#he got it for himself as a present after the wedding
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Happy 28th! Here is my March 2025 fic rec, organized by word count, from longest to shortest. You can view my other fic recs here. Enjoy!
Cupid's Defence by orphan_account (116k)
In which Harry is Cupid, Louis and Liam own a law firm, and they're all getting sued.
Blue Eyes Look My Way (Make Today My Lucky Day) by magpielivingforglitter / @builtyouahousefromabrokenhome (98k)
November 1968. Harry has to quit the Liverpool College of Art and go back home to Sheffield to work in the steel mill, after his step-dad died and left his family with debts and too many mouths to feed. But that also means Harry gets to catch his local ice hockey team’s games again. And the Sheffield Steelers have two new players who could turn the season around - maybe even Harry’s whole life …
I Can Feel It Take A Hold by louislittletomlintum / @louislittletomlintum (30k)
“Do you always swim in the nude?” Louis broke the silence, his smile growing when Harry felt his blush deepen.
“Sometimes,” Harry answered wearily, pushing his hair back in the hopes that it would maybe not look quite as dishevelled as it felt.
“Mm,” Louis hummed, cocking his head to the side like he didn’t quite believe him. Harry felt properly studied under his gaze. “And what was your plan?”
“My plan?” Harry countered. The water licked at Louis’ legs, darkening his hair and wetting the back of his shorts where he was sitting.
“Well. You were obviously wanting to get my attention,” Louis mused, Harry blushing further. “So what are you going to do with it now that you’ve got it?”
or the one where it’s call me by your name but with; developed frontal lobes, oranges instead of peaches, golden by harry styles, and a happy ending
Switch! by xunorthodox / @ @ltwritten (25k)
Focus, stop being ridiculous.
He didn't want to hurt Liam, especially when he was such a nice guy, but—but—his best friend, Louis, is so close yet so far. And Harry didn't know what to do with himself.
OR
Harry happily agrees to go on a double date with Liam, but Liam’s best friend looks suspiciously like the man of his dreams.
If I Didn't Love You, It Would Be Fine by emmli28 / @emmli28 (18k)
When Louis was sober he could say no, even if his body, heart and mind craved Harry. After one glass of wine, on the other hand, he just didn’t want to say no, even if it left him in a complete state of misery for a week after.
Louis was in love with Harry, and had been since the first night they slept together three years ago. That was not how their story had started, though.
They had met when Harry had just finished his first year at uni, taking a course in photography, and he got a summer job at the magazine where Louis worked as a music journalist.
Or the one where Louis is miserably in love with Harry, and can never resist him, until he can.
Somersault by everysingleday / @sun-lt (4k)
“Got you something,” Louis whispers eventually. Something in Harry’s stomach fizzes; the idea of presents—especially surprise ones—has never failed to evoke somersault excitement in his belly. And though he never has any expectations, it’s certainly not uncommon for Louis to spoil him like this when he knows Harry’s had a rubbish sort of day. — Louis gets Harry presents. Harry’s contemplating getting Louis a ring
Louis' New Home by chaotic_bells / @chaotic-bells (2k)
There is a man in his back garden staring into his home. What the fuck...? -- Louis moves to a new house, and Harry keeps showing up on his back garden.
To Suffer by honey_beeing (1k)
Louis helps Harry undress after the wedding.
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Lose My Breath - Ch 6
MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS, DNI
Warnings/genre: college au, SMUT, pia, piv, mxm, mxf, piercings/tattoos, frat SKZ, goth Jisung
Pairing: ChanSung x fem!reader (mostly Chan x Jisung)
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It's the end of Jisung's and Chan's last year of college. They didn't feel like participating in the walk to get their degree, instead opting to go out with the frat.
They met at a fancy restaurant that Minho wanted to work at after graduating. He loved cooking and decided to be a chef instead of pursuing anything dance related.
Jisung walks in and looks around, taking off his outer layer jacket, he smiles when he sees Chan sitting with their friends. He goes over and leans down, giving Chan a kiss to his cheek.
"Hi, baby boy. I was starting to think you got lost." Chan tilts his head back to look up at Jisung. The younger leans down to kiss Chan's lips then his nose, softly nudging the hoops while being careful of the fresh bridge piercing he has. Jisung sits in the chair to Chan's left, sliding his hand into Chan's. The boys present talk for a bit, waiting for the rest of the group to show up.
Jeongin sat with his long-time girlfriend and Hyunjin sat with his. Changbin and Seungmin eventually walked in, holding hands. Something no one really expected. When asked, they just shrugged. Felix and Minho follow not long after with you walking in with them. You smile at Jisung and Chan. Placing a soft kiss to both their lips before sitting next to Chan in the only open seat. Felix asks for the group's attention, saying they have something to say.
"So, Minho and I have an announcement to make." He says after everyone turns their attention to the pair. Minho holds his and Felix's hands up, engagement bands on their left hands. The group explodes into cheers and congratulations for the two.
"We plan on having the wedding during summer, probably next year." Minho says, lacing his fingers with Felix's. "Obviously you're all invited, but no frat bullshit." Minho warns. The group agrees and continues to talk until a waiter comes up to take the groups—very large—order.
Chan had decided to open a music studio with Jisung and Changbin. Chan and Changbin learning very quickly from you and Jisung about what it takes to make and produce music. Both the former college football players still do stuff with physical education, but mainly focus on the music with Jisung. You work with the three of them, but you do mostly promotions for them, which you offered to do, but occasionally you'll work on the music with them.
You and Chan had gotten close again, almost clicking together like nothing happened. You did join the two as their third at the same time. Chan had walked in on you and Jisung together at one point, joining you both in bed together. Chan's parents had helped with a down payment for a nice apartment, even though Chan could afford it himself. His parents said to consider it a graduation gift. You and Jisung having moved in with him. The first official night in the apartment, none of you had left the bedroom for long that day.
——
Another year passed, and the music studio exploded with popularity. The three men gave classes on how to do what they did, and even employed some of the people that applied.
Minho and Felix have a beautiful summer wedding. The group of boys split between the two grooms as groomsmen. You attended as a guest, enjoying watching your handsome boyfriends have fun at their friends' wedding. During the reception, Jisung had taken his coat off and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, revealing more ink that he had gotten.
You mingled with the grooms and groomsmen, having gotten closer to all of them as friends. Once the reception was over, you, Jisung and Chan were back at your own place, cuddled up on the couch together.
"Hey, Channie?" Jisung starts.
"Yes, my love?" Chan gently rubs Jisung's arm.
"Do you think you could turn the AC on? It's hot in here." Jisung looks up at him, giving him wide puppy eyes, something he learned from Felix when the freckled boy wanted Minho to spoil him. Chan smiles and chuckles softly.
"Sure baby." You and Jisung sit up, smiling mischievously at each other when Chan gets up. Chan walks off to go turn the air on for the apartment, you and Jising quickly stripping yourselves. You quickly look Jisung over, looking over the new tattoos he got over the past few years, and the two new piercings he had gotten in his length. The total down his shaft now was three. You climb into Jisung's lap, positioning yourself over his cock for when Chan walks back in.
"Is this why you wanted me to go? So you two could misbehave?" Chan crosses his arms as he watches you sink down onto Jisung's cock, the younger male's hands on your hips. You smile over your shoulder at Chan. Jisung thrusts up into you a little, pulling a soft moan from you.
"Come join us, Channie." Jisung peeks over your shoulder to see him.
"Who wants me to fuck them, then?" Chan slowly strides over, pulling his shirt off. You turn your head back to face Jisung, smiling at him. Jisung smiles back and holds you as he gets up, flipping you both over so you're now laying on the couch, Jisung over you. Chan chuckles as he drops his shorts, grabbing a bottle of lube from one of the side tables. Making sure that Jisung's ass and his own cock were ready, Chan kneeled behind Jisung, pressing his tip to the male's ass.
Jisung slowly pulls out of you, dragging his cock and the piercings along your walls, pushing back against Chan as the older man starts to push into him. You and Jisung moan out together. Chan holds onto Jisung's hips as he slowly bottoms out in him, pushing him back into you in the process. Jisung lowers his chest to you, burying his face into your neck, you run your fingers through his hair and smile up at Chan. Chan smiles back, gently rubbing Jisung's hips.
"You ok, baby boy?" Chan asks, moving one hand to rub along Jisung's spine.
"Oh, I'm more than ok, babe." Jisung's voice muffled against your neck. You laugh softly. Slowly, Chan pulls out of Jisung, pulling him back with him a bit, before he starts to thrust back into him. Jisung moans as Chan's thrusts push him into you. Jisung sits back up some so he can thrust into you when Chan pulls out of him, eventually setting a nice pace. You arch your back, eyes half lidded as you watch your boys as they thrust.
"Mm. My two sexy babies. Both are so hot under me." Chan mumbles softly. Jisung carefully reaches between your bodies to rub your clit, playing with the jewelry there as well. You arch your back again, your breasts being pushed towards Jisung's face. The younger swears quietly before sucking one of your nipples into his mouth, moaning around the hard nub. Chan starts thrusting harder and faster into Jisung, making him fuck harder and faster into you.
You grip Jisung as you feel your orgasm wash over you, clenching around Jisung's cock, tipping him over the edge, cumming deep inside you. Chan grins, watching you both cum together. Jisung moans around your nipple, rutting into you lightly as Chan rails him from behind. Not long after, Chan cums into Jisung, a low groan slips from his throat. Once you're all through your highs, Chan pulls out of Jisung slowly, the younger groaning against your skin.
"Let's get you two cleaned up, yeah?" Chan smiles, gently patting Jisung's ass. Jisung teasingly wiggles his ass after pulling out of you. "Don't tempt me, Ji. I'll go another round." Chan smiles and goes off to the bathroom to get a clean rag, coming back to clean you and Jisung.
Cuddled up on the couch once more, still naked, you look up at Chan.
"Chan?" He lets out a soft 'hm?'. "Jisung and I have a question for you."
"What's the question, my loves?" He gently rubs yours and Jisung's backs. Sitting up, Jisung opens a drawer on the coffee table and reaches inside, pulling something out.
"Jisung and I were wondering…" Your eyes flick to Jisung's, the boy giving you a smile. "If you wanted to marry us." You say, looking back at Chan as Jisung opens the ring box. Chan smiles and snorts.
"I was honestly going to ask you two as well. I have my box put away. Hold on." He gets up and pads to the bedroom, coming back a moment later, plopping back in his seat between you and Jisung. He opens his ring box, showing off two beautiful rings. You all laugh, exchanging kisses, happy tears rolling down your face.
You don't get married right away, wanting to have the perfect wedding. It took a while, but you managed to find someone that would marry the three of you, as it wasn't a common practice. You and Chan were happy to find each other again, not wanting to be separated again. Jisung was happy that Chan had pestered and pursued him. All around, you were happy and content. You wouldn't trade anything in the world for the happiness you feel with your boys.
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@honeyybbuubblleess @tenshimara @yaorzu-blog @skzsmylife @cookiesandcreammy @skz-ot8-stay @ihrtlix @ellemir2404 @binniesbabe
#chan x jisung#chan x han#han x reader#stray kids x reader#skz smut#skz x reader#skz x reader smut#stray kids#skz#kpop#stray kids fanfic#bang chan#bahng chan#han jisung#skz han#skz chan#chansung#chansung x reader#chan x reader#amateur writer
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It’s Aaron who accidentally outs andreil as married
Him and Katelyn had started to make videos, answering medical questions and explaining procedures to help people better understand their health and the heath system. (They also talk about old outdated practices from history just for fun).
They had grown quite popular, and in one video, as Katelyn is being brilliant and explaining some topic or the other, Aaron is sitting beside her, listening intently and nodding along.
And then he takes a sip from his favourite mug. The one that says ‘Okay-est Brother-in-Law’ and has the most unflattering photo of Neil Josten on it.
#he got it for himself as a present after the wedding#when asked about it Neil just said ‘coach says I’m not supposed to fight family’#to which Kevin just loudly scoffs#aftg#all for the game#the foxhole court#the raven king#the kings men#andrew minyard#aaron minyard#neil josten#kevin day#david wymack#andreil#katelyn#twinyards
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i need more abt peacock hybrids I LOVE HIMM
He’s been hanging around your bakery nearly every day since you rejected him, his tail feathers flicking and wanting to present themselves to you… but he stops himself.
He waits, watching you as you serve customers and go about your day. You’re kind, always giving even the nastiest of people a warm smile when you hang them their order.
And now he’s wondering how many of the smiles you have him were fake. Could he blame you? After all, he had been such an asshole, always taking up your time and being demanding…
It was clear you are way out of his league, but still he wants you desperately.
So he continues taking note of every little thing, from the way your eyes light up when you bite into a free donut after a long day, or how you laugh at your stupid male coworker he hates…
He’s in love with you, that’s for certain… but how will he ever win you over when he’s made such a fool of himself? It would have been so easy to just present his feathers in front of a fertile female, but no, he had to fall in love with you…
The peacock hybrid sits outside of the bakery, sulking as he stares at the ground. Perhaps he’d never get to have you. It wasn’t fair to wait around and bother you forever, so he got up and was ready to leave when you walked out the door.
“You’re still out here sulking?”
You walk out, carrying a brown paper bag. He looks up in surprise when you drop the bag in his lap.
“Here…”
You look away, your face slightly warm as you begin walking home. “It’s on the house…”
He stares at the small paper bag in his hand, his eyes wide. Was this… a courting gift?
His feathers flicked as he stood, his mind in a daze as he followed after you.
Maybe he had a chance after all…
It wasn’t long before he walked you home every day after work, acting as a protective mate would when anyone approached. He’d shake his feathers out in a defensive display, keeping you safe.
