#died of old age after i bought him home :(

[chuchu666yay]

found cool bug on floor

[haeryna]

thinking about idol!gojo and rockstar!geto (tw: mentions of underage drinking, implied abandonment, implied homophobia from gojo's parents, vague mentions of illness)

how you three, along with shoko, lived in the same ratty small town in the middle of nowhere. you'd moved when you were six, all shy and scared of the house your parents had moved to in order to help your sick grandmother that you barely remembered because the last time you'd seen her was when you were four. you were from the city; you'd never seen fireflies, or grass that stretched out as far as your eyes could see, and so when you saw the first firefly appear just as the sky turned to dusk, how were you supposed to resist it?

so you chased it down to the creek, all smiles and filled with excitement, until you realized it was dark, and you were in the forest, and you were scared. you couldn't help but start to cry, and that's where geto found you.

"are you lost?"

sniffling, you peered up at the dark haired boy, whose soft brown eyes filled with a sort of concern. "y-yeah," you hiccupped, and geto offers up a gentle smile. "it's okay, i know the way back."

and so, you'd taken his hand, let him tug you out of the creek bed, and lead you back toward the house that still didn't quite feel like home. you'd learn, his name was suguru. suguru geto, and wherever suguru geto was, satoru gojo was never too far behind (although you didn't know that, yet).

"you crying?"

you'd let out a startled yelp, still clinging to suguru's hand, twisting to look at the other boy who was staring at you with unrestrained curiosity. even at the age of six, you found him beautiful, with the piercing blue of his eyes, and the soft white down of his hair, even as he mocked you. satoru hadn't known how else to express the sort of silent jealousy that had torn its way through his chest once he saw you holding suguru's hand.

the two of you bickered, all the way back until they left you at your front door, much to suguru's displeasure. yet satoru was beaming; nobody but suguru and shoko dared to speak to him that way. he was too young to understand the way his heart seemed to churn every moment he saw you after .

later, you would meet shoko ieiri, who instantly took a liking to you, defending you with the stubbornness of an older sister you never had.

later, you would realize just how beautiful suguru and satoru were, as they grew. you were the one who pierced suguru's ears (a decision made at 1am in his basement), who bought satoru his first eyeshadow palette (his parents would have died if they'd ever see him use it). and it was eventually you who brought them into music, as you stared up at the ceiling of suguru's basement. the lights grew hazy as you blinked up at them, empty bottles of stolen beer surround you. suguru and shoko were busy smoking a pack of (also stolen) cigarettes, and satoru was on his phone.

"what if we like. made a band?"

you were only 16, and dreamed of leaving the small town you'd moved to. the temporary stay had turned permanent after your grandmother had inevitably passed. shoko immediately snorted. "i love you, but i can't sing for shit."

but you were persistent. you thrifted an old guitar that you gave to suguru as a birthday present, encouraged satoru's angelic singing.

you should have known they would outgrow you.

you're 21 now, still living in the old house, taking care of your parents. the dreams you'd had years ago turned into ash in your mouth. even shoko had left, off to pursue medical school.

you can't stomach looking at the news anymore. satoru has broken into the idol industry, creating equal amounts of chart toppers and scandals. an idol like that only comes once every one hundred years, they say. with the way he moves, the way he acts, you're inclined to believe it.

(when you watch him for the first time, on some variety show, you see him, see the way they've done his makeup, and you're brought back to sitting on the couch, telling him to stop moving or he'll mess up the eyeshadow you attempting to apply. you wonder if his parents were furious at the decision. you wonder where the eyeshadow palette you gave him went. did he take it with him before he left for good? bile rises heavy in your throat, and you shut off the television, unable to stomach it any longer.)

the radio is equally as traitorous. you know suguru has been dominating the indie charts, to the point where it's simply suguru and satoru competing against each other. you hate how whenever you go to the local bakery, you can hear his voice again playing through the speakers. hate how when you make the long drive to pick up your parents' medicine, how you can hear him through your car's speakers. it feels intimate in a way that you cannot bear.

(still, you hear the guitar and remember the look in his eyes when you gifted him the one you'd found in the thrift store. suguru had treated it reverently, telling you with an earnest sort of smile that, "the first song i write will be for you." he's traded out acoustics for rock. he has no need for that guitar anymore, you think absentmindedly. just like he no longer needed you.)

but what you don't know is that every time satoru's makeup artist gets to his eyes, he has to keep them firmly shut or else he'd burst into tears. she didn't do it like you. she never would. every time he steps onto the stage, he looks for you, though he knows he'll never find you. it never stops him from looking. how he sings his heart out in the hopes you'll hear him, unaware that despite his popularity, you avoid his music like it's deadly.

what you don't know is that every time suguru writes, he realizes how he lied to you. "the first song i'll write will be for you," he remembers, and yet now every song he writes is about you. now, girls he doesn't even know, screams his name, screams along to his songs that he wrote for you. they pretend that they're the girl who was left behind, the girl that he's never stopped loving.

(he'll never forget the way your hand fit into his, how even at the age of six he knew that you were the only one who ever had his heart along with satoru)

how on days he misses you particularly badly, the piercings you'd given him burns. he writes his love into his music, the music that you shut off every time you hear it come on the radio.

it changes nothing, if they come back, you tell yourself. suguru and satoru have each other. they don't need you.

but one day they do come back, come back for you, and it changes everything.

[ieatfanficforbrunch]

People Pleaser Steve

Steve is a people pleaser. Years of living with his parents and their demeaning stares and harsh words have destroyed his sense of self preservation.

"Keep Eye Contact, Steven," his mother would say. "Stop Complaining, You need to make our guest Comfortable." His father would say. Until the age of ten all Steve got was criticism. Constant reminders on how to behave perfectly and how to appease his parents.

The morning they decided he was old enough to stay home himself, coincidentally on his 10th birthday, they packed up and started renting an apartment in Chicago to better monitor their Business. They sent him money for food, got him a bike so he could go to school, they even sent a few extra 20s every other month so he could get new clothes as he grew.

Of course, Steve never complained. This was how he kept the peace, how he avoided the cold glare from his parents.

The pattern continued into adulthood, Steve practically raised himself for the last 8 years of his childhood, he only saw his parents when they needed him.

When he (accidently) became the mother of the nerdiest bunch of kids in Hawkins, he made himself a promise, No matter what he'd be there. Every recital, every birthday party, every holiday, and every time they needed a ride; he was there.

When Christmas came around after everything had happened, after Max had recovered and Eddie's wounds had healed perfectly, he decided he would make it the best Christmas they'd ever seen. Just to make them happy.

He decorated the entire house, made enough food to feed his small football team of a group, he got so many presents for everyone that he had to skip out on food three days a week for two months just because he wanted it to be perfect.

The kids came over on Christmas Eve night to spend the night together, slept in sleeping bags he bought special for them. Eddie came to help wrangle the crazies until Robin got back from visiting her grandparents in Ohio.

They ate like they were starving or like it was their last meal. All except Steve, who was too afraid to overstep or take away from someone else to even try one of the many kinds of food he made.

The games died down and the food was gone by midnight. The kids slept peacefully in their sleeping bags. Steve let out a small sigh, a smile on his face as he stood and took empty platters and plates to the kitchen.

He washed the dishes in silence, a baggy crew neck sweater replacing his usual polos. He knew if he wore them the others would notice he had lost weight and he didn't want to inconvenience them. It was rude to burden others with your problems. He honestly thought he had gotten away with it until a familiar Metal head guided him to the kitchen table.

"Ok Big boy, This isn't working for me," He said in a soft voice.

Steve immediately looked up, "I'm sorry, it won't happen again," he whispered, not even sure what he did.

Eddie sighs and says, "Steve, You think you're hiding it so well but you aren't. You take care of everyone and everything all of the time. Let me take care of you."

Steve couldn't move, couldn't respond, How Was he supposed to behave? He didn't know so he merely nodded.

Eddie smiled and immediately made Steve a bowl of cereal, something small and quiet. When he was positive Steve would eat it, he finished the dishes for him.

Steve looked so beat down and tired, the bags under his eyes told so much and Eddie knew that from now on he would do Everything to keep them away.

He took the empty bowl and washed it before walking over to Steve. "I know it's a bit early but...I got you something," he whispers, pulling out a small box from his back pocket.

It was a light blue box with a thin red ribbon and white trim. Steve's thin fingers removed the lid to find a locket in the shape of a guitar pick.

Inside there were two pictures, one with the kids, and one with Steve and Eddie. It was the picture from when Eddie was discharged, the day Steve agreed to get treatment for his wounds. Eddie's arm is around Steve's shoulders, it's the only picture in the world with Steve's Real smile. His eyes swelled with tears. It's the only gift he's gotten since he was 10, since his parents left to run their company, since Everything.

"Shit I didn't mean to make you cry again! I just-" Eddie is cut off with the tightest hug he's ever gotten.

"It's Perfect," Steve whispers.

He's met with calloused hands on the back of his head, gently massaging his scalp.

"Merry Christmas, Harrington."

"Merry Christmas, Munson."

[angelwhisp3rs]

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ pretty girl

Pairing: DI!Leon x Fem!Reader

Summary: Leon met his new obsession in the college girl that is his friends daughter.

Tags: Smut; fluff; p in v; oral (f/m); loss of virginity; there's an age gap (i imagined reader being 23-25 and leon 37; he only met her as an adult, so no icky age stuff); breeding kink; a slight daddy kink; innocence kink (both are consenting adults! reader is not dumb and knows about it, and she teases leon with it, like a little minx!)

Notes: this fic has a slight darker theme (VERY LITTLE because a lot would go against my values), so if you feel uncomfortable with that, please don't read it! i have other fics that might be better suited for you! stay safe!

Also, this was one of my old fics!

The city always felt empty to her. Sure, she had her dad with her, but it was always missing something. Her dad is always off to god knows where, probably on his so called “missions”, while she had her studies and college classes. 

After that fateful day, Wednesdays became her favorite day of the week, as it was the day where Leon came to a cookout to celebrate one of their missions. With only one look, everything changed - as their eyes met each other, she knew she was his. His gaze gave her chills, the blue of his eyes showed a sea of emotions that she couldn’t pinpoint. He gave her a passing smile, and after that, hurricane Leon was a part of her day-to-day life.

At first, Leon wasn't really present at the usual football dinners or barbecues her father was used to having after every successful mission.

After some weeks, the man and her dad became close friends, since they fought together, saving lives. Her dad, however, had no idea that Leon wanted to fuck the brains out of his “treasure”. Whenever he had his famous barbecues on Sundays, he missed how hungry Leon looked at the girl, how her pretty dresses flowed, and always teased him of seeing the parts that he really wanted.

As their friendship grew, so did Leon's feelings. He felt like a pervert because of their age gap, but it was impossible to resist her smile, her laughs, her curves and her personality. He saw how the perverted fucks of the agency looked at her, and it always made him want to shoot every single one of them. He craved to claim her, showing her around as his, showing that these poor idiots would never have a chance with her. He knew that was impossible, until her dad died, so he did the best thing he could think of: he gave her gifts.

Whenever they went on long missions, Leon bought dresses, creams, perfumes and lingeries to give to her. Of course that the last items were a secret between him and her. It was really tough, but whenever he saw her wearing the special gifts, his heart and cock were pumped full of blood. 

So, he asked her, as a courtesy, to always model to him in private her gifts. She loved it. Leon looked at her with adoration, and such a penetrating look, that she couldn’t quite figure out the emotions behind them. But god, if she didn’t lose herself in his arms whenever he hugged her, and he touched her body as if he was inspecting his gift: her. Those were her favorite times, because she always came home with wet panties and hard nipples, so desperate for his touch.

Because of her father's protectiveness, and her hectic life, she had no experience, whatsoever, but she wasn’t dumb. She knew of the game of attraction they played, and knew how her so-called “innocence” turned Leon on to the point where his cock got too hard to touch. She wanted him to go crazy on her.

Leon was also aware that she wasn’t a hopeless innocent woman, it was all a fantasy that she happily indulged him every time.

After some time, some rookies got admitted to the D.S.O, and they casually made their way to the usual hangouts. She felt excited to have new faces in the usual events that her dad holds, but consistent socializing always tired her out. Because of it, she usually secluded herself in her room for some time - and her dad knew all about it, so it wasn’t news to him.

In one of the events held at her place, Leon returned from the bathroom and she was nowhere to be seen. The man grew worried, and went in looking for her. As he opened her bedroom door, he saw his pretty baby laying down tired on her bed. He approached her, caressing her head “Are you okay, baby girl?” 

She nodded, smiling softly at him “Just overwhelmed, don’t worry about it”

His heart softened, and went to sit on her bed, pulling her sideways on his lap. The older man's arms wrapped her in a tight hug, and shushed her. 

He pressed gentle kisses at her forehead, trying to make her feel better.

“You always know how to make it better, don't you?” She giggles, then nuzzles her nose in his neck. Fuck, she could feel herself getting wetter from his scent.

The man laughs at that, and he could also feel his cock hardening. He realized he had the perfect moment to have her to himself, and he wasn’t crazy to waste the opportunity. “You didn’t model to me the clothes you are wearing, darling” His hands move up her legs, massaging them slowly. 

She looks at him with wide eyes. “I’m so sorry, I had to help my daddy organize the barbecue today as he was running behind”.

Leon chose to ignore the tingling feeling he had whenever the word “daddy” came out of her pretty lips. “It’s okay, sweet thing” He pressed a kiss to her forehead “you can show me now, can’t you?”

She nods at him, then she starts talking sweetly, almost if the previous moment didn’t happen with that disgusting man. “Well, my dress you gave me last summer”.

He hums, passing his hands all over her body, feeling how the fabric behaves against her soft skin. “I remember it, pretty girl. Love seeing you wear it” His nose glides against her throat, creating goosebumps on her sensitive skin.

She giggles at his comments “that’s why I always wear it.” She feels him smiling at her neck, then keeps going to the most interesting part to both “and i’m wearing the pretty panties with the pink bow, the ones you gave me recently”.

He smirks, his voice getting huskier. “They are your favorite, isn’t it? Show me, sweet baby.” His hands move up her thighs, raising the hem of her dress to her waist.

She opens her legs slightly, so he has a better view. She prays he can’t see her arousal, she doesn't want to come off as easy, but it’s just too damn hard to resist him. The panties were her favorite for one thing only: how soft they feel. The white fabric was satin-like, and the bow on top made her pussy look like a gift wrapped for Leon's delight. 

His hands start massaging her hips, fingers passing through the fabric, not low enough to touch her clothed pulsing clit. His fingers trace the bow, and the hem of the garment, feeling how temping such little fabric can be. He couldn’t help but snicker as whenever his hands moved a little bit lower, her legs seemed to open a little bit more. 

He pressed kisses on her throat now, rewarding how much of a good girl she is, showing herself to him, becoming a needy slut in his lap as soon as he touched her. “Good job, sweet girl. I’m so happy that you like my gifts.” 

One of his hands moved to the top of the dress, tracing the pearl button in it. After some moments and soft whines from her, he moved a little bit to the side, tracing delicate circles where her nipples are. “Where is your bra, baby?”

Her pretty face hides in his neck, and she quietly murmurs “Didn’t want to wear it with this dress”.

With that, like a hunter preparing to feast on its prey, he smirks, and tells her with a condescending tone: “Oh, my pretty girl is not wearing one now? Is it too much with your pretty dress, baby girl?”

She nods and gives him a pout, knowingly starting that seduction game they played. Her cunt was wet and needy, pulsing for him. She was sure that it was red and puffy, and Leon was all aware of it.  

He tuts, one finger circling her nipple, other two lowering dangerously to unexplored places. “It’s okay, darling, you are always so good, let me think for you, okay? I’ll treat you well, not like any other man out there, angel”. He proceeds to lightly trace his fingers to her lower lips, going up and down, not pressing any force, just traveling his fingers to her precious pussy. 

Her slick starts to wet his fingers further, she now fully lays on Leon’s chest, legs wider than ever. The soft moans and whimpers leaving her mouth were music to him, his cock pulsing to fuck her and stretch that delicious hole open. Maybe she would even let her fuck her other puckered hole. Even imagining his seed seeping out of her holes made him go insane, but he had to be patient, give to her slowly, get her addicted so she comes back for more.

He whispers sensually to her ear, voice dripping with lust “Feeling better, sunshine? Or my needy, spoiled baby needs more?” his fingers don’t stop tracing her pussy over her ruined panties, sure that her slick was drenching his pants too.

“C-can I have more, Leon? Please?” She begs him perfectly, his eyes roll back in his head, finally hearing her say his name in that desperate tone.

“Let’s take off these panties, baby. We don’t wanna ruin them, do we?” He helps her remove the fabric, and his mouth watered at the sight. He had never seen a woman, in his entire life, be so wet and puffy for him like she was. He knew that after today, he would spend his entire life buried deep in her womb. His fingers traced lightly her naked pussy, admiring, collecting her slick, completely hypnotized. 

His fingers gently touch her entrance, gathering her juices and spreading all over her sensitive place. After getting it lubricated enough, he traced slow circles in her clit, and her body seems like it went through a shock, back arching and hands going to his hair. She moaned his name softly, making groans leave Leon's mouth in satisfaction. 

“Open your dress a little bit, princess, let me make you feel even better. My baby deserves it” She proceeds to open the top of her dress, her boobs spilling out. His free hand moves two of his fingers to her mouth, muffling her moans, to not attract attention, and wet them so he can pleasure her beautiful tits. She sucks his fingers wantonly, as his fingers circle her bud faster.

After some time, his fingers leave her mouth so he can finally abuse her neglected nipples, the slick from her saliva still present on his fingers. She had to bite her lip hard, eyes tearing up from pleasure. The man is in cloud 9, seeing her succumb to him so easily. 

“Is my princess feeling good, huh? Love seeing you like that, baby, you’ll come for me every day from now on, okay? I’ll give everything to you, make you only mine. Do you want that, angel?” His fingers start moving just right, and she is stepping each second closer to the edge. 

She can only give him desperate nods, the knowledge he wants to do it everyday fuels her further with desire - she was already obsessed with him. It takes Leon to start pressing kisses to her throat, and she unravels on his fingers, coming with his name on her mouth. “Leon, I’m coming, o-oh god… f-fuck…”

“That’s it my angel, fuck, how delicious you look. Come for me, and I’ll give this to you forever, okay, sweetheart? My fucking baby, from now on” his fingers move slower, letting her ride the waves.

She sits on his lap panting, heart beating fast, rosy cheeks showing the great work out she’s been through. The man kisses every inch of skin he can reach, completely satiated from seeing her spent body because of him. 

He lays her down on her bed, then grabs one of her pink towels to softly clean her wet delicious cunt, pressing a kiss on the skin at the top. He grabs one of the babydolls he gave to her and dresses her up, kissing her arms, legs and neck again, making the girl give him soft giggles. 

Lastly, he presses kisses to her forehead, and whispers to her ear “go to sleep baby, have sweet dreams, my love”. And she obeys him, letting soft beard patches and calloused fingers guide her to her dreams.

'•.¸♡ ♡¸.•'︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵'•.¸♡ ♡¸.•'

One month after the barbecue, Leon didn’t make any advances on the girl again, letting her reach the peak of her desperation. He had seen the looks she gave her, and even if it was hard to ignore sometimes, he had to lay low to not raise suspicions, and maybe tease her some more. 

He entered the kitchen and saw her cooking the sides to help her dad with feeding the guests. As she stood cooking on the stove, he watched her silently, every inch of him burning with lust. He comes behind her, placing his hands gently on her hips, his lips moving against her skin. “I really missed you, pretty baby.”

She gasps, momentarily forgetting about the food, but not turning to him “Hm, not enough as you ignored me” 

His hands start massaging her hips, giving her a reassuring smile. “Sorry, baby, but we have to lay low, you know that” His hands now caressing her cheeks “After you help your dad, we can slip away from the guests and I'll reward you for being my special girl, how does that feel?”.

Her eyes light up, and she nods excitedly. He chuckles at her eagerness, and presses a loving his to her forehead, letting her be. 

Oh, how fun this night is about to be.

'•.¸♡ ♡¸.•'︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵'•.¸♡ ♡¸.•'

They mingle with everyone at the barbecue, having some D.S.O agents and some of the neighbors from around. 

As she was washing the dishes, Leon was behind her every second of it, taking advantage that the kitchen was secluded from the hangout spot and pressing kisses to her neck and praises to her skin: “such a good girl”, “so obedient”, “so perfect”. She couldn’t help but feel her hands trembling a little bit as she did the dishes, she was hoping he forgot about his little “show”, otherwise she would have to show him her ruined panties pressed on her cunt. God, she was blushing from shame.

As she finished washing, before she could say anything, his raspy voice whispered to her ear, hands now touching her hips again. “Gonna model f’me today, sweet baby?” 

She gulps, nervous and excited: she couldn’t say no to him when his voice got like this. Ever since he touched her a month ago, she tried to chase that feeling again, every day having to hump her poor little pillow, to try to reach bliss again. Sadly, only he seemed to have the knowledge for that, causing her to go to bed with a wet needy pussy. “Okay…” her pretty voice was meek, playing coy with him.

The man smirked, as he had of an idea why she was shy. He gently grabbed her hands, giving her a reassuring smile, guiding her to his bedroom. As they got there, he sat on the edge of bed, legs spreading to accommodate her body between them. He starts passing his hands on her body, sighting heavily in pleasure, after denying himself of her body for days. “This dress is new baby, where did you get it, hm?”

She smiles at him, her redness still on her cheeks “I bought it when I went to the mall with my friends.” She twirls for him, the wind showing her pink panties hugging her bottom. He bites his lip, and gives her a smile “I like it, sweet thing. Looking like a princess, aren’t you?”

She giggles, and wraps her arms around him, her pretty face hiding in his neck again. She shines beneath his praises. “Thank you, Leon.”

He presses a chaste kiss on her cheek, his rough hands passing in her hair. She is his sweet little baby, he would take his sweet time with her sweet young body. “Lay down in bed, sweet baby. Need to check you entirely”.

She lays down for him, their bodies not at the edge of the bed anymore, fully laying down. He gently removes the straps on her shoulders, kissing every inch of her skin as the fabric passes by. She was breathing heavier now, he could sense how aroused she was. He pushes down the top of her dress until it reaches her waist. Her pink bra is shown to him, one that was one of his gifts for her. “Such a pretty bra, sweetheart. You always look so pretty in it.” He whispers as he traces the item.

He unclaps her bra, her perfect breasts at show to him. His mouth latches to one of them, while he pinches her other nipple. He rolls her buds with his tongue and fingers, the only sound in his room is her desperate and quiet moaning. “Oh god, Leon!”

He switches his fingers and mouth, giving both her delicious nipples the same treatment. When he is done, both are hard and sensitive, ready for more. He had to stop himself, or he would lose control way too quickly. He had to enjoy the night, after days of not listening to his needs.

Her doe, glazed eyes look at him, watching him as he watches her. His hands start to go lower, to the end of her dress. He raised up the clothing, and he groaned at what he saw: her matching panties ruined from her slick, her perfect lips pressing at the wet fabric. “Oh baby, did I do that?” She nods to him, her blush coming back. “Let’s take these out, hm?”.

After her consent, he removes her panties and dress too. Just like last time, her center was red, puffy and gushing. He sighs at the sight, and traces her lower lips gently, easing her into the sensations. Her quiet whimpers were heard, fuelling him to finally go a little further. Just using his thumb, he circles her clit, enough to make her feel good, but still not enough to make her cum. His mouth presses kisses to her neck, leaving love bites to her chest: his claim hidden, their lustful little secret. 

Her mouth forms and forms an “O”, and her hips pick up the pace, following his thumb, drunk on so little. The agent smirks to her neck, thumb applying just a little bit more of pressure. She wails louder, her juices soaking his sheets too. “Oh, baby girl… I have been mean, neglecting you, haven’t I?” As she agrees, he gives her a hungry smile, and whispers “no more of that, okay?”.

He crouches between her legs, spreading them apart, and flattens his tongue, licking her cunt. Her body arches at the new feeling, it was something she never felt before. He oscillates his movements in pressing his tongue in her, and sucking her clit to his mouth. Her moans get louder when he enters one finger in her hole, fucking it nice and slowly, letting she get used to it. His mouth doesn’t stop, distracting her from the intrusion. As she got used to it, he added another finger, wanton moans leaving her. 

