I knock you up well?"

When you tried talking some sense into him, putting your arm on his chest to keep him away but ending up softly caressing it, Bucky sent you a wolfish grin, bottoming you out in one thrust - he couldn't wait a second longer, his own instincts taking over him when he started fucking you into his bed, loosening your leaking cunt for his fat knot. Oh, your sweet bunny pussy was the best. He'd make sure he got you knocked up the first time he filled your cunt with his cum.

_________

Tags: @finleyjayne @alexakeyloveloki @helenaeisenhower @villanellevi @hurricanerin @inlovewiththefictionalcharacters @chris-evans-indian-fanfic @navegandoaciegas @rosalynshields @brattycherubwrites @sllooney @angrythingstarlight @lookiamtrying @buckysbunny @soleil-dor @stargazingfangirl18 @dillybuggg @literate-lamb @cosicas-cuquis @sarge-barnes-sir @buckybarnesplumwhore @jaysayey @megzdoodle @gotnofucks @lux-ravenwolf @ximebebx @jeremyrennerfanxxxx123 @sourpatchspinster @iheartsebandchris

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #dark bucky barnes #dark bucky barnes x reader #yandere #winter soldier #mcu #mcu fanfiction

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folkloreguk · 3 years ago

Text

French Class [6]

A/N: You guys might want to whack out your love song playlist for this one…I cried writing this BYE I'm posting this from my grave!!

genre: optional bias (m) x reader (f), fwb, f2l?, college!au, fuckboy!bias, nerd!reader, ANGST, smut

words: ~ 3.8 k

✽series masterlist✽

taglist (lmk if u wanna be added!): @lovely-ateez, @runaway-fics, @mainexiii, @awfullytiredbuthealing, @erikyoong, @etherealuv, @staysuki, @justcuz-ican, @yeostars, @hyuckthangs, @teenloves, @mexious18-blog, @sunghoonied, @mailobjaeyoon

couldn’t tag: @chorizoek

You: can I come over? I kind of need u

H/N: you need me huh…you’re lucky I’m home alone

It always starts differently. Some other question, or a subtle message of telling him you’re bored, or a flat-out confession of being horny. The ending is always the same. You, naked in his bed. You just had to get there, and things were easy when you were already on his dorm’s doorstep.

The moment he had opened the door, you had fistfuls of his hair between your fingers and attacked his mouth in a feverish kiss. He made a noise between a laugh and surprise but reacted quickly. His lips parted right away, letting you in, and you tasted mint from the chewing gum he liked so much.

“Let me- at least- close the door,” he mumbled. “Jeez, what’s gotten into you today?”

You stepped aside and mirrored his grin. He was acting surprised, but the way he instantly locked your lips after he had shut the door told you he was enjoying this as much as you were. You ran your hands down his torso and along the side of his thighs. His happy hum only poured oil into the fire, and you saw no reason as to why you should have kept your clothes on any longer. In minutes, in the middle of heated kisses and clumsy chuckles, your clothes were discarded, and you were left in your underwear. You stumbled into his bedroom in a tangle of arms and legs and heads barely pulling apart.

“Will you tell me about the date you had today or are we skipping over that part?” he asked, as he pushed you down by the shoulders onto his bed. You groaned a little, not even knowing where to start.

“Didn’t go well, huh?” he asked. Only a few nights ago you had consoled him after his failed date, now the roles were reversed.

“That’s one way to put it,” you said. He was climbing on top of you now, and the weight of him between your thighs still did the same things to you it had done the first time. There was one of his random playlists playing quietly from the speakers, but you were both too occupied to even consider switching the music off. You weren’t in the mood for a chat, not when he was biting and sucking bruises into your chest, pushing aside your bra just enough. But you knew he wasn’t going to let it go this easily.

“Tell me about it or I won’t take one more piece of clothing off your body,” he threatened. You shot him an are-you-serious-look while he only blinked at you innocently, like he was awaiting your response.

“Fine,” you groaned. “But hurry, now.”

“That’s my girl,” he said, before unclasping your bra and throwing it to the other side of the room. “Go ahead, I expect a story.”

You had rolled your eyes at him, but when he sucked on your nipple all of a sudden, and his tongue flicked over the sensitive bud ever so perfectly, your eyes moved to the back of your head involuntarily. And, before he could complain, you started to retell today’s events.

“Alright. First of all, he acted all gentleman-y. Pulling back my chair at the restaurant, letting me have a look at the menu first, letting me order first, asking me if I was okay with our seats because they were in the sunshine, or whether he should have requested we get a different in the shade table, blah, blah, blah.”