The best day of his life was when you finally invited him in your home and he got to mate you for the first time…
It was a cold evening, and he had been waiting outside for an hour, ready to walk you home. When you saw him shivering, you knew that he had changed.
Though he could still be selfish and arrogant, it was clear he truly cared for you.
“You’re cold, aren’t you? Come on, I’ll make you something warm.”
But it seemed he didn’t want to eat anything you could make him. No, the second he was in your house you were lifted up onto the nearest surface and your thighs were pried apart. He couldn’t stand it, he needed to taste you…
Your pussy was so plump and warm, the taste almost sweet. He looked up at you with eyes dazed from lust, his tongue fucking into your dripping cunt.
He loved you, wanted to prove he was a proper mate, so he made sure to bring you to several orgasm before he even fathomed pushing his cock into you.
The tip was oozing precum, rubbing against your hole as his feathers shook out. They really were pretty, and his cock stretched you out as he pushed in.
His feathers were soft, and you held onto them as he mated with you, his face burying itself into your neck. This is what he had wanted for so long…
After shooting thick ropes of cum inside of you, he carried you away and made you a comfy nest of blanket and pillows before using his feathers as a cover for you.
“I love you… please, be my mate…”
You yawned, a smile on your face. He looked vulnerable, his plumage puffing out slightly in anticipation.
“Okay…”
His eyes lit up, but he yelped when you plucked one of his feathers. “I’ll take this as my wedding ring…”
And the next day he couldn’t be prouder, seeing you with his feather pinned to your apron.
Want more of this guy? Commission me :3
———————
NSFW TAGLIST: @avalordream @icommitwarcrimes @bazpire @im-eating-rn @anglingforlevels @kinshenewa @pasteldaze @yoongiigolden @peachesdabunny @murder-hobo @leiselotte @misswonderfrojustice @dij-ology @i8kaeya @lollboogurl @h3110-dar1in9 @keikokashi @aliceattheart @mssmil3y @spicyspicyliving @namjoons-t1ddies @izarosf1833 @healanette @lem-hhn @spufflepuff @honey-crypt @karljra @zyettemoon1800 @exodiam @vexillum-moeru @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @binnieonabike @enchantedsylveon @mysticranger575 @readeryn68 @danielle143 @kittenlover614 @filthybunny420 @annavittoria-mm @makimamybelovedwife @blubearxy @omglovelylaila @toocollectionchaos-universe-blog @fruk-you-usuk-fans @wil10wthetree @hammerhead96-blog @slightlyusedfloormat @bubblez-blop @sunshineangel-reads @heroneki-neko
#peacock hybrid smut#peacock hybrid x reader#peacock hybrid#bird hybrid#monster fucker#monster lover#monster fudger#monster boyfriend#monster fic#chubby!reader#chubby reader#terato#teraphilia#teratophillia#terat0philliac#exophelia#fat reader#plus size reader#monster fucking#monster oc#monster x reader#monster x human#monster x you#monster imagine#monster bf#monster breeding#x reader#fem reader#female reader#monster smut
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Couples shit with Simon Riley, Newlywed Edition:
You and Simon got married, and Price was the Best Man. Kyle stood on your side, and Soap was the flower girl. He blew bubbles instead of throwing flower petals because you and Soap thought it would be funnier. There's a picture floating around somewhere of Simon staring rather concerningly at a particularly large bubble Soap blew, too.
You two swearing you're gonna fuck all night long on your wedding night... only to crash as soon as you hit the bed. You didn't even take your clothes off. The sexathon came later. You two just woke up, looked at each other, happy as a pair of clams, and bloody hell, you made an honest man out of Simon fuckin' Riley.
Getting each other gag gifts as a wedding present. You were serious about getting him that cockring weren't you, love? Well, he has all the time in the world to make use of it.❤️
Noticing how relaxed and settled Simon is after you two start your married lives. Well, as relaxed and settled as Simon could be, all things considered, but he's not as anxious. He's... content. Happy.
Simon still can't believe it though. He's married. He's bloody married. You married him. A right bastard like him, at that. Simon makes a promise to himself and you to never turn what you two have into the shit show that defined his parents' union, promises to never become the asshole his father was, and it gives him all the strength he needs to combat his demons. He'll fight them every day if means seeing your smiling face, luv.
Simon also using the fact that he's married for shock value for everyone other than 141. He doesn't really tell the others but also doesn't bother addressing the news when it gets out. He just lets it be. It's amusing, though, seeing the confusion and shock on the other soldiers' faces when they find out. "Wait, Lieutenant Riley's married? He has a missus?" Correction: "I'm the missus."
He also jokes with the rest of 141 on some, "Sorry, lads, 'm an honest bloke now," which makes the others snort. Will also use a variant for you, too. "No can do, lovie, you made an honest missus outta me." Pfft.
You've also taken to calling him the Hubster ("Pretty cute, eh, Si-bear?" ".........") and you're banned from saying it in public lmao.
Similarly, you use the shock value to troll your associates. Your coworkers were not expecting Simon of all people to be the one you married. You call HIM the Missus? ("Sure do.") The way they see it, you two are polar opposites. Well, they do say that opposites attract.
Simon buying a chain for his wedding band for when he deploys because even with the gloves on, he refuses to wear his ring near his gun. It's a symbol of you, one of the best fuckin' things to ever happen to him, and he'll be damned if he ever lets the two touch.
You jokingly suggest that because Simon has really taken to the missus thing and ran with it, he should get it tattooed on him. This being Simon bloody Riley, he goes and does exactly that. The shock on your face was worth it all. Cheers, darling.
You two holding hands if only to look at your wedding bands side by side and bloody fuckin' hell, you're falling in love with each other all over again.
#2queued4u.#nsfw-ish.#call of duty#call of duty modern warfare#call of duty modern missusfare.#simon ghost riley#simon riley#simon ghost riley x reader#simon ghost riley x you#simon riley x reader#simon riley x you#call of duty x reader#call of duty x you#cod x reader#cod x you#x black reader#x poc reader#x plus size reader#task force 141
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From hate to love… or something like that
Aegon II Targaryen x fem!reader
word count: 15.7k (sorrrryyyy)
warnings: arranged marriage, hate-to-love, mentions of rape, mentions of incest, mentions of suicidal thoughts, drinking alcohol, mommy issues, daddy issues, mentions of sex without love, unprotected sex, oral sex (f receiving), porn with plot (but something cheap, tbh) and I probably forgot something but I think that makes it clear that this shit is not for minors, so MINORS DNI :)
A/N: I started this since the second season premiere started so if you find any canon-like scenes I completely promise it wasn't intentional. I also want to make it clear that you are responsible for what you read and if you don't like something please just let it go, that would be very kind of you!
And this doesn't make me team green at all, I'm a defender of the rightful queen to the death… it's just that her brother is too sexy to ignore 🫦
Enjoy!
taglist (who I thought might be interested): @barcelonaloverf1life @ilovequeen978


FIRST ACT: HATE
Finding a wife for Prince Aegon II was probably one of the most difficult tasks Alicent Hightower had to face.
The engagement with his sister Helaena had been broken after a more tempting offer for the princess, which would get them a permanent alliance with the Lannister house that they couldn’t refuse. Viserys himself had agreed to accept and the queen consort had no choice but to give her little daughter in marriage to a blonde lord. The problem was that her son was left without a fiancée.
Aemond didn't worry her, after all he was growing up quite quickly and she knew that he was more inclined to become a warrior than to fulfill his marital responsibilities. But Aegon, however, was a lost cause.
It was no secret that Alicent had always felt disappointed in her eldest son. He was careless, lazy, and a hopeless alcoholic, qualities that couldn’t be celebrated at all. Now that her beloved father had returned, the queen didn’t hesitate to consult him on the matter, hoping that the man had a solution for the problem that afflicted her, and together they analyzed what was the best option to unite the king's first-born son. Especially after, years ago, Rhaenyra and Daemon got married and moved to Dragonstone indefinitely.
“It must be someone we completely trust, someone who cannot dare to hurt us because they know that their blood is linked to ours.”
The Arryns were loyal to the future queen Rhaenyra and some of the houses south of Vale were too. The Westerlands was the richest section of the Seven Kingdoms and was already secured, so it seemed prudent to the king's hand to go for the next widest section: The Reach. The most formidable options within this area were the Hightower and the Tyrell. Obviously taking the first option would be a waste since the members of that house would support Aegon without complaint due to their kinship, so the decision was made with the direct heir of Highgarden.
King Viserys agreed to the idea without putting up many obstacles, since poppy milk clouded his judgment most of the time and also the affairs of his first son had never interested him much.
The union was sealed as soon as the deal was offered to Lyonel Tyrell, who was extremely happy to be able to assure his family a future with said marriage. It was thus that he gave you, his only daughter, to Prince Aegon II Targaryen.
And the second the boy saw you, he absolutely hated you.
He had come to the idea (very unpleasant, by the way) of marrying his younger sister and now that his mother was forcing him to marry a complete stranger, he couldn't be angrier. In a short time he would turn twenty and it seemed pathetic to him that at that point he would have to offer shows like those before the kingdom. Because the wedding wasn’t simple, of course, but thousands and thousands of guests were present at the banquet that Alicent forced the king to prepare, claiming by saying that he had done the same for Princess Rhaenyra's wedding.
“It is a pleasure to finally see each other, your grace. They have told me a lot about you”
You had said those precise words the first time you had met, when his mother organized a walk so that you could 'get to know each other better', although supervised by her own eyes that were behind you, making sure that her son didn’t commit any indecency. But no matter how sweetly you smiled and spoke them, Aegon could sense that you were lying.
There was hatred in your eyes and a clear resentment towards the life from which you were torn, as if it weren’t an honor to have the opportunity to marry the prince of the seven kingdoms. Your hypocritical words represented an insult to the boy and that is why he decided from the first moment that he would hate you deeply.
With your mere existence you would have deprived him of his freedom, his entertainment, his youth. He would be tied to you for future occasions, he would have to take you to all the events, secure your food, your clothes. share the same roof and pretend to be nice to you in the eyes of others. And, besides, he could have thought of a lot of candidates better than you, physically speaking. Your beauty was quite ordinary for his taste, as if he were looking at any painting; cheap and repetitive.
“I regret to admit that I am not so fortunate, Lady Tyrell. But I am happy for the union of our houses” he lied, in the same way that you had done.
And it was obvious that this didn’t go unnoticed by you, that you had the same critical eye as your recent fiancé but that you sought to maintain composure in the presence of your future mother-in-law.
On the wedding day Aegon had a good time only because he was able to drown himself in monumental quantities of liquor and because he was able to eat as much as he wanted of the exquisite banquet. He didn't even pay a bit of attention to how you looked in the wedding dress that the royal seamstresses had been in charge of making in record time, because when the time came he flattered you superficially and then ignored the matter. The ceremony kiss was the first you shared, and it was so fleeting and awkward that the prince felt disappointed. On the wedding night he was so drunk that he didn't even look at you.
You knew that the unfortunate day would come when you would have to carnally please the young man and the simple thought of being defiled in this way caused you terror and nausea in equal parts.
It was a stranger whom you had married, of whom the only thing you knew was his noble title and name.
In the days following your marriage, unfortunately or fortunately, Aegon didn’t even speak to you. You didn't have to share a room, so it was easier for him to completely ignore you while he went about his ways.
You had to admit that the only good thing about having taken this trip was the beautiful landscapes that King's Landing offered you. Your room had a direct view of Blackwater Bay and you spent several days looking out the window at the beautiful sea. Sometimes you could watch Prince Aemond ride his dragon, and honestly, the size of the beast scared you a little. You hadn't had the chance to observe Aegon in Sunfyre yet but if he was as impressive as Vhagar, then he would be quite a sight.
A week passed, then another and another where you were nothing more than a guest in the palace. You didn't talk to anyone, you ate dinner alone, you barely saw the outside of the castle. Sometimes you went to the Sept, pretending to pray, but really just killing the endless boring hours of the day. You were somewhat lucky if you found Helaena, the most sensible and calm within the royal family, because you had pleasant conversations with her. When you met the queen it was a little more difficult, because she asked you endless questions in which you had to fake the answers. How could you be fulfilling your parenting responsibilities if the capricious prince wouldn't deign to lay a finger on you?
After a month, Alicent seemed to take matters into her own hands and forced her eldest son to take you to sleep in the same room as him. However, Aegon seemed to want to blame you for something you hadn't chosen. He never spoke to you and every time you went to bed, he would stand with his back to you as far away as possible. And as if that weren’t enough, he had explicitly ordered his guards not to allow you to leave the room unless it was in his company. It was his way of punishing you, of getting even for the complaints of his mother and grandfather regarding his lack of interest in marriage.
“My mother wants us to attend a dinner tonight” you were so unaccustomed to hearing his voice addressing you that it took you a second to process what he was telling you “I will talk to the maids to bring you a suitable dress.”
You didn't know what to say. You didn't want to go to that dinner, nor did you want to be with him, or wear one of those tight, annoying dresses. Aegon, noticing your silence, deigned to look at you and in your eyes he could see the aversion you felt for him. It was something difficult to mask and he had seen it on so many faces that it was nothing new.
“As you wish, prince.”
A bitter laugh came from your husband's throat.
“Don't be a hypocrite, for God's sake. I know you hate me as much as I hate you. Save appearances for guests, not in the chambers."
You wouldn’t have had the courage to admit out loud what his majesty had said, but you didn’t dare to contradict him either. You had to play the role of a self-sacrificing and suitable wife for the man if you wanted to keep your honor, but above all your head.