She clutches his hair, it was too much, too much, making her orgasm closer. After days of not getting anything from him, his tongue and fingers pressing into that spot get her to her edge in no time, and she gushes in his face, Leon swallowing it all with low grunts. 

He goes to her face, and they finally have their first kiss, marked by her taste and their hunger for each other. He gently wraps his arms around her, letting her shaking body come down, while still connecting their mouths together. He parts to press kisses to her cheeks, murmuring soft praises: “did so good, baby girl”, and “such a pretty girl, all for me”.

After she calms down in his arms, he kisses her again, gently this time. He whispers to her, afraid of breaking their bubble: “that felt good, sweet thing?”

She answers him with an eager nod. At that moment, she was putty in the man's hands, he could ask her anything and she would do it, so he took advantage of that. “Baby, wanna make me feel happier?” he already knew her answer to that, but still had to ask. As she consents again, he starts unbuckling his belt, then, opening the buttons on his pants, not taking it off, it would be her job, after all. He stands before her, letting her sit on the edge of the bed.

The girl looks at him with wide eyes, hopeful and eager to please him. She had an idea of what he was proposing, and she was a mix of nervousness and excitement. He only motions with his head, and she proceeds to take off his pants, his hard, throbbing cock springing free. Her mouth salivates looking at him, ready to please him in any way he asks. 

He looks at her with a warm smile, then orders: “Take it baby, it’s yours. I’ll teach you how to do it”.

Not one moment later, she softly grabs his dick, tracing it and admiring it. He sighs, finally relieving himself from all this teasing he had to endure for a long time. He was gonna reap what he sowed. “Put the tip on your mouth, princess, it’s gonna feel even better for me”.

She obeys the older man, sucking his tip lightly. She was clumsy at first, not knowing how to move her tongue, but as she heard his grunts, she fixed her movements. Her soft hands jerked what she couldn’t fit in her mouth, she must’ve done something right, since his grunts turned into moans and huffs. “That’s right baby, suck me dry. Let me fill your mouth, angel.”

As she’s gotten braver, more started to fit in her mouth, hollowing her cheeks like he ordered. Her tongue traces the vein in his cock, and his moans began to get deliciously louder. Although still uncoordinated, her pace gets faster, and in minutes he rips her away. She was so into it she didn’t even notice how Leon looked: he was panting, sweat forming in his face, that was slightly red. “Got me so close baby, you were wonderful”.

She is happy at the praise, happier as he kisses her again - now their mouths had both the taste of them. Like a starved animal, the man gets on top of her, grabbing every inch of flesh he could come across. The kisses were desperate, but still filled with care for her. “Will you let me put it in, sweet baby? Will you let me make love to you?”

Her breath hitches, suddenly nervous. She knew that was coming, but an idea is different from the reality. He notices her nervousness, and slows everything down. He was eager, yes, but she was his baby, and he would take care of her whatever the circumstances were. “Hey, pretty girl, it’s ok if you don’t want to, I promise i won’t be mad-”

Her eyes widened “no, no, no! I really want it… I just don’t wanna disappoint you”. Even if she was naked, she felt exposed to him now. He smiled at her, pressing gentle kisses to her mouth “honey, you would never let me down. Everything we’ve done by now already feels like a dream to me, pretty things like yourself are never present in my life.”

Her body relaxes at the reassurance, and with a more confident smile, her arms wrap around his shoulders, letting him get on top. “Thank you, Leon. I’m ready”.

He hovers her smaller body, putting each of her legs on his hips. He could see her needy wet cunt gaping, desperate to have him. He grabs his member, and slowly pushes into her entrance, drawing heavy breaths from both of them. He slowly inserts more and more to her, checking her reactions, watching if it was too much.

On her end, she was going insane. Her previous orgasm, as well as his fingers helped her. There was a stretch, but it was such a pleasant one. They could feel him opening her tight gummy walls, the slow insertion being heartbreaking for both of them. 

As he is fully inside her, he gives the pretty girl a break. “That’s it baby, it’s all in. Did such a great job, letting me get deep inside your pretty hole” he whispers caringly in her ears, waiting for her to adjust to his size.

“I’m okay now, Leon. Please move” her sweet voice begs for him, how could he ever deny her?

He starts moving slowly, letting soft whimpers leave her juicy lips. “Fuck, baby girl, you are swallowing me. I knew your cunt would be this needy, I knew it.” He kisses her passionately, his hips rocking slowly into hers.

Her gasps and moans fuelled him, picking his pace. His body lowers into hers, chest to chest, fucking her throughly, looking directly in her eyes. “My, baby you look so good like this, drunk on my cock. Gonna give it to you everyday, I promise.”

If anyone saw her face, they would tell that she was high, but she was walking on clouds. His big cock made her so full, she finally felt like something was right in her life. That’s where she should be: underneath him, taking what he wanted to give her. “Oh, Leon, please don’t stop…oh god”.

“Won’t stop, baby. I’mma keep fucking you deep, just like my pretty girl deserves.” his hips pick up the pace, now sitting on his toes, arching her hips, making him finally reach that little spot inside her. Her moans are hard to keep down, but she bites her pillow. “Found it, baby. Gonna keep hitting it, darling.”

She now resorted to grabbing hard the sheets, boobs bouncing with his movements, he drilled into her in a way that brought tears to her eyes, she was overwhelmed in pleasure.

His cock throbs inside her, he wished to keep going for a long time, but the vision was too much: her sweet pussy enveloping him, creaming his cock with her juices, while her breasts move on her chest at his force, all that by chanting his name over and over again. One of his hands reaches her swollen red bud, circling it as he fucks her, hoping to make her cum as fast as he will.

“Leon, oh god I’m cumming, oh god, oh god, oh god, please don’t stop!” Her desperate moans are muffled by her pillow once more, her beautiful legs shaking around his hips. He grunts in response to her “that’s it baby, get your cum around my cock, let me paint your pretty insides, fuck, you are only gonna walk around dripping with my cum”.

After a few moments of this, she clamps hard around on his cock, her walls throb, and she cums around him, leaving a nice white ring around his shaft, his title being let out on a final scream. Feeling that, it triggers his own orgasm, making her clamp down harder as she feels him coming inside her “fuck angel, fuck, you are my baby girl, mine, only mine”.

His hips move slowly, letting both come down from their highs. He lowers, torsos touching, giving her a final passionate kiss. He finally stops moving, but remains kissing her, caressing her hair. “Good job, sweet thing, my pretty girl. You make me so proud” he lays beside her, putting her head to rest on his upper chest. 

She nuzzles his neck, basking in his affections. “Thank you, Leon. That felt so good”. 

Leon realized that they didn't have much longer to keep away from the party without being weird, but he figured she deserved a calm relaxation.

Finally, he was hers and she was his.

[silaslich]

Choices have consequences

Simon “Ghost” Riley x gn!captain!reader

Wc - 2.8k

Summary - you’re tasked with taking your team to Germany to assist tf141, all goes well until Ghost takes a bullet.

No CWs

AN - this was wholly written for my own entertainment just so I could interject my ocs somewhere with no context but hey why not post it for the fun of it :)

Stories did little to compare to the haunting image of the man in the mask.

The Ghost.

A strong soldier with a good head on his shoulders. Perfectly curated for his field; no strings attached, no loose ends. No one waiting for him, no one that would seek him out if he were to disappear. Not one single person who would be notified of his death when that dark day came.

Ghost had cut himself away from any semblance of a normal life he had left. He took the choice out of Simon’s hands and forced it regardless, hiding his truth and burying it away. Files upon redacted files lay piled up. His name. His face. His home. His family. All buried deep down in the archives, tucked away in a dark corner where no one would see them. Where no one would know to look.

He was an anomaly. A complete stranger to these men. He couldn’t relate to them, couldn’t join in with idle conversations between deployment or while on transports. Talking about future plans; wives, kids, holidays spent around a stained oak table with chairs pulled up to each corner - filled to the brim with family and friends and pets.

He would just keep his eyes low. Listening carefully but mind somewhere else completely - disassociated. Displaced from his surroundings.

You met him years ago in Germany. Barely two words spoken between you before you were split, sent your opposite ways to divide and conquer.

Task force 141 wasn’t foreign to you, John Price had been an acquaintance of yours for some time now, conversations had in passing like ships across seas, opposing squadrons touching down onto the tarmac of the same holding barracks or tight-knit rendezvous at the higher up facilities. It came with the territory of being a Captain, Price had is men and you had yours. He’d remarked that you were young considering your rank, “I’m older then I look, Captain” you’d said. You weren’t about to tell him how old you really were, that you were perhaps closer to his age then he thought, you’d let that conversation happen another time.

Germany had been a chance encounter. A tipping point in an otherwise routine mission; a drug ring shipping through exports across Europe, a rat had let slip of armour deals happening too, heavy duty artillery that was more then just black market trade. Warfare grade shit. By some chance, yourself and your force had been available to assist, already running through that particular area of Europe for another lead you had been following. It had come up short. After just a short phone call you were dropped by helicopter onto the outskirts of Görlitz, a rural town that would provide a great meeting point that would be more than inconspicuous. An old hay barn had been the check point. It’s decaying wood panels all chipped and splintered and rotten from the damp. The roof was half con-caved and the landscape was dull and horse sick. Grazed down right to the clay.

You and your team kept a low profile, walking along the tree lines with weapons drawn, rifles held to your chests as you scanned your surroundings. Old habits died hard. It would take some drilling out of you for you to change your ways, always on the look out, always watching and waiting for the jump.

The select few men you had brought with you were some of your finest; the big Austrian lieutenant König, Toni (Norvin) Espin the scouser sergeant, Craig (Jank) Conners the Londoner and Felix (Trap) Valenski the basket-case Canadian.

It was a team you’d hand picked yourself, comparable to TF141 in the sense that each of you came from somewhere else, some other unit or faculty, bought together by pure chance or pure luck. Freedom fighters for the greater good. Dirty job. Clean world. Clean slate for the rest of humanity to crack on with. Your hands filthy and stained, not washing off in the sink, stained deep down to the bone, bleached into your skin.

Your fist rapped against the wooden door, barely holding on at the hinges. You kept your eyes to the door, only glancing over to your men to gesture to your own eyes with two fingers, then pointing them out into the landscape, signalling for them to keep a look out. Price met you at the door, peeking through a splintering crack. He ushered you all in with a “good to see you made it lads”.

There was a small woodworking table propped in the middle of the barn with a small flash light placed atop. A make shift desk. Littered with maps and coordinate sheets, messy scribbles dashed across and certain areas circled. It looked like they’d been here for hours. Stewing away. Plotting.

The five of you filed in, spreading out across the back portion of the barn, staying aback, not treading on the toes of the 141. You were here to assist, not to overtake.

You took a step toward Price, “So tell me Captain” you began, shifting your rifle to lay across your chest as it sat propped by its strap, “what do you need of us?” your eyes scanned the room, finally taking in the the rest of his force. That’s when you saw him, the Ghost, a burly masked lad with a hulking stature and dangerous air, he didn’t unsettle you in the slightest but you could see why someone on the receiving end of his barrel might think otherwise. He was set off away in the darkness, arms folded and one foot propped across his other leg as he leaned against a wooden bannister frame. To his left was a shorter man, dark hair shaved into a tasteless mohawk, a prominent scar across his chin and a slanting smile painted across his face, he had a kind eye about him, you learnt his name was Soap. Hovering close to Price was the last to be introduced, his name was Gaz, a handsome young chap with slight facial hair and shades pushed up to sit atop his head.

“He’s a big lad ain’t he” Soap chuckled, nodding his head toward your lieutenant. König said nothing in retort. You raised a brow and looked across at the Austrian, his mask covering any emotion he could possibly be showing, you turned back towards the Scotsman. “Glad to see your eyes work well sergeant” you smiled, nodding your head, he only laughed in return. Gaz laughed too.

Price cleared his throat. “I’ll get straight to it Cap” he said, beckoning you with a finger to step even closer to his makeshift table, you rounded the wooden desk, eyes scanning quickly over the scribbled plans and route markers, committing them to memory.

“I’d like you to form our defence, cover our arses as we infiltrate” you went over the logistics quickly in your head. You kissed your teeth in thought, “swap a soldier for König” you said, eyeing up Prices’ boys to see who’d best fit. Price looked at you and raised a brow. “König would be better utilised as a battering ram of sorts, better close up on the offence rather then at long distance. He can get you in and better still he can cover you from there on out” you traced your gloved finger down over the map, following the route in which Price planned to take. He grunted in the back of his throat, acknowledging the information you’d gifted. “Right. I’ll swap your big fella for Ghost, he can stick with you lot at long range and cover our backs incase it goes south” he sounded pleased with his plan and you nodded in response, you glanced over at Ghost, seeing he hadn’t moved even an inch since you and your team had arrived. It’s like he really was just that - a Ghost.

You jumped the drug ring that night. Just as planned; Price took König as his defence, followed by Soap and Gaz. They powered their way through the rings holding facility that was hunkered up on a canal channel, up stream and out of sight. They worked quick and they got the job done, with the assistance of yourself and your boys securing the perimeter and having Ghost as your extra.

Ghost hadn’t said more than a few words; despite the odd movement suggestion or offer of instruction to your men, he kept his mouth shut. You’d worked with hundreds of soldiers in your time, helped train some of the best of them, you’d seen personality types like his before - more brain and brawn then most, with that added third element of reservation. He thought of each word carefully, only gave away what he needed to, and in return you didn’t pry.

By the time Price was heading back with the rest of his crew, yourself and the others started to shift too, readying yourselves to meet them half way. They aren’t too far, just down a ravine heading towards the channels that would have carried the drug rings cargo.

Norvin pipes up. “Where after this Cap? Somewhere sunny?” He smirks when he speaks and you brush him off with a roll of your eyes, “wishful thinkin’ Norv” you retort, falling into step beside Ghost who happens to be the closest. Trap is the next to start, “put in for somewhere properly cold, this soggy shit doesn’t count” the lanky Canadian gestures around with both hands dramatically, the motion forces you to follow his eyes - it certainly is just a soggy and bogged up blanket of rain and sleet out here this time of year, the smell of the earthy soil and kicked up leaves fresh in your nostrils.

As you all trudged further down the brow of the steep hill you saw the rest of the boys come into view, more specifically, you saw König first. That big bastard was hard to miss, a racing thought sprung to mind, it wouldn’t be hard for the enemy to hit him.

It was slippery and muddy. Caked to your boots and splashing up to your calves, it took some time to progress and cover the land, mainly because Jank took a nasty spill and instead of helping everybody just laughed - even Ghost cracked. You supposed it was funny, there’s nothing that can bring a group of soldiers closer then laughing at the expense of one of their own men. Jank didn’t find it particularly funny, smothered in mud right up to his eyeballs, you eventually caught yourself and offered him a hand up. Much to your surprise, he didn’t pull you down into the dirt with him, given his track record - you wouldn’t have put it passed him.

As yourself and your team head down the hill, you see as Price and his boys are coming up, honourable members of each being Ghost and König of course. The captain gets closer and closer, raises his hand to wave you down when you hear and feel the air whip around you.

It’s like lightening striking. One second you’re standing up right walking beside Ghost, and the next you’re crushed beneath the entirety of his weight.

It’s hard to tell if the razor sharp pain in your chest is from the impact or from Ghost crushing your ribcage, your voice dies in your chest when you cry out in pain, but it falls to complete silence when you manage to pin your eyes between your chest and Ghosts.

Because there’s nothing but blood.

-

It’s a hard place to be. On the wrong side of the door, from the outside looking in.

Guilt is a weight you carry well. It’s something you’ve had to come to terms with, make a friend out of, because she’s a headstrong mistress - one that doesn’t allow her victims much room to breath.

You’ve watched countless men and women die, both by your hand and the enemies. It’s a way of life unfortunately, another thing you had to prepare for when ranking up. Those deaths are on your shoulders, carried on your back till the day you kick the bucket yourself. It’s your job to oversee your team, to carry them with you, deliver them back home to their friends and families at the end of it all - hopefully not all of them in caskets.

Watching on now; this man, near enough a stranger to you- listening to his chest rattle and watching as his ribcage rises and falls in shallow succession. It’s a new found sensation that cuts deeper than anything has before. The ache of the healing wound in your chest strives to remind you that you should be the one in his place.

Someway - somehow, Ghost had seen the glint of a sniper in the distance, so far away it could have been anything, a stray of light catching the stream or a trick of the eye. Yet, he shielded you, screamed for everyone else to drop to the ground, he had bellowed so loud you hadn’t even heard it over the sound of the blood rushing in your ears.

Not only had he saved you, but the rest of the team as well, Ghost had walked away as the only critical injury. Even your wound was surface deep, his body had slowed down the bullet almost indefinitely, all you had now was a gnarled scabbed up entry wound.

And Ghost still hadn’t woken up yet.

The days stretch into what feels like eternity. You don’t eat and can barely sleep, you can’t even rip yourself away from the ward.

You carry your guilt well, so you can’t justify what makes you stay, what keeps you rooted to the sticky-clean vinyl floor.

Price stays too. Eaten up by his protective instinct, much like you are with your own team, they’re more than just that - a fucked up sense of family hiding between the bloodshed and the bullets. It’s why he had allowed you to stay, given you permission on Ghost’s behalf to see his face, to watch the way his features slope gently in sleep.

On the ninth day, Ghost wakes up.

It’s an awful ordeal. You’re getting yourself and Price a coffee when you hear it - when you hear him.

Something smashes and the machines keeping him breathing must clatter to the floor, Price pulls the assistance alarm just as you make it to the door.

For the briefest of seconds, Ghost stills when he sees you, eyes wild and frantic - but they’re glazed over, he’s clearly having an episode of some sorts. You make it to the bedside just as he’s pulling the wires off his chest, grabbing hands aiming for the oxygen mask next, Price’s voice is there attempting to soothe him the entire time. “Calm down, Simon” he breathes, lowering his face close to Simon as he braces his palms gently on his chest, ushering him to relax, “it’s okay Si” Price looks from his lieutenant and then up at you.

His eyes contradict his tone. For the first time since you’ve known him, Price looks worried, if you didn’t know any better maybe he even looked scared. Fearful for his friend. You’ve deduced plenty in the last week or so, the captain hadn’t overshared on Ghost’s behalf, but he’d let enough go unsaid that you put two and two together - Ghost hadn’t always been a Ghost.

He was once a man; with a life and a family, despite being broken down and beaten by his father he rose above it, he sought out a life that would give him the control back. But even that was short lived, betrayed and brought to his knees and buried alive - left to rot away in that casket six feet under.

Ghost wasn’t created to replace Simon, he was created to protect him. Not just his identity and his past, but to protect that little boy that never got a chance to be just that. Simon had to grow up too fast; everything innocent and sweet ripped away too young, instead he was carved out by harsh words and glass bottles - moulded to be a shell of his former self.

The nurses are quick when they arrive; they sedate him through his IV and replace everything he’d managed to rip out, he’s in and out of it. Drifting as Price said.

You sit there for the rest of the afternoon. Silent by his side as he rests. Again- you don’t know what keeps you there. Maybe it’s an obligatory sense of responsibility for this man’s life now, he’d saved yours, now you owed him the same. It makes the wound in your chest ache, the dull throb of it palpable under your palm when you rest it there.

Then you realise as your eyes scan him, hovering over the bandages that wrap around his entire torso -

You’ll both have matching scars now.

[oh-koenig-my-koenig]

on the phone with 👑

(cw: mentions of ego-shooter video games; age gap 25/41, nsfw, masturbation, dirty talk, praise, MDNI)

part before: painting his nails

I'm tossing and turning.

In my own bed.

Cursing the notion I had, that I couldn't possibly stay for longer at his place.

On Monday morning, I packed up my stuff and hurried to work, after he made me another latte.

Being a good girl, not getting him to fuck me again, even though I would have rather taken him to bed than myself to work.

Texting König about every single minute thing that came to my mind. And him doing the same.

I sent him a pic while I was out getting lunch with a colleague. And he sent me a pic while he was working out. I almost died right there and then.

Firstly, I never would have thought he would do a mirror selfie.

Secondly...

His hair put up in a haphazard way. Damp strands of it hanging down.

The tank top was a tight fit especially for him, showing off his arms. Sweat staining the front of it, the sheen of wetness on his skin...

The shorts. The sight of his burly thighs had me gripping my desk, trying to get a grip.

Thirdly, that goddamned smile. Oh, he knew exactly what he was doing.

When I had calmed down, my fingers typed out a message in response.

Me: excuse me??? sir??? 🫠 👑: you are excused

He's gonna pay for that one.

When I came home from work, I thought it was eerily quiet in my apartment. Nobody else being here. I mean, I live alone and Mimi greeted me as always. But it seemed like was something off. Missing.

I thought back to when we got my stuff and König just waited patiently for me while I packed some clothes and other necessities. Petting Mimi, his whole attention on the little cat. His tall stature dwarfed my living room, and I was actually surprised he didn’t hit his head on the ceiling. The Morbid Angel logo on his shirt was hidden by the black furball purring against him. Mimi sitting on his chest, not a care in the world, meowing when she saw me.

But there was no 6'10'' giant waiting for me in the living room then.

I willed myself - even though my fingers itched - to not send him message about asking for him to pick me up or stay over at my place. I wanted to give him some space after I had his place under siege for what feel like an eternity, but realistically was just three days. And I managed fine yesterday, his goodbye kisses still lingering. Today, even with all of the messages we sent back and forth...

Can you miss somebody like that after knowing them for such a short time?

I knew that he most likely spent the whole evening at home. Alone. Because he likes being alone. Probably reading or listening to the new Trivium vinyl he bought that came in the mail yesterday. Or both.

I stayed home as well, playing games on my computer – I actually started up Counterstrike and tried to play some matches –, but my mind always wandered back to him. Mimi came running, pushing her head against my legs, demanding attention. I lifted her off the floor to set her onto my lap and didn't see the enemy which got me eliminated. The irony was not lost on me, as I thought back to our conversation. How worried he seemed with how I would perceive him when he talked about his work. And now I was sitting here, playing a shooter game to try and relax after work.

I shook my head, at the absurdity of it, and snapped a quick pic in between matches to send to him.

My phone ding-ed while I was in a match, and I tried to ignore it.

As soon as I got the chance though, I opened the message and he sent a picture back. From the waist down, a book on his lap, a beer on the table beside him. The wall of books in the background. The whole room dimly lit except for the opened pages.

God damn it, I just want to sit right next to him on that couch.

me: looking comfy, old man 👑: thank you, i am indeed very comfy 👑: brat

I chuckled to myself and played a few more rounds before I went to bed.

And now I'm here, tossing and turning in my bed, without the big guy right beside me.

I pull the chat up again. Looking at the pictures he sent me today.

me: u still awake? 👑: yes, everything okay? me: can't sleep 👑: me neither

While I'm still contemplating my next message, the crown lights up my phone as a caller ID. Surprise spreads through me for just a moment before I pick up.

Hi?

Hi. Uh, I hope it's okay that I just called.

Sure, I can't sleep anyways.

I ignore the little flutter in my stomach.

What is it? Something on your mind?

‘Yeah, you.’ is what I want to say.

No, just restless.

He sighs.

I feel that.

A little silence falls over us, just for a moment.

What was that game you played before?

Oh, uh- Counterstrike. I'm no good at it though.

He laughs.

Why do you play it then?

It's still fun, I guess. Even if I curse at the monitor like a goddamn sailor.

Oh, I couldn't imagine your sweet mouth doing something as filthy as that.

Yeah, yeah. We both know what kind of filthy things you're imagining with my mouth.

Maybe.

I can hear the grin on his face which makes me grin in return.

Have you ever played?

I never played, no. Don't want to spend my free time with...

He pauses.

Work.

Oh right, I understand, sorry. This must be weird then.

No, don't worry. I know that people play those games for fun.

Yeah, I know, still.

You gotta show me some time.

Really?

Yeah, why not.

Okay, then, I'll show you my shitty gameplay with pleasure.