With the lewd noises he was making, kissing your chest and fumbling with your breasts, you almost wondered whether he was paying attention to you at all.

“I’m waiting for the plot twist,” he chuckled. “If he had been this great, you wouldn’t be in my bed right now, would you?” He was now on his way to your lower regions. Your breaths came out shaky when he gripped your hips with familiar fingertips and placed a few kisses there, right above the material of your underwear. Nonetheless, you had to continue your story.

“Oh, it’s coming,” you said. “Because I suspect, the only reason he was acting that way was to compensate. For the fact that he was an hour late.”

He stifled a laugh, and you slapped his head playfully. “It’s not funny! I stood outside that restaurant on a busy street like an idiot for an hour. During exam season!”

“I wonder, if studying is so special to you- ,” he said. He tugged on your underwear, and you barely cared about his words when you were already imagining his mouth on your pussy. “Why aren’t you at home right now, doing just that?”

“Too frustrated,” you groaned, spreading your legs, practically inviting him in. “You don’t get it. That was only the beginning of the date. It gets worse.”

“Oh, damn,” he laughed, and you were going to slap him again. Harder, this time. But his tongue kitten-licked over your clit and you didn’t dare interrupt him further.

“First of all, he turned out to be boring. An economics major. And look, I’m not generalizing, I’ve met some cool economics majors. But when I said I never really understood the whole thing with inflation and deflation, I wasn’t asking for him to explain it to me. I know what it means, I just meant to say money is the root of all evil,” you said, little moans slipping inbetween your sentences. He laughed whilst sipping on your clit. You couldn’t be mad at his laughing anymore. In fact, at the sound of his chuckles, your own lips curled into a smile, too. God, he was so good with his tongue.

“But turns out he loved money. Like it was the sole reason he was doing anything. When he showed me his gold watch I almost yawned,” you continued.

“Dating a rich guy can have its upsides too, though,” he said, but you knew he was joking. He was running the tips of his fingers over your core, and you whimpered at how badly you wanted him to put them inside of you. You loved watching him, loved feeling his hair tickle the side of your thighs and having his free hand laying on top of your hipbone. The familiarity of it all, his little habits, made your heart heavy, so full of emotion, all of a sudden. But you had to snap out of it.

“Not this guy. He kept saying these lowkey sexist things I won’t repeat now. It’ll only make me mad again. He was one of those who thought money would buy him a girlfriend. And I was really trying to see the good in him…only there was none,” you said.

“Alright, I’m starting to understand why you needed some cheering up,” he said. “Good thing you’re at the right place. I know just the thing.”

At this, he slid his digits into you. You hummed and dropped your head into the plush pillow. Slowly, you exhaled, happy you finally got to relax after being so upset. But of course, he had to interrupt. Again.

“Did I say you could stop? Was that the end of the story?” he said. How did he expect you to form a coherent sentence? He fingered you gently, but the slowness of it all only drove you crazier. You felt every tiny sensation, every new bit of you he touched.

“No,” you sulked. “Fuck, it feels so good.”

“Go on, then,” he encouraged you, grinning because he was proud of your reaction he had caused.

“Fuck- okay. He was super shitty to the waiter. I’m talking about criticizing everything. This man had the audacity to complain about the food. I’m not a food critic, but I swear the food was amazing, there was nothing to fault at all,” you said, and then whined when he switched from licking your clit to sucking it between his teeth. You knew he was doing this on purpose. To make speaking harder for you.

“Oh my god, H/N. Wait, let me finish this. Not only was he horrible to the waiter in person, but he also made fun of the waiter’s appearance behind his back. And all along he expected me to find him funny. I used to think he had a sense of humor but not after today. Blech.”

“At least you got a free dinner?” he said, and without awaiting your answer, went back to work. Your head was spinning in pleasure, and you could only laugh sarcastically at his suggestion.

“Yeah. And after that train wreck of a date, he really thought he’d get to stick his tongue down my throat,” you said.

“Did he at least ask permission?” asked the boy between your legs.

“Mhm…but I told him I don’t do that on the first date,” you said. “Safe to say there won’t be another date, though.”

He looked up now, laughing more than before. You grinned, mainly because the sight of him was so cute. He folded his hands on your belly and put his face down onto your skin to giggle. In no way could you be upset or urge him to keep giving you head. In fact, you had forgotten about all of that for a while, as he seemed to enjoy your misfortune a little too wildly. You should have been hungry, eager to have the half-naked boy inside of you. Yet, you laughed at the way his breaths tickled your stomach and when he finally made eye contact, it was a wholly different sort of hunger which overcame you. Instead of the heat he usually made you feel, it was a comfortable warmth that was in your chest. It reminded you of a bonfire or of drinking your favorite hot drink on a cool autumn day.