You tried, with all your might, to see some quality in Aegon that you liked so that you could treat him in a better way, which always resulted in something useless. Perhaps if he had been nicer to you, you could have known how to forgive his faults, but even that wasn’t granted to you.
The dinner was mostly family-oriented, with the guest of honor being from House Baratheon whose purpose was to discuss some political matters with the king and queen. Due to his health, Viserys didn’t usually leave his room more than necessary, however, that night the occasion warranted it.
“Lady Tyrell, how is your stay in King's Landing?”
The king had a reputation for being gentle with his guests and was the first person to ask you a personal question, so the smile you showed him was genuine.
“Very pleasant, your grace. The servants treat me as well as possible and I must admit that the views from my room are beautiful. Your dragon is impressive, Prince Aemond, by the way.”
The boy, who wasn't all that expressive, just looked at you for a moment and tilted his head down slightly.
“I'm glad you like it, princess.”
"And my son? How is our Aegon treating you?”
That question was more complicated to answer, since it required expressing a lie. Everyone present focused their attention on you, except your husband who had been staring into nothingness for a long time.
“Very well, my king. He’s a good husband and I am happy to have been able to unite our houses.”
The aforementioned snorted, incredulous at what you were saying at the table, and took a long drink from his glass of wine.
“And I hope very soon you can give us strong and beautiful heirs.”
Although that was intended as a compliment, you felt the weight of that responsibility pressing down on you again.
“I wish the same. It will be an honor to serve the crown and bear the progeny of a house as formidable as yours."
The queen was pleased with your answer and for a moment felt sorry for you. She knew her son well, so deep down she knew that it wasn’t a gift from the gods to be married to him. The rest of the table looked at you curiously, wondering if you were serious, trying to be ironic, or just trying to play the good girl role.
Aegon, as expected, became intoxicated during dinner and when Queen Alicent announced that she was going to retire to sleep you thought it prudent to do the same. Your husband, however, had other wishes.
“Stay here,” he asked, his voice serious.
When he was drunk he looked you up and down, probably evaluating how worth it would be to decide to strip you naked and fuck you once and for all. Your body in the dress you were wearing looked better with a few drinks on him.
“I think it would be best to retire, my husband. This way you can stay with the men to chat and… drink”
“But I want you to stay here to keep me company,” he insisted, holding your wrist tightly “Or don't you want to please your prince?”
It wasn’t a loving request, but one for control. He wanted to have you there only to demonstrate his power over you, without paying attention to you or talking; only as an ornament.
“Aegon, enough,” Alicent interrupted, observing the scene that had begun to unfold. “Daughter, let's go to sleep. “I will accompany you”
“Fine, do whatever you want,” he spat contemptuously, abruptly releasing the wrist that was holding you. There was hatred in his eyes, but also pride.
The queen said goodbye to everyone present and then offered you her hand to take you away from there. You spent most of the way in silence, walking through the long, wide corridors of the fortress followed only by the faithful footsteps of Ser Criston Cole.
“You must be patient with him” he began to say “He is a particular man and sometimes… difficult, but I know that with your docile character you will be able to deal with his temperament.”
What did she know about your character? She didn't know you at all.
“So it shall be, Queen Alicent.”
“I understand what you are going through, dear. We both come from the same lands to endure the difficult task of accompanying a monarch. But it is our duty to carry it out with all the honor and temper worthy of our homes. Of course, I can trust that as a woman you will be able to help him fulfill another of the most important marital commitments, such as having children, to maintain the lineage and blood. For a virgin like you, Aegon may be rough, but... patience and resilience are among the best virtues. A woman in royalty must endure these things to give the best to the people.”
You had never wanted to be a princess. And just when you thought the queen was showing you compassion, you realized that she was only looking out for her interests and those of her family.
"Thanks for the advice. I'll keep it in mind"
She smiled and immediately left a kiss on your forehead, which could have been taken as a maternal kiss but which you didn't like at all. The longer you can postpone suffering, the better. If Aegon didn't even want to look at you, it was perfect.
That night, as soon as you touched the mattress and the silk sheets that decorated it, you began to cry until you fell asleep.
SECOND ACT: CONTROL
Time passed again and although the punishment of not leaving your room was not revoked, you found multiple activities with which to entertain yourself in the prince's absence. You filled your mornings and afternoons with reading, writing, knitting and embroidering. The nights were even more boring because most of the time your husband wasn't there either.
Rumors that you hadn’t yet consummated the marriage had spread through the halls of the palace and soon the smallfolk would murmur too. After all, the people couldn’t entertain themselves with anything more than the gossip and the plays that were going on in the poor neighborhoods, making fun of royal affairs.
You no longer even had the energy to deny those accusations and Aegon had given you the perfect opportunity by throwing you out of his room and refusing to leave the four walls of yours: if you didn't leave there, there was no way anyone would question you. And since you didn't have family inside the Keep, you didn't have any visitors either.
One night, however, your husband surprised you by entering your room. It had been days since you two had seen each other and his staggering around the room warned you that he was drunk again. You often wondered how he resisted drinking so much and the long-term effects it would have on his health, but right now your mind could only focus on the fear of what he might want in that state.
“Good night, dear,” he drawled, sounding as sarcastic as possible.
You were in your nightgown and you were carrying in your hand an old book that you had been reading and that you threw on the nightstand as soon as you saw him approaching you. You didn't have time to say or do anything else when he had already approached you in giant steps to grab you by the back of your neck and start kissing you. He was abrupt, careless, with his mouth smelling of wine and tasting even worse. You wanted to cry from helplessness.
“It's what everyone wants, isn't it?” he murmured, separating himself from you, but still holding you by the hair at the back of your neck. “A marriage arranged in a couple of days to form alliances. And that's it, my life was ruined thanks to my father wanting your stupid castle to expand his domain."
The truth is that couldn't be further from the truth. Viserys’s ambition had never been that, as he had been so little involved in the process that he simply didn’t care who his children were or were not married to. Except for Rhaenyra, of course.
Aegon continued:
"I didn’t want this. I didn't want to marry you, or anyone..."
“And you think I do?” you confronted him.
You were tired of the insult, the humiliation and him ignoring you as if you were worthless; even if that was what a husband did. And the most likely thing was that your words would be forgotten due to alcohol or that they would put an end to the wait for your suffering to begin and Aegon decided to take you once and for all.
“You have nothing to lose, prince,” you continued. “You get drunk as much as you want, you run away from your responsibilities and walk everywhere when I have to stay locked up here all day just because you want me to. I have to endure the suspicious looks of everyone because I still don't have an heir in the womb while you go and fuck your whores."
“I'm the prince and I fuck whoever I want, did you hear me?” he hissed. The grip on your hair had already begun to become painful and a few tears slipped down your cheeks “And I stop fucking whoever I want too. I'm not going to please anyone by getting you pregnant. There they will see if they come and force me to put my cock in you”
“Do you doubt that, your grace?” you exclaimed bitterly “Doubts that will force us to conceive?”
“So that's what you want? Do you want me to do it?”
“I want to go home. That is what I want. But my father used me as a bargaining chip and that's why I can't do anything."
“I'm sorry it was like that. If I had chosen my wife, I would surely have chosen someone prettier and more educated than you, but I can't do much either."
Once again, the man pushed you until your lips joined his and the same discomfort settled in you. He didn't kiss you with love, but with fury and violence to the point that you had to push him away when he bit you so hard that a trickle of blood began to come out of your lower lip. Aegon was also stained by it and with an acidic smile he ran the tip of his tongue all over his mouth to remove any traces.
Looking at you he didn't look happy, but he didn't look angry either. He just seemed fed up.
Everyone knew, or suspected, that the prince was very capable of taking sexual advantage of any woman. He had done it before with maids and prostitutes and had slept peacefully throughout that time. However, there was something about you that encouraged him not to. He didn't even think it was something about you specifically but about the situation, because he wanted to do the opposite of what he was ordered: if everyone ordered him to take you to have an heir, it automatically became an unpleasant act and at the same time that he refused.
He was hurt, not because of you but because of years and years of abuse and neglect. He didn't really know you at all, he only knew what you represented.
You were just the unlucky one who had married him.
"I hate you. I hate that you are my wife and you are not worthy of me even touching you” he snapped with disdain. You were still fighting to keep the tears inside your eyes and his vision had also blurred slightly “I wish I had never met you.”
“The feeling is mutual, your grace,” you expressed, your voice breaking. If it was an offense to the crown, you wouldn't even care anymore and if he killed you right there you wouldn't regret it too much either.
Aegon looked at you one last time before staggering back out the door without another word, closing it behind him with a loud gesture and leaving you alone in the room. The reality that you had escaped, once again, from being raped by the man fell on you like a bucket of cold water and your knees weakened until you fell to the floor.
You were hurt, tired, and defeated by the stress of the situation and the fear that had washed over you the entire time. Luckily he was gone, otherwise you didn't know if you would have endured what he had to do to you. It was better to have him busy in a brothel than to have to endure him in your bed.
You wished you could talk to someone and cry on a loved one’s shoulder, only to realize a second later that that was impossible. Aegon was your new family, now you belonged to the Targaryens and you would have to do as they wished.
Anger completely overwhelmed you to the point where you stood up from your seat and began throwing pieces of glassware all over the room, in a violent outburst at what had just happened and the way you felt. None of the guards outside your door dared to come in to check on you and soon enough you fell back to the ground, exhausted from the effort.
As you cried, perhaps for the umpteenth time since you had been married, you thought about how you would never be able to love Prince Aegon. Not even if you tried.
THIRD ACT: PAIN
After months, the inevitable arrived. The truth was that the first time you felt sorrow and anger, but the following times it became more tolerable. Not because it was better, but because you began to get used to it. Aegon didn't change his attitude towards you one bit. You indeed spent more time together, although that didn’t mean that you got along better or that you had begun to have more sympathy for each other.
The only advantage was that you had started to be friends with some people in the palace. Your sister-in-law, to begin with, as well as some of the maids who were in charge of looking after you, as they turned out to be your only company during those days. Those distractions were more than enough for you, considering the situation you were in, and they kept you sane as time went by.
Almost like a punishment from heaven, it seemed that you weren’t pregnant yet, since your biological processes seemed to continue working to the letter. That meant that, unfortunately, you would have to keep trying; when Aegon was lost enough to forget who you were and you had to stand still as a statue to let him loom over you.
You often liked to imagine what your life would have been like if you had stayed in Highgarden. Nobody knew it yet, but there you had found your first love and although it never went beyond a few kisses, you treasured the memory with particular affection. You had always wanted to marry a sweet man who loved and respected you, who would give you your place as a wife and adore you day and night; someone with whom you could feel protected, cared for, but above all happy. You thought, naively, that that boy you had met and who was nothing more than a commoner could have given you that life, but all those possibilities were nothing more than fantasies in which you tried to lock yourself in to feel less miserable with your unpleasant reality.
One night Helaena had invited you to a modest dinner in her company that you couldn't refuse, since none of your husbands were present and some time with friends could clear your mind. You didn't even know where the prince was, although it was expected that he was spending some time in the town with his friends.
“Sometimes I feel sad about our situation,” said the blonde. You were in the privacy of her chambers, not even with the maids present, so confessions like that were allowed “But I am happy that you are my friend, something that wouldn’t have been possible otherwise.”
“I'm glad to talk to you too,” you smiled sincerely. “You're the best thing I've found around here.”
“My brothers aren't that bad, they're just… well, we've had a hard life. And that's why they behave like that."
“I think there is no justification for being a…” idiot, you wanted to say, but you had to remember that you were in the presence of the princess, “a person who is rude to others. But I guess that happens with royalty, right? They do what they want without consequences”
"I guess so. Kings, princes, the heirs, lords, dukes…”
“Okay, I get it,” you laughed bitterly “It's probably a masculine quality.”
You never thought your sister-in-law would have that kind of humor and to be honest, most of the time she was a comic relief for the situations you two were going through. Sometimes her prophecies scared you, especially the way she phrased them, but you wanted to think that her premonitions would never affect you directly.
When you finally got tired of chatting and the food was finished, you decided to return to your room, so you could have a peaceful night's rest. It was raining outside and thunder echoed in the distance, making the atmosphere slightly gloomy, but at the same time cooling every corner of King's landing.
The novelty of your position was no longer important enough to require you to be escorted by guards twenty-four hours a day, so you were able to slowly walk through all the corridors that led to your sanctuary. It was modest but cute, although not on the level of Aegon’s.
A man was guarding the door and you bowed your head to him to let you pass, which he did without any opposition. Once inside you got rid of your shoes and unbuttoned your corset, not caring that the room was almost in darkness; only the moonlight illuminated from the window. You took a few steps forward and squealed when you discovered that there was another person in the room, sitting at the small table with a drink in his hand. You would have started screaming for help if you hadn't noticed that said intruder had silver hair falling like a curtain over his face.
"Your grace?" you asked cautiously.
It isn’t usual for Aegon to drink in your room, as he preferred other places with more interesting company, and when you didn’t receive an answer you approached slowly. You thought that at best he had simply fallen asleep and at worst he would be dead.
At first his long, wavy hair covered your view of his face, but when he noticed your presence he raised his head and then you could see him. His features became clearer as lightning illuminated him from the outside and for a second you were horrified.
His cheek was red and a trickle of blood was dripping from his nose, however, what surprised you the most was seeing his eyes completely swollen.
“For the seven, I… I'll go call a maester”
“Don't even think about it,” he exclaimed hoarsely, seeing that you were already rushing towards the door.
Your husband didn't sound like his usual angry tone, but rather he seemed... hurt.
You thought for a second about what the appropriate reaction to the situation was. You couldn't leave the room because, in addition to the guards murmuring, it would be impolite to leave him in that state; also, where would you go? If you ignored him, he would probably take it as an insult and he had already made it clear that he didn't want to see someone who could take care of those injuries.