Which makes us both laugh.

I gotta confess something.

What do you have to confess?

I already had my car keys in my hand.

You did?

Mhm. But then I remembered what you said yesterday morning, about needing to go home and you couldn't possibly stay any longer… and I understand if you need some space. So, I wasn't sure if you'd even open the door for me, if I knocked.

A moment of silence.

Can I confess something as well?

Sure.

I have been thinking all evening how fucking stupid that was of me. And I would've opened the door for you in an instant.

Another silence, this one a little heavier.

But a little smile stalks on my face, an idea of what to say next.

What would you do if you were here?

He chuckles.

Kiss that filthy mouth of yours. And then the top of your head because that's closest to your dirty mind.

What dirty mind?

Yeah, yeah, I see right through you, Fräulein.

I don't know what you're talking about.

No? So, you aren't thinking about me fucking you from behind right now? Or maybe about you spreading your legs and me eating you out, your delicious pussy right in my face? Or about my dick pushing into your mouth until you gag around it, hm?

I clear my throat.

Well, now I am for sure.

Good. Because I'm thinking about it as well.

König?

Yes, Liebes?

I- There's something that always helps me sleep better.

His voice deepens.

And what's that?

Oh, you already know.

I need to hear you say it. What do you want?

I hesitate, feeling a little shy now.

I want to come.

He groans.

Fuck, can't deny you if you ask so prettily.

The tone of his voice sends a little shiver down my spine, but I'm unsure what to say now, the words on the tip of my tongue.

What- what should I do?

I can tell you what I would do if I was there, and you can tell me how it feels, okay?

Okay.

Put the phone next to you and put me on speaker. You're gonna need both of those hands.

I do exactly as he tells me, lying back into my sheets.

You're on speaker.

Good. What are you wearing, sweetcheeks?

I giggle a little.

A shirt and panties.

Hmm, my favorite. I would get rid of your underwear in an instant though.

I laugh and follow his suggestion. I already noticed his disdain for underwear, on himself as well.

Then I would slowly push my hand up your shirt, feeling your soft skin.

Until I reach your breasts, squeezing them.

I do as he says, but it doesn't quite feel the same with my hands, compared to his bigger ones.

I would graze my thumb over your nipples, feeling them harden from my touch.

I'd like to lick them, bite them just lightly, until you squirm under me.

I pinch them, his words mixing with the sensations of my touch, until I softly sigh.

Feeling good?

Mhm.

The sound is more a moan than anything else.

My hand would slowly wander down, until I'm there, just were you want me.

I whimper when my fingers reach my clit, swollen and sensitive.

That bad, huh?

Well, somebody sent a picture of them all sweaty and hot after working out. And I still can't think straight, just thinking about that.

He laughs.

You say such nice things, Liebes.

What would you do next?

I know that I sound desperate. But I need more.

I’d move my hand just a little further down. Not pushing into you just yet. Just teasing. Softly stroking over your wet pussy.

I whine, needy, but I don't dare to stray from his order, getting myself worked up with the teasing touches.

Just feeling how fucking wet you are for me, before pushing my finger into you.

I push one of my fingers inside me, the one digit not nearly being enough.

Miss your fingers, they're bigger.

He hums. A soft erotic sound.

I suppose they are.

I’d add a second one, slowly moving inside you, just how you like it. Hitting that spot inside you that makes you moan and roll your eyes back. Just how I like it.

His voice is getting deeper, his breaths a little more labored, as he keeps talking which sends a shiver down my spine. Knowing that guiding me through it like that, hearing me sigh in response, does it for him as well lets a little smile form on my face.

I do as he says, but I also get a little frustrated, because my fingers can't quite reach like his, my hips squirming, desperate for more friction.

Need more.

I whine.

Okay, then. Brat.

I would flip you on your front, so I could look at your ass.

I can't help the little eyeroll, while a grin stalks onto my face.

But you aren't here, and you can't actually see my butt.

Pssscht, I'm imagining it just fine. Come on, turn around, do as I tell you.

And I do, the rustling of my sheets telling him as far.

Good.

Just this word alone, from his lips, does things to me.

Now, lift up your hips just a little and push your fingers in from behind.

I follow his instructions, lifting my ass, so I can reach a little better, two of my fingers slipping into my pussy. I groan a little bit.

How's that? A little deeper?

Yes.

I sigh.

Good. Now, put your other fingers on your clit.

I push my arm under my body, placing the hand, right between my legs. My fingertips are digging into the sensitive nub and I rub against them needily. I know now why he wanted me to reposition myself.

Oh fuck.

The sounds I’m making are telling him what he wants to know.

Just like that.

Move your hips, fuck yourself on your fingers.

And I do as he tells me, the touches getting me worked up fast, the pressure on my clit changing with every pass, while my fingers are pushing into my pussy.

Hmm, feeling good?

Yeah, just wish it was you inside me.

That little confession dropped out of me before I could think too hard about it.

Fuck, me too. I would bury my dick deep inside you. Fuck you from behind. Hard, just how you like it.

Remember how I fucked you into that bar counter?

How could I forget?

We need to do that again sometime... You took me so fucking perfectly.

I bite my lip, stifling the moans that get louder and louder, the images of us fucking spurring me on, while I finger-fuck myself.

I wanna hear you. Please.

My head turns in the direction of the phone again, making sure he gets to hear all the sounds that are dropping from my lips.

Good girl.

His praise washes over me and I almost choke up when the pull inside gets too much.

Close, so clo-

Fuck, yes. Come. That's what you wanted, isn't it?

The growl in his voice tips me over the edge, moving my hips frantically in search for more friction, when my orgasm crashes down over me.

My moans fill my bedroom, and surely find their way into the phone.

I can hear him groan as well, the sounds from the speaker sounding a lot like a slick hand moving up and down quickly.

Fuck, he’s jerking off too. That thought registers in my brain, before my fingers hit that spot inside me again. The zap of pleasure makes me shake, the waves of arousal washing over me, while my fingers strum over my clit.

Fuuuck…

A low breathy curse that escapes his lips as he comes as well.

Panting, mine and his from the speaker, is all I hear for the next moments.

I untangle myself, my fingers slipping out of me, turning onto my back again. Feeling my own wetness on my hands. I clean myself haphazardly before I grab the phone again.

That was… something else.

Yeah… you drive me crazy, you know that?

I’m still just breathing, trying to calm myself down. My god, I don’t think I ever came that hard with just my fingers inside me. The images he put in my mind… his deep soft voice alone. It does stuff to me. Hearing him say that... how I drive him crazy as well, it makes me all giddy inside.

I feel the familiar fuzzy feeling sweep over me, and I wish I could snuggle into him right now, after he made me come, and my hazy mind is still looking for the right thing to say now.

Feeling better now?

Yes, much better.

Sleepy, too?

Yes, that too. I always get a little sleepy afterwards.

I've noticed.

Like on cue, I yawn.

Thank you.

He chuckles again. And I don't think I'll ever get enough of that sound.

No need to thank me. I'll make you come any day of the week.

I- meant for calling, but that works too.

The grin on my face probably mirrors his, staring off into the distance with our phones pressed to the ear. And he's still not here next to me.

Gotta get myself under the shower, because I made a mess of myself again and I got nobody here to clean me up.

That makes me laugh, the joke and the filthy thought cutting through the sleepiness, when I'm yawning again.

You do that, can't have you all messy like that.

No, we can't.

I can hear the little filthy grin in his voice, and I can imagine how he must look like right now. Sitting on the couch or his bed. His dick still out, all messy and sticky with his cum. His hair hanging over the side of his face, as he relaxes into the cushions. And that god damn smirk of his.

Silence, just two little moments, before I ask what I wanted to ask.

Can you come over tomorrow?

Sure, Kleine, whatever you want.

Okay, good. Good night, König.

Good night, sleep well.

That's the last thing I hear before I drift off to sleep, still gripping my phone tight with my fingers.

next part: gaming with him or more stuff in the Masterlist ~

[late-to-the-party-81]

The King's Last Concubine

AN: Welcome, welcome to the short one-shot that spiralled a little out of control. I’m sure none of you will complain. If you like cheesy historical romance and Bucky then you’ve come to the right place. In all honesty I could have made this story much, much longer, but unfortunately I don’t have the time, so it’s wrapped up a little fast and without as many misunderstandings as the usual Harlequin/Mills and Boon normally contains. I hope you like it anyway.

Beta’d by the lovely @seriouslydex - thank you for your assistance in wrangling this into coherence.

Likes are loved, reblogs are golden

Mood board by me and dividers by @firefly-graphics

Bingo Fills - @buckybarnesbingo Square U1 - Kink: Concubine

Master list | BBB Master list

Summary: When Bucky takes over the throne after his Father’s death, he has better things to deal with than the group of concubines he’s inherited. He thinks the tradition is abhorrent and vows he wants no part of it. When he meets the newest member of the harem he finds his moral stance tested. How can he want the woman who was bought to please his father?

Relationship: King James ‘Bucky’ Barnes x Female Concubine Reader

Chapter word count: 10.2k

CW: Historical AU, Flowery historical language, Angst, Servitude, Lust, Male masturbation, Fluff, Miscommunication, Self-loathing, Jealousy, Fluff, Mutual Pining, Attempted Sexual Assault, Explicit Sexual Content, Declaration of feelings.

A quiet tension filled the air as you wandered your way around the gardens and corridors of the place you’d called home for the last six months. That’s when you’d been purchased - a gift for the elderly and ailing king, meant to boost his spirits and reignite his youthful zeal. However, all the youth and beauty in the world could not turn back the sands of time.

For the last few weeks the king had been getting weaker, not leaving his private rooms or entertaining any guests apart from his long faithful Queen, his heir, Prince James and his daughter, Princess Rebecca. It was a waiting game now, for the Royal Family, the country, and for you and the other members of the Harem.

Entering the solar, where all of you could spend your days in conversation, needlework, painting and reading, you could see Merith, the King’s favourite in an agitated conversation with Katya, the next concubine down in the pecking order. They had the most to lose when the inevitable happened, because it would be very unlikely that the Prince would wish to keep them around. Not only were they older than him, they had both also borne the King numerous children - it would be very strange for a new King to keep the mothers of his half siblings as concubines for himself. At best, the two women might hope to be housed somewhere pleasant in their retirement, maybe with a semi-wealthy husband. At worst they could be turfed out of the palace along with any of their children that the King hadn’t yet made provisions for.

As for your fate, that was also completely unknown. However, due to your age and the fact that you had only been here a short time, with very few interactions with the King, there was a chance that the Prince would want to keep you. You’d never seen him in the flesh, but you knew he was handsome from the glimpses you’d had of his portrait when you’d been led to and from the King’s chambers on those few occasions he had requested your company. However, despite what you had been purchased for, you had never actually lain with the King. He had tried and, as it was in your best interest, so had you, but the King was old and tired. 

Instead you’d provided him with company as best you could, rubbing his back, stroking his hair and reading him stories until he fell asleep and you could call the guards to escort you back to the Little Palace.

Of course, no-one knew what had occurred within the privacy of the King’s chambers, and if other concubines had had similar experiences they didn’t talk of it openly - it wouldn’t do to discuss the failing manhood of the person who held your life in their hands. However, what this meant was that you were still untouched by a man, with no experience other than what you had gifted yourself.

With a sigh, you crossed to the far side of the room, taking your place amongst the other younger and newer members of your unconventional community, picking up the sampler you’d been working on. There was no music being played and all conversations were kept to a minimum and spoken in whispers, out of a combination of respect and anxiety. The limbo dragged on.

Suddenly, the doors to the solar crashed open, and the King’s Equerry walked in, flanked by several guards.

“The King has died,” he announced. “Long live the King.”

The ladies fell into disarray.

“I really have to deal with that now?” Bucky asked of Coulson, his father’s, and now his, Equerry.

“I’m afraid so, your Majesty. It’s been two weeks since the late king passed away and decisions need to be made about those whose services you do not wish to retain. There may be some obvious candidates, but with others you may not know how you feel until you meet them.”

Bucky, now King James, sighed. It hadn’t come as a surprise when his father, King George, had passed away. His various ailments had worsened over the last few months and Bucky had actually felt relief for him at the end. The funeral had been last week and since then he’d been stuck in back to back meetings with the men who were now officially his advisors, sorting out matters of state. Admittedly, the fate of those who resided in the Little Palace hadn’t really occurred to him as important. It was an archaic tradition as far as he was concerned. Servants were one thing, but owning women just so you have a choice about who to fuck without any repercussions, just struck him as something that belonged firmly in the past. He still couldn’t get his head around how his mother had never once complained or commented about the practice - had never flinched when another Royal bastard was presented to the court so his father could make provision for them as he saw fit.

There was no question that any of the women who had provided his father with children - he wasn’t going to call them siblings - would have to be looked after in some way. He wasn’t a monster. The problem would be the others. There were about twenty or so of them, his father collecting them like fine artwork over his years on the throne and a few - and this thought turned Bucky’s stomach a little - were as young as his sister Rebecca. He didn’t feel as though he could just turn them out, however he didn’t want to keep them either. Without some kind of royal approval the women could be ostracised from normal society if their past were to become known, but could he really justify supporting all of them from the Royal purse for the rest of their days? Although, undoubtedly, there would be some noblemen more than happy to have his father’s cast offs as wives, especially as there had been no lack of suitors for their daughters. Those that had offered for them had obviously been hoping it would grant them a modicum more influence at court. Little did they know that wouldn’t be the case with him.

It also didn’t help that while Coulson could understand wanting to remove certain members of the Little Palance, he didn’t understand why the new King didn’t want to ‘get to know’ the rest of them. According to the Equerry, they were all very beautiful, demure, and accomplished, any one of them a suitable companion for lonely evenings. Apparently telling the dour man that if he was that taken with them he should feel free to fornicate with one himself, was not the done thing, but Bucky thought the look on Coulson’s face had been worth it. He’d then tried arguing that the ladies of the Little Palace deserved better than what they currently had, but his personal advisor had brushed the comment aside.

“These women want for nothing, Your Majesty. They sleep in the finest sheets, wear the finest fabrics, and eat the finest foods. Some would say they have a charmed life and what they gave up for it is very little in comparison to what they gain.”

“Fine,” he said with a defeated sigh. “I will at least deal with Merith, Katya and the other few that my dearly departed father put babies into, and maybe speak to the others. Let’s get this over and done with.”

Coulson smiled, obviously thinking that he’d won this round, and Bucky decided not to disabuse him. You have to pick your battles, as his mother was fond of telling him.

This time when the Equerry appeared, a fortnight after the death of King George, he sent nearly all of you out to the gardens, only keeping Merith, Katya and a few other of the ladies inside. It was clear that the women who were mothers to the late King’s bastards were about to find out their fate.

You walked slowly between the roses with your friend, Lila, the concubine who’d been obtained just a few months before you, swapping inconsequential small talk, neither wanting to verbalise what was actually on your minds - to say it out loud would be to court disaster. When the Royal Guards suddenly came outside you all stopped what you were doing, wondering if Master Coulson was going to deliver news to you all as well, but when a different, unexpected man appeared, you all lowered your gazes and dropped into deep curtsies. The King - the new King - was here. 

Anxiety rode through you, and all you could hear was the pounding of your heart. You were vaguely aware, from your peripheral vision, that Master Coulson was introducing the King to each member of his harem. You caught snatches of conversation, when the King asked each woman in turn their name and how long they had lived here. When they got to Lila next to you, you heard your friend giggle when the King asked her the same questions and you fought the urge to roll your eyes. You liked her, but she was always a little silly. Maybe she thought to flirt her way into the King’s affections?

When the two sets of feet stopped in front of you, you waited for Coulson’s say so before coming out of your curtsey and raising your head.

“And here, Your Majesty, is our newest young lady. You may greet the King, my dear.”

You stood, glad to get out of the deeply uncomfortable pose, and prepared to finally see him in the flesh for the first time.

“Your Highness,” you said, your voice a little more breathy than anticipated, but that was because it had been knocked from your lungs at the vision that greeted you. 

King James was tall and broad in the shoulders. It was clear that the painting you had seen had been created when he was still a young man, only just into his adulthood. The man who stood before you now was no stripling. He was fully grown and oozed confidence and authority. His eyes, a cross between pale blue and grey, which had not been adequately portrayed by the Royal artist. His cheekbones were high and pronounced, and his jaw exquisitely chiselled, even if it was partially obscured by his facial hair. The hair on his head was short at the sides, but fluffy and slightly untamed on top, just tempting you to run your fingers through it. Now you knew why Lila had giggled. 

He took your hand in his, and you marvelled at how large and strong it looked in comparison to your own. You could clearly see the resemblance to his father, but this was a man in the prime of his life and the thought that he would have none of the problems in the bedroom that had beset the late King flashed across your mind, unbidden.

When he asked your name in his deep but clear voice, you had to swallow before you answered so you didn’t stutter like a schoolgirl.

“Master Coulson said you were new. How long have you lived here?”

“Just over six months, Your Majesty.”

“And you like living in the Little Palace?”

You hesitated for a moment, working out the best way to answer. The other’s hadn’t been asked this question. “It’s very pleasant. Thank you for asking Your Majesty.”

His lips, full and pink, twitched, picking up on the diplomacy of your answer. “Only pleasant? Oh dear. Well maybe we can improve upon that in the near future.”

He skillfully removed his hand from yours and turned back to his Equerry, and you returned your gaze to the floor. As he walked away you realised your heart was still beating fast within your chest. However, it was no longer anxiety that made it do so, but rather the newly unfurled bloom of desire.

As soon as Bucky returned to the Palace proper, he dismissed Coulson and headed directly for his private chambers. His time in the Little Palace had mostly gone as well as expected, Meredith and her cohorts fawning over him dramatically in thanks for his generosity and then meeting what seemed like a legion of beautiful, yet dull as dishwater, young women, who his father had acquired to make himself feel young. What he hadn’t been expecting though was that last young lady - he didn’t even want to think about the word concubine and all of the linked meanings it held. He’d never seen someone so beautiful, and it had been clear from the short exchange of pleasantries that you had intelligence and humour to match.

He felt the rolling heat of lust raise its head and desperately tried to push it aside. As unique in his experience as you may be, he shouldn’t - couldn’t - think about you in this way. Not when he knew you’d spent time with his father. It was more than he could bear. But he couldn’t get the image of you from his mind. The curves of your body that deserved to be traced and explored with reverence. Your large, expressive eyes that tempted him to drown in their depths. Your lips that called him to kiss you over and over until you couldn’t speak or even breathe due to how much you wanted him.

Entering his room he shut the door harshly, but he didn’t care. He was unbearably hard within his trousers, and while not a new sensation by any means, it wasn’t one he’d felt in some time. As the Crown Prince he’d had to be circumspect in his affairs,but there was no-one he’d been actively courting. Now he was King the pressure would be on for him to find a suitable wife and start producing heirs. However, he didn’t intend to be like his father. Once he was married he would be faithful and treat his wife with respect. The devil on his shoulder reminded him that he wasn’t married yet and was free to do what he desired, but he tried to push it aside.

Bucky threw himself down on his bed but every time he closed his eyes you were there, hovering behind his eyelids. He palmed himself over his trousers, trying to get some relief from his state of arousal, but it was no good. Almost unconsciously he undid the fastenings, letting out a small sigh as the pressure was lessened, but then it was just too easy to take himself in hand. A few small strokes, just to take the edge off, became harder and longer, and the vision of you behind his closed eyes smiled at him coyly, tempting him to ruin her. 

He imagined kissing you and touching you. Tracing every peak and valley with his lips and tongue. He imagined you doing the same to him, taking him in your mouth, lips stretched wide and tears in your perfect eyes. He imagined driving into you, again and again, while you gripped his shoulders and tangled your legs around his waist. Marking you - claiming you - as you called out his name over and over and trembled around him.

Bucky came with a cry, his spend spilling over his hand and stomach, and leaving him with an aching, hollow feeling of disgust with himself. He needed to release you and the rest of the ladies of the Little Palace and there-by banish you from his thoughts.

The next day he put his plan into action. He set Coulson the task of going through the remaining residents, from oldest serving to newest and finding them a new situation. Respectable marriages were the first preference - the Crown could provide a dowry - but failing that independence and a stipend until they became financially solvent on their own. If this plan had the effect that you would be the last to leave, that was just an unfortunate by-product of the most logical way of sorting the whole thing out, wasn’t it?

The edict by the King that the Little Palace was being disbanded was met at first with some trepidation. The women were all of a flutter, wondering what it would mean for them, but when Marie, the most senior of the concubines now that Merith and the others who had children had retired, was informed that, should she approve him, a husband had been found for her, any anxiety morphed into jubilation. Over the coming weeks, the number of you dwindled and you couldn’t help but feel a little lost amongst all the celebration. You were a strange sisterhood, that was certain, and you hadn’t gotten along with everyone, but you wished them well with a smile, and mulled over your sense of unease in private.

You weren’t sure what it was that was making you worried. It wasn’t as though you’d be forced into anything you didn’t want. Letitia had rejected three potential husbands before settling on a fourth, much to Master Coulson’s despair, and Tiffany had outright declared she wanted no husband at all, her and Dana wishing to set up house together and start a school. This came as no surprise to any of you.

It also wasn’t because you were so entrenched in this life that the thought of anything else was scary - you’d had more life outside these walls than in it - however you had found a camaraderie here, a sense of belonging, as strange as that may seem, that you hadn’t had before. And despite the fact that the idea of being intimate with the old King had been stomach churning, once he realised each time that it wasn’t going to happen, you’d found you’d enjoyed providing him comfort and some sort of friendship. Maybe being here had spoiled you? You’d admit it wasn’t a hardship to live somewhere where all your meals and clothes were provided and all you had to do was entertain yourself unless your services were required, although you did wish for more sometimes - a cage was still a cage, no matter how gilded and glittered.

Maybe having a husband wouldn’t be so bad. Hopefully he’d let you have some freedom - have some hobby or interest to keep you occupied, other than keeping house and popping out babies. You couldn’t help but be nervous though, especially as the numbers of you lessened until it was just you and Lila left. 

Each time one of the ladies was preparing to leave, the King would come and thank her for her service. How any of you managed to keep a straight face when he said that was beyond you, but it did give you the chance to watch him unobserved. He really was handsome, and seemed so kind and earnest in his thanks. A true King and diplomat. But that wasn’t all he was. Every so often he would catch your eye and you would feel… something. And you couldn’t explain what it was, other than that you felt like a moth captivated by a flame, longing to get nearer and nearer, even if it would mean your doom. It wasn’t just physical, either - although you couldn’t deny that you’d had thoughts about that. You wanted to get to know him. The real him. His hopes and dreams. What motivated him.

You got your chance when you were sitting in the solar, enjoying the sun that streamed through the windows as you read your book. Lila was outside in the garden, taking a walk with her potential fiancee, a man named Lang who was apparently some minor aristocracy. Guards trailed them at a discrete distance, but you didn’t think there was anything to worry about. From the glimpses you’d caught of them, Master Lang appeared to be a convivial and respectful fellow. He walked with his hands behind his back, not trying to touch or grab at your friend, but he leant in close to talk intimately.  He also appeared to be letting Lila hold an equal part of the conversation and you watched as she giggled behind her hand at a number of points in response to what you guessed were jokes.

“They appear to be getting on well.”

A voice from behind you, made you jump and turn in your chair. At the realisation that King James was standing there, you leapt up and then immediately leant forward into a deep curtsey. 

“Your Majesty.”

How had you not noticed him enter? Why was he here?

“Please stand. There’s only the two of us here. I wanted to see for myself how Master Lang was comporting himself and this seemed like the best place to watch unobserved.”

He walked closer to the window and you continued to stand, your hands clasping each other, as you watched him from under your lowered lashes. Despite the number of times you’d seen him recently you were no less dazed by his beauty than you had been the first time. You allowed your gaze to travel over his body, admiring the way his clothes were cut to show off his defined figure. Silver threads were woven through the black fabric of his coat and they shimmered in the sunlight. You itched to smooth the cloth over the broadness of his shoulders.

As if sensing you watching him, the King turned back to you.

“Please don’t let me disturb you from whatever you were doing. Pretend that I’m not here.”