“I want to watch you come,” he said, casually. “Were you close?”

You were so lost in his trustworthy, dreamy eyes, you almost forgot to reply. Quickly, you nodded and hummed.

“I would have already come, had you not pestered me to tell you all the details of my date,” you said. The way his cheeks beamed when he smiled made you feel as if your insides were turning into mush.

“I’m sorry. I’m your friend, aren’t I allowed to ask how your day went?” he asked.

“Of course you are,” you said. The word ‘friend’ echoed off every wall in your head until you wished you could have deleted it from the dictionary.

“I’ll make sure it feels extra good now,” he said, kissing your stomach. You shivered as you watched his gentle lips move lower, to your hips and the insides of your thighs. The touch felt like butterfly wings on your skin, and the tardiness of it made you impatient. When his tongue came in contact with your clit again, you sucked in a breath of surprise.

He tried to start slowly, but then you gripped his hair tightly, and carefully pushed him further. It was something you did often, a way to tell him you wanted more without having to use words. After all this time, he understood perfectly. Your clit was between his lips and his tongue flicked over the sensitive bundle of nerves with just the right amount of pleasure. It felt incredible, creating a funny sensation in the pit of your stomach. His fingers grazed over your slit until you were whimpering and shifting your hips, trying to make him hurry.

One of his digits slid into you easily, curling against your sweet spot, and it hit you only now how much you had missed him between your legs since he had stopped a few minutes ago. It made you feel as though you were suddenly overwhelmed with all of him, but you were willing to let the heat crash over you if it meant you could be close to him.

“Am I making it up to you now?” he asked as he pulled away merely for a breath. “I’ll turn your day into a good one after all.”

In a different tone his words would have sounded like the exact thing one would have expected to hear from a fuckboy in the bedroom. He could have boasted and bragged endlessly about how great he was with his tongue and fingers – he would have been right – but he didn’t mean it like that. You could tell from the uprightness and the authenticity in his voice that he really was doing his best because he wanted to make you feel better and turn your day around. Because you were special to him. Or so you desperately hoped.

Your legs wrapped around his shoulders as if you were trapping him between your thighs. But he was right there, and he would gladly stay for so much longer, and to say it puzzled you was an understatement. The boy who belonged to everybody, who was known by all of the campus, was treating you like you were royalty, and not the other way around. You moaned, his name inevitably falling from your lips. He added another finger and the slightest stretch made you lose your mind for a split second.

“That guy could have never made you feel this good, could he?” he suddenly asked. Your initial response was a helpless whine. You had been so close, and his talking had interrupted the otherworldly bliss for a moment.

“No, never,” you then whimpered shortly. ‘No’ was such a tiny word. It could barely encapsule what you truly meant to say. Which was that it would have never even gotten that far. That other guys couldn’t even have you at all. They didn’t get their turn to try and beat him. Not as of lately, at least. That you didn’t so much as dare to think about sleeping with other guys. That even before you had gone on the date, you had known it wouldn’t lead to anything. No guy could let you develop an interest on him in the same way the boy between your legs had done it. No other would be able to kidnap your brain like that. H/N was always there. Even when it was only you and your sex toys, you would automatically pretend it was him getting you off. You were so far gone that it was embarrassing how long it had taken you to admit it to yourself. But it was a colossal thing to confess to him, and you would never do that. Rejection would hurt a billion times more than whatever it was you two had now.

Your heart was racing as you closed your eyes. You had been so lost in thought, it was wondrous you hadn’t fallen yet. But you were right on the edge, making your breaths come out like puffs and a string of moans and swears sound from your lips. He too had stopped talking, concentrating on the task at hand, and judging by the way your back arched he was doing one hell of a good job.

“Oh my god- “ you whimpered. “I’m so close, H/N.”

This time he didn’t reply, which was for the best. Only a few seconds passed until you started to quiver and whine beneath him. You were going to outer space behind your eyelids as your high rushed through you. Your fingers curled and tightened in his locks while your legs clenched around his head. He was quick to pull your thighs apart again, still not being finished. For long seconds you swam in pleasure, with nothing on your mind but bursting stars. He was heaven, knowing precisely how far he could take it until you were too sensitive to take any more.

When you were at that point, he finally pulled away and looked up at your crumpled form. There was a lazy smile playing in the corner of your lips and your vision was hazy after having had your eyes closed for a while. He climbed up your body until his chest was against yours so he could really look at you.