You hated him, it was true, but you weren't an insensitive monster either.
"Who did this to you?"
Aegon was surprised by how soft, even kind, your question sounded and the intoxication gave him some courage to answer.
“My mother and my grandfather. Mostly my mother, my grandfather rather dedicated his efforts to reminding me how useless I am”
You didn't know what to say. You never believed that the queen would be capable of hitting one of her sons like that. You didn't believe it from any mother, actually.
With some trepidation you took one of the chairs and placed it in front of him, expecting him to immediately push you away or ask you to get out of his sight. However, the prince didn't seem to have enough energy to do any of those things.
He had a lost look on his face and tears began to run down his face.
“Nothing… nothing I do pleases her. Neither to her, nor to my grandfather. All the time they are pressuring me, demanding me, yelling at me. Apparently Otto still hopes that my father will name me king, but I've never wanted that. They blame me for drinking all the time and how do they expect them not to? My father cares so little about me and my mother hates me. All his life he has hated me. She does it, my brothers… and so do you. My own wife hates me. Everyone… everyone who knows me does it”
You were silent for a moment.
There were mixed feelings inside you, because you couldn't forget the mistreatment that the man had given you during those months, nor the way he used you for his pleasure. He was right when he said you hated him. However, there was a compassionate part of you, deep down, that felt sorry for the man's state.
“And sometimes I just want to be dead. I just wish all the shit would go away and drowning in alcohol and dying would take away Alicent's problem and allow her to focus her attention on something better”
His gaze lifted and he looked at you with crystallized eyes.
“Maybe you should poison me one day. So your suffering would also end”
“Your highness, I cannot do that”
“But would you like it? Do you hate me enough to wish me dead?”
“Of course not,” you said quickly.
"Liar. You lie like everyone else. You want me dead”
You knew that saying something negative at that moment, in the state he was in, could result in him making some incoherence that you would be blamed for the next morning. So it was best to act cautiously.
“I don't think anyone wants that”
“My mother does. My father, Rhaenyra does it, and so does her stupid new husband…”
“Your grace…” you interrupted him harshly. Listening to him sink into his self-indulgence was too much to bear “You better go to sleep, don't you think? Now you're not thinking clearly, you'll feel better in the morning."
But Aegon seemed to be lost in his own thoughts, oblivious to anything you had to say to him.
“I guess I just wish someone wouldn't completely detest my existence, you know?”
Aegon had done terrible things to you, of course, but seeing him at that moment made you wonder if all of this was the product of poor parenting and psychological abuse that had been perpetuated for twenty long years. You couldn't say your father loved you, not after what he had done, but at least he hadn't constantly hurt you as the man in front of you had. You knew better than anyone that hate had to be healed with empathy and for a brief moment you felt soft for him.
Once Aegon was a small child, without sins, without accumulated hatred, without evil... and apparently that frightened child hadn’t been completely buried, because it was him who cried inconsolably and saw death as a viable alternative to end that suffering. However, there is no redemption without guilt, right? You don't get to heaven without first repenting.
You stayed silent for a long time, listening to him sob, and when you gathered the courage you spoke:
“Prince, can I be honest with you?”
You had spoken in a low and benevolent voice, while you slid from your chair until you were kneeling in front of him. The boy didn't even want to take advantage of that position for a sexual act, he was simply too tired and drained to think. You placed your hands on his knees and seeing that he nodded, you continued:
“You say you wish someone wouldn't hate you, but have you ever made an effort to do so? Or have you even wondered why people feel that way about you?”
“It's something natural for them”
“I didn't feel it,” you said, honestly. You hated the idea of getting married out of obligation, but if he had been different from the beginning maybe your feelings for him would be too “And you made me feel it. With your contempt, your humiliations, your punishments…”
“If everyone thinks you're a monster, what's the point of contradicting them?”
“And then you prefer to agree with them?”
You were probably taking too many liberties with the prince, but you would never have a chance to talk to him like that again. He was vulnerable and therefore less defensive than normal.
“Every person is responsible for their actions,” you continued. “You can't change how the queen or king feels about you, but you can choose to offer something better to others. If it’s your desire that people not hate you, that won’t happen overnight just because you tell it to. It takes time, effort and above all it requires kindness. If you live regretting the concept that people have of you, without doing anything to change it, then you will live a lifetime of dissatisfaction. If you seriously want someone to feel happy about your existence then pursue that goal, don’t expect it to be granted to you as a divine work.”
A deeper cry began to well up from the man and you almost thought he would lean down for your hug. Still, he didn't.
“I don't know how to be someone else. I have always been this”
“Not always, that's for sure. Water that stagnates rots and becomes a swamp. The one that runs, on the other hand, becomes a river and flows into the ocean.”
You raised the handkerchief you always carried and, in an act of kindness that was also intended to be an offering of peace, you gently wiped the tears and dried blood from his face. Aegon squirmed as he had never experienced that kind of care.
“You just have to ask yourself: what do you choose to be?”
For an endless moment he watched you. His judgment was clouded by drunkenness, but he wondered if he wasn't hallucinating and you were simply the voice of his conscience telling him something he had never wanted to accept.
It was easier to blame others for his mistakes, to justify himself by saying that everything about him was his mother's fault and that if he behaved the way he did it was only a defense mechanism. Aegon had never thought about how his treatment of women was a direct consequence of Alicent's upbringing: if his own mother had hurt him, why wouldn't other women do the same to him? And since he was convinced that they were all going to do it, he preferred to turn them into objects that he could use for his benefit.
He was so drunk and so exhausted from all the crying he had shed that he simply pushed your hand away from his face and stood up from the chair, without saying a word. You, now standing, saw him begin to undress and the first thing you thought was that he would seek to heal his sorrows by having sex with you. However, he only got rid of the essentials and then lay on his stomach on the bed. Without any choice, you took off your clothes for the day, put on a nightgown and also lay down on the mattress to sleep.
You were sure that the next day Aegon wouldn’t remember anything and you weighed the possibility of the whole story repeating itself, in an endless and painful loop for the two of you. And if you were right, it would be a shame if you had to live like this for the rest of your days.
FOURTH ACT: REDEMPTION
“Do you know where Meryna is?” you asked one of the maids who had come in to change your bedding.
“No, your grace”
“I'm starting to get hungry and she still hasn't brought my breakfast,” you exclaimed sadly.
You had woken up a while ago and had gotten dressed to go for a walk after eating, to see if this would cheer you up a little. It had been a few days since Aegon had opened up in the privacy of your room and after that you had barely seen him, much less spoken to him. You believed that everything was due to a matter of pride or even shame for what you had witnessed and you simply didn’t give it importance, because you knew that eventually he would approach you again. You just had to wait for him to want to do it.
Almost as if by summons, the black-haired girl appeared through the door, looking agitated and embarrassed by the delay. Furthermore, she came empty-handed.
"Princess…"
“Didn't you bring breakfast?” you asked, still sounding cordial but slightly surprised.
“I'm very sorry, it's just that Prince Aegon asked me to bring the food to the royal dining room. He is waiting for you there, he told me to come and get you.”
He hadn’t mentioned requiring your presence for any breakfast and, according to you, there were no guests in the palace to accompany. The two women noticed your dismay and Meryna stood waiting for a response.
“Did he tell you why?”
“No, your grace”
"Good. Then tell him I'll be there in a moment."
You only took a few minutes to change your dress, one more suitable for being in the presence of the prince and in case there was a guest you didn't know about. There were no guards at your door so you were able to walk to the dining room by yourself and were surprised to see that only your husband was at the table. He had an expression that you interpreted as a mix of impatience and nerves.
“Oh, you finally arrived. Sit down. You, bring the princess something to drink,” he ordered a maid. He used to call you that in the presence of guests, but it was rare for him to have that courtesy when alone.
“Are we waiting for someone?”
"No. I just thought you might want to have breakfast together.”
You were already sitting next to him, and for a second you watched him with a frown. Had he hit his head somewhere or why was he acting so strange?
“Do you prefer juice or wine, your highness?
"Juice"
“And bring her some strawberries,” Aegon exclaimed.
There was something about the situation that scared you, because you imagined that he wouldn't be treating you so kindly without wanting something in return. But you were already his wife and he did whatever he wanted with you, what more could he want from you?
You looked him up and down, as if searching for some sign, but he looked completely normal. He was wearing one of those full black robes he was used to, with a golden chain with emeralds decorating the hem of his neck and a belt accentuating his figure. The dark circles in his eyes were pronounced, as always, but the look was not that of someone angry; you would even say that he looked somewhat passive, even sleepy.
While you were thinking about all that, you remembered the last conversation you had had with him. You feared that madness had finally exploded in your husband and the food you were about to eat was poisoned, as he had suggested at the time. Perhaps out of courtesy he was waiting for you to take the first bite and, trying to control the trembling in your hands, you took a portion of the cold cuts on your plate to put it in your mouth. Luckily the food didn't taste different and after seeing that the man ate it with the utmost calmness, you assumed that it didn't contain any poison either.
There was freshly baked bread, jam, some cheeses, the aforementioned cold cuts, a variety of fruits, scrambled eggs with fresh herbs and chives, as well as some stuffed buns for dessert. It was a mini banquet and as you ate it you couldn't help but wonder why this show of kindness was due.
Aegon didn't seem to have any intention of talking and you didn't try to force him, not wanting to either. The atmosphere was one of peace and tranquility, one you had not experienced since your wedding day until now, and it was a very different but strangely pleasant feeling.
It was just a couple sharing breakfast time, but for two people who come from such a broken home it felt like a totally new experience.
You continued in silence until most of the things served were finished, leaving only what wasn’t to your palate's liking or that your body was simply no longer able to ingest.
“Do you need anything else, your majesty?”
“Clear this table, we won't eat anymore,” he said to the maid, nonchalantly pointing to the leftovers you had left. Then he looked at you “Satisfied?”
"I am. Everything was delicious”
“I want us to do the same tomorrow. I will send a maid for you, so get ready soon,” he said decisively.
Then he got up from his chair, stretched a little, and left the room without saying anything else to you.
You didn't see your husband the rest of the day, but the next morning he kept his promise without fail. Although the breakfast menu was different the routine was the same and again it made you wonder what the reason for it was.
The next day he also requested your presence for breakfast and you concluded that he intended to make it a habit. For the rest of the morning you were supposed to dedicate yourself to your activities, but after a week of following that routine Aegon informed you that he had other plans for you.
“I want you to come with me for a walk.”
"To the exterior?"
"Yeah. I have training with Ser Criston but I don't wish to attend, so you will be my excuse. I'll tell him that the princess wanted to go for a walk and that I couldn't let her go alone."
He was telling you that lie almost like a childish prank and you would swear he was about to smile.
“Huh, okay. If you want it, we will”
You were still confused by his actions, because in all the time you had been there it was the first time he treated you decently. You didn't know if he was still drinking in large quantities, but at least when he went to sleep he no longer reeked of liquor in the same way. And all that week he hadn't forced you to have sex with him.
What had motivated the prince to change his way of behaving towards you?
"Do you want to go to the beach? I will order a couple of horses to be saddled for us” he exclaimed when you had already left the dining room.
You couldn't refuse to go to the bay, because in your entire life you had never seen the ocean and your curiosity was greater than any other feeling. Besides, you loved horses, and being with them might even make you feel better.
Aegon did as he told you and soon enough you were in the stable. He had ordered a beautiful white mare for you, with a silver mane the color of your husband's hair and a formidable build.
You approached to pet the animal, carefully, and tensed completely when you felt another body behind yours. Until that moment you hadn't realized how warm your husband was.
“She's pretty, right?”
His voice sounded at your ear level, as he had also reached out to touch Frostfire’s hair.
"She is"
“I guess you know how to ride,” he muttered under his breath and you let out an offended sigh.
“Of course I do. Highgarden is the heart of the chivalry of the seven kingdoms”
After saying that you turned your head just a little and met his gaze, indigo eyes with hints of lilac looking at you carefully. You could feel his breath against yours and at that closeness your cheeks had already turned red involuntarily.
He separated from you and then went to choose his horse, a black thoroughbred with beautiful braids, to get on it and ask the guards to open the door for you. You almost managed to sneak away, but Ser Criston stopped the two of you just before you could do so, claiming that he had a scheduled practice with the prince.
“I'm taking my wife to Blackwater, she hasn't had a chance to visit since her arrival.”
“But your grace, your father…”
“We will continue with training later, Ser Criston,” he said firmly.
“Will you go to Blackwater without an escort?”
“I will”
"That's impossible"
“Don't worry, I don't want to be accompanied. Just rest for now.”
“But you are the prince.”
"Exactly. I am the prince and I want my orders to be respected."
The boy was a smug son of a bitch when he put his mind to it, just like now. The man had no choice but to obey the words and then the two of you were able to leave. You could get there on foot, but Aegon had felt like riding and had wanted an alternative to quickly escape if something went wrong.
You walked along a path that still belonged to the Red Keep grounds, so there was no great danger of being attacked along the way, and you soon reached the bay. It was even more beautiful up close and as soon as you got off the mare you forgot any courtesy towards your husband, as you rushed towards the shore to watch the waves crash. Your pumps and dress were soaked when the water reached your calves, but it didn't bother you too much because you were happy for the reason.
“Have you never been to the ocean?”
“I'm afraid not, your grace. There was never any business that required me to be on the coast of The Reach and I have always lived surrounded by hills and forests. I had seen some rivers, but…”
Before you could continue your story you staggered because of a wave and to avoid falling you tried to hold on to whatever was within reach, which turned out to be the man next to you. He supported you from the elbows with his strong arms.