Your lips twitched. “That would be difficult, Your Majesty. You do stand out.” You gestured to the walls of the solar, a pale pink colour, and then at his attire. He looked down at himself and you were taken aback by the flush that made its way to his cheeks.

“Aah, yes. I see what you mean.” He moved away from the window then, and toward the chair opposite the one you’d been occupying when he’d surprised you. “Maybe then we could sit and talk for a while? What have you been doing with your days these last weeks?”

You gave him a small nod and took your seat. “Very little, Your Majesty, other than helping the others pack up their belongings as they leave. Some reading, some needlework. I have been practising my languages too. What have you been doing? Important affairs of state I would imagine.”

“It is not nearly as glamorous as people think. Lots of meetings that seem to stretch on forever, but that is nothing to the never-ending paperwork. I swear everyone in the country will have my signature soon. Lots of time to relax and do what you will, seems wonderful to me. I admit to being a little envious.” He smiled as he spoke, his face lighting up in boyish amusement.

“I assure you,” you stated, “that after a while even relaxing becomes as dull as any paperwork.”

The King chuckled at that. “Does it now? I’ll have to take your word for it. Now, tell me, what languages do you speak?”

“French and Spanish. A little Portuguese. And I’m trying to improve my Greek.” You lifted up your book to show him the writing on the front. He smiled at you and your heart beat faster.

“Impressive, my lady. My Greek is somewhat rusty, although my Russian is still good. Come, read for me and we shall see if I can follow you.”

Feeling shy, you lifted your book and began, haltingly at first, to read out loud, your tongue trying to wrap around the unfamiliar syllables. It had been a while since you had spoken out loud, normally preferring just to read, but as you became more confident the words flowed easier and you managed to glance up at him now and again.

The King was sitting, relaxed in his chair, legs outstretched with his ankles crossed. His eyes were closed as he rested his head on the chair back, arms settled on his chest with his fingers steepled. For a moment you could almost pretend this was a domestic scene of a wife reading to her husband after a long day. However, you were not his wife and he was not destined to be your husband. That would be someone else.

When you reached the end of your chapter, you gently closed your book, placing it on the side table, and the King opened his eyes and sat up again.

“You have a wonderful reading voice and you navigated the words very well - better than I’d have done, I’m sure. I’ve always thought learning languages a worthwhile endeavour and it is my deepest regret that I do not know more. I’ll take note to ensure that my Equerry looks to place you in a situation where your skills will be appreciated. I have a feeling,” he said with a glance back towards the window where his friend was still busy gently wooing yours, “that you will soon be the only one here.

You felt heat rushing to your cheeks at the compliment. “That would be greatly appreciated, Your Majesty. I know that not all men wish for an intelligent wife, but it would be nice to not have to appear vapid just to gain favour with my spouse.”

King James snorted. “I’ll admit that I do not understand those who only wish for a doll for a wife. If you’re going to spend the rest of your days together, would it not be better to have someone to converse with. Someone to challenge you mentally. It would be rather dull otherwise.”

“I suppose,” you ventured, “that those men are probably the type to find other ways - other people - to keep them occupied.” A small smile crept across his lips at your statement.

“And I suppose you are correct, my lady. But if that is the case then those men have chosen poorly. I cannot imagine marrying someone, only to then spend all my free time avoiding them. Somewhat defeats the point of it all, in my opinion.”

“Well, I had guessed some of that about you, Your Majesty. What with you getting rid of this age-old tradition.” You gestured once again to the room around you but when you turned back to him, it was to see that the King’s eyes had narrowed slightly, studying you.

“And how do you feel about that?”

You sensed his words were a test and you licked your lips nervously before you answered.

“I have no real opinion, Sire. I live to serve and am happy to do what my King commands of me.”

There was a strange look on his face. He was no longer smiling and while he didn’t appear angry with you, his demeanor was now far more chilly than it had been a moment ago.

“And were you happy to carry out the commands of my late father?”

You hesitated before answering. “His Royal Highness was most kind to me. I was happy to serve him.”

You barely heard him mutter “I bet you were” under his breath before he suddenly stood, and you scrambled to your feet after him. 

“This has been an illuminating chat, my lady, and I thank you for your company. Soon you will be free of this place and can put this part of your life behind you.”

He nodded his head and once again you dropped into a deep curtsey, your eyes locked to the floor. You stayed that way as his footsteps retreated across the marble floor and you wondered what it was you had said that had turned him so cold.

Once again, Bucky found himself stalking into the sanctuary of his private chambers. Damn you, damn his father, and damn this ridiculous fascination of his. Whilst he’d tried to tell himself that the only reason he went to the Little Palace was to get a feeling for whether his friend was getting along with his potential betrothed, he also couldn’t deny the fact that he’d known you would be there as well, all alone.

He’d been enjoying your conversation until he’d been reminded why you were even there in the first place and sabotaged himself by bringing up his father. Then you’d all but admitted that you’d enjoyed doing what you did. Bucky felt sick at the thought. 

Images of you tortured him day and night, and spending time with you today had obviously been ill-advised because now he had more memories to draw on. The way you spoke so passionately and knowledgeably about the ways of the world. The way that you smiled and joked when you were relaxed.

Bucky’s fingers longed to pick up a charcoal and try to capture the way the sunlight had slid over the planes of your face, giving you an ethereal, other-worldly look, like some fae creature sent to enrapture him. Instead he tugged on the bell-pull, asking the page who appeared to go and fetch Coulson. He then paced up and down the room, chewing on his thumb nail for the few minutes it took the Equerry to appear.

“How can I serve you, Your Majesty?” Coulson asked with a low bow.

“I want the matters with Lang organised as soon as possible and the remaining occupant of the Little Palace resituated with all speed. It’s high-time this issue was finished, once and for all.

It had been a week since Lila left. A week in which you’d spent nearly every waking moment alone, other than when the servants were helping you dress and bringing you food. Although you mustn’t forget the omni-present guards stationed outside various doors. Which meant it was two weeks since the conversation with the King that had left you feeling more confused than ever.

Lila had returned from her sojourn around the garden gushing about Master Lang and his attributes. About how handsome and kind and funny he was, and how certain she was that they would suit. You plastered a smile to your face and said all the right things, but you couldn’t seem to concentrate on your friend’s happiness, your thoughts consumed by the memory of how the King’s face had looked at the end of your exchange.

He’d been so happy and relaxed, then suddenly so cold and closed. It was obviously no secret that he didn’t like the fact that his father had had concubines, but it had happened and to deny why you were living there would be foolish. Which is why you’d answered so diplomatically - he didn’t need to know what did or didn’t happen in the privacy of the late King’s chambers, and he probably didn’t want to know. What son would want those details? But he had asked a question and you’d answered the best way you knew how.

It hurt because you’d actually been enjoying yourself, and thought that maybe he’d been enjoying himself as well. There’d been a strange warmth inside you as the pair of you had talked and teased and joked, and over the last few days you found yourself wishing you could feel it again.

However, now you had something else to occupy your mind. Almost as soon as Lila had left to get married - and you were sad you couldn’t be with her on her big day - Master Coulson had come to tell you that arrangements were being made at pace for your own future. It was only mildly surprising then, when he’d come to you this morning to tell you that a potential husband had been found and you should prepare yourself to have dinner this evening. He passed you over some papers, giving you details of the man you were to meet.

Apparently he was a Baron, a widower, and a few years older than King James. His seat was on the other side of the country and apparently quite large, with the main house boasting stables, a library, and a formal rose garden. As you read through the information you pulled your lower lip between your teeth. It all looked good on paper, but you needed to be sure. You didn’t want to swap one cage for another - you had to at least like Baron Zemo, and him you. It seemed as though he spoke numerous languages, so at least you had one thing in common with him. Hopefully all would go well, and you could consign this place and thoughts of the King to the past.

A few hours later and you were putting the finishing touches to your toilette. You dabbed some rosewater behind your ears and smoothed your hands down the front of your gown. It was one of your favourites and you’d worn it every time you’d been to visit the late King. He’d always complimented it, saying that the colour of the silk brought out your eyes. You hoped the Baron would like it as well. With a gentle knock on the door, one of the servants let you know that your guest had arrived and was waiting for you in the solar. You took a deep breath and walked down the hall.

As you entered, you saw a man, dressed in deep purple, looking out of the window, with his back to you. 

“Baron Zemo, you are most welcome,” you said as you dropped into a curtsey. You heard him turn and then a be-ringed hand appeared in front of your eyes, offering to help you back to your feet.

“Thank you for having me here, my lady,” he replied as you stood. “I have been intrigued to meet you ever since the King wrote to me about your situation.”

You took in his features as he smiled gently at you. He had warm hazel eyes, straight, mid-brown hair that lay across his brow, and was clean shaven. He was slightly taller than you, but not by much and you pushed away the rogue thought about how King James virtually towered over you.

“Shall we sit and dine, and hopefully get to know one another better, sir?” you suggested.

“You’ve read my mind, my dear. There is nothing like good food, good wine, and good conversation, is there?” The Baron walked you over to the small dining table that had been set up and assisted you into your seat, and you felt like a grand lady.

The next two hours passed by amenably. The Baron was eloquent and charming, and when he found out that you spoke other languages he insisted on conversing with you in them, gently correcting your pronunciation and helping you when a particular word or phrase was outside your knowledge. At the end of the meal you were full, warm and a little tipsy from the wine - it wasn’t in your nature to imbibe often.

“Maybe,” Zemo suggested, “we should take a turn about the gardens? A walk in the cool night air would probably help aid digestion. What do you think, my lady?”

“I think that would be delightful.” You allowed him to help you with your chair once more and when you stumbled he linked your arm into his and walked you outside, away from the guards and servants who’d been present in the solar with you. 

The garden was illuminated with lanterns in addition to the lights from the solar, and the pair of you walked companionably along the pathways. So far he’d done nothing to worry you, and hadn’t been at all standoffish. You would have to give serious thought into accepting his suit, especially as you were unlikely to receive better. The problem with being the last to be situated was that it also meant that your options for a suitable marriage were narrower.

“You’re awfully quiet, my dear. What’s going through that beautiful head of yours?” You ducked your head at the compliment and couldn’t help but smile.

“In all honesty, my lord? I was thinking about how lovely this evening has been. I will admit to some trepidation, which I’m sure you can forgive me for. Things like this are all too new for me.”

“No forgiveness needed,” he said with a smile, one much wider than those he’d displayed earlier and you felt your heart pick up in your chest, although you couldn’t immediately say why. “It’s completely understandable. But can I say that you have vastly surpassed my expectations. The information given to me about you greatly downplayed your beauty and intelligence. And, if I may be so bold, I find myself captivated.”

You felt your cheeks warm, but you also felt a little uncomfortable, at his zealousness. Or maybe it was the wine? “That is kind of you to say, sir. However, I’m finding myself getting a little chilled. Maybe we should return inside?”

With a swiftness that startled you, the Baron took hold of your shoulders and steered you backwards until you came into contact with the wall. You gasped in shock at both the impact and his change in demeanour.

“Maybe I can find a way to warm you up?” He quipped before his lips came down onto yours, his tongue thrusting into your mouth and one hand falling to your leg, inching your skirts upwards. You tore your mouth from his and turned your head, but his lips just zeroed in on your throat instead, sucking and nipping.

“Sir! Get off me!” You tried to push him, but his bulk had you pinned. His questing hand breached the hem of your skirts and he started to grope at your thigh, and his lips trailed further down to the neckline of your dress. “I said get off!”

The Baron raised his head and stilled his hand, but didn’t move away. “Surely you must miss this? The touch of a man. And think how much better it will be with someone who is younger and knows how to please a woman.”

“I miss it less than you think,” you ground out between clenched teeth. “And I did not ask you for this. Let me go.”

He smiled predatorily and slid his hand up to cup your mound over your underwear. “Did you really think I would offer for you without seeing if you had all the necessary attributes I’m looking for. I need an heir, and intelligence and beauty can’t provide that. And let’s face it, it’s not as though you’re a missish virgin keeping herself pure for her wedding night.”

His hand started to tug at your underthings and you closed your eyes tight as fear started to take over. However, just as you felt the first touch of his fingers on your intimate flesh his weight was suddenly gone.

“I believe the lady said no, Baron Zemo.”

Your eyes shot open, and there was King James, standing between you and the Baron, who was now sprawled on the ground. The dim light of the lanterns partially lit his face and that, combined with his expression, made him look like an avenging angel. Then he turned towards you and his expression softened.

“Are you alright, my lady?”

Without the Baron’s hands on you, your skirts fell back to your ankles and you pushed yourself away from the wall to stand. 

You nodded and gave a little cough to clear your throat. “I’m fine, Your Majesty.”

The Baron scrambled to his feet and brushed the dust and gravel from his coat.

“Just a little misunderstanding between my fianceé and myself, Your Majesty. No harm done,” he said, his voice smooth and oily.

You took a step forward, your body trembling with anger. “I don’t believe that I’ve accepted your suit, sir. And after that display of ungentlemanly conduct I am now fully disinclined to do so.”

The Baron’s eyes snapped to yours, narrowing and he let his facade fully drop away. “Be quiet, whore. Who else would have you? You’re used goods, even if the one who did the using was the former King. You should be grateful I’m even considering you.”

You shifted, intending to step forward again and slap him, but the King held out his hand stopping you.

“You are out of line, Baron. No matter her history, the lady is still just that. A lady. And how you treat her is tells me that, despite your title, you are no gentleman.” His voice was steady, but you could pick up the undercurrent of rage - could see it in the way he was holding himself and the tick in his jaw.

Baron Zemo let out a bark of laughter, apparently oblivious to the danger he was in. “My dear James, I cannot believe how much you are defending one of your fathers handmaidens. She was obtained by him for one purpose, but you think it’s unreasonable for me to see if she lives up to that purpose before I marry her.” He peered at the King, then his eyes widened as though he’d made a startling revelation. “Do I sense some jealousy raising its head here?” He laughed again. “I should have realised there was a reason you kept her until last. Of course - she’s your whore as…”

He didn’t get to finish his vile words, because King James’ arm snapped out and he punched the Baron right on the jaw, then watched impassively as the man crumpled back to the ground. Then, just as suddenly, he turned towards you fully and without a word scooped you up into his arms. You squeaked and threw your arms around his neck as he walked briskly back towards the solar. As he made his way inside, the guards stood to attention but didn’t turn to look at you, however, you still hid your face in his neck from embarrassment.

“There’s some filth in the garden to be sent packing.” The King’s voice rumbled in your ear as he spoke to the guards, and then he was turning with you in his arms and striding down the corridor that led to the private chambers. 

“Which one?” he asked gruffly, and you uncurled from his chest slightly so you could point. He shouldered your door open and then kicked it shut before letting you down, your body sliding over his as he did so.

You looked up at him, eyes wide and heart racing, not even noticing that your hands still rested on the slope of his chest and that his hands were still on your waist.

“You’re sure you're alright?” he queried again, looking down at you with concern.

“Absolutely. You stopped him. You…” You started to shake then as you realised how close you’d come to real harm. Without a word, the king steered you over to the edge of your bed and you both sat down, your small hands held in his larger ones, one of his thumbs rubbing over the delicate skin near your knuckles.

“Just breathe, my lady. You’ve had a shock. I’m glad I was there…” he stopped mid-sentence and freed one of his hands to turn your head and bare your neck to him. You swore you heard him growl. “He marked you. I’m going to kill him.”

You took hold of his wrist and pulled it down so you could turn back to face him. “It’s nothing. Really. It will fade and in a few days it’ll be a memory. Then we can try again.”

He peered at you, confused.

“Try and find me a husband,” you clarified and then smiled in an effort to lighten the atmosphere in the room.

“No.” King James pulled himself away sharply and stood, his back to you.

Now you were the one who was confused. “What do you mean,’No’? ‘No’ to a few days or ‘No’ to a husband? I don’t understand.”

“Either. Both,” he snapped, still not turning around.

“Alright,” you replied. “We’ll find me somewhere to live, then. Discuss a suitable stipend amount like Master Coulson did with some of the others who refused a husband.”

“Not that, either.” He ground the words out and you felt your patience waning, frustration overtaking your confusion. You stood up and stepped closer.

“So no husband and no stipend. What are you suggesting? That I just leave?” You couldn’t keep the hysterical note from your voice.

He spun on his heel and moved into your personal space, just as the Baron had done only a few minutes ago. However you didn’t feel anxious or uncomfortable, and the warm feeling inside you was back, despite your anger at how contrary he was being.

“Not at all,” he said quietly, his eyes trained on you. 

On your face. 

On your lips.

“I thought you wanted me out of here. You don’t want any concubines, remember?” You arched your eyebrow, challenging him.

He leant forwards and your breath caught in your throat, his stormy eyes now all you could see.

“I still don’t,” he murmured and then pressed his lips to yours.

This kiss was entirely different to the Baron’s assault. It was soft and gentle. Coaxing, not claiming. The King’s hands came up to cup your face and you curled your own into the front of his jacket. The heat within you rose in intensity and you kissed him back, opening your mouth and letting him in. He moaned when you did, one hand sliding to your hair and the other to the small of your back, pulling you close to him. You could feel the evidence of his arousal, but it didn’t scare you. In fact it thrilled you. It was all the deepest thoughts you’d kept to yourself come to life, and they took you over. 

Your nimble fingers worked the buttons of his jacket and as they came undone the King let go of you to shuck it off. That was followed quickly by his cravat and waistcoat, thrown without care across your room, and then he pulled his shirt free of his trousers and toed off his shoes. He took you back in his embrace then, kissing you with more passion and your hands found their way under his shirt, stroking across the hard planes of his chest. He nipped at your lower lip in retaliation and you gasped as the brief stinging shot to your core.

“Tell me you want this,” he breathed into your mouth.

“I do,” you whispered back. You’d never been as sure of anything as you were now - consequences be damned. They were a problem for tomorrow.

Part of Bucky couldn’t believe what he was doing, because he really shouldn’t be doing it. He was a King and should be the better person. But, oh, how he wanted to be selfish for once and slake this longing he had for you. 

He hadn’t been able to stop himself from coming to see how you and the Baron were getting on, partially to assuage his guilt and partially to torture himself. When he’d found you both absent from the solar, one of the guards had told him you’d gone for a walk together. As he’d stepped outside and neither of you had been in the closer part of the garden a sense of unease had washed over him. Then he’d heard you shout and raced around a corner to see you pushing at the Baron as he held you against the wall, trying to violate you.

He’d barely been able to restrain himself when he saw that, only daring to separate you and check that you were alright. But then the Baron had started to spew his hurtful, cruel words and his resolve had crumbled. He’d had to make sure you were safe. He’d needed it like air.

Upon getting you inside, he’d told himself that he would just double check that you were alright and then leave, but then he’d seen the bruise on your neck and you’d tried to placate him with talk of trying to find a new suitor and he’d lost any sense of decorum. 

There would be no other husband, no grand house and pension, because you were his. You were his oxygen - his sunlight. His joy and his misery and his desire all rolled into one. So he’d kissed you, almost no better than the Baron, but then you’d kissed him back. Clung to him. You’d made it plain that you wanted him too, first with your actions and then your words.

Mentally calling himself a fool, Bucky spun you around and tugged at the closure of your dress, the multitude of tiny buttons that held it together flying across the room. He didn’t care, though. He could buy you a new dress. A thousand new dresses. He eased the open neckline over your shoulders and pushed the multiple layers of silk down your frame. Taking your hand, he helped you step out of the froth of fabric and you kicked off your slippers at the same time with a giggle that shot through him like a bolt of lightning. 

Bucky pulled you back to him with a groan and walked you towards the bed, laughing with you when you both tumbled onto it with a bounce. Your hands, so small and delicate, found his chest again, and he lent up and pulled his shirt over his head, watching you as your eyes darkened with desire as you took in what you saw. You traced your fingers over the definition of his abdominals and pectorals and Bucky shivered. 

“I want you, Your Majesty.” Your voice was low and breathy, and fuck did he just want to bury himself in you. Feast on you.

“Bucky,” he rasped. “Call me Bucky. There is no King here tonight.”

You came back together, kissing and touching and through it you both messily and awkwardly helped each other remove the rest of the clothes that separated you. As soon as your breasts were bared to him, Bucky couldn’t hold back, latching onto your puckered nipples, one after the other, drawing squeaks and moans from you, more intoxicating than any sounds he’d imagined in his private imaginings. 

His right hand skirted down your body, finding its way between your legs and you opened for him. He moaned around breast as he found your wetness and began to toy with you. Bucky teased your clit and stroked your folds, captivated by how more arousal spilled from you. When he slid a testing finger into you, you gripped his hair and arched into his hand, your soft mewl turning to a strangled gasp and he felt undeniably powerful, a small part of him, one he didn’t want to really acknowledge, feeling as though he was competing with the memory of his father. He was determined to erase it. After tonight there would only be him.

When Bucky added a second finger into your warm channel and circled his thumb on your clit, you whimpered his name. Not ‘Your Majesty’ or ‘Sire’, but ‘Bucky’ as he’d asked you. He lifted his head and rose back up your body, capturing your lips and swallowing your cries as he drove you higher and higher. Your hands now clutched his shoulders, your short, manicured nails digging into him, using him as an anchor, lest you float away into the ether. He felt your body quiver beneath him as you neared the precipice of your pleasure and then the next second you were tumbling over it, your body spasming around his fingers, your mouth drawing all the oxygen from his lungs into your own.

Bucky kissed you through it, slowing his hand before pulling it away slowly. He shifted on the bed, kneeling between your limp legs, and as you watched him with hooded, lust filled eyes, he brought his fingers to his mouth and tasted your essence. He groaned as he did so, promising himself that he would drink directly from your source soon, but he couldn’t hold back his desire to fully claim you any longer. 

As his hand dropped to his cock, your eyes followed it, and you took your first real look at him. He couldn’t help but smile as your eyes widened and you tentatively raised your own hand towards his erection. He took hold of it and wrapped it around his length, marvelling at how your fingers didn’t meet. Your gaze flicked between his face and his cock, unsure which you wanted to watch. However, after a few minutes it was too torturous, and he repositioned himself to kiss you again and run his cock between your wet folds. Your hips rolled beneath him as you let out small whimpers of need and desire and he couldn’t hold back any longer.

Bucky reached between you, lined himself up and sank into your warmth.

The cry of ecstasy you let out caught him by surprise and he looked down into your eyes. The truth shone out of them as you pulled in breath after ragged breath, your body struggling to adjust to his size, despite what he’d done to you only minutes before. He couldn’t really process it, but an animalistic part of him howled in pleasure at the realisation that you’d been untouched and consumed any remaining restraint.

Bucky snapped his hips, watching in awe as your eyes rolled in your head and the breath was pushed from your lungs. It was an addictive sight and he thrust into you again and again, unable to stop, needing to see your reaction. You clutched his biceps as he braced himself, your head thrown back and he never wanted to see you any other way - debauched and ruined on his cock. 

“God, you’re so fucking beautiful. Can you touch yourself for me, sweetheart?”

You mumbled incoherently but did as he’d asked, your hand moving between you, and Bucky knew when you’d found your centre from the way you clenched around him. He groaned at the sensation and let it spur him on. He dipped his hips, changing the angle of his thrusts and when you let out a wail he knew he’d found the right spot.

“That’s it, beautiful. Come apart for me. Come on my cock.” 

You screamed and spasmed around him and his rational brain knew he should pull out and spill himself over the sheets, but he couldn’t. He couldn��t not have this. He cried out, throwing back his own head, and surrendered to the inevitable.

It took you a while to come back to yourself, because what you’d just experience was so different from what you’d been told about. The King - Bucky - was cuddled up behind you, his arms holding you close and his nose pressed into your hair, dozing. You turned in his embrace and his long, dark eyelashes fluttered open.

“Hi,” you breathed cautiously, unsure of how you should be acting. However, when he softly smiled at you, you felt your heart leap inside your chest.

“Hello, yourself.” He dropped a gentle kiss to your lips and you smiled in return and relaxed. He was obviously content to stay in your private, intimate bubble for at least a short time more and you were more than happy to indulge him. You didn’t want to think about how you’d feel when this ended, it would hurt too much.