“I get all of this without ever having been on a single date with you? I’m so lucky,” he said. You only smiled at him, at a loss for words. What were you to say? The two of you were clearly past the awkward dating stage already.

“I’m lucky you let me come over all the time,” you said. “I would have expected the campus fuckboy to be busier. To not have an empty spot in his bed every night.”

“Ah, shut up,” he said. “I’d rather have you here than a girl I don’t know at all. Look, I’m really tired so I don’t know how this will go…but can I?” He was on his knees, a tent visible in his boxers. With a questioning look, he was tugging them down his legs now.

“Of course,” you said. As you watched him roll on a condom, your ears perked up. Did that song have to come on shuffle just now? The coziest, most romantic love song you adored so much? You knew if you looked him in the eyes you’d be done for. But there wasn’t anywhere else to look when he settled between your legs and held up his weight with his forearms. His eyes were deep enough for you to get lost within a second. Distracting yourself was impossible. The one last thing you could do was to reach between the two of you and guide his length into you.

The song’s chorus came on, you looked at him once again, and suddenly you were all his. You didn’t need to tell him so. He thrust gently, almost carefully, like he had never done it with you. Your heart hammered against your ribcage so vivaciously, you wondered whether it had turned autonomous and was now trying to jump out of your body, onto his skin and through it, so it could nestle next to his own heart.

Neither of you spoke. Yet, there had never been so much chemistry, such a heavy amount of uncommunicated emotions between the two of you. You were ready to hang on his every word, should he decide to speak up. In your head rampaged a billion sentiments you needed him to know, but there was no option to express them adequately. Perhaps there were simply no words in the English language to declare your feelings for him.

Small whimpers and moans left your lips only for him to hear. Sometimes he moved a little quicker, gifting you with the most perfect sounds he could make. And to know you were the cause for it sent you into overdrive. His mouth was right above yours. If you lifted your head slightly, you could have kissed his sweet, sweet lips. But you were so afraid. What would he think? You had never kissed him during sex. Not softly, like you wanted it so terribly.

Even worse, you craved so much more than that. You wanted to pull him in, envelope his mouth in your own, crawl over the edge of his lips and reside in his chest for safety. Because that’s what he was. Comfort. Reassurance. Home. How foolish you had been, pretending this little fling would lead to nothing more. You really had told yourself this would work. No feelings. Just fun. You couldn’t deny having fun with him. He was the best company you had ever known, and he had become your most precious friend quickly. It was as if you had only been waiting for the silly, flirty boy to sit across from you in the library and make weak advances towards you.

The love song tuned out slowly, replaced by something more sensual and sinful. In accordance with the new background noise, he gripped your hips a little meaner and went faster. You barely noticed how his breathing had sped up as he was getting closer to his orgasm. A trance had overcome you, transfixing you on his godlike features and how much it hurt to know you couldn’t call him yours. In your head you were made for each other. They always said to date your best friend, didn’t they? You could try to turn back time, go back to your first meeting place, at the party. See if things would turn out different. But you knew they wouldn’t. As much as your fear tried to suppress it – you would take the same path again, stumbling head-first into his arms and letting him into your life like a crashing wave of laughter and heart-crushing conversations.

Now you reflected in despair, how he had taken your heart in a storm, without having to try too hard. And worst of all, you were okay with it. Your heart was secure with him, you thought. The feelings yearned to be spoken out loud, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it.

“You feel so good,” he said. “Always, so fucking good.”

He snapped his hips against yours, burying his cock deep inside of you and all you could muster was a hum of agreement. This is what you got for keeping him at arms-length from the beginning. Wasn’t it you who had challenged him to be friends and only that? Perhaps you would be okay, so long as no one else called him theirs either. You could go on like this, letting him use you for sexual relief and making him laugh when he needed it. Gladly, you would take the pain of not being allowed to love him with your whole being if it meant you could see him whenever you wanted. Exposing those silly emotions would wreck your friendship and you wouldn’t let it happen.

He grunted and only then, when he lowered his head into the crook of your neck and moaned your name, you realized he was reaching his high. Softly, you cradled his head in your hands, as if it was the last time you could hold him like this. When he put his forehead against yours, he had his eyes closed and his chest was moving steadier than before.

“You’re the best,” he whispered. “Stay the night?”

Should you have gone home, and missed him all night? Would you have regretted saying no while you curled up in bed with no Cheshire-cat-grin-boy to hold? Or were you to remain in his bed, and pray you would survive the torture of not speaking your mind? His skin radiated the most wonderful warmth and you wanted to trace his lips with your eyes until you fell asleep. That’s how quickly it was decided.

“Okay,” you answered.

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