“Oh, I'm so sorry.”
“It’s okay,” he laughed. For the first time in your presence, he had laughed “But we should get away from the shore. I wouldn't want to take you back to the castle all soaked”
You heeded the boy's advice and, still leaning on him, walked towards the sand. The sky was slightly cloudy, so the weather was perfect for walking around without any discomfort.
“I've never visited Highgarden, is it as impressive as rumored?” he asked, as he began to walk in the opposite direction of the Red Keep.
Although you never believed that the prince would be interested in such things, you began to talk to him about your hometown with particular emotion. You told him about his surroundings, about the castle and you also told in greater detail the gardens that once belonged to you and were full of golden roses, as was the emblem of your house.
You were surprised by how attentive the boy was to everything you had to say to him and for the first time since your arrival, you didn't feel like a stranger in your own skin. Talking about your home was like remembering a part of yourself, as if you were showing him your insides through stories of the beautiful hills where you had ridden so many times.
“Everything sounds wonderful,” he concluded. The sea breeze had already ruffled both of your hair and he took advantage of this to brush a strand out of your face “Someday I should go visit it”
“Yes, maybe you would like that” you exclaimed smiling. You had come too far and it was time to walk back, towards where you had left Frostfire and Moonshadow tied up “Your grace, may I ask you a question?”
"Yeah"
You opened your mouth to ask him why he was doing all that and why he had suddenly started showing so much interest in you. You wanted to know the reason for his unexpected kindness and his abstinence from activities that weren’t very pleasant for you. But before you could speak, you took a moment to observe him. His skin looked paler in the light outside and his silver hair waved in the wind, however, what caught your attention the most was the serene expression on his face.
Although you couldn't say that you knew Aegon, the time you had lived together had shown you that his personality was extremely challenging. If you pointed out that he was being nicer to you and questioned him about it, he would most likely revert to his old behavior towards you simply on a whim. So no, you couldn't ask him about anything or you'd ruin the minuscule part of a good relationship you had managed to build.
“I was thinking... Do you think we can one day bring golden roses to the royal gardens? Green and gold are part of your emblem too and that would beautify the place. I could take care of them, if you want.”
“That's a good idea,” he exclaimed happily. You had already turned around to return and you calculated that it must be after noon “I will order them to be brought in as soon as possible, in the hope that the hot weather at King's landing will not ruin them”
“I hope not,” you said, although a little less enthusiastic than before.
You had been lost in thought after the appearance of that question that you did not verbalize and suddenly Aegon feared that he had made some mistake. You walked a few meters in silence, until this state was unbearable for his majesty and he stopped you by holding your shoulders. You were about to ask what had happened when he pulled you against his lips, stealing your breath. It was still a rough kiss, but this time less desperate than before. His hands went down to your waist and held you to his body until there wasn’t even a centimeter of distance left, with your belly touching the heat of his stomach.
“Still no signs that you are pregnant?”
You thought that, perhaps, your answer was in that question and that the only thing the man wanted was to convince you to hurry up the matter of producing an heir.
“I'm sorry to say no. It's very unfortunate."
“We'll have to keep trying,” he said, shrugging his shoulders as if he wanted to downplay the matter “Mother insists on it.”
“Has your mother always been like this to you?”
"What are you talking about?"
“It's just… she seems to have everything under control all the time.”
You couldn't be further from the truth and rather than describing it that way Aegon would have said that she was controlling. She wanted to have things under control, but she couldn't and as an example was the eldest prince himself, whom she had never been able to persuade to behave the way he did.
“Well, she is the queen. I guess that's how she must be” he exclaimed without much encouragement. He was still holding you by the waist and was surprised by how intimate that position was. “But we better get back, they must be wondering where we are”
“Maybe they even think I ran away, taking advantage of the fact that you weren't there to watch me,” you joked.
"Would you do it?"
"Do what?"
“Run away”
You looked at the man, incredulous, because it was stupid to think that if you were planning to run away you would just tell him like that. That was the characteristic of it, that it was surprising and hidden.
“Why would I do, your grace?”
“Maybe because I'm a bad husband,” he said quietly. You weren't understanding the game Aegon was playing and it was driving you crazy.
“I wouldn't dare do it. I have nowhere to go and I know I couldn't even get through the doors without your majesty noticing,” you replied.
The prince didn’t want pragmatic reasons like that, but rather his question was more aimed at whether it was your will to abandon him.
Against all odds a couple of raindrops began to fall and very soon a storm had already brewed over your head. It was useless to run, but you did it anyway and Aegon held your hand to prevent either of you from falling due to a trip. Somewhere along the way you lost one of your pumps and at this you began to laugh and he, infected by your joy, did the same. It amused you greatly to think of the face the queen would make when she saw you enter the castle, with her eldest son soaked from head to toe and your clothing incomplete. But you also laughed from the joy of feeling so alive in that moment. You felt like a girl playing in the rain and despite the coldness of the falling water, you felt a certain warmth traveling from the tips of your fingers to your chest.
Although he was sure that you were an excellent rider, your husband insisted on taking you on his own horse to avoid any accidents and you agreed without complaint. His body sheltered you all the way to the Red Keep and once there, under the roof, he helped you down from the chair with extreme care. You didn't think he was that strong until you felt him grab your waist and place you on the floor effortlessly.
“Ask the maids to prepare a bath for you, or you will catch a cold,” he said, putting on your back a cloak he had found hanging on one of the walls.
There was the hint of a smile on his face and seeing him behave like this towards you made you feel weird. You almost felt like he was trying to be affectionate with you, even though he wasn't quite succeeding.
“You should do the same,” you exclaimed softly.
Motivated by the kind moment you had shared, you reached out to brush away the wet hair that had stuck to his face and he shivered at your touch. It was the first time you touched him that way, out of conviction and with care.
“Your majesty, Lord Hand is looking for you. He says he needs to talk to you urgently."
“My grandfather,” he sighed at you, as if wanting to apologize for the words the guard behind you had just said.
He gave the man Moonshadow's reins and then explained that someone had to go get the horse you had left in the bay, so you assumed your presence there was no longer necessary. You were about to leave when he stopped you, grabbing your arm somewhat roughly and looking at you with a feeling that you couldn't decipher.
“I'll go to your room tonight,” he informed.
You felt a little disappointed by the reality of having to share a bed with him, after so long without having done so, but you were grateful that he was at least warning you.
You nodded your goodbyes and he did the same, forming an unspoken agreement. You thought maybe that was why he had been polite to you, so he could get back under your bed sheets. But there was no point in doing it, he wasn't courting you to win your hand, but you were already his wife and he had made it very clear that he could do with you whatever he wanted.
Still a little confused, you were escorted to your bedroom, where you hoped that a tub with hot water and essences would be enough to appease all those doubts that were growing in you.
FIFTH ACT: LOVE
At some point Aegon would get tired of all this, you were sure. But while that moment arrived, you were thoroughly enjoying all kinds of attention you received from your husband. He kept his promise to bring golden roses for the gardens and although the queen wasn’t very happy, in the end they adorned some of the busiest sections of the place. You took that as an act of good faith, so you thought that maybe the thought of repaying him for some of the decency he was showing you wouldn't kill you.
There wasn’t a single breakfast that you skipped, except when the prince was required for political matters or had to travel. You were too proud to admit that you had begun to genuinely enjoy his company, as you still had some distrust due to how temperamental the man was. It wasn't all sunshine and flowers, as the young man still had some outbursts that made you fear him and reminded you that this was who you were really talking to.
His drinking habits hadn’t changed much, since although he was able to handle it during the first week after that period, it was inevitable that he would go back to his old ways and drink an entire jug of wine in a couple of minutes. With sex it was the same, because he continued to fuck you without signs of care and regularly when he was lost in drink. It amused you to think that perhaps that was the reason why you still didn't carry a child in your womb; that he was too drunk when you tried to be of any use.
However, as your relationship strengthened you could notice slight (you almost swore they were imaginary) changes when having sex. He was no longer as rough towards your body as before and tried to thrust into you a little slower, as if he wanted to lengthen the moment and not just unload into you and sleep like a baby after that. Maybe it was just that the drink made him lethargic, but he had even started seeking your lips in the middle of the act or kissing everything within reach of the skin on your neck. You didn't intend to spend much time analyzing his behavior because for you it already represented a victory that he had stopped hurting you after every time you had sex and, honestly, you didn't want to inquire about it. Once again you thought it was more prudent not to question the prince and simply let him continue behaving that way.
Until one night, things looked different for you.
When you heard your husband open the door, quite late at night, and saw him approach your bed, you knew that the same dynamic of nighttime visits would take place. Aegon, already hard as a rock, would kiss you a few times, undress, order you to undress, and then position on top of you to satisfy himself. Needless to say, under the confidence that being in the dark gave you and your husband's lack of interest, you looked away or concentrated on something else while your martyrdom was carried out. He would finish, lie naked next to you, and then sleep soundly with no memory the next morning of what had happened.
Aegon called your name, just to check that you were awake or otherwise wake you up, and you were surprised to hear that his voice sounded quite normal. He wasn't slurring his words like usual.
"Your grace?" you called back, propping yourself up on your elbows so you could look at him.
He did what was expected and as soon as he was far enough away, he started kissing you. You must have known something was wrong from that first moment, when he grabbed your cheek with his wide hand and offered you the most passionate kiss you had ever had. It is reiterated that Aegon was always somewhat careless in intimacy, but this first contact hadn’t felt as impatient as others, but rather was something more careful and planned.
Only one other man had kissed you like that in your life and although the feeling brewing in your chest must have been pleasant, the truth was that it wasn't. You had endured too much abuse from the white-haired man so your body didn't know how to react otherwise. That's why when he continued kissing you for longer than usual and then laid you down meekly, you couldn't do anything but tense uncomfortably.
You were only in your nightgown so there wasn't much difficulty in sliding the straps to the side, almost exposing your tits. Suddenly Aegon lowered his kisses to your neck, where his stubble scratched your skin. Knowing that he would be busy in that area, you turned your head away to focus your gaze on a tapestry on the wall. However, you got a surprise when you felt the prince move away from you and then a bigger one when he took your face between his fingers, placing his index finger and thumb on each of your cheeks to force you to look at him. At first you thought there was anger in his eyes, but after looking at them for a second more you concluded that the feeling was more like that of someone insulted. And why? you asked yourself. What had you done that had offended the prince?
“Why are you looking away?”
His question had a certain aggressive tone, but, at the same time, he sounded hurt. With that you confirmed that he wasn’t drunk or that, if he was, he had drunk just enough to make him feel slightly dizzy. You couldn't tell the way your eyes looked at him, but Aegon interpreted your expression as one of disdain.
Unbeknownst to you, he had his own whirlwind of feelings inside him, one that was driving him crazy and causing him to look you up and down while still holding you. He’d never been like this on another night, so you were at the mercy of knowing how good or bad that would turn out.
Suddenly he seemed upset, you would even say disgusted, and surprisingly stood up from his position. The cold air hit you where he had been before and you sat on the bed to watch him, completely confused by the way he was behaving.
"What's going on…?"
“You don't want this,” he spoke firmly. It was obvious that you didn't want to and you wondered how he had barely realized it. “Not like that… I… no. Not this way"
His babbling confused you even more and when you saw him walk away with exaggerated steps until he left through the door, you couldn't help but feel totally amazed.
What was the reason for what your husband had just done?
The feeling of being abandoned was more hopeless than having him fuck you would have been, and for a moment you even felt ashamed. Maybe he didn't like you anymore or he would just go and cure his frustration in the bed of a woman you didn't know.
He had watched you very strangely and the whole scene wasn't like him. You even pinched yourself just to check that it wasn't some strange dream, getting a moan of pain in response to your question. You thought that perhaps you were acting impulsively, but barely a minute later you put on a green robe over your nightgown and headed towards the door, still not knowing exactly what you were going to do.
“Where are you going, your grace?” the guard on duty asked, putting his voluptuous body in your way.
“Prince Aegon, do you know where he went?”
“In that direction, your majesty. But I'm afraid I must recommend that you return to your room, it is dangerous to walk around the palace at this time."
“But I wish to see my husband,” you said firmly.
The man let out a sigh and then slid to the side of the hallway, leaving you a clear path. Even so, when you started walking you felt his footsteps following you because he probably wanted to make sure that something didn't happen to you. You walked for a while, but you knew it was useless when all you found were locked doors that you couldn't knock on and that you couldn't open either. If Aegon was in any of those rooms, you wouldn't know it. Defeated, you returned to your room and, as expected, found it empty again.
The next morning there wasn’t a single word about that event, but it was present in your mind throughout the day. You had already lived with him enough to realize that something was bothering him, however, upon noticing that he was less talkative during your usual breakfast, you decided to give him time.
You were about to leave the table when he stopped you, asking you to take your seat again and looking at you seriously.
“I have to travel for a couple of weeks,” he informed you. You were surprised to hear that he almost sounded sad “The king is required on some business and since my father can no longer travel, I will have to do it.”
“I hope the entire journey is favorable and the visit profitable, your grace,” you exclaimed cordially. However, your husband didn’t seem pleased with it.
One of his hands slid to hold yours, with a strength that surprised you. There was urgency in his grip, like he needed to hold on to something.
“Is that all you have to say?”
A couple of wrinkles appeared on your brow, as you clearly weren't understanding what he expected of you. Accompanying him would be reckless and you didn't know if he wanted you to keep him there at King's landing.
During those last months something had changed in the man's face, because those eyes surrounded by purple marks no longer saw you with the same aversion as the first time. And it disheartened Aegon that his attempts to please you were yielding no apparent fruit. He was giving you time, effort, and being kind to you like you had said was necessary, but he still couldn't help but feel that you still considered him a stranger.