Pushing yourself up onto one elbow you looked down at him and idly traced invisible designs across his chest with your finger tip.

“So, Bucky, huh? Where does that come from?” 

He chuckled at your teasing tone. “From my sister, Princess Rebecca. Or as I call her, Becca-Boo or Sprout. My second name is Buchanan, and when she was learning to talk she couldn’t say it. Whenever she said ‘Bucky’ it would make me laugh, so she kept doing it and then refused to call me anything else. Then my mother picked it up, because if she called me James, Becca would stamp her foot and tell her off. And I liked it. It helped me separate the two parts of myself - Bucky, the normal man with normal wants, desires and hobbies etcetera, and James, heir to the throne, with duties and responsibilities who has to keep himself apart from those around him.”

There was a melancholy tone to his words, and you couldn’t help but bend down and press a light kiss to his lips. “Well I like Bucky.”

He brought his hand up to the nape of your neck, returning the kiss, and you wished that reality could just stay firmly outside for the rest of time.

When Bucky broke the kiss, he looked up at you with searching eyes.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” he asked quietly and you immediately knew what he was talking about. You shrugged one shoulder.

“Does it matter? Would it have changed what just happened between us? Would you have thought differently of me?”

“No, it wouldn’t have changed what just happened, but I won’t lie and say I wouldn’t have treated you differently. I thought harshly of you, driven by jealousy. How could I allow myself to like you, desire you, when you had lain with my father? I was jealous of a ghost for having claimed you first, and I hated myself for feeling that way. That was why I acted coldly to you when we conversed in the solar. What you said. You made it sound as if you’d enjoyed being with him and ugly thoughts filled my head.” Bucky’s brow furrowed as he spoke and you itched to smooth out the lines that formed there.

“Well, it isn’t really the done thing to speak out loud about the King’s impotence,” you pointed out. “Especially with his own son. I was trying to answer truthfully, but without going into detail. And I suppose I did enjoy spending time with him. He may not have been the type of father you wished, or the husband your mother wanted, but he was still a man. We’d talk, mostly. I like to think that I gave him some comfort and companionship. I can’t say that I’m unhappy about the way things turned out.” You looked at him coyly from under your lashes and he laughed.

“You liked being claimed by me? You wanton wretch,” he teased.

“It was definitely different, and much better, than what I’d been led to believe.” He growled playfully, and in one deft move rose up and pushed you back to the mattress, caging you in with his arms. You brought your hand up and brushed the back of it over his cheek. “If I’m going to be a concubine, I’m glad that I’m yours.”

At your words, Bucky reared back, as if you’d slapped him and you immediately started to apologise. “I’m sorry, Sire. I shouldn’t have presumed…” Shame and guilt washed over you at how far you’d sunk into your daydream, and you fought your way out of the sheets. Rising from the bed, you found your shift in the heap of clothing on the floor and pulled it over your head. “I will leave you to your dressing and wait for instructions from Master Coulson later.” You bobbed a curtsey and turned toward the door, your hand reaching for the handle, eager to put space between you.

“Stop!” His command made you freeze mid step, your arm lowering back to your side. In a moment he was behind you, his hands firmly gripping your upper arms.

“You are not my concubine. I never wanted one, and I won’t start now.” He spun you, and when you didn’t raise your head, staring instead at a freckle near his collarbone, he tucked a finger under your chin and made you look at him. “You deserve more than that, my darling.” His tone softened. “You will be my wife. That is, if you will have me?”

You looked at him in shock. “What? How can I be your wife? You are the King and I am, well, just me.”

“And as the King, I can do what I want. And for anyone who gets pedantic about your previous status, there is precedent. Concubines have been turned into Queens before.”

You pulled yourself from his hold, raising your arms up in confusion. “You do not need to speak of marriage, just because you have bedded me and do not want a concubine.”

“This is not solely because we have lain together, sweet fool. I love you.”

His words made you stop and you wondered if you’d misheard, but he continued. 

“I fear I have done since I first laid eyes on you. And I just hope that maybe you can learn to love me too. Bucky, that is. Not just James, your King.” He reached out imploringly toward you. You looked back at him and then at his hand, before accepting it as you stepped forward, a broad smile making its way across your face.

“Learn to love you? That implies that I don’t already. How could I not, even if you were being grumpy and contrary.”

He wrapped you up in his embrace and looked down at you, eyes full of mischief. “Contrary? Is that anyway to speak to your King?”

“It is how a Queen speaks to her husband,” you joked back.

“Is that so? Then I must make you my Queen as soon as possible.” He closed the remaining distance between you, kissing you with vigour before lifting you and returning you both to the bed.

“However, nothing can be done until tomorrow. Whatever shall we do until then?” he drawled with mock innocence.

“I have a few ideas, Your Majesty,” you replied, mimicking his tone.

He shook his head. “Bucky, remember?”

“Bucky,” you agreed.

The End

Tag list: @christywrites, @alexakeyloveloki, @wolfsmom1, @doasyoudesireandlive, @sonatabee-blog, @goldylions, @galactusdevourerofworlds, @apenny4thots, @crayongirl-linz, @mrs-illyrian-baby, @wheezy-stucky, @km-ffluv

[simpxxstan]

what about softdom leaning switch!dokyeomie..

thank you for requesting this BECAUSE I AM OBSESSED WITH HIM! this is my first time writing nsfw headcanons without any proper plot (?) so i'm nervous. hopefully you'll not regret requesting this!

this is part of my 550 followers celebration event! find the rest of the content of this event here! the event ends tomorrow (31st July) at 12 midnight UTC. if you wish to request anything (although be warned, i write very slowly), my inbox is open. to those who have requested, thank you for being patient! i'm going to answer them all i promise!

warnings: nsfw minors do not interact implied established relationship with fem!reader, nsfw headcanons. not tagging everything here to avoid spoiling the content but nothing extreme (lmk if you still want me to tag something)

thinking about softdom leaning switch!dokyeom:

who cannot fathom being rough or mean to you, making him literally the softest dom ever. the primary reason he still doms you is likely to be because of your natural size difference (dokyeom LOVES how much bigger he is than you and how he can use his strength to give you pleasure). the second reason is because his life's aim is to pleasure you- thereby making him a service top.

picture him fucking you facing each other literally all the time. EYE CONTACT AND KISSES. my boy needs validation from your expressions and non-verbal behaviour that he's doing it right. missionary, cowgirl, on the tabletop, on the bathroom sink, on the kitchen counter, on a chair. eyes on him.

he doesn't mind the place and time if a. you're willing and in the mood and b. he gets to make you happy. dokyeom, being the energy ball he is, has a high sex drive, and even very little can get him horny. naturally, the two of you have done it EVERYWHERE. concert venue backstage. cafe washroom. shopping mall trial room (yes he got hard when you tried a really pretty dress for him and could. not. hold. back). even the bathroom of one of the member's houses when all of svt and their partners are hanging out.

punishments? dokyeom hasn't heard of it. not into spanking or edging- he would much rather give you as many orgasms as humanly possible. however, this leads to you getting overstimulated without him even realising it. you enjoy it to a certain extent but when it gets a little too tough to bear and you tell him the same, he immediately starts apologising so much and kisses you all over and stops whatever he was doing and lets you rest EVEN if he's still hard. he would much rather jerk himself off if needed rather than seeing you in pain.

not particularly kinky, rather he's a bit old-fashioned. so he's not into roleplay during sex, not into torture or pain, and definitely not into degradation. but his breeding kink is intense. dokyeom's fantasised about having a family from a very early age, and now he's found his perfect partner, he absolutely goes wild about it. (he tracks your ovulation period with you and tries to convince you every time to let him breed you full of cum whenever you fuck during that time. you tell him no but you let him fuck you without a condom those nights, taking the plan b pill afterwards without miss. after the high of the orgasm dies down, he curses himself for pushing you too hard and apologises for wanting to fuck you without a condom. who's gonna tell him the truth?)

BUT i think he's definitely into using toys to spice up things in the bedroom. also into filming your sexy time together. you do it more for him because he seems to LOVE it. he's out of town for a lot of time, so finding a video where you're pole dancing for him has him giggling, blushing, and nearly coming in his pants at the same time. when at home, he doesn't use a lot of toys except maybe a vibrator, but when he's away he asks you specifically to pick out certain toys to help yourself (and him too) to get through nights- like that time he bought a monster dildo for you and you filmed yourself riding it for almost an hour (it was so incredibly hot, seeing you babbling and drooling at the constant stretch but dokyeom got worried for a moment that you'll never like his cock after taking a bigger one. who's gonna tell him the truth?)

and it's the sex toys that bring out the switch in dokyeom. what's better than you riding him and pulling his hair towards your chest until he's sucking mindlessly at your tits as you milk him dry? you pinching his nipples using nipple clamps and  tying his hands back so that you can touch him and kiss him everywhere but he absolutely can't even touch you like he so wants to.

talking about tits: dokyeom is obsessed with them. he loves your entire body, but your boobs are the absolute cherry on top of the cake for him (pun not intended). he's just so happy that he has full access to your pretty breasts all the time- for him to kiss when waking up, for him to sleep on while napping, for him to tease with his ridiculously large tongue when he's in a particularly wild mood. he wants them all the time- video call sex? "baby show me your tits once please" and he cums as soon as you do. quickie? you're blowing his cock, and he's bending down to fondle your soft tits. mirror sex? his eyes are FIXATED at your tits. doggy style? he's groping your tits as his balls slam against your ass. morning cuddle? he makes you wear his softest t-shirts and nuzzles against your warm chest.

unsurprisingly, his love for your tits also enables a little bit of his submissiveness. he may or may not want to suck on your tits while you work on your laptop. he may or may not focus more on rubbing his spit on your tits instead of the film you both are supposed to be watching. he may or may not go cross-eyed watching your tits when you're on top of him, fucking yourself on his dick, during make-up sex (you're bouncing so harshly on him, he can't feel his legs anymore and he's completely at your mercy).

and he particularly loves to be taken care of whenever he's had a bad day and heard something negative about his looks or performances. (words are insufficient so you show him how manly he is, how handsome he is, how he's an all-rounder and how he's born for the stage. he worries he takes too much from you, and he's a burden. who's gonna tell him the truth?)

his biggest fetish perhaps is clothed sex. he LOVES dressing you up in beautiful clothes and lingerie. and there's something so exciting like unwrapping layers of you- each layer more mysterious and pretty than the previous. he loves the subtle sensualness of clothed making out- the way he can touch your thighs through a slit in the dress, the way you grind shamelessly on his dick when it's separated from your wet pussy by the soft cotton of his trackpants.

all in all, he's a 100% romantic partner through and through. which includes eye contact during sex, holding hands when he ruts into you and constant kisses and praise every second of the day, in and out of the bed. it goes both ways- he loves being praised too, all shy and soft, blushing whenever you call him sexy. (he tries to do that thing again and again, hoping he can be the sexiest man in your eyes but he thinks he's hoping for too much. who's going to tell him the truth?)

[alicerosejensen]

All pets go to heaven

Warning: mention of pet deaths; hurt/comfort; angst; dad!Leon.

Synopsis: This is a tragedy in Leon's family. It was inevitable, but it broke one small child's heart.

A/n: I am writing this because my beloved cat who lived with me for 17 years died. It is a great pain to lose pets who have become part of the family, and even knowing that this is inevitable, the pain will not become less. Although I am already an adult, this is the first time I have encountered this pain. I'm just trying to distract myself a little bit and, as always, find solace in writing while my heart heals.

Everyone who has pets - love them because their lives are so short compared to ours. We are their whole life, and they are only a part of it for us.

Losing is always hard. Returning home after a difficult mission that somehow miraculously passed without unnecessary sacrifices, Leon hoped to return to the calm atmosphere of his house where you and your baby girl were waiting for him, whom he had just bought gifts. Some sweets, soft toys, besides, as he drove up to the house, he was thinking about a family outing somewhere to an amusement park and then drop into some cafe and eat ice cream. It would be a great therapy for him and a good opportunity to make up for lost time with his family.

He has already written to you about his imminent return, but did not expect that when he entered the house, he would feel some unusual emptiness. Something that was not as usual when he returned.

You immediately left the kitchen holding a glass of water in your hands when you heard the bang of the front door, which caused a slight smile to blossom on your sad face.

"Leon!" you shouted, putting the glass on the frame that he was home with you again. "You're back! Why didn't you call? I would have prepared something special for dinner."

Leon frowned into your eyes. It's like you've been crying recently. He put the bag on the frame next to the keys, hugged you to him, put his head on top of your head, feeling you relax in his arms.

"I texted you on your phone, wanted to surprise D/N, bought something for her and for you. By the way, where is she? And what happened to your eyes? Did something happen while I was gone?

You nodded softly, freeing yourself from the ring of his arms, and looked up at the second floor, which only made Leon tense, making him nervous.

"Let's go to the kitchen, I'll warm up your lunch" you took Leon's hand hoping that he would immediately follow you and not do everything his own way "And tell you everything. D/N fell asleep in her room recently. I'm sorry, I've hardly picked up the phone lately."

And yet, going into the kitchen, Leon could not help but feel the oppressive atmosphere involuntarily returning him to the distant past where he also sat at the table with an excess of alcohol before the next call from his superiors, waiting for him to be sent on a new mission. The feeling he hoped would never come back. You were sluggishly putting the leftovers of yesterday's lunch on a plate, putting it in the microwave to heat up the food, while Leon was behind you looking at the corner where there were always cat bowls with food and water for Oliver...

It's so strange that the darling of the whole family didn't come out to meet him, as it always was, and now his bowls are gone, but the first thought was that you just decided to wash them and just haven't put them in place yet, and Oliver sleeps on the couch in the living room or in the D/N room, lately because of age He slept a lot.

"The furry fighter sleeps with D/N" joked Leon, sinking into a chair and taking the fork in his hand that you put in front of him.

You shook your head negatively.

"You know, a few days after you left, he got really bad." you began to explain after a heavy sigh, "He was already old by cat standards, at first he began to eat less, then he stopped altogether. He drank only one water, the vet said his kidneys were failing. I decided not to torture him, after all, no matter how painful it was for me to say goodbye to him, I didn't want Oliver to suffer in the last few days, but he quietly died his own death. It makes me feel a little calmer, but D/N... Our girl has been crying for three days."

Leon felt like he had lost all his words. That's why he never got animals, probably because he knew that sooner or later he would have to say goodbye to the one he became attached to, but he met you when you took Oliver as a kitten, and therefore the "furry fighter" as Leon himself called him when they first met, one day also became part of his family along with you. A slightly naughty cat, spoiled, loving to beg for food, when someone just went to the kitchen, often gnawing wires, which is why they had to be hidden. And yet Oliver was part of this family, and D/N love him with all her heart, how could his little girl now know that her beloved furry friend will never come to her again and she will not be able to pet him? Inside Leon everything sank from this thought that his heart demanded to come to his little girl and comfort her.

His appetite immediately disappeared.

"Of course he was old, but it seemed to me that he still had enough strength. He wasn't that bad before I left."

"Yeah," you agreed, placing a plate in front of him.

"He sometimes lost his appetite, but I probably noticed the symptoms too late, although the doctor said that cats often have kidney problems. D/N is the hardest hit. I carefully prepared her for this moment, but three days ago in the morning when she woke up to pet Oliver, he simply did not react - he died peacefully in his sleep. D/N now does not want to do anything, cries all day long and hardly eats."

"I'll go to her," Leon said, getting up from the table without touching his food.

"Leon," you called out to him quietly, causing him to turn around to look at you. "Maybe you can do better than me, to be honest, I haven't been able to find the right words for her in the last three days."

"This... this is not easy for her. She has been with him since birth, but we will succeed, we just need to help her get through this together."

Those were good words. You probably needed them yourself, considering you were the one who picked up Oliver as a kitten, but it's never easy to survive someone else's death, especially someone you loved and cared for for years. While comforting your child, you comfort yourself with the thought that Oliver had lived a good, long cat life. No one had ever hurt him, he lived in warmth, care, and satiety. It was just that his life inevitably came to an end, no matter how much it broke your heart.

Leon paused for a few seconds in front of the door as he climbed the stairs. He often comforted Jane when she was injured or upset about something, but death... It was incredibly difficult for a child to face something like that, especially when his girl loved all animals so much. Leon quietly opened the door and immediately heard sobs that involuntarily made him feel guilty.

Of course he should have been there for her during this difficult period, but he wasn't there, and you alone weren't enough. D/N cries quietly, turning away to the window, hugging a soft toy, not even hearing the steps behind her, immersed only in her grief. Before, she would have jumped out of bed and run to her father, spreading her arms for a hug, and then would have hung on his neck for a long time, begging him to play with her until late in the evening, but now...

"Sunshine, daddy is here"

Leon whispered, sitting down next to her on the bed and putting his hand on her shoulder.

There was another sob. D/N didn't even turn around when she heard his voice, but she definitely realized that her father had returned. How could he blame her? In general, Leon often found himself thinking that it was in his nature to forgive everything to those he loved, especially if it was his own blood. It was more difficult than scraped knees or broken favorite toys. This is the realization to a little girl that her furry friend is gone forever.

She continued to squeeze the toy, sobbing, burying her nose in the pillow. Even when Leon bent down to turn on the night lamp.

"Oliver is gone," she lisped, sniffing loudly, "Mom said he's in a better place now, but I want him back.

"I know, sweetie, I know. I'm so sorry that I wasn't there at that moment." Leon bent down to her, brushing her hair from her face, still gently stroking her back, hoping to ease those tears a little, but it seemed terrible. This is not a situation where you could turn everything into a joke or make her pay attention to something else.

Father's mind rightly told him only that it was necessary for Jane to survive this. That sometimes those we love inevitably leave. An experience that no one wants to go through on their own skin, and Leon himself never wanted such suffering for his daughter.

Leon spoke again only when the children's sobs subsided under his caring hand.

"We all loved him very much, even when he was doing his cat chores past the tray or gnawing on the wires," he smiled, feeling that D/N had done the same, even if she wasn't looking at him. "But unfortunately, the life of animals is much shorter than that of humans. And yet, despite this, I'm sure he was a happy cat. Has anyone offended him?"

She took a deep breath, wiping tears from her cheeks with her palm, finally looking at her father with tear-stained eyes and quietly shook her head in denial.

"N-no" the stuffed toy was back in her hands "But you used to swear at him sometimes"

"Well, sometimes Oliver behaved badly, I mean that some animals are much less lucky. I've never been mad at him for a long time, even when you were very young. You were just born then and you were lying in your crib when Oliver scratched you because you cried."

Leon shrugged, remembering the past, smiling involuntarily.

D/N frowned, scratching her swollen face, clearly not believing Leon's words.

"He didn't hurt me. We always played and he slept next to me."

"It was the only time. I think you were just something new to him and he was scared of loud noises."

These words brought a short smile to her face, which couldn't help but please Leon. He settled down more comfortably next to her, pressing D/N to his shoulder, watching as she gradually began to calm down.

With a heavy sigh, a new stream of tears nevertheless gushed from her eyes after several minutes of silence. "I miss him".

"Shh, I know it's hard. It's really hard but it happened. His life is over and Mom didn't lie to you - Oliver really is in a better place now."

Leon held her small body close to him, letting her cry and cry. His strong embrace protected, but hardly comforted. Even when you came into the room, hearing another cry, this sight of your daughter's tears tore you apart. An endlessly long stage of denial of grief and a childish selfish desire for a beloved cat to come back to life no matter what. You wanted this too, but no one has such power.

You sat down on the other side of the bed so that D/N was in the middle of the two of you, however, it seemed that she did not notice your presence, but you still gently stroked her hair, looking into Leon's eyes, feeling helpless.

Until Leon took her on his lap and kissed the top of her head, ignoring the fact that his shirt and sleeve were now covered in saliva and snot. However, he is a father and this is not the worst thing he could get dirty in.

"Baby, listen to Daddy for a minute," Leon brushed the hair from her tear-stained face, forcing her to look at him, "Do you remember when we watched the cartoon 'all dogs go to heaven'? "

D/N nodded, clutching his arm. You were just reaching for the bedside table for paper handkerchiefs, taking out a couple of them, wiping her face while Leon was talking:

"Of course, the cartoon was about dogs, but it wasn't entirely true. In fact, not only dogs get to heaven, but also cats, birds, hamsters, guinea pigs, it doesn't matter, all pets. And our Oliver is there now too."

"So he's just like Charlie now?" Her voice was hoarse from crying.

Leon nodded, hugging her to him. "Yeah, our Oliver is in the best place now, just like Charlie."

"Can't he wind up the clock too and stay with us a little longer? "

You cast a brief glance at Leon, either rejoicing at the brief glimmer of calm, or on the contrary disapproving of using the plot of an old cartoon as a consolation. On the other hand, what's wrong with a child believing that a pet has gone to heaven after death? At least it would help her start accepting death, because despite still young age, you didn't want to deceive her by coming up with excuses just to hide the painful truth.

It didn't seem like a good idea. So you reached out to D/N, joining the conversation without abandoning your husband in trouble:

"Sweetie, alas, but no. Oliver can no longer come back to us, but he knows that we love him and miss him. And he loves us too."

"Besides," Leon chimed in, "if you remember, no one had the right to wind that clock."

There was that deafening silence again, broken only by sighs and sniffing. Neither you nor Leon dared to speak again while Jane sat quietly on his lap with her eyes downcast, thinking about something of her own. Maybe it wasn't such a bad idea. After all, this cannot even be considered as such a deception, just a way to cope with the loss.

Cautiously glancing at his wristwatch, Leon saw what time it was and realized that Jane usually falls asleep at this time, but leaving her alone at such a moment... After kissing her on the forehead, Leon easily lifted her into his arms, feeling her arms around his neck as he carried her to your shared bedroom. You didn't even have time to understand anything, just watching with wide eyes as he nods at you in the direction of the door.

"We're not going to cry anymore, are we?" he asked D/N, and although she wiped her cheeks, she still shrugged her shoulders from ignorance, "I bought us all ice cream, so now we're going to wash our faces with you, and then mom will bring us a bucket of ice cream and the three of us will eat and watch cartoon, how do you like this plan?"

Finally she smiled nodding her head in agreement. How could you object? While they were washing in the bathroom, you straightened the bed, took a pillow and a blanket from the nursery and put them in the middle of the bed, then went downstairs, took them out of the freezer, not forgetting the spoons. By the time you returned to the room, Leon and D/N had already selected a cartoon, launched it for viewing and were waiting only for you.

laying down next to her side of the bed, dimming the light, you could see Jane was tired, but she still ate ice cream for a while, after which she settled comfortably under Leon's armpit, falling asleep pretty quickly without watching the cartoon. At least you can all get some sleep.

"So all pets go to heaven?" You asked quietly as you got into bed and watched Leon carefully place Jane's head on the pillow so that he could take a bath and go to bed himself.

He just sighed, grabbing a towel and a set of clothes from the closet, turning to you, speaking in a whisper so as not to wake the child.

"So be it. In the end, despite all the cat's antics, I also want to believe that this cat is now somewhere where he is good." He bent down to leave a short kiss on your lips.

"You don't believe it," you said, stopping him in the aisle, forcing him to turn around and look at you again. "Allright, the main thing is that it worked and she was able to calm down a little."

Leon looked at you sadly as you put the empty bucket on the bedside table lying down next to D/N. After all, it was difficult for you too, but crying in front of a child was unacceptable. However, he knew that you were the one who sheltered Oliver, which is why his death hurt you no less, if not more.

"It doesn't matter what I believe, with my job it's hard to believe in something like that, but now I really want to think that all pets go to heaven. And not only them..."

Fair or not, you both lay in bed for a long time without falling asleep, listening to your daughter's childish snores. After the shower, Leon held your hand for a long time in silence, realizing that it was not only Jane who really needed comfort, but you too.

All pets go to heaven... falling asleep you also wanted to believe that your Oliver is now in a place where he will never feel bad or that perhaps he will really come back again in the form of another cat.

[storm-angel989]

Could you write Valentino x his biological teen! daughter? Maybe they both died the same death at the same time ( I heard he was shot by a cop) and they live in hell together? Thank you💓💓💓

In life, they called him The Mayor. 