He had been patient because he thought that, as time went by, you would begin to seek him out or not shy away from his touch. Aegon cared a lot about the physical, so every time he sneaked into your room he did so with the hope that you would welcome him with open arms and give yourself to him willingly. Countless nights he waited in his own room for you to show up to keep him warm and love him throughout the night. But it never happened and a part of him couldn't blame you either.
However, he was already tired of it. He wanted to make it clear to you that he not only wanted to give, but also receive. But forcing you to do anything would ruin everything; you had to want it.
“Have I said something that offended you, prince?”
“I just thought you would say you were going to miss me”
A laugh echoed in your throat at those words and for a second Aegon felt hurt, like you were mocking you. He was going to let go of your hand and walk away, insulted, but you squeezed his hand harder as a sign that you didn't want him to do that.
“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to laugh at you. I just didn't think that if I harbored feelings of that kind they would be of interest to your majesty."
“Do you miss me when you don't see me?” he asked now, allowing himself to be vulnerable in front of you “Or are you glad to have me away?”
You didn't know what those direct questions were about, because you didn't expect that a man like him would be plagued by uncertainty about knowing the answers.
“Not at all. I will always be willing to be with you whenever you want.”
“And you want to be with me?” he insisted.
“I think that what I want is not important”
“But I'm trying to make it so. I thought I was making it clear enough,”
He was angry, but not for the reasons you might think. It frustrated him that he was trying hard to improve and that your eyes continued to see him like that first time. Too many people were already observing him like that and he thought that, perhaps, since you were the most recent to do it, you could also be the first in whom he could manage to modify it.
You, however, were still too confused by his signs. Sometimes his attitude didn’t coincide with the intentions he had, since antipathy was often the only emotion with which he allowed himself to express and feel, accustomed to what he received during all his years of life.
All those months of effort were a direct product of the talk you had had with him, of that moment of weakness in which, instead of ignoring him like everyone else did, you had stayed with him. Aegon was aware that the treatment towards you was sometimes inhumane and he couldn’t explain how despite this you had wiped away his tears with such care, expressing nothing more than an act of integrity. Sometimes he even just imposed things on you to see if he could push you to the limit and he was surprised to see that you endured everything with honor and decency. You were good, something he could never be.
He didn't want to hear anything more and then let go of your hand, feeling rejected again.
"Majesty…"
"It's getting late. I have to go feed Sunfyre so he can endure the trip.”
“Will you travel by dragon?”
“How else would a Targaryen do it?” expressed obviously.
You were silent for a moment and then he stood up, ready to fulfill his obligations. In the afternoon he had already left, without emotional goodbyes or anything like that.
You had those weeks alone to reflect on everything that had been happening. You firmly believed that a cruel and evil person would always be that way, even if they hid it, because humans can’t change from one day to the next. Still, you had to allow Aegon the courtesy of admitting that he wasn't being a complete jerk lately.
You tried to think of any unpleasant moments with him during that week and although you found a couple, you realized that they had all been because of minor arguments or simply that one of the two of you had woken up in a bad mood. The hatred for the boy had been so ingrained in you that now it was difficult to decipher how much of it was due to things that were really happening and how much of it was a resentment carried from the past, at the beginning of that harmful relationship that existed between you.
He was no longer a mean man to you, he just sometimes had those logical slips for anyone who has never been taught to love. He didn't know how to care for you, how to talk to you, or even how to touch you properly. He had always existed alone and could still be seen reflected in his incessant desire for you to be the one to look for him, in his longing to know that you would miss him during his absence and in wanting you to look forward to his return. He wanted you to pay attention to him. He needed it.
One fine afternoon the vision of Sunfyre finally appeared in the bright blue of the sky, with you watching from the huge window of your room. He looked majestic, flying deftly and confidently with the rider above him grinning from ear to ear. Aegon had once confessed to you that he loved to fly on his dragon and he spoke about it with a devotion that completely touched you.
You thought about going to look for him, grateful that he had returned, but you were afraid that your presence would bother him or, in that case, that there would be murmurs about you. You didn't want to seem like a desperate wife so you thought it would be best to look for him at dinner time and in case he wanted to see you before, you stayed in your room all afternoon.
Once night fell, you put on one of your prettiest dresses and went to the royal dining room hoping to find him there, but it was in vain. Luckily one of the cooks had seen him and he told you that he was in his room, since he had ordered that something to eat and drink be brought there.
Determined, you made your way there and took a moment before entering. You hoped that the time away from King's landing had not hardened your lover's character, because it would be a shame to waste what you had built for some time and have to start over, or not do it at all, which would be even worse. Since there were no guards at the door, you were able to push the wood without any hindrance and then you saw it.
Aegon was sitting near the fireplace, his back to the entrance and leaning against a table that had a jug that you assumed was full (or not so full anymore) of wine. When he heard your footsteps he turned slightly and when he saw you, he kept a serene expression on his face.
“Hey,” he exclaimed quietly.
“The maids informed me that you were here” you explained and he nodded.
You noticed that he no longer wore his black doublet with the Targaryen emblem, he only kept the breeches of the same color and a mint-colored linen shirt that left part of his chest exposed. His white hair had some natural curls that fell delicately over her shoulders.
“Yeah. I don't feel like seeing my parents.”
“I understand” you assumed that if he hadn't wanted to see you he wouldn't have hesitated to tell you, so you approached him. Undecided whether you should greet him with a kiss or just stay to the side, you placed your hands on his shoulders and leaned a little to look at him “How was the trip?”
“It was good,” he responded with reluctance. “But my body feels completely crushed”
“Hm. It shows” you whispered, amused. The tension in his body was palpable and that's why you began to massage him, pressing hard just where he needed it. Aegon, feeling your skilled hands doing this, let out a satisfied grunt and leaned his head back with his eyes closed.
Doing that wasn’t something you had planned when you went there, it had only happened out of the heat of the moment and the reality that your husband's body was taking its toll on him for the hours he had spent riding his dragon.
With each passing second Aegon's burden felt lighter and lighter, wondering where you had learned those movements and how your hands were strong enough to exert the right pressure.
"Feel better?" you asked kindly and he nodded immediately, eyes still closed.
Suddenly one of your hands slid lower, towards his chest, to caress him. This time your fingers were light as feathers, sending an electrical current up and down the man's spine under your touch. No whore had ever touched him like that, with that force and at the same time so delicately.
But it was clear that you were not a whore. You were his wife.
“Come here,” he said firmly, reaching out to wrap his hand around your wrist and pulling you directly into his lap.
It was extremely painful to admit that he had missed you. He was physically frustrated because he hadn't dared to take any other woman in your absence. It had been a long time since he had frequented pleasure houses, since his appetite was awakened only by being with you.
What the hell had you done to him?
“The cook told me that you ordered some food, but I only see wine around here. Have you already eaten anything?”
“Mhmm,” he said absently. Your legs dangled to the side and one of his hands came up to your face, brushing your loose hair away from it. The other one surrounded you until it planted itself firmly on your belly. “Still no signs of anything?”
“Honestly, I don't know. The maesters can’t say with certainty… I am sorry”
“What if you are sterile?” the mere possibility of it made you nervous and you wondered what your fate would be if that was the case. Aegon didn't look so worried “What a disappointment for Alicent.”
You didn't know how to take that, because on the one hand it could be that your husband was amused by the irony of the matter and on the other hand it was that he would never have wanted to have children with you. For a moment you thought that the tranquility of the environment had been fragmented by this, but it turned out that the man couldn't care less. He was completely focused on your lips, almost as if hypnotized.
“I trust that is not the case, your grace. Just… it was a streak of bad luck.”
“I guess so,” he murmured nonchalantly. He was still watching your mouth when you spoke “But now I don’t care much about that.”
He carefully grabbed you by the back of your neck and brought you closer to shorten the distance, giving you an eager kiss that took your breath away. The hand that was on your waist pulled you closer to his body, leaving practically no separation between you and him. You could feel the desperation on his lips and in his touch, like he was eager to make you his. And at the same time, he was kissing you like he had never done before: it was sweet, yearning, passionate. You felt like he really wanted you.
He separated from you so you could breathe and, as best he could, he maneuvered to lift your body until he placed you on the table, where it was easier for him to place himself in the space between your legs. You instinctively placed your hands around his neck and wrapped one of your legs around his body.
“I longed for you. These weeks” you finally confessed. You heard him, and felt him, breathe more erratically at this because your words had fallen on him with the force of an axe.
From there, Aegon acted solely driven by the feeling of knowing that you had wanted to see him as much as he had wanted to see you.
His entire body leaned over you to kiss you, with the same urgency as at the beginning. While he did that he grabbed you by the lower back, pulling you until your body collided with his crotch which, if it wasn't already hard, wouldn't take long.
His kisses were clumsy due to urgency and after a while he moved away from your mouth to descend to your neck. Sometimes he left a kiss or two, at most, but this time he seemed to want to take his time. His tongue ran all over your skin, freshly washed, and he spread caresses without restraint. Every place the dragon's lips touched lit up with fire and his hips grinding against you weren't doing much for the blush on your cheeks. Inevitably you began to sigh from so many stimuli, right at the level of his ear, which only motivated him to continue.
As best he could he pulled the laces on the back of your dress and it didn't take long to get rid of the restraints. He slid one of your sleeves over your shoulder to begin kissing that section, the same way he had done with your neck. An indiscreet moan escaped you as your husband bit into your soft flesh and you could feel him smile against your skin.
“You're mine, right?” he sighed brokenly. You had tilted your head back to give him more space and he took the opportunity to lower the entire torso of your dress. “Only mine…”
With the same devotion he took care of your breasts and you couldn't do anything but continue alternating between sighs and some muffled moans. You could feel how he longed for you, eager to be able to kiss every inch of your skin even if it took him the entire night. Suddenly your body had become a temple, an object worthy of worship. The prince continued to distribute kisses that each time descended towards your belly, until with one hand he violently threw everything that was on the table and you ended up lying completely on it. Then he walked away.
You were about to ask what had happened when he took care of taking off your ballerina flats and throwing them somewhere far away in the room, only to stretch your leg up to the height of his torso to start kissing it. No one, not even him, had ever done that to you, so it was natural for you to be dismayed. His kisses moved quickly up your thigh and once he did that, he dropped to his knees in front of you. The skirt of your dress blocked your view and when you tried to get up something made you scream. Aegon had bitten into the tender flesh of your thighs, quite close to your crotch and with more force than he had hit your shoulder. You could only imagine his face when he carefully licked the mark he had surely left on you, once again making your chest exhale a moan.
What he did next and the sensation it caused, you could never have even imagined. That mouth, which most of the time was used for ironic puns and sloppy kisses, was now taking expert care of all of your pussy. Aegon was devouring you completely, touching just where it was necessary to make you squirm on the table. He wasn't careful at all; it was a touch hungry and extremely dirty.
You wanted to hold on as much as you could to keep yourself attached to reality, but it was difficult with your husband eating you like that. One of his arms wrapped around your leg and placed it over his shoulder, probably to give him better access. You had never moaned like that in his presence and it only made him harder and harder beneath the tight fabric of his breeches.
The pleasure was barely getting to your head when he stopped and a dissatisfied grunt escaped you shamelessly. Aegon laughed unabashedly at this, pleased at the control he had gained over you, and then went up again to kiss you hungrily. You couldn't do anything but welcome his salty lips and you moaned against him as he leaned against your body and you could feel his crotch, not knowing if it was your own wetness or his that was present.
He held you from behind and, without stopping kissing you, carried you until he placed you on the bed. You considered it somewhat unfair that your husband already had you trembling beneath him and still hadn't taken off a single piece of clothing, but your complaints were silenced when he hurriedly pulled his shirt over his head and took off his breeches in record time. In the same way, he pulled your dress towards your legs so that a second later it ended up on the floor, along with everything else.
He knelt down on the mattress and spread your legs roughly, lining himself up with your entrance. He began to rub the tip of his member up and down your already wet center and that did nothing but drive you crazy again.
When a delicate, pleading, «please» escaped your swollen lips, Aegon knew it was more stimulating to have you begging for him than to worry about only satisfying himself.
He played with you for a while longer, smiling from ear to ear at the sight of his delicate, pretty wife vibrating from having him close, until he finally plunged into you. For the first time there was enough wetness in you that the stroke felt satisfying rather than painful and both of you let out a delicious moan.
He set the pace, slow at first, but after a while his movements became more desperate. He wanted to get to the core of you, he wanted to fill you completely so you knew that only he could make you feel that way. When his body began to ache he leaned towards you, resting each of his arms on the side of your head and looking directly at you. You had stopped looking away from him, now you were looking at him with your mouth open with pleasure, your eyes watery and your pupils dilated on your completely flushed cheeks.
“Aegon,” you sobbed pathetically, clouded by everything you were experiencing and proving that it wasn't long before you reached your orgasm.
You had never called him by his name. You always referred to him as «your grace», «prince» or «husband», at best. So hearing his name come out of your lips like that, under those circumstances, was too much for him to bear.
Knowing that he couldn't last much longer, one of his hands moved down to rest his thumb on your clit and once there he began to make erratic circles. You closed your eyes, completely seized by pleasure and a couple more thrusts were enough to make you lose the battle. Hearing your whimpers, combined with the way your walls squeezed him, was enough to make him cum too. With trembling legs you felt the warm liquid filling you and, for the first time, it was comforting.
When Aegon plopped down next to you, you immediately missed his body warmth. Both of you were breathing heavily, trying to catch the breath that the orgasm had taken from you. You could clearly feel your heartbeat bouncing off your bare chest and the stinging sensation coming from your crotch and running through your entire body was something you could get used to. Your hair had stuck to your face from the sweat and not to mention your lips, which you felt were burning from your husband's attention.
Aegon had already had many orgasms in his life so this time he decided to turn his gaze a little to see you enjoying yours. The mere idea that he was responsible for your condition made him completely shake.
“You look beautiful,” he blurted out suddenly. You thought he had heard wrong because of the rush, but from the way he was smiling at you, you highly doubted it. “Just like that”
“Like what?”
“Freshly fucked. Well fucked” he corrected himself.
A laugh bubbled up from within you and you blushed even more, if that was possible, perhaps from the nerves and elation of what had just happened. The man stood up a little from his seat and leaned down to kiss you, although this time he did it with a calm and affection that you never thought you would see in him. It was just that he couldn't deny it anymore; from that moment on he would become an open book for you, where you could see all his feelings, desires and fears.
“I don't know why you're doing this,” you suddenly murmured and Aegon pulled away enough to look at you “And I don't know why you've been acting like this these past few months. But I like it. I think it's a good time for you to know."
“You said I could choose who I am,” he said meekly. One of his hands grabbed your chin and stole another fleeting kiss from you. “I haven't forgotten, every word is present in my head. It's just... sometimes it's hard. And I thought I would have a better chance with you, even with the things I did to you when we got married”
You smiled at him and were happy to know that the change in his behavior was because of the talk you once had with him. If he continued like this, ignoring the demons inside him and trying to be better, then your marriage had a chance to become more than just a condemnation.
Driven by the pleasant feeling growing in your chest you reached out towards him to reward him with a kiss. The man's breath hitched when you pushed him to the side and reversed roles, now you being the one pampering him while he was lying down. There was a playful glint in your husband's eyes as you looked at him.
“Do you know this is the first time you kissed me?” he exhaled softly.
You couldn't believe that was possible and for a few seconds you tried to remember so you could contradict him. But every time you remembered you realized that it was always him who initiated the contact to which you only responded, so, effectively, it was the first kiss you gave him out of conviction.
Maybe it was an omen that something good was coming.
Still happy with how everything had turned out, you snuggled into his side, your head resting on his chest while he hugged you and threw a sheet over your bodies. You planted a hand on his bare skin and began drumming your fingers, alternating with small circles made with the greatest delicacy.
You were silent for a long time, you even thought that your husband had fallen asleep until you heard him speak again:
“It's also the first time I'm doing this.”
“Are you talking about sex, your grace?”
“No, I'm talking about cuddling,” he confessed softly, his hand caressing your back the same way you did with him, “And don't call me your majesty anymore. I am Aegon. Or my prince, at any rate. But my is important”
With the affection worthy of a wife, you raised your head to place a kiss on his cheek and assured him that from now on you would call him that in the privacy of your chambers.
Suddenly, after another moment of silence, Aegon pulled you close to him as if afraid you were going to suddenly evaporate. Intending to calm his fears, you climbed until you were on top of his body, hiding your head in his neck so that the distance became minimal.
There was silence for another couple of minutes.
“Do you think I can ever be forgiven?”
Apparently the atmosphere of the moment had managed to soften the boy's heart.
“We can all be absolved, Aegon.”
"And you?"
"Me what?"
“Do you think you can ever love me?” you were quiet for a second, thinking about your response. Then, he added “Or could you at least try? It would be a nice detail for me. No one has ever done it before.”
Not wanting to ruin the mood with a false word you decided to kiss his neck gently and that was enough of an answer for him. He would have to trust in your goodwill and that he could continue to restrain his impulses to keep this newly discovered gem that was his wife. With some luck you could even be that person he prayed for so much all his life, one with whom he could feel safe.
The slowing of the man's breathing revealed to you that he had already fallen asleep and you discovered that it seemed not so bad to find yourself in that position, sheltered by your lover's arms.
Under that scenario, the idea of eventually loving Prince Aegon Targaryen no longer sounded so far-fetched.
#aegon targaryen x reader#aegon the second#aegon targaryen x you#aegon targaryen x fem!reader#aegon targaryen x female reader#aegon targaryen#aegon x you#aegon x reader#aegon x y/n#house of the dragon#hotd#hotd x reader#hotd fanfic#house of the dragon fanfic#aegon targaryen fanfic#aegon targaryen fic#aegon ii targaryen
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Til death do us part



Yandere!mafia oc x reader
Summary: A summer romance turns dark as Silas can't accept that you've married someone else
Warnings: kidnapping, murder, blackmail, threats, Silas belittling darling, violence, isolation, jealousy, possessiveness
Word count: 5k
He’s everything you could have ever wanted. He’s sweet, caring and works at a bank. He can provide for you. He’s from a good family. Everything about him is perfect, everything you could ever have dreamt of. You could never have imagined that you would find a man like him after what happened last summer.
You had met a man on the way home from dinner with a friend, someone that had helped you after the grocery bag you had bought food in on the way home. He had introduced himself as ‘Silas’ and had walked you home, carrying the groceries for you. You had thanked him. Silas had asked if you wanted to meet for coffee sometime, and you had agreed, innocently thinking nothing of it. You had gone out with him multiple times. Never actually becoming a couple, but acting like it. It was harmless, you thought. You kissed, went on dates and you knew that if things continued like this, you’d fall for him.
But you noticed that something was weird about him, and it made you feel cautious in his presence. He never told you anything about his life and when you asked, you noticed that something shifted in his dark eyes. As if he tried to come up with a lie. It creeped you out somehow, because why couldn’t he tell you? Maybe you shouldn’t have trusted a man who tried to cover up his tattoos.
You finally got to know the truth at the end of the summer. A friend who had seen the two of you together had recognised him from a newspaper. He was a criminal, a leader of a mob, who was more dangerous than you could have anticipated. You had cut contact with him and moved away so that he wouldn’t be able to find you again.
But he did. Somehow, he did.
Letters have been piling up in your mailbox during these last few weeks, addressed to you and written in red ink. Your heart had stopped when you read the first one.
“Y/N, I’ve missed you. I’ve missed you so terribly much. My heart bleeds and aches for you. You left me because you were scared. I get that. I get that very well, this is a world you should be afraid of, but I will protect you. I will take care of you better than that man ever could. Yeah, I know that you’ve found someone new. I know that you’re planning to get married. Quite quick, don’t you think? You haven’t known him that long, and now you’re getting married? Silly Y/N, you’re so cute. Do you really think you love him? Are you trying to reassure yourself that I’m a part of your past that will never return? Or are you trying to make everyone around you believe that you’ve gotten over me and moved on? I know you still think of me. I know you want me. And I want you too. I have never wanted someone other than you. You and me are meant for each other. Don’t marry him. Come back to me. It’s you and me til the end.”
You hadn’t shown your fiance, but he had noticed that something had been wrong with you. You had become silent and distant. Letter after letter came to your mailbox and he realized that something serious had happened. You had no choice but to tell him about Silas and your past with him, the present he doesn’t want to let go of, and the future he demands. Your fiance had promised that he wouldn’t get to you, and that he was only trying to scare you.
You had been expecting to see Silas at your wedding, but he wasn’t there—or at least you didn’t catch a glimpse of him. Maybe your husband was right? Maybe he was just trying to scare you?
The start of the honeymoon is set to be on the SS Anastasia, a proud liner with three yellow funnels, a solid superstructure and a great reputation. It is set to take the two of you to Spain, where you have decided to have the rest of your honeymoon, away from all eyes and to be with no one but each other.
A steward welcomes you on board. You thank him and give him a smile. He lets you know that your luggage, which you left down at the terminal, will be delivered straight to your cabin, a suite in first class. Only the best for the newlywed couple.
“I’m so excited to see the room”, you admit as the two of you navigate the ship to find the mani staircase.
“The agent said that it would be nice”, your husband replies and chuckles. “Now, if we only could find it …”
You laugh. It takes you nearly ten minutes to find the right door among mazes of identical white doors. The suite is divided into three rooms: a bedroom, a sitting room and a bathroom, all decorated with expensive materials and fashionable colors. Polished dark wood and electric lights.
“This is so nice”, your husband smiles, letting his eyes wander around. “I think we’ll have a good time here.”
You hug him and he chuckles, hugging you back.
“I can’t believe I married you”, he says.
Me neither, you think.
Your mind drifts back to Silas and you feel your heart sink down to your stomach. You won’t be able to relax until you know that the ship has left harbour. There’s a constant, heavy feeling in your chest that you can’t explain. But you tell yourself that it’s just that; a feeling. Nothing more than old worries that haven’t been able to come up to the surface before now. You squeeze the man tighter, sighing out. You’re going to be okay. You’re going to be safe.
You have been promised a fantastic dinner, and the food delivers to your expectations. Everything is tasting like gold, served on a silverplatter. Sitting in the first class dining hall has given you an excuse to dress up. Everyone around is wearing their best clothes, and it is a silent competition in who looks the best. You look around, discreetly admiring everyone else’s attention to detail. You wonder how many of them have spent the entire day in their cabin, doing everything to look their absolutely best. The first night is usually relaxed, but a first time impression will always be remembered.
“What would you like to do after?” your husband asks and sips on his wine.
“I think I need to take a walk”, you joke.
“Oh, yes, the night sky must be so beautiful out on deck. I reckon that you’ll be able to see the stars much easier out here. No city pollution.”
You walk hand in hand down the promenade, looking up at the starry night sky, pointing at familiar shapes.
The next morning, after breakfast, the two of you walk to the lounge, deciding to take a calm day. Well deserved after planning a wedding and executing it. The lounge is cozy, reminding you of a simple living room rather than a first class room on an oceanliner. Maybe to make the passengers feel more at home.
Your husband takes the opportunity to indulge in a newspaper, finally having the time to sit down and actually read it.
You let your eyes wander around the large lounge, enjoying to admire the small details that give the room it’s cozy feel. But the feeling is quickly switched once your eyes land on someone. A man sitting in an armchair on the other side of the lounge, dark eyes feasted onto you, a small smirk playing at his lips when he notices you noticing him. You can feel your body go numb, feel yourself sink through your armchair, through the floor and through the ship’s metal. Feel yourself sink down to the bottom of the pitch black ocean. You forget how to breathe, head going blank.
He found you.
You glance towards your husband who’s still invested in today’s news. Silas raises his eyebrows testingly as you look back at him, as if to say “yes, I’ve noticed him, you think he compares to me?”.
Suddenly the air in the lounge seem to lose all oxygen. You need air, or else you will faint.
“I-I have to get some fresh air”, you hear yourself mumble.
“Are you okay?” your husband asks and looks up from his newspaper, eyes full of worry.
“Yes—”
“Do you want me to come with you?”
“N-No, I’ll be fine, I’ll be back soon.”
You need to get away.
You hurry out of the lounge and out onto the enclosed promenade. The fresh air hits your face harshly. You grab onto the wall to support yourself while trying to find a way to breathe that doesn’t feel like needles poking through your throat.
“You thought I wouldn’t find you?”
You feel your heart stop. Quickly, you spin around, seeing his face way too close to yours. He tilts it, almost mockingly. You back away, stumbling over your feet and hitting your shoulder against the wall. Silas corners you, stopping you from escaping.
“What do you want?” you breathe out shakingly.
“Didn’t you get my letters?” he asks. “Or did you simply not read them?”
“Leave me alone. I-I’m married now.”
He smirks, tilting his head back and putting his hands into the back pockets of his suit pants.
“Indeed, you are”, he says and sighs out. “But do you really think that’s real?”
“What do you mean?” you almost stutter.
Silas meets your eyes. He’s smiling.
“Don’t you think I could have taken you whenever I wanted?” he asks. “The only reason you were able to marry that boring son of a bitch is because I let you. But, in the end, you belong to me. Isn’t that right?”
You don’t answer. You turn your head away, look out over the endless sea, and feel your eyes fill with tears. He wipes your tears with his thumb and you push his hand away.
“I don’t”, you say, wondering where you have gotten the sudden bravery from. “I don’t belong to you. I belong to him.”
You show him the ring on your finger. Silas clenches his jaw and grabs a hold of that hand, forcing it closer. He pulls of the golden ring, scoffs at it and throws it overboard. You gasp and try to run forward, hoping to catch it before it falls too far, but he pushes you back against the wall.
“Don’t ever say that again”, he warns you. “You don’t belong to him, how could you? I met you first. I claimed you first. He will have my seconds. Everything you do to him, you’ve done to me first. And he will never do anything as good as I did.”
“I left you because of this!” you hiss, reminding him.
“No, you left me because you were scared. You don’t understand that you are in more danger if you aren’t with me. I’m the only one that can protect you. I didn’t want you to know about it because I know you’d be scared, but—”, he cups your cheeks, forcing you to look at him, “—but I won’t hurt you. You’re so special to me. I love you so much. You did read my letters, I can see it in your eyes. You know how much I love you.”
“Let me go”, you plead.
“No. It’s you and I til the end, don’t you remember? I’m not letting you go again. I’ve been letting you have your fun for too long now. It’s about time I take you back. I’m not going to hurt you.”
“Don’t hurt him either.”
You can see his eyes darken, his jaw clench. “You decide if it’s going to be violent or not.”
You freeze in his hold.
“You can choose to come back to me, quietly and easy”, Silas starts and caresses your cheek. “We will be happy and your boy will be left alone.” He traces your jaw with his finger. “Or … you reject me and I take out my competition and take you with me once we reach Spain. No one will see you again.”
He seems to tell that you’ve stopped breathing, because he sits you down on one of the sun chairs and massage your throat. Your eyes are stuck onto nothing, empty.
“I will give you until nine”, he whispers in your ear. “If you’re not outside my cabin at nine, A-30, knocking on my door, I will kill him.”