Born into a prison town, by the age of twenty four Valentino had already served his time in the penitentiary. Unlike the rest of the criminal population he was locked up with, Valentino used those locked up moments to work his way to the top. By the time he emerged, he had connections within every gang, and at least three members of each owed him favors. 

Charm, after all, had always been his strong point. And he was skilled at selling anything to anyone. From drugs to bodies, Valentino had his hands in it all. He was on top of the world until she came into his life. 

A cute little blonde thing. The words “I’m pregnant”. A house the next town over, bought and owned under an alias. Soft kisses and a proposal, a promise to be wed after the birth of their daughter. A shift from selling to negotiating deals- brokering deals inside and outside the prison.

For a fee, of course. 

Nine months ticked past. A hurried ride to the hospital. Hours of pain and too much blood, Valentino watched death take the only person he ever loved. As he clutched his newborn daughter to his chest, he wondered if this was payback- karma for all the wrong he had done. 

A quiet car ride home, and Valentino’s focus stayed elsewhere. Rather than his usual alert eyes, the mind that usually assessed every shadow was too busy processing the information he had been given on how to keep this tiny creature alive. Exhausted, he slowly climbed the steps into the house and closed the door behind him.

“It’s you and me now, bebita,” Valentino said softly as he took a seat in the rocking chair. 

The child cooed and he pressed a ready made bottle to her mouth. As she ate, he snapped open the top of his dress shirt and laid her against his bare chest, using one hand to keep her secure. So focused on his daughter and the events of the day, he didn’t notice their presence until it was too late. 

Three quick shots. Two through him. One through them both. A flash of red. And then white. 

“Ah, Valentino,” a loud voice boomed. “And your little girl too. How sweet.” 

Valentino looked around frantically at the red and black painted office. Seven pulpits surrounded him, but whatever was behind them was obscured by a different colored fog. He looked down and to his relief, his daughter lay fast asleep in his hold. 

“The Mayor, they called you, hm? You have quite the talent. And quite the rap sheet. I call dibs.” A different voice said. 

A squabble of arguments, and words Valentino couldn’t understand. Sins? Greed? Lust? Where the fuck was he? He opened his mouth to demand, and instead he found himself in an entirely different room, in front of a rather usual looking desk. 

“So you’re Valentino, hm? I’m Asmodeus, the demon of lust, and I’ll be the one you answer to.” 

Valentino recognized the voice as the second one that had spoken. The red fog that surrounded him in the former room cleared, revealing a flaming red face surrounded by blue. Startled, he stepped back and wrapped his arms around his daughter. 

“Leave her out of this, take me,” he demanded. “I’m the one who deserved to die, not her.” 

Asmodeus raised an eyebrow. “You are dead. No way out of it now. But leave who out of this…oh, oh!” He stood up and walked around the desk. 

Valentino stepped back and Asmodeous grinned. “Ah. Not very often we get a two for one deal. Tell me now, what is her sin?”

“Sin? She isn’t even three days old,” Valentino replied in what he hoped was an authoritative voice. “She’s done nothing wrong.”

Asmodeus shrugged. “Born out of wedlock, unbaptised. It’s all the same to heaven, they don’t give a shit.” He returned behind the desk and took a seat. 

A thoughtful expression crossed his face. Or at least, what Valentino thought looked like was a thoughtful expression. Really, it was hard to tell. 

“Let’s clear the air,” he said after a few seconds of silence. “You’re dead. She’s dead. You’re both sinners, so you’re in hell. You, my friend, will take on the form of a demon. And she, because her only sin was being born, will maintain her human form and grow up. She’ll stop aging at the age of twenty five but you…what to do with you?”

Valentino watched as he pulled out a binder from his desk and seemed to review its contents. Anger began to fester and he held his daughter ever so slightly tighter. Hell? Impossible. 

“You're a demon?” Valentino demanded. “And I’m dead? And this is hell?”

“You’re both dead, and yes. I am indeed a demon. I represent the sin of lust, but you’ll learn all about that,” Asmodeus answered. He closed his binder and peered at Valentino.

“Usually, I send sinners straight to the pride ring with nothing but the clothes on their backs. This is hell after all- and you earned your place here. But your little girl didn’t, so I’ll make you a deal. You work for me, and I’ll set you up with everything you need to take care of that little girl of yours.”

A contract and a pen floated over to Valentino. Asmodeous’s name, already scrawled on the contract in bright red. Valentino looked down at his little girl and took a deep breath as he picked up the pen. Slowly, he scrawled his name on the line. 

Asmodeous grinned. “Ah. Smart man. I knew I picked a good one. Now come, let’s get you settled. That little girl probably needs a bottle.” 

Thirteen years later, Valentino would have traded the terror of that first day in hell for the current moment. 

His daughter, dressed in what barely constituted clothing. Tight bandana top. Way too short jean shorts. Long hair, curled down and a face framed with makeup. 

“You cannot wear that to school,” Valentino told her firmly. “Beyond the fact that is does not comply with the dress code, you look like a…”

“Like what Dad? Like a slut?” Reader yelled as she put her hands on her hips. “Go ahead, say it!”

Valentino gave her a stern look. “Go change. This discussion is over.”

“I hate you! And I hate this place!” She screamed back.

Valentino winced as she slammed the door. Behind him, Vox chuckled.

“It will get better, Val, once she gets through her teenage years. Until then, buck up buddy. She’s just like you.” 

“I’ll go talk to her,” Velvette said as she stood up. “Val, might as well head down to the studio. Give her some time to cool off.” 

With a sigh he picked up his mug of coffee and made his way downstairs to his office. As he did more and more frequently these days, he wondered if he would be facing the same struggles with her on Earth that he did in hell. Probably, he figured. After all, it was his daughter. At least in hell, he had friends to help raise her. And a life of luxury he hadn’t imagined existed on Earth. 

And if he had his way, he would be sure she never knew any different.

[extremelyblackandwhite]

pairing: dad!bucky barnes x au pair!reader

warnings: age gap (reader is 10 years younger than bucky), smut (18+, dni if under 18)

author’s note: sorry for being mia, this chapter ended up quite long so i divided it into two, the next coming out mid week.

masterlist

look at this godforsaken mess that you made me ...

To say tonight had been filled with surprises was an understatement. Starting at the restaurant when Sadie threw most of her cutlery to the ground, to the waitress flirting mercilessly with Bucky and him not noticing it, Y/N had to admit, it had taken her mind from the outcome of her viva. The night ended with the two walked through the front door, Bucky holding a sleeping Sadie against his side while Y/N held her plushy. They walked up the stairs to Sadie's bedroom, putting her in bed and tucking her in surrounded by the countless plushies she had.

The two parted ways to change, Y/N changing out of her dress and into her pyjamas while Bucky changed into his joggers. They met up downstairs, Y/N being the last. She spotted him turning on Netflix, setting pillow and making popcorn.

      - Mine better be sweet. - she walked up from behind him, sitting on the counter.

      - I can't believe you like your popcorn sweet. - Bucky handed her the bowl he'd set aside from her. - They're better salty.

      - I'm sorry, I forgot old men can't have too much sugar. - she put a popped kernel on her tongue, letting it dissolve.

      - I'm 37, Y/N. You'll be 37 one day too.

      - Yeah in ten years. - she chuckled, jumping from the counter and onto the ground. - Should we watch 13 going on 30?

      - I said it was up to you and I meant it. - he walked her to the couch, taking a seat after she did. - So tell me, you're an Ohio girl. What's in Ohio?

      - I'm not an Ohio girl.

      - Your parents have a farm there.

      - I told you they bought it after I moved out for college, the first time. I'm actually from Hartford.

      - Hartford? How unbelievably old money of you. - he joked. - My grandad's from Hartford.

      - Actually, my parents inherited the house from my grandmother. She died before I was born and was a bit eccentric. The house had been in the family for ages but it was a pain to look after and with my mum staying home to look after me, it just wasn't a financial good decision to keep it in the family anymore.

      - I'm sorry. That must've been tough. I think I would have a stressful time if my parents sold my childhood home. I want to leave it to Sadie, you know?

      - They sold it to a contractor so they'll probably demolish it but it used to have this massive tree in the backyard and my dad couldn't afford one of those plastic swings so he got some rope and he made me a makeshift one hanging from the tree. Obviously, I kinda got bored of the swing as I grew older and moved to try and use the rope to climb the tree.

      - Y/N. - he chuckled, moving in closer to her. - You're supposed to be the responsible one.

      - On my 8th birthday, I fell from it. Had a cast for ages and mum helped me bedazzle it.

      - Bedazzle it? My, my, Y/N, weren't you a sparkle razzle dazzle girl. - he chuckled, trying to imagine a younger version of Y/N running around with a bedazzled cast. - Did you like it? In Hartford?

      - It was nice but my favourite thing was being close to Yale. My dad used to take me there every Saturday because I wanted to go to Yale but I didn't get in.

      - Their loss. You want some whiskey?

Bucky got up to go to the drinks cart, while Y/N turned in the couch to stare at him. She liked him this way, calm, understated, away from all the Prada suits and the leather shoes and YSL long coat, just casual and comfortable in his home. It was ... hot, in a way which she would not admit in front of anyone but herself. He poured her a glass before pouring one for himself.

      - We haven't picked that movie yet, doll.

      - Finding the conversation boring already? - she took a sip of the amber liquid. Bucky always had good drinks. - I was about to ask about your education.

      - My education?

      - Yes, I'm curious. I assumed you went to college.

      - Okay, hum ... my mother wanted me to go to Eton like her father but I got kicked out so then I went to Collegiate School here. After that, I went to Stanford Business School and loved it so much that I wished to never go back.

      - You went to Stanford?

      - Why is that so shocking? I'm not particularly stupid, I reckon.

      - No, no, it's just that Stanford is in California. You are a New Yorker in my eyes.

      - That's where I started dating Sadie's mother.

      - Really?

      - Well, some would call it dating but honestly it was just us fucking in as many seminar rooms as we could. She was seeing someone else, I was seeing someone else. Sex was good though.

      - My god, aren't you a little fuckboy? - she giggled at his comment. There was an ease at how they communicated, an ease which Bucky only experienced with his close friends, only a few of them.

      - C'mon, early 20s with all the girls at my feet? What did you expect me to do?

      - Hey, I have a question, don't feel insulted but why did you like Anna?

      - Well ... - he shrugged. - I grew up with Anna, I knew her before Steve. Her mother and my mother were close so she was always there. She was quite annoying as a kid and then at college she was just attractive and she was smart. She's really smart, I hope Sadie gets some of that from her.

      - Did you love her?

Bucky paused, looking at her as if she'd asked him an unanswerable question. He felt he'd fare better with questions such as what happens when we die or if God exists.

      - There's different kinds of love. I did love Anna and I will always somewhat love her because she gave me my kid but it's not the same kind of love that I think people feel for a partner.

      - I understand.

      - I know I make it sound like I hate her and believe me I do but she is an absolutely fantastic woman. She's a terrible mother but if Sadie is as smart and charismatic as her, that'll do her good.

      - You must've really loved her. - she pulled her knees towards her chest, laying her chin on top of her kneecaps. - Was she the love of your life?

      - No. - he chuckled, taking another sip of whiskey before turning to look at her. - You're young, you'll have a lot of nice, stupid loves but it doesn't mean it's the one.

      - You, James Buchanan Barnes, believe in the idea of the one?

      - My parents have a great marriage even though my mother faints at the mere mention of anything less than decent. He really loves her you know? They have these stupid renewal vow ceremonies ever 15 years and they still look like kids in love.

      - That's really sweet.

      - What about your parents?

      - My parents? Well, let me think. My dad he's from Brooklyn and he met my mum on a field trip to Hartford, she's the one from Hartford. They wrote to each other every day like crazy, apparently my grandfather told my father off for spending all his pocket money on stamps. Eventually they met up, slept together and got pregnant with me. Dad got a job at a company downtown of Hartford and my mum worked at a beauty counter and honestly I'm surprised I have no brothers.

      - Your parents didn't go to college?

      - No. - she giggled. - My mum got pregnant at 18 and my dad, well, he never really liked school.

      - You really are one of a kind, Y/N.

      - There's a thousands of me. You probably slept with a few.

      - You just had to jab me there, hadn't you? - he threw his arm over her shoulder. - I'll have you know that you are not my type.

      - Uhm, my boobs too small?

      - What? - he blushed before looking at her chest and noticing her was looking at her chest. - No. They're fine. Stupid question.

      - You're the one who said I'm not your type.

      - You're uptight.

      - I am not uptight.

      - You, Y/N, are the most uptight person I have ever met. It's not an insult, you're probably second on the uptight list followed by me.

      - Sounds like an insult.

      - C'mon, Y/N, when was the last time you did something you didn't consider at least fifty five times?

      - Christopher.

      - Oh yeah, I'd forgotten about him but he doesn't count. Christopher is safe.

In a way, maybe. Christopher was a safe option even if he wasn't an option anymore. He was the exact kind of guy you would bring home, stable enough that no big surprises would come from him. He was perfectly fine for someone, just not for her. Yet, Bucky was right, very much right about Christopher being safe.

      - You think I'm a mouse.

      - No, no. - Bucky rose his hands in defense. - I don't think you're a mouse. I'm just saying you play it safe.

      - I'm a mouse.

      - What's the problem with playing it safe?

      - Well, I have what 3 years left of my twenties. I don't think I should be playing it safe. Did you play it safe when you were twenty?

      - Don't use me as an example. I was a fuck up when I was in my twenties, heck, even in my early thirties.

      - You turned out fine.

      - So did you. - he moved closer to her. - You are great the way you are, Y/N. I don't know why you think you're not.

Y/N turned around to face him, he was close. She could feel his warm breathe on her exposed elbow and could see his face so close, she could make up the light freckles that were dotted all over his face and the pattern his facial hair grew. He was gorgeous.

      - You like me, right?

      - I wouldn't have hired you if I didn't. - he brushed a stray strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers brushing down her jaw. - Even if you are argumentative.

      - That's not what I meant. - she looked away from him, sitting up straight against the couch. - You said you liked me just the way I am. What did you mean?

      - I meant I like you the way you are. It's pretty self explanatory.

      - You're not funny.

      - Well, Y/N, I like you. I like the way you argue with me, how when you're upset you scrunch your face like you're about to explode but it just looks cute, how your glasses always fall to the tip of your nose when you're studying, how you play around with Sadie like she's your own. I like you.

      - You like me?

      - I love you.

taglist: @talesofadragon @themermaidscales82 @winters1917 @vladsgirlxx @stinkerbelle007 @maybefoxysouls @blackwood-bodecker-housewife @chipilerendi @kandis-mom @belennasif @abitofblues @fedeffy

[thetempleofthemasaigoddess]

Love is a killer that never dies (part 1)

Dracule Mihawk x reader. NSFW!! Discussion of dub-con.

This fic is part of the Beast in Black series.

This is part one of four. Kuraigana Island is Mihawk's home in the manga/anime.

Shanks being in a relationship with his crew's doctor is an allusion to this headcanon list and then to this fic, even though they take place in a different continuity.

*****

Dracule Mihawk was in a conundrum. 

That was more than a little unusual for him, since as a rule there was very little that had the power to actually catch his interest, and when that happened he was inevitably powerful, well-connected and, on occasion, intimidating enough to get what he wanted without too much hassle. Most of the time he was content, even happy with his life, and with what he owned, and he rarely found himself wanting for more.

Well, it appeared life still had the power to surprise him, because at his age, after years in which no opponent had been able to seriously trouble him and he had grown bored with his occupation as one of the Seven Warlords, he suddenly found himself highly interested in a certain matter, something he deeply desired, that he craved, even that he physically needed, and that at least for the time being was not only outside his reach, but Mihawk had not the faintest idea of how to make it his.

Well. He said something, and it, but somebody, and she, would have been more appropriate; a she who had a lovely smile, and very pretty hair, and a particular way of walking that made her hips and backside sway in such an enticing way…

“What are you thinking about?” (name) asked, looking curiously at Mihawk and unknowingly distracting him from thoughts that not only concerned her, but she had a protagonist role in “I’m sorry, I’m boring you…”

“Not at all.” he rushed to reassure her, forcing himself to swallow and act normally; he had not made a fool of himself in front of a lady when he was a hormone-prone teenager and surely he would not start now that he was decades older “I just… got distracted. I’m very impressed by all of this; you and your mother must be very proud of yourselves.”

It was the third day of his permanence on (name)’s island, and the woman had brought him to visit the site of her newest project: a museum, which was going to be inaugurated soon in a large building that had previously housed the island’s chamber of commerce. Once the organisation had moved to a new headquarter, closer to the centre of the city, (name) and her mother had decided to repurpose the old location, destining it to the preservation and display of works of arts and other culturally significant pieces. 

“There are excellent schools on the island, and libraries, and even an astronomical observatory.” (name) explained as they crossed one of the still half-furnished rooms, that according to the panel hanging out of the door was destined to house archaeological artefacts “But no museums. I got the idea reading about the inauguration of an art gallery on the paper; I have visited quite a few, as well as botanical gardens and other institutions, when on holiday with my parents as a girl or on my own; but not everyone here can travel freely as I can, and I want my people, especially children, to learn to appreciate art, and that learning doesn’t necessarily happens inside a classroom.”

Mihawk nodded; he admired how dedicated his friend was to the well-being of her island, and of the people she would one day rule over. “What about the collections? How did you acquire the pieces to fill all these rooms?”

“Well, the art section will mainly house paintings owned by my family; they will look better here than in rooms that no one but me and my mother have visited in years. Some others have been donated, or lent, by larger institutions my mother has written to; and a few… well, my latest two bounties were particularly high, and after I bought a new dress there was more than enough for a few antiquities.” she answered proudly “I can’t wait for this place to open, I was thinking about inviting the lords and ladies of a few other feuds to the inauguration…”

The two spent a while walking around; they were alone, the construction workers having left an hour before. Mihawk did his best not to look uninterested in the project the woman next to him clearly cared so much about, but as he listened to her talk, and saw her proud smile as (name) described the way the artefacts would be arranged in the various rooms, and how she had invited the kingdom’s leading archaeologist to attend the museum’s inauguration, all he could think about was how pleasant would it be to take advantage of that solitude to press her back against one of the building’s unpainted walls, rest his hands on her deliciously feminine hips, and kiss her long and hard enough to leave both of them breathless. She would taste heavenly, he was sure of it, but what he wanted the most, what he would give half of his blood to experience just once, was to hear her say his name in the throes of passion, their bodies pressed against each other, his mouth avidly swallowing her moans as her lovely hands, that Mihawk had seen delicately holding a fork or a pen, and then confidently clench around the butt of a gun, caressing and stimulating his skin under his clothes.

“M-Mihawk… don’t stop… oh, Mihawk, I want you so much…”

Gods. He could get hard just by thinking about it; what was happening to him? How could he manage his urges… and, more importantly, the feelings that had aroused them? 

“I’m sorry if all this feels dull to you.” (name) said later as they, sitting in the small but elegant horse-drawn carriage, looked at the people and building of the city pass in front of them on the way to the fortress; Mihawk saw many passers-by respectfully bow their heads at the vehicle’s passage, no doubt imagining who was riding inside “I love my island, but there is not much to do, especially for a guest who is used to a more… active lifestyle; also, I have so little time…”

Mihawk smiled - briefly, and only for a moment, but sincerely. “You have nothing to apologise for; I don’t need to be entertained every waking moment, and I understand you have duties to attend to.”

(name) smiled, relieved and almost shy; Mihawk saw her bit her lip -her lovely, rouge-tinted lips, that he recently had found himself dreaming of more than once- and briefly move the hand resting on her lap, apparently without a reason… or maybe, Mihawk allowed himself to believe for a moment, to touch his, only a few inches away. 

“Still, you are my personal guest; it is my duty to make sure you are well looked after, and do not regret accepting my invitation.”

“You don’t need to fear in that regard; you are an excellent host.” he reassured her. “I am actually enjoying my stay more than I expected.”

“I’m very happy to hear you say so.”

The two of them spent the rest of the ride home in a comfortable silence, simply enjoying each other’s presence as they always did - with each other, and few other people besides. When the carriage stopped in front of the fortress’s main gate, Mihawk allowed a servant in livery to open the door, stepped out and then offered his hand to (name) to help her descend, receiving another smile as a reward. Gods, her smile, he thought; that alone could be enough to make his self-control crumble.

“Thank you, kind sir.”

“It was my pleasure, my lady.”

They were about to walk inside when the servant cleared his voice. “Apologies, my lady, but the lady Veressa asked me to inform you that lord Theon has honoured us with a visit.”

Looking at (name), Mihawk thought the woman didn’t seem to feel particularly honoured; rather, she had the face of someone who had been told they would never celebrate their birthday again. “You mean today? Now?” she asked “He was supposed to come for my mother’s birthday, next month.”

“Yes, my lady; he arrived less than an hour ago. He is in the banquet hall with your mother.”

“Alone? I mean, are his wife and son with him?”

“No, my lady. He came alone.”

(name) frowned. “Which means he could want to stay a while. Just what I need.” she muttered, clearly unhappy; realising she had actually uttered those words instead of simply thinking them, she rushed to dismiss the servant, who bowed low and left.

“I gather this guest is not of your liking.” 

“He really isn’t. He… well, Theon is my cousin. If unpleasantness were a sport, he would be a world champion, but since he is one of my closest relatives besides my mother I can’t always avoid him. He has the unspoken right to come visit whenever he pleases, a privilege he makes large use of with the sole purpose of vexing me, even though he doesn’t enjoy my company any more than I enjoy his.”

 “Why has he come visiting, then?” Mihawk wondered; he thought the question harmless, but he saw the woman in front of him frown, the good mood of the afternoon spent together disappearing like snow at the coming of spring.

“Well… you remember I told you I can’t have children?” she said in the end, not even attempting to hide how painful it was for her to discuss that topic. It had been unintentional, but Mihawk mentally kicked himself for leading their conversation towards such a difficult topic.

“Of course.”

“Theon is not simply a close relative of mine… he is the closest, obviously after my mother, which technically makes him my heir. He’s two years older than me, which means he’s probably not going to enjoy being the lord long, but five years ago he had a son, and since I was still unmarried and childless, he formally asked my mother to exclude me from the line of succession, naming him her heir. My mother obviously refused, which only helped exacerbating Theon’s resentment against us both.”

Mihawk tensed. “You think he could attempt to depose her? Or hurt one of the two?” he inquired, and (name) actually considered his hypothesis for a moment before shaking her head.

“Theon is an idiot, but he’s not a fool; he knows the people of this island would never accept him if he took power by force.” she reasoned “He only wants to check whether my mother is in good health, clearly hoping she is not… and if I have a partner who could get me pregnant, since we have kept the fact that I am now infertile secret. He’s becoming more insufferable every passing year…”

She looked decidedly unhappy, an unusual circumstance for a normally self-assured woman, her eyes downcast as her hand almost unconsciously brushed against her stomach - against her womb, that would never grow heavy with a child. 

For a moment, Mihawk seriously considered offering to tell (name)’s cousin she did have a partner - him, a powerful and menacing pirate with a six foot four sword hanging from his back, who would have no qualms defending her from any unpleasant comment or insinuation; the woman could take care of and stand up for herself, but she might be forced to be polite to her cousin, while he would happily introduce the fool to Yoru’s cutting side to save her the torment. 

“I’ll have to ask him to dine with us.” (name) muttered as they both set off towards the inside of the fortress “I’m so sorry, Mihawk.”

“I don’t mind.” he lied “To be honest, I can’t wait to meet your cousin.”   

His desire was fulfilled only a few minutes later when, crossing the banquet hall to reach their quarters, they met the lady Veressa, deep in conversation with a tall, well-dressed man. The older woman smiled seeing them come in, but her gaze grew tense a moment later; she clearly did not appreciate Theon’s visit any more than her daughter did. 

“Hello, my love; Mihawk. Was your afternoon pleasant?”

“It was, mother, thank you.”

“Good. Look who came to visit us.”

There was a vague resemblance between Theon and his cousin and aunt, Mihawk found, even though the man’s face was devoid of the beauty they had been blessed with; he was tall and broad-shouldered, but a weak chin was visible under his well-kept beard.

“Theon. We were not expecting you.” (name) pointed out without a smile, fake or otherwise.

“I’m returning home from a trip abroad, and I thought I would pay my family a visit before returning home.” Theon explained “Good to see you, (name);”

“And you. How are your wife and child?

At the mention of his family, a touch of sincere affection coloured the man’s voice.

“Very well, thanking all the Gods. My son has just started his classes with a tutor, the man says he has never had a cleverer pupil.” he said, before smiling sweetly at his cousin - the sort of smile one could expect from a snake ready to gape its jaws “And what about you, dear cousin? No man in your life… and no child in your womb?”

“Not for the time being, no.”

“You should hurry. After all you’re no longer a girl, am I wrong? I thought you’d be more interested in the future of your feud… even though I understand it’s not always easy to find the right person, when one is not exactly… well, of course there’s nothing wrong with having high standards…”

(name)’s expression had turned to ice; clearly she was used to her cousin’s subtle cruelty, but Mihawk could see the hurt in her eyes. 

“Did you spend your afternoon working in a construction site?” Theon insisted, before (name) could utter an equally biting answer.

The dress the woman had chosen that day was one Mihawk had seen her wearing more than once; she looked lovely -and oh, how deliciously she filled it, the shape of her body caressed by the fabric- but neither her nor Mihawk had noticed there were traces of plaster dust on her skirt and sleeves, no doubt a residue picked up at the museum’s site.

“Let’s say that is my new hobby. To be honest, I’m quite busy these days; unfortunately not all of us can spend our time hunting in the woods and playing chess.” she answered sweetly, without even attempting to hide or clean the dirt on her dress “Duties of the heir, you will understand. Or maybe not.”

Mihawk felt a smile tug at his lips; meeting the lady Veressa’s eyes, he saw the older woman hide her own amusement behind a hand. Theon, on his part, went red in the face; like all cowards, Mihawk thought, he enjoyed making fun of others, but was unable to defend his own honour when he was the one attacked.

“Theon, I don’t think you’ve ever met our guest.” the lady Veressa intervened, stepping closer to rest a reassuring hand on her daughter’s back “Meet Dracule Mihawk.”

Theon blinked; only then he seemed to notice the presence of the tall, menacing man in black next to his cousin. “Dracule Mihawk? That Dracule Mihawk?” he asked, disbelief evident in his voice “One of the Seven Warlords of the Sea?”

“I am not aware of another man with my name.” Mihawk replied, his tone icy. Theon gulped; both Mihawk and the two women saw him eye the man in front of him, and then the huge black sword hanging from his back.

“What… what are you doing here? Don’t tell me the Marines sent you…”

“I am not here on business; I am (name)’s guest.”

“Mihawk and I have known each other for many years.” the woman interjected, moving in turn marginally closer to the man; Mihawk felt her fingers brush against his “He’s a good friend.”

“R-really? I… had no idea…”

“I admire your cousin’s ability with a gun; I have seen her shooting a man between his eyes from a hundred and twenty feet away. Do you remember, (name)?”

“I most certainly do. It wasn’t a criminal I had been assigned to capture by the Marines.” she replied innocently, her hand now brushing against her faithful derringer, hanging from her waist in its holster “It was just someone who was irritating me and should have minded his own business.”

Theon gulped. He looked at (name) as if he was seeing her for the first time, seriously wondering if the woman would actually shoot him, rules of hospitality and familiar bond be damned; then his gaze moved to Mihawk, and even though he had just met him Theon did not doubt for a second the pirate would happily slice him without a moment of hesitation. 

“W-well, that’s interesting. I hope we’ll have time to talk some more at dinner… now, if you excuse me, I need to… you know…”

He quickly retreated towards the door; (name) almost didn’t wait for him to be out of earshot before laughing. “What an asshole!”

“(name), language.”

“I’m sorry, mother. But Theon really deserved it; one day I’ll use him for target practice!”

The lady Veressa giggled; she smiled gratefully at Mihawk, who silently bowed his head in response, and took her leave.

“Before I forget; your cousin has brought you a gift.” she added before departing, nodding in the direction of a large box placed on a nearby table “I don’t ask you to like it, but you should at least see what it is.”

(name) promised she would; she waited for her mother to leave, then she smiled at Mihawk, and after a moment of hesitation she took both of his hands in hers - a chaste, completely uncompromising contact, that nonetheless filled the swordsman’s heart with a feeling he struggled to find a name for. 

“Thank you.” she murmured “I’m sorry you had to deal with my cousin, but… thank you for supporting me.”

“You seemed perfectly capable of putting him in his place by yourself.”

“I am; I have been practising since I was maybe six. But having you near… made me feel stronger; safer, even. I’m sorry, you’ll think I’m an idiot, a weak woman who needs a man to protect her…”

Mihawk huffed. “I could never consider you weak, (name).” he murmured as he delicately caressed the back of her left hand with his thumb; his heart was pounding, hard enough it almost hurt “Nor could anyone who knows you. You must be one of the strongest people I know.”

Again that shy, grateful smile and Gods, Mihawk was this close to take her in his arms and kiss her senseless. “Well, that is a great compliment, coming from one of the Seven Warlords of the Sea.” she said “Anyway, I’m happy you are here, Mihawk.”

“I’m happy as well. Truly.” Mihawk answered softly. For a whole minute neither of the two moved, or spoke; they both looked down at their clasped hands, and then their eyes met. 

The world stopped turning. 

(name) was the first to look away; Mihawk was almost sure she had blushed. “Well, I should take a look at this gift; I bet Theon has chosen the least tasteful thing he could find.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know… baby clothes, maybe? In the hope you’ll soon need these…”

“If he has done that I swear I’ll carve his heart out with Yoru.” Mihawk promised; Theon didn’t know (name) couldn’t have children, but still he had to have realised how painful the fact that she was yet to give an heir to her feud was for her “And I’ll offer it to you on a silver plate.”

The woman grinned as she left his hands to walk to the small table the box had been placed on. “Now that is a gift I would appreciate… oh. Oh, would you look at this…”

This was the content of the box, that (name) had quickly opened; a vase, its upper lip roughly as wide as a serving dish, from which a single tall flower rose on a long, thin stem, surrounded by a bed of tiny green leaves. The flower was closed, its bright pink petals secured around the central head; Mihawk knew vaguely the process had the purpose to protect the flower at times when pollinating insects were dormant. 

“It is… nice.” (name) almost reluctantly admitted “I mean, I don’t particularly like flowers, but… what’s wrong?” she added, seeing that Mihawk had frowned “What’s so weird about gifting flowers to a woman?”

“Nothing, I assume. It’s just… I think I have seen this flower already.”

“Where?”

“It was an illustration on a book; it was Shanks’, I saw it the last time we met. I can’t remember what it said, but there was something strange about this flower.”

“Is it dangerous?” (name) asked, clearly intrigued “Is it one of those carnivorous plants that eat any creature that comes close to them? Maybe Theon hopes I will keep it on my nightstand, and at night as I sleep the plant will come alive and devour me…”

The flower, still and barely a foot tall, didn’t look particularly threatening, but Mihawk wasn’t convinced; (name) seemed sure her cousin, unpleasant and resentful as he was, would not try to seriously hurt her, but he decided it was better to be safe than sorry. 

As usual, he was wearing the Kogatana on his neck, the deceptively small knife resting against his chest; Mihawk took it out of his sheath. “Stand back.”

“What are you doing? Mihawk, it’s a flower, you don’t seriously think…?”

“Stand back, please.” he insisted, and (name), clearly perplexed, obeyed. Mihawk slowly extended the knife towards the plant; he didn’t dare thinking about how ridiculous he had to look in that moment, pointing his weapon against an opponent whose kind was routinely cut to be made into bouquets and wreaths, but his instinct said he better be on his guard, if only to avoid (name) or the lady Veressa to fall into some kind of danger. If only he could remember what that book had to say about this flower…

Nothing happened as Mihawk let the blade of the Kogatana slowly approach the flower; then, when the tip of the blade was half a foot from it, the small plant seemed to quiver, as if it had perceived the presence of a threat. Slowly, its petals opened, and Mihawk and (name) found themselves staring at what looked like a pale yellow eye, surrounded by pink lashes.

“It’s lovely.” the woman murmured “I can’t believe Theon would gift me something like this…”  

A moment later two things happened in rapid succession, too fast for the two to be able to react. First, the tip of the dagger -tiny, but sharp enough to cut through a person’s body, if handled with sufficient strength- touched the flower head, that trembled again, as if in pain, and then, lighting fast, a shower of pollen erupted out of it, hitting Mihawk in the face.

“What the…?”

“Oh, Gods!” (name) cried; she quickly retrieved a handkerchief from her pocket, and used it to clean the grains from the swordsman’s face “Mihawk, I’m so sorry… are you alright?”

He thought about it for a moment, gently taking the handkerchief from her hand to clean himself; the smell of the pollen was too intense for his liking, unpleasant after he had breathed some of it, but the sensation was not painful… even if it did make him sneeze. 

“I’m fine.” he reassured her in the end “That had to be the flower’s defence strategy, a way to ward off predators. Curious…”

(name) frowned. “Clearly this is what Theon wanted; to pull a stupid prank on me, like that time when he was fourteen that he hid a lizard in my jewel case to scare me. He clearly hasn’t matured since then… I’m sorry you got involved…”

“No harm done, truly.”

A moment of embarrassment passed through them; Mihawk felt his fingers touch (name)’s as he returned the handkerchief to her. “Maybe your cousin should remember that, just like this flower, you also know how to defend yourself when someone threatens you.” he said, more gently than most people had ever heard him talk.

“Yes; maybe he should…”

A moment later, a valet entered, to announce (name) was expected at an audience she had granted to a few members of the court; the woman sighed, clearly unhappy she had to leave.

“I’ll see you at dinner, alright?” she asked Mihawk “Thank you for being with me today, I spent a lovely afternoon.”

“As I said, you are an excellent hostess.”

“Such a flatterer…!”

She smiled at him, now neither shy nor embarrassed, before leaving, stopping just to tell the valet to make sure her guest was well looked after in her absence; Mihawk couldn’t help following the movement of her hips, the delicate fabric of her skirt hugging her curves, as the woman walked away.

The valet bowed. “Is there anything I can do for you, sir?” he asked; a moment of reflection, and Mihawk shook his head in response.

“No.” he answered softly, more to himself than to the man in livery in front of him “I have everything I need already.”

*

Mihawk’s feelings for (name) had succeeded in what no opponent had been able to do in his life since he was maybe seventeen: they had snuck up on him, slowly growing in his heart unnoticed, and then revealing themselves once they had been too intense for the swordsman to be able to deny or suppress them.

The realisation had caught him off guard, since he had never given too much thought to love and feelings in general; he had never had a serious relationship in his life, and since he had reached adulthood the occasional night spent with a woman whose name he promptly forgot -or never cared to learn- had been enough to satisfy his needs. It wasn’t that he didn’t like women, because he did; he simply had never found one interesting enough to attract his attention for more than a few hours spent in an inn room.

In hindsight, he should have imagined (name) would be the one to break down his defences, if only because she had no idea she had done so, nor had she even tried to endear herself to him beyond mere friendship.

But she had. Gods, she had, and for months now Mihawk had felt his heartbeat accelerate every time (name) smiled at him. There hadn’t been a specific moment his feelings had grown beyond the pleasant, firm and deep friendship he and the woman had built in so many years to indisputably, irrevocably fall in the realm of romanticism. It had simply happened that one morning Mihawk had woken up in his bedroom at home on Kuraigana Island, and instead of getting out of it to quickly begin his day as he usually did, he had lingered for a while, looking at the other half of the double mattress and thinking how lovely, how right, it would have been if (name) had been there, sleeping soundly with her hair spread on the pillow or already awake, about to smile at him and wish him good morning with a kiss. That had been enough to make him realise he was lost already, completely and utterly enamoured, and for the first time in his life he didn’t know what to do.

While he hadn’t expected his feelings for her to change, Mihawk wasn’t surprised (name) had been the one his heart had turned to. They had been good friends -she was maybe the only one he had apart from Shanks, which was two friends beyond what Mihawk expected to have or felt the need for- for so long, and the swordsman sincerely respected her: (name) was clever, strong-willed, determined in pursuing her goals and didn’t let anyone doubt or demean her on account of her gender or origins. She could have lived a tranquil, privileged life on her island, far from danger and surrounded by the comforts she was entitled to as the lady’s daughter; instead, she had spent her youth learning to shoot, first taught by her grandfather and later on her own, and then she had become a mercenary and bounty-hunter -and an exceptionally capable one at that- spending her time tracking down pirates and other criminals to bring back to the Marines. Most of the berry she earned with the bounties were spent for the good of her home and people; she didn’t do it for the money, rather to prove how capable and resilient she was and could be, not only a noblewoman destined to rule over a small but wealthy feud, but a capable markswoman no one could afford to underestimate or challenge lightly. Mihawk admired her for that; he respected her intelligence, the quiet strength anyone who met her couldn’t help perceiving, and the way she had to fight for what she believed in and considered important, be it refusing to back off in an argument or pointing the barrel of her derringer against the temple of a killer and telling them to plan their first move carefully if they didn’t want to end up with a bullet in their head. 

And she was beautiful. He had thought that since their first meeting, how could he have not? (name) was simply gorgeous, even not considering the practical elegance she dressed with, the comfortable but refined dresses she liked to wear that only accentuated her natural charm, even though Mihawk was sure he would find her enchanting whatever she wore - or didn’t wear. He wasn’t the only one to find her good-looking; while (name) had confided him she felt completely incapable of flirting or making romantic advances, many victims had fallen prey to her captivating smile, not imagining that the pretty woman who looked so interested in what they had to say was already clenching the butt of a gun under the table, and Mihawk had once heard Garp mention that in the years of her collaboration with the Marines at least two officers had -unsuccessfully- asked her out. 

Yes, he had always thought she was attractive, but since he had become aware of his own feelings for her, Mihawk found he couldn’t stop looking at (name), and that his appreciation no longer stopped at the beauty of her smile or her elegance, but had started drifting towards other parts of her body. The morbid curve of her chest under her corset, the way her hips swayed while she walked, and the way her shapely -he had no way to know for sure, but he was sure they were; they had to be harmonious and well-proportioned, nothing that was part of her couldn’t not be- legs peeked out from under her skirt when a gust of wind lifted it… She was just so lovely, so exquisite in her natural sensuality, and every simple touch between them, even just his hand holding hers when he helped her dismount from the carriage, was enough to give him palpitations.

He couldn’t take it anymore; that situation was driving him crazy, worst of all because (name) had no idea of the effect she had on him. The fact that the woman had invited him on her island for a few days -or more, if you want; you can stay as long as you wish, you know I like having you here- had pleased Mihawk immensely, since it meant spending plenty of time with her, alone, but keeping his emotions in check in her presence got harder by the hour. (name) had already asked him if he was alright twice, which meant she had noticed his behaviour was somehow odd or unnatural; if he didn’t do something soon, Mihawk reflected, he would end up making a fool of himself, a problem for which he could see only one solution…

He had to declare his feelings for (name); he had to confess how much he cared for her, how special and beautiful and precious he thought she was. He had to tell her he was in love with her, that there was not a moment in which she was not in his thoughts, and in his heart, and that while he had always felt content and satisfied alone, with few people he tolerated and even fewer that he enjoyed spending time with, he had come to wish she would share her days, perhaps even her life, with him, an exclusive bond made of loyalty and affection and respect and yes, pleasure as well. He could make her happy, Mihawk was sure of it, and if he were lucky enough to discover his feelings were reciprocated, he would make sure the woman forgot any other man she had ever met or been with.

The problem was, he had no idea whether (name) cared for him like he did for her, and in that case, if she would actually be interested in a relationship. She was clearly fond of him, and enjoyed their time spent together, but that didn’t necessarily mean she could see him as a potential partner - as a lover. Like Mihawk the woman mostly kept to herself, at least while on the island, mainly to maintain her good name and avoid gossip about her love life, and occasionally took a lover while away on vacation or travelling around for her mercenary assignments, relationships she invariably abandoned after a few days at most. The arrangement seemed to suit her just fine; who knew if she would be interested in something else, in a more committed relationship? Maybe she was, just not with him, because she did only see him as a friend and wasn’t attracted to him at all…

Also, there were (name)’s duties towards her feud and people to consider. The lady Veressa was in excellent health, but sooner or later she would have to take her place as lady of the island, which would mean abandoning her activity as a mercenary and remain at the fortress to take care of her people and land. Children were regrettably something she didn’t have to worry about, but who knew if she would approve of him as her consort? (name) was not the sort of woman who judged people on their origins and he knew she valued his intelligence and strength of character, but perhaps she wanted someone different to share her responsibilities, someone who was born on the same island as her or at least who knew what it meant caring for a family of more than a thousand people. Mihawk himself wasn’t sure he could see himself in that role, given his intense preference for solitude and relative disinterest for what happened for most other people. 

Maybe they, or at least their inclinations and ambitions in life, were too different for him and (name) to be compatible as a couple; maybe the woman was not, and would never be, attracted to him. Simply considering that hypothesis was painful, especially because Mihawk knew finding out they wanted different things from their rapport would most likely mean the end of their friendship.

Nonetheless, he couldn’t remain silent; his feelings were too intense, too encompassing, too deep and real to keep them secret. He was already happy with (name) in his life, but what he really wanted, what he craved, was to have her by his side, to share his feelings with her as well as his thoughts and his time; he wanted to know no other man existed for her, because no other woman could ever exist for him. Perhaps his friend expected he would confess his feelings first, as was tradition for men to do, perhaps she had simply never thought about him as a potential partner and lover; that was fine, and he was confident he could change her mind. All he needed was a chance, just one, to show her how happy he could make her, how much pleasure and joy and empathy they could create and feel together…

*

Mihawk sighed as he closed the door behind him and contemplated the spacious chamber he had slept in for the last two nights. The bedroom his host had had prepared for him was almost as large as the one he slept in at his home, elegant and comfortable, with a lovely view of the city’s harbour out of the thickly curtained window; Mihawk had even heard a servant mention that (name) had requested the furniture moved to better suit his tastes, a consideration that had flattered the swordsman - even though he could not avoid thinking how even more pleasant it would have been to share that ridiculously large bed -but the mattress was firm, just like he liked it; he wondered if his friend had thought about that as well- with her, or to sleep in hers.

Nevertheless, not even the simple opulence of his apartment could comfort Mihawk at the moment; he had made a fool of himself in front of (name) with that stupid flower, and while she wasn’t the sort of person who would make fun of him, he could have taken advantage of that moment of intimacy after her mother had left to tell her about his feelings. He hadn’t thought about that -something he felt he would reproach himself for a long time- and this was already the third day of his sojourn on the island; even though (name) had told him he was welcome to stay for as long as he wanted, he had decided he would confess his feelings for her before leaving, and the time at his disposal was starting to run short.

But how? Could he start by asking her if there was someone important in her life, or if she ever thought about settling down with a partner who would one day help her rule over her island? Or was it better to invite her for a walk, make sure they were alone, and tell her he couldn’t stop thinking about her and he would give half of his blood just to know she cared for him as well? Or perhaps the right thing to do was to knock at her door at night, pick her up to carry her to her bed, and prove (name) beyond any reasonable doubt she was his already and he was his as he made her scream his name…?

He had no idea. Still a reasonably young man, Mihawk had done and seen more in his life than many people could even dream, but this was completely new for him - a veritable leap in the dark, and while the word fear simply didn’t exist in his vocabulary, he had to admit he felt… anxious at the prospect of discovering whether (name) shared his feelings or not, a mix of trepidation and worry he had never felt before…

A small but elegant desk was positioned in front of the window, with a set of writing instruments neatly placed on the wooden surface in the event the lady’s guest wanted to pass a message or leave a request for the servants. Looking at the small stack of white sheets, Mihawk felt more foolish than ever; writing a love letter was something shy boys did, which he was not, or men whose ladylove was physically distant from them, while his slept no more than a dozen paces from him. Furthermore, (name) deserved better than that; she deserved a declaration she would remember for the rest of her life, a confession that made her feel as special, precious and splendid as he thought she was, and he would give it to her; he would give her everything she needed and wanted, and the only thing he wanted in return was her heart.

He felt strangely tired all of a sudden, but not exactly the way he did at the end of a long training session; rather, it was a weird, uncomfortable drowsiness that had fallen on him like a wet blanket, making it hard for the swordsman to focus. Was he coming down with a fever? He had no reason to believe that, but he was sure he would feel better after he had rested for a while; he had plenty of time before dinner… but there was something else he wanted to do first.

Mihawk was sincerely glad no one could see him as he retrieved three sheets of paper and a pen from the desk and brought them to the bed, together with a book to use as a support. He would not confess his feelings to the woman he loved in writing, but perhaps it could help him to decide how to… address the issue.

My darling (name)

(name), there is something important I need to

Since the day I met you, I have known you were special

I’ve never felt anything like what I feel for you

Mihawk sighed; all those words, and the feelings they described, corresponded to the truth, but at the same time they felt reductive, because not even the greatest poet in the world could describe the depth and intensity of his love for (name); he sighed, partly discouraged but still determined to find the right words.

I love you. I have loved you for a long time, and if you gave me a chance to

I dream to hold you in my arms and kiss you until we both can’t breathe

I want to worship your beautiful body and to make you scream my name

I need to fuck you senseless and feel your wet pussy clench around me

Mihawk blinked, staring uncomprehendingly at the piece of paper in front of him - specifically, at the last lines written in the elegant cursive his older sister had taught him to write in, a lifetime ago. Yes, that was without a doubt his calligraphy, and the pen was still in his hand, but he couldn’t believe he had actually written those words. Embarrassed, irrationally fearing (name) could somehow find and read them, he looked at the empty fireplace in the room and tore the sheet of paper into tiny pieces, making it impossible for anyone to read his incriminating desires.

What in the world was he thinking? Yes, he was attracted to (name) and he had fantasised about them together -what man worthy of the name wouldn’t? How could he look at her, at the shape of her beautiful body under her dress and not wish he could ravish her, feel her writhe under his body and stimulate her with his mouth?- but this was not how he wanted her to know! Mihawk was in love with her, a much deeper and more lasting feeling than a passing infatuation or the simple impulse to find relief between her legs; sensible and mature as she was, (name) was not the sort of woman who would faint or react running away if a man propositioned her, and he did plan on showing her how irresistibly arousing he found her body. But to convince her of his feelings, and that they could be happy together, was Mihawk’s first and foremost goal.

And he would accomplish it soon. But first he did need to rest for a while, the swordsman reflected as he rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand. Despite the pleasant breeze coming in through the open window he felt uncomfortably hot, his head swimming to the point the furniture of the room appeared blurred to his eyes; all of a sudden he felt as if he had been awake for five days.

I’ll tell her soon. Today, if I can; but not now. Now, I have to sleep.

He left Yoru propped against the wall, and the Kogatana on the table next to the paper and pens; he quickly got rid of his coat and boots, for once not caring where he left them.  Mihawk sighed as his head fell into the pillow - not too soft just like he liked it; he heard the birds sing on the branches of the trees in the garden.

He fell asleep with her name on his lips.

[bitchinbarzal]

Forever my girl | Jamie Drysdale: two

summary: jamie meets billie

-

Jamie was staying in a hotel, knowing he wasn’t welcome back at his parents house especially not by Charlie.

He got breakfast down at the cafe, still owned by the old couple just like when he was a kid.

“What can get- well as I live and breathe Jamie Drysdale is that you?” Lola, cooed and Jamie smiled

“It’s me Lo”

“Hank come out here! Our Jamie’s home!”

The couple stand fawning over him “do you guys know where I’ll find y/n?”

Lola’s face softened “The flower shop”

He thanked them both, paying for his food and headed out. Hank picked up his cheque, $200 stuffed in the book.

“That boy… let it all get to his head”

Standing outside the flower shop, Jamie looked up at the sign that now read SWEETPEA’S FLOWERS

Through the window he could see you talking to a customer, pointing to the various arrangements on the countertop.

He waited until the shop was empty before he headed inside, your back was turned to him.

“That was some slap you gave me yesterday” he mumbled.

You turned with a scowl “That was just a warning shot”

His eyerow raised “Oh really?” He has an amused grin on his face.

Your back is facing him once again “uh huh”

Jamie stands, taking in his surroundings “So this is where you work now, eh?”

You slam down a bunch of daises rather aggressively “I own it”

“Bought it after Mrs Richards died five years ago”

Jamie’s eyebrows furrowed “Oh”

You stop what you’re doing and look at him, tired “Yes Jamie, I actually did something with my life after you walked out on me and a lot has changed round here since you left, my mama passed did you know that?”

His heart drops, your mom had always supported Jamie since he was little.

“No… no I’m so sorry I didn’t know”

You laugh, almost mocking him “Have you noticed that since you’ve been gone, Jamie that nobody here has ever spoken to any of those tabloids or the media about you and your life here… about what you did?”

He anxiously scratches the back of his neck “yeah because I left you”

It’s not like he hadn’t thought about it since he left.

You chuckle “No, you left us all that day Jamie… nobody’s spoken about what you did that day because here in Hope we’ve got each others back and I’m not sure you belong here anymore”

“y/n-“

“Just leave Jamie, don’t you have some big city model to get back to in California?”

He decided not to push you, not after the slap you gave him yesterday so he turned to leave.

“Hi mama!” Billie shouted as she pushed open the door to the shop, Josie and her boys following close behind.

In a rush, you push past Jamie and down to Billie’s level “Hi Sweetpea! How was school?”

“Meh same old, same old” she shrugged to which both you and Jamie chuckle. She was so mature for her age.

“Jamie” Josie growled, her baby boy on her hip.

Jamie nodded at her “Josie”

You noticed Billie becoming aware of the tension “Hey, so aunt josie is gonna take you all to get cupcakes from Lola’s ok? My treat”

She smiles “but only a little bit I don’t wanna ruin dinner, my grandma and poppy are coming over”

Then she looks at Jamie “Hey, I know you! You’re that hockey player my mama watches on the television my grandma has pictures of you in her house”

Jamie smiles softly “I’m Jamie”

Billie holds her hand out “I’m Billie”

You watch Jamie’s face falter “Billie?”

“Uh huh”

Jamie then looks at you “wow… that’s a, really pretty name”

You interrupt “Okay sweet pea time to-“ 

“Hold up a second” Jamie stops you, standing infront of Billie “How old are you, Billie?”

You see her curl into herself, anxiety prevalent

“I’m not very tall for my age but my poppy says I’ll grow… I’m six”

Jamie’s eyes widened “Six, eh?”

“Okay! Time to go!” Josie announces, wrangling the kids out the door.

Billie heads out, stopping to wave “Bye mama! Bye Jamie!”

“Bye Sweetpea!” You shout through the tears forming in your eyes.

You stand, still looking out the door as your babygirl walks away. You don’t want to look at him.

“Six, eh?”

You sigh, pinching your head “I think we should talk”

hi jamie, it’s me again.

I think this is the last time I’m calling. I can’t keep doing this. I watched your debut, I’m really proud of you but I need you to call me back… please jamie you want to hear what I’ve got to say.

[twosides--samecoin]

Plz I’m begging, can you give me an enlightenment of what a modern Maccready would wear. I’m dying to style him modernly and have no clue what he’d wear 🙂‍↕️

Hey gamer, thanks for the ask!

RJ grew up in Little Lamplight. The real life version is Luray Caverns, nestled 75 miles away from DC and protected by Shenandoah State Park and George Washington National Forest. I grew up in a town with a teen pregnancy problem where people wore RealTree Camo to prom. I now live a couple hours from Luray, so I feel Modern RJ is someone who I could have gone to high school with.

He grew up country as fuck - there's not an ounce of city slicker in RJ. All the street smarts he has is because he was observant enough to earn them. When he says he's from DC, it's because he knows it's the closest city he grew up near that anyone in Boston's gonna recognize. His fashion can't be bought in Georgetown or the Prudential Center, unless the trend of the day is blue collar chic being sold to the rich.

Modern RJ was the kind of country kid who's teenage uniform was a green flannel and a Master of Puppets Metallica shirt. He was the kind of scrawny where he was 130 pounds soaking wet and 2% body fat and wore the same blue jeans from ages 14 through 17. His second fave shirt featured Iron Maiden's Live After Death.

He cherished them; like many country kids who feel a bit different from their peers, he clung to his band shirts. You wouldn't catch him dead in Carhartt and RealTree unless he literally died while hunting. Not that he wasn't proud of his friends, or ashamed of where he was from - he just dreamed of getting out. Band shirts represented something bigger, a Great Beyond; a world he wanted to travel, a life he was priced out of living as an orphan from Virginia.

Buying clothes is not something RJ enjoys - he's a single dad and feels a level of guilt attached with spending money on himself, knowing how much grocery money would be wasted on a leather jacket and pair of jeans (speaking of groceries, RJ has a family of three to feed - Duncan insisted they keep that damn German Shepherd who followed RJ home from his mechanic shift at the Red Rocket). He's still driving the same red rusted-to-fuck '96 Chevy Silverado that he kissed Lucy in for the first time, the same one that drove them out of Virginia. Maintains it himself since he can get the parts at cost.

Though he's frugal, Modern RJ is picky about his fashion. His closet isn't one that features abundance. His clothing is utilitarian; earth tones in a range of faded browns and greens, duck canvas, twill denims with no stretch. A heavy mechanic jumpsuit for work. The coolest colours he wears are grey thermal shirts and a blue shearling jacket when in colder weather. There's an olive green jacket he likes in the springtime. He prefers a tough, protective pair of leather boots for everyday footwear. For casual shoes; given the choice between Chuck Taylors and Vans, he'd wear whichever was on sale, but preferably the Chucks.

He has a few long sleeve button-downs out of an eye-rolling necessity for job interviews. He hates wearing ties and has never owned a suit. Before she died, Lucy gifted him a brown shearling leather jacket to wear on his motorcycle.

He's most comfortable wearing his old green flannel and band shirts. Otherwise, he can be found wearing a white t-shirt and blue Levi's every now and then - Lucy always liked Bruce Springsteen.

When you grow up can't-rub-two-pennies-together poor, it means you appreciate the material things in a different kind of way. RJ's clothing is all about emotional comfort and memories; he's afraid to let go.

I loved writing this! Thanks for sending me the ask, anon! The people demand my RJ brainrot and I aim to please <3 Thanks again & have a great day :)

BONUS: An outfit mod I am working on for RJ!

[deansapplepie]

Inherited | Chapter 1

Summary: You go back home after a long time being far away, unfortunately you’re back for your dad’s funeral. In the middle of the grieving, you re-encounter old friends and also needs to deal with unsolved things from the past.

Warnings: death, mentions of horse accident (not very detailed, but detailed enough for you to imagine), funeral, mentions of corpse, grieving, kinda angsty.

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x f! Reader

Word count: 3,241

A/N: English isn’t my first language so it can have mistakes. Also, I have no knowledge about funerals in USA, so this is basically based on what I see on the movies and what I know from my own culture.

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Chapter 2

Chapter 1: Way back home

Of the reasons you’d come back to the only place you called home, you didn’t expect this to be the one. It was 2 am when you received a call from your dad’s best friend, Hershel, your father was involved in an accident with a new horse. Apparently, he fell from it, hit his head and was trampled by the horse. Daryl Dixon worked for your father and was the one that aided him at the time, unfortunately it wasn’t enough. He was too injured and died that night in the hospital.

You took the first flight back home in Georgia and now you were in the passenger seat of your best friend’s car. You observed the road, the trees and fences passing, you loved these lands and you’d ha e done everything for life have allowed you to be more time here, to be with your dad… You never imagined you’d not be there when he died, not that you imagined he dying a lot, but you expected him to die of age and for you to be the one taking care of him during his last days. A tear fell from your eye descending your cheek and you simply wiped it away.

“It’s ok to cry, you know?” Maggie said from the driver sit, she didn’t understand why you were trying to put the tough act, and it worried her. “We’re talking ‘bout your dad.”

“I don’t wanna cry…” you said, partly you felt guilty you were not there for him, the person that was with him during his last moments was a man that wasn’t even his son, and you, his daughter were miles away. You felt you didn’t have the right to shed tears for your daddy, even though you had already cried a river when you received the news, on the way to the airport , at the airport, in the plane…

It wasn’t your fault all this distance from your father, the only guilt was life, you guessed. Your parents divorced when you were eight, and your guardianship stayed with your mom. There would have no problem, if she stayed around town or bought a house near his farm, but she didn’t. She wanted a new life, and you couldn’t blame her… well, not now… at the time you didn’t understand it very well.

You moved to New York with your mother, a too big city for your standards. You were used to a small city where you knew everyone and everyone knew you, not the cold big jungle that NY was. It was very difficult adjusting, you hated school… The other kids made fun of you because of your accent and criticized your clothes that wasn’t the style kids of the big city used. You just wanted to go back to King County and go to school with Maggie and Daryl, they were your best friends and you hated life without them. Many and many times you called your dad, without your mom knowing asking for him to take you home and he always told you “I can’t darling, you need to be with your mom.”, he always told your mom afterwards, because you didn’t tell her all that happened at school afraid she would be upset.

Every Summer you’d come back to the farm and spend the whole summer break with your dad, taking care of the farm, treating the animals and venturing in any crazy adventure Daryl or Maggie came up with, sometimes both of them. It was perfect all those times, until your last summer before college… After that, things didn’t really went as you wanted them to.

Soon you could see the place that was going to be forever home for you, the house in the background, the new barn, the old barn… The cows and horses on the field, you could also see many cars, not too many… but the ones you could see were probably from friends, neighbors and the little family that had already arrived. Soon, Maggie parked close to the house and both of you got off the car. Some people were on the porch and they looked at you with pity. Some gave you judgmental looks, because you were never around in the last years, most of them didn’t know you still talked with your dad everyday, or at least 3 times a week when you were very busy. You took your hand baggage from the back seat and made your way to the house, Maggie by your side.

When you were going to start going up the stairs, there he was coming in your direction… not your direction, he was probably coming for Maggie. Daryl Dixon was still handsome, well this was something that wasn’t probably going to change, his hair was longer than last time you saw him, it was an accident... You and your dad were facetiming, he didn’t know and came to talk to your dad creating a very weird situation. He was all in black, and you had just forgotten, how good he looked in this color. He went straight to Maggie’s embrace, you imagined they probably hadn’t seen each other yet. They hugged pretty tight he said something to her that you couldn’t listen and she was also telling words of comfort to him while she caressed his back.

As soon as they parted from their hug, he looked at you and extended his hand. “I’m sorry for your loss.” He said, it was honest, but in the same time it was very distant.

You took his hand in yours and replied. “I’m sorry for yours too, he loved you like a son.” And you stopped there, unable to say anything else or do anything else. In pain because of your loss, and also, because Daryl and you had messed everything up, and both of you were hurt and didn’t know how to fix it.

Before the uncomfortable silence could get even worse, Gleen, Maggie’s husband, showed up hugging you. You had been to their wedding and they had visited you in NY some times. “I’m so sorry, Y/N..” You hugged him back, grateful for him being there. “Give me your baggage, I’m gonna take it inside.”

“Ask Beth where is Y/N’s room. She’ll show you.” Maggie instructed her husband, and then took your hand. “Let’s come in.”

Along the way people came to give you their condolences, some would hug you, others just give you a handshake… and despite you didn’t really wanting to see anyone, you had to face all those people, because it was your dad’s funeral. First, you’d receive people at your home to see him, tell their goodbyes… The next day, you’d head to the church with him, and the last thing, you’d burry him.

“The funerary brought him just some minutes before ya arrived, he’s in the living room. We thought it would be the best place.” Suddenly Daryl spoke by your side, but he didn’t look at you. He felt like he should give you the information, he could always tell Maggie, but it wouldn’t be very correct of him to ignore you completely during this day.

“Thank you.” You said walking in the direction of the living room. You weren’t prepared to see your dad in a coffin, you’d never be prepared for it, but it was inevitable. When you got to the living room there it was, the coffin with your dad inside, but it was closed. There was some flowers around decorating. “Wh-why is it closed?” you asked.

“I think it’s better this way.” He told you, a hand on top of the coffin just as if he wanted to prevent you from opening it. “When it arrived, I opened and I can assure it’s him.”

“He’s my dad.” You were a little offended, maybe it was your grieving, how could Daryl decide if it stays open or closed, was he like a son to your dad? Yes, but you were his daughter. “You can’t make this decision all by yourself and didn’t let me see him.” Your southern drawl appearing a little, you had forced yourself to mask your accent after some time in NY, but when you were nervous or angry… You couldn’t handle it.

“He was trampled by a horse, his face… they did a make up and all, but it’s still not pleasant. Nobody should see him like this, and I think it’s better if ya don’t.” He said, hand still preventing you from opening it. “If ya don’t believe, ask Hershel, he also saw him. Or open it and see by yerself, I don’t care, I was trying to be nice.”

“Daryl…” Maggie warned, reprehended him.

You got closer to the coffin and put your hands on the top of it. Daryl distanced himself and waited for you to open it, or not. You hesitated for a long time, but opted to not open it, if he wasn’t looking like himself… you’d rather remember of him like he was.

During the day, many people came, but they went very fast too. It was the middle of the afternoon, you were sitting on a couch. Beth was hugging you, you hold one of her hands and your head was on her shoulder. Beth was a sweet girl, she was Maggie’s younger sister and was also like a younger sister to you. You all grew together, you even called Hershel an uncle. You heard a door opening in the distance and two pairs of feet walking in the direction of where you were.

You looked at the door and Daryl appeared followed by Aaron, your friend since university and also the closest friend you had back at NY. Immediately you got up and ran to him, he hugged you tightly and you hugged him back.

“I came as soon as I read your message, you should have called me. I could have come with you. You shouldn’t be alone in a time like this.” He kissed your temple and caressed your cheeks, in the other side of the living room Daryl almost rolled his eyes. ‘Really, be all lovely with this dumbass on her father’s funeral’, he thought. Anyone, that didn’t know Aaron and you well, would think you two were a couple, the way you treated each other, how you interacted… Little did they know Aaron was gay, and actually married with a sweet man called Eric. “Eric is coming as soon as he can, he has some things to solve at his office.”

“Really? I love you.” You said hugging him one more time.

Later that day others came, like Rick, his wife Michonne and a woman named Carol, you knew she moved some years ago to a small cottage with her daughter Sophia, but it wasn’t so long ago and you didn’t know her, but you thought it was sweet that she came to give you her condolences and to say her goodbyes to your dad. With the night approaching people stopped coming, leaving only Daryl, Aaron, a distant cousin from your dad and you at the big house. You had dinner and you showed Aaron a room where he could stay, you told him you where going to rest, but you didn’t want to.

You went downstairs, the house was dark except for the flickering light of the candles from the room where your father was. Your cousin was long gone in his room, he was a distant cousin about the age of your father, so having more age he’d sleep early. Daryl was probably in his room in the basement, he lived there since his teenager years, since last time you knew his brother went to jail and he couldn’t take his father shit anymore. Your father took he in, he already passed most of his time in the farm, working and helping since young age, so why not live there? When he was little he would make just little chores, you father saw the situation of his family and didn’t want him to end up like Merle, so after school he’d always come and do small chores, when you were still around you’d make your homework together and your father would help you.

You sat on the couch in the living room, you were exhausted, but couldn’t dare to sleep. It could be silly, but you didn’t want to let your dad alone. “Daddy, I’m sorry.” You sobbed, even though you were always in touch, it wasn’t the same of having you here with him. “I should have come last Christmas. I’m sorry.” Now, that you were alone, you felt like you could cry and express your emotions, you tried to not cry all day, afraid of people judgment, apparently many people thought you didn’t have the right to be sad or to even be there with your father, they could not tell you that directly, but you could hear parts of their whispers and see it in their eyes.

“Ya should sleep, tomorrow is gonna be a tough day. Too late for apologies, don’t ya think?” Daryl was leaning on the doorway, arms crossed.

“This isn’t a good time to be an ass Dixon.” You looked at him, how could your best friend become someone so unfriendly? “I’m not leaving my dad alone.”

“Hmm… like ya did all those years? Interesting…” why was he being such a dick, he didn’t even respect your dad that was in the coffin next to you.

“You should go to sleep, there’s probably more than 24 hours that you don’t sleep.” He didn’t told you, but you knew him and you knew he wouldn’t rest or sleep until all of this all over.

“I also dun wanna live him alone.” He simply answered.

He walked to the couch and sat in the other extreme from where you were sitting. Silence heavy on the room. You phone beeped and you took It to see that just now your mom had answered your message, the message you sent in the dawn before you left your home to the airport.

Mom: I’m sorry sweetie. I wish I could go, but Phil’s in a business trip and I can’t leave his bird alone.

“Just say you don’t care about your ex’s funeral, it would be more honest than making a lame excuse.” You talked to yourself, forgetting the man sitting besides you.

You didn’t bother answering her. Instead, you decided to make some prayers for your dad, this was the correct thing to do, not to stress about the lack of support from your mom, or Daryl being an asshole in front of your deceased father.

When you woke up, you were laying in the sofa, cushion under your head like pillow and a thin cover over you. You didn’t remember when you fell asleep, and didn’t even remember someone giving you a cushion or a cover. The only person around was Daryl… but no, it couldn’t be him. Could?

You sat on the couch and rubbed your eyes, when you stopped rubbing them you saw Aaron at the door. “I was just going to wake you up. Good morning Sleeping Beauty.” He said coming to you. “Go clean yourself and change your clothes. We need to take breakfast and head to the church.”

“Ok, I’m going… don’t need to boss me around.”

When you got downstairs to have breakfast, they had already took your father to the church. You ate as fast as you could. You had thought about getting your dad old pick up truck to go, but when you and Aaron got outside, Maggie and Glenn were waiting for you.

“You didn’t need to, I was going to take the truck.” You said once you were already inside the car.

“I wouldn’t let my girl drive in a day like this.” Maggie said her hand reaching you behind her seat and squeezing your leg.

“My girl, you mean.” Aaron joked, since he met Maggie they had this joke between them about who do you belong to.

At the Church the priest did a beautiful ceremony, you were called to say some words which you did with much difficulty and bursted into tears in the middle of it, having Maggie coming to your aid and taking you back to your sit. Then, Daryl was the one that spoke, everyone knew your father’s affection towards him. He was short and objective, he didn’t want to get emotional, but he said beautiful things. Afterwards, you all went to the cemetery to bury your father. When it all ended you were exhausted and wanted to just go home, cry your soul, maybe cuddle with Aaron while you waited for Eric to arrive… But that wasn’t heaven’s or even your dad’s plans.

When you stepped out of the car back in the farm, a beautiful woman, with long black hair approached you.

“Miss Y/L/N, I’m sorry for your loss. I’m Yumiko. I’m your father’s lawyer, and I need to talk to you and Mr. Dixon.” She said offering her hand to shake.

“Ugh… thanks. Do we really need to have this conversation today?” You asked.

“Unfortunately, yes. That was one of your father’s requests when he made his testament.” She said, why did he even need a testament? You were an only child.

“Ok, let’s get inside. Dixon must be somewhere in the house.” You said walking to the entrance.

You sat at the office with Yumiko and Daryl, she got all the documents from her briefcase and then started. “Mr. Y/L/N, left half of his belongings to his daughter Miss Y/N Y/L/N and Mr. Daryl Dixon, he divided everything in equal parts for both of you.”

“I dun wanna anything, ya can pass my part to her.” He said quickly, didn’t even stop to think. Having to share things with you? That was the last thing he wanted and he lived, worked and spent time with your father because he loved him and not because he wanted his belongings or anything.

“There’s one observation about Mr. Y/L/N’s testament, if any of you don’t want or can’t come to an agreement about this. Everything should be inherited by Mr. Negan Smith his nephew.” When Yumiko finished talking you both looked at each other and it was as if you had a conversation in your minds.

“We agree, both of us, right Daryl?” You said without looking from Daryl.

“Yes, we agree.” He said. He thought it would be all kinds of messed up this agreement, but he also knew neither of you liked Negan and you would both hate to see this property in his hands.

[theeonlyroman]

I like to imagine that if SB did raise HL and Rosa (Reader) that the overall setting of the story would be them being raised in a mansion and SB being the old, washed up, celebrity war hero that really stays in the spotlight through his kids by making them star in movies sorta like how Britney Spears was in that Disney show in the 80’s. That if HL especially didn’t get the mark right SB would throw him around and beat him and no one would intervene because of their status and well them being supes. And that no matter how many times Rosa would try to her impress her father with her acting talent and powers, she’d never be seen as “good enough” primarily because she’s a woman and that everything she does would be seen second to her brother HL.

A pivotal moment in yours and HL’s young life would be SB walking in on HL whacking it while smelling your sweater and SB angrily asks him, “What the fuck are you doing?” And a young HL scrambles to readjust himself because it’s pretty humiliating and before he even realizes it SB grabs him by the scruff of his collar throwing him across the room saying, “I knew you were a fucking disappointment but this just takes the cake, you think I’m really gonna let you do this fucked up, sweet home Alabama bullshit like this under my goddamn roof after all the hard work I fucking did” and he just choke slams HL to the ground creating a meteor sized hole on the ground.

You fly in on this after coming home from getting greasy fast food for your Dad and you see the chaos of the house and immediately panic and you run too see that SB is on his way to throwing HL out of the house. You run to try to save HL and you both are desperately clinging to one another because after all you HL is all you have, even though you had no idea the truth of why SB was doing what he was doing and in a moment of rage and disgust SB screams at you to go to your room making you feel like a weak, child you listen to him and HL is screaming for you not too but you tearfully abide by SB over your brothers constant begging. And after everything has calmed down you seek out your father and you see him in front of the tv watching one of his movies with beers and empty pill bottles on the table side, you tell him that you bought him some dinner and the only thing he says is “Thanks”. Both you and SB are just sitting quietly eating the food with nothing but questions in the air but you know that SB won’t tell you anything so you just tearfully eat your food while SB doesn’t make any attempts to console you.

HL finds refuge in none other than Madelyn Stilwell, the twist being is that she’s more like if Lois Lane was a predator and made a young Superman into her lover. She manipulates and abuses him by using his mommy issues and sister complex too her advantage into becoming the face of Vought from a young age from there a more younger generation of The Seven appears which is similar to the Teen Titans. HL tries to use his newfound influence to reach out to you but that can barely work with SB standing in between you both and not even Vought wants to intervene given his status and power so for years you can only support you brother from a distance and in secret away from the eyes of your father the whole time you still don’t know the truth as too why HL was kicked from home but this being kept under wraps by SB and Madelyn as well to preserve the image of the “perfect all American family”.

Other hcs

Rosa and HL were children when their grandfather died and they watched SB respond to his death by dancing on his grave and having multiple women in their home. They just stayed in their rooms till the end of the night to hide away from his antics thankfully their maid made them food.

I’m still kinda iffy on how I want BN and Rosa’s relationship to start out because while he is rendered mute and is treated more as obedient character he is still older than her like he’s in his 40’s and she’s in her mid 20’s.

It’s more of a “Wow this man is acknowledging me for my powers and acting abilities”, “Omg he’s taking care of me and sees that I’m here too”.

Lowkey triggers her daddy issues

Like let’s not forget that Rosa is a SUPE and she’s incredibly strong and talented but she’s just looked over because she’s a woman and is more of a character that’s treated as a sort of “You can be seen but not heard”.

Basically you and BN bond over being treated as the shadows of society; both only being acknowledged when it comes to having a physical presence but not a verbal one but both experiences are entirely different.

For HL and Madelyn imagine if Lois Lane wasn’t the strong willed reporter, imagine if she was the bottom of the barrel, morally corrupt, fame seeking reporter; now let’s apply that notion to Madelyn, shes at the bottom of Vought’s corporate ladder who stumbled upon a grave secret that can ruin SB’s image. So she uses HL’s status to get her to the top of Vought’s corporate chain, she uses his sister complex and mommy issues to her advantage and controls him under the pretense that if he does as she asks “they can be together” at the time he’s 17 and she’s 30.

The Boys version of the Teen Titans is called “The 7 Titans”