“You’re a liar”, you breathe out, voice barely audible. “You’ll kill him either way …”
Silas shrugs simply. “Maybe, but don’t you want to take your chances? You might save him.”
Silas stands up. You sit frozen.
“Oh, and Y/N?” he says as if remembering something and looks down at you. “If I were you I wouldn’t tell anyone. You know, for obvious reasons.”
He gives you a small, teasing smile before walking back inside. You sit still, not daring to move. Worried that if you move you’ll break down and realise what’s going on. You can feel your heart pound in your ears. No. No, this can’t be happening.
“What are you doing out here?” you hear a familiar voice ask. “You’re going to get sick!”
You feel your husband hang his blazer over your shoulders. The warmth, the familiar scent from him makes your heart hang heavy in your chest. You can’t help but feel like you’ve betrayed him, as if you’ve cheated your relationship, thanks to Silas’s threat. But if you cheat on it, you might save the love of your life. Can you cancel out a bad thing with a bad thing? Is it really a bad thing then? Can you be excused?
You can’t tell him about it, but if you did, would he understand you?
“You don’t look well, actually”, he says and helps you stand. “You’ve probably already gotten sick. You should go lay down and rest.”
He helps you, slow and steady, to your suite. You lay down in bed and he tucks you in.
“Should we ring for a steward?” he asks worriedly. “Ask for some tea and some medicine?”
“No, I’m fine”, you reassure him dimly. “I just need to be alone.”
“I’m worried about you. Something happened to you. I can help you.”
No, you can’t.
“Do you want to be left alone?” he asks.
What if he gets killed?
“No, stay in here”, you wish.
He nods. You hold his hand as you lay with your eyes closed, trying to think of what to do. He was clear; whatever you do, you’ll end up with Silas. The only thing you can choose—maybe—is to save the man holding your hand and whispering reassurance to you. The nicest you can do, in this situation, is to give in and beg Silas to leave him alone. You can’t be prideful and let him kill him.
You find yourself outside cabin A-30 with your head spinning. You don’t want to do this, but what choice do you have? Your first is heavy when you lift it to knock, the sound of your knuckles hitting the polished wood seeming to echo throughout the entire ship. You can hear his footsteps on the other side and see him tower over you when he opens the door. His smirk sends a wave of nausea over you.
“So, you came in the end”, he says cockily. “Good girl/boy.”
You lower your eyes to the floor. Silas steps aside and gestures for you to walk in. You do, on heavy, unresponsive legs. He closes the door behind you, locking it. You gulp. He lingers around you like a snake and you wait for him to put his fangs into your neck and shoot his venom into you.
“You should rest”, Silas says softly and wraps his arms around you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder. “Let’s go to sleep.”
He leads you to the bed and lays you down, lying down behind you. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t do anything that could scare you. You try to keep it in, but your body fails you. Sobs, quiet at first, leave your body. Tears run down your face. You hold your hand over your mouth, but Silas is close enough to hear you. He hugs you carefully and you can feel him rest his face into your shoulder.
“There’s no need to worry”, he whispers. “You're back where you belong.”
It only makes you worry more.
“Your crying makes me so sad”, Silas whispers. “Everything will be okay, little thing. You're back now.”
You don't fall asleep that night, and you're sure Silas doesn't either. His grip on you remains tight and controlling, showing no sign of drowsiness.
The sun rises outside the porthole, and you're as wide awake as ever. Silas gets out of bed and starts to dress for the day. You remain in bed, feeling too empty to move. Your eyes fall onto the tattoos on his back and arms, wondering where he got them and what they represented. But something in you tells you that you don’t want to know.
“My darling”, Silas sighs and crouches down in front of the bed, caressing your face. “You don’t need to look so sad. You and me will have fun. We can do more than you ever could with that boy of yours could. My credit card never declines.”
“What are you talking about?” you ask, frowning.
“Oh? You didn't know?” His cocky face is getting on your nerves. “My men did some digging into him, and it seems like he spent a fortune on this honeymoon of yours. Barely anything left in his bank account. Poor thing was really trying to impress you, but the illusion would be all gone once you came back home. I, on the other hand, have all the money in the world.”
“Your money’s dirty.”
“Money’s money. I could launder it, and it’d be clean, but you wouldn’t accept it anyway. Which is why you’ll never get money from me. You’ll get jewelry, food, clothes—anything you want—and all you need to do in return is submit yourself to me.”
You sigh and look away.
“We don’t have to talk about this now”, Silas says and stands up. “But you will submit to me, I know you will. Get dressed now, my love, we’re going to eat breakfast.”
Food is the last thing you want right now.
“I’m not hungry”, you say.
“Do you want to stay in?” he asks. “I can go get you breakfast that you can eat later.”
You nod, whatever will make him leave you alone for a while. Silas gives you a comforting smile and pets your head before leaving the cabin. You take the time to cry, when you know that he can’t see you, planning to stop before he returns, but failing.
“Crying when you think I won’t notice?” he asks and scoffs, just a little bit amused. “Do you think I wouldn’t notice?”
He sets down a tray on the table in the room and walks over to the bed, crouching down and wiping your tears.
“You’re mine”, he says. “Crying about that boy won’t change that fact.”
You don’t answer.
“Will I have to stay in here the entire time?” you ask coldly.
“No”, he says. “Not all the time, but if you want to leave the cabin, you will be by my side. If I were you, I wouldn't try to run away from me or try to tell anyone, because the ship is filled with my men. You don’t know who they are, and they won’t bother you if you behave, but the second I tell them to keep an eye out for you, they will.”
You glare at him.
“But you wouldn’t do that, would you?” Silas asks.
“And then what?” you counter. “When we're in Spain?”
“Oh, we're not staying there. I'm not allowed there. My second in command is waiting for us there and will take us back to America as soon as we arrive.”
Oh …
“I don’t want to go back. Not with you.”
“Well, life's not fair, little thing. You should eat now. I got you all the things you told me that you liked.”
He takes you to the table in the cabin and starts to feed you the bread, the coffee and fruit. You eat, just you comply, too tired to fight with him. Fighting with a wall would be easier. A wall wouldn't talk back. A wall wouldn't threaten you.
“See how much easier it is when you obey?” Silas says.
You give him a quick gaze. He traces your cheek with his fingers.
“I look so much forward to having you all to myself”, he mumbled.
His words send icy shivers down your back.
You stay in the cabin the coming day. You wonder what your real husband is thinking of your disappearance. Sure that Silas has already done something to make him stay away … or worse.
“You're so down, baby”, Silas says. “How about we do something, hm? We have a whole ship to our amusement. There is a game room, a pool, a library, and a squash court. How about that? Why don't we play some squash?”
You nod, just to get out of the cabin. Maybe you can figure something out. Maybe you can hide.
“That's my boy/girl”, Silas says and takes your hand. “Let's go.”
Walking out with him, hand in hand, made you feel horrible. He looked so proud, so cocky.
He took you down to the squash court. He picked up a racquet and bounced a few balls.
“I hope you know the rules”, Silas said with a chuckle. “Or else I will win.”
A man came into the squash court. Silas gave the man a quick, stern look before glancing towards you, and then back at him. This is one of his men, you figure.
“Give me a second, darling”, he says and takes the man aside.
They turn their backs to you, whispering. You glance towards the door. As they mumble about something incoherent, you sneak towards the door, opening it silently and sneaking out. You run, but only get a few meters before a hand rips you back.
“Where do you think you're going?” Silas hisses in your ear.
He slams a hand over your mouth to prevent you from making any sounds and almost you back to the squash court.
“I apologize”, he mutters to his man. “Seems like my baby here can't behave.”
He holds your back firmly against his chest, hand resting securely over your mouth. “They'll learn soon enough, once they learn the consequences.”
You fight against him, but he doesn't budge.
“Stop fighting”, Silas hisses and turns to his man. “I'm sure it won't happen again, ill make sure it won't, but can you tell the others to keep an eye out for this disobedient little shit? If you ever see them wander around alone, you get me immediately. Leave us now, I need to lecture them.”
The man nods, bows slightly and leaves the squash court. Silas lets you go and you back away from him, but he's quick to corner you.
“You don't get it, do you?” he asks, and sounds a tad bit amused. “You can't escape me. And, come on, trying to do that on a ship? I really thought you were smarter than that. Where would you go? The only place you could flee would be to jump overboard. But you're stupid, not suicidal. And now, all my men keep an eye out. Just accept that your place is here, with me.”
“I want my fucking husband!” you scream. “You aren't my husband, you're a low life criminal!”
Silas’s eyes darken.
“Okay then”, he says, slowly. “If you want him so badly, go look for him. Go find him. If you do, I'll let you go with him. If not, you're mine.”
“Your men will take me back to you.”
“I'll tell them to leave you as long as you don't talk to anyone. Search everywhere. Go to the lower classes, for all I care.”
“What have you done to him?”
He smiles slightly, but it's not one out of genuine happiness, but of mockery. “Do you really want to know?”
You turn around and leave. He follows you. You barely have time to walk down the corridor before a man takes a hold of your arm. A different man from before.
“You're not supposed to walk around”, he says.
“It's okay”, Silas says a few steps behind you.
He wears his chin high, a smirk on his face and his hands in his front pockets. You rip your arm from the strange man's hold.
“My baby is using their brain”, Silas says and reaches the two of you. “We'll see where that gets them. Keep an eye so that they don't talk to anyone. We don't want to encourage talking to strangers, now do we, little thing?”
You glare at him.
“Go, then”, Silas says. “What are you waiting for?”
You don't like how he's changed. Just five minutes earlier he was set on making sure you wouldn't wander … and now he encourages it. Something has happened to your husband and you want to find him as quickly as possible.
You walk away, leaving Silas and his man in the corridor outside the squash court. You're not sure where to start. As soon as you get out of their sight, you stop and sink down alongside the wall. Needing to just catch your breath.
But you don't linger too long. Before you change your mind, you stand up and start to walk. You end up walking back and forth for hours, sure that every eye that lands on you is a member of Silas’s organization, someone being paid to make sure you obey.
You search every little corner on the ship, but your husband is nowhere to be seen. Your suite is empty, but there are signs of struggle. A glass lying on the floor, more than one person's shoe marks on the carpet. You walk over to his suitcase and take out one of his shirts. Crying as you hold it.
“Any luck?” you suddenly hear him say.
Your blurry eyes dart to the open door, seeing him lean against the frame with his arms crossed over his chest. He looks so nonchalant, so careless. How can he?
“There are words for people like you”, you sniffle with a voice draped in hate. “Did you know that?”
“What word?”
“Inhuman.”
Silas scoffs out a small smile. “If only you were as smart with thinking as you were with words, you’d have figured it out by now.”
“What?”
“You haven’t found him anywhere on the ship, and you’ve been looking for hours.”
He doesn’t have to remind you. Your aching feet is enough to make you feel your loss.
“What did you do to him?” you ask weakly.
“I have already told you, if you listened to me, you’d figured it out earlier. I said that there is only one way to escape me.”
Your eyes widen as you dart your eyes to the round porthole.
“Atta girl/boy”, Silas says, voice smooth as honey as he walks over to you.
“Y-You … y-you …”
“Don’t look at me. I didn’t do it.”
“You ordered it.”
“Are we back to the ‘dirty money’ thing again? Does it matter if I gave the instructions or not? It happened, and even if I said I gave the instructions, you wouldn’t take it.”
You hang your head heavy in your hands, crying. Silas hugs you and you try to fight back, but he doesn’t let you go. He holds you tightly, his rough hands keeping you against his body.
“Now that he’s gone, you have no other choice than to accept me whole heartedly”, he whispers in your ear. “You have no one else. Only me. Until the end of time, til death do us part.”
You sob in his hold, wanting nothing more than to escape. You manage to glance towards the porthole.
Silas holds your hand in a tight, painful grip as you walk off the ship, surrounded by a few of his men. People on the dock cheer and welcome their loved ones, but you’re pulled right through the crowd. You can’t hear any of them, your own sorrow drowning out all sounds of happiness. Silas takes you over to a car. A black haired man leans against it, but stands straight when he sees Silas. His second in command.
“Boss, there you are”, he says with a small smile. “Did you have a good voyage?”
Silas lifts your tightly intertwined hands with a smirk on his face. “What do you think?”
The second in command looks at you up and down and smirks. “Congratulations.”
“I wish we could stay here but if the cops get me I’ll be in trouble”, Silas says and pulls you close. “Let’s go to the yacht before we’re noticed.”
He helps you into the automobile and you’re off, on the way to the ship that will take you back to America. Tears run down your face silently. You shut them, trying to imagine yourself in another place, somewhere far away from Silas and his evil entourage. Somewhere where you had never crossed paths with him. Somewhere where things had turned out different. A bump in the road forces your eyes open again and you’re pulled back into the car that will take you straight to your own personalized hell, with a man who is ready to kill for you. You wish you had never allowed him to carry your groceries.
#yandere#yandere x reader#yandere x you#yandere imagines#yandere oc x you#yandere mafia#yandere oc x reader#yandere oc
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License to Kill
Pairing: Mob!Bucky x Reader
Summary: Marital bliss becomes a bloody massacre within hours of your wedding. Bucky has run the gamut of organized crime from gunrunning to public extortion, but an attempt on your life is a whole different ballgame. A honeymoon-turned-manhunt has Bucky out for blood.
Warnings: 18+. Unprotected p-in-v. Semi-public sex. Beefy, mob boss Bucky really wants to give you a baby. Praise kink. Size kink. Facefucking. Sex on a private jet. Attempted murder. Arms trafficking. Guerrilla warfare.
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5
Any postnuptial banquet was bound to be the talk of Santorini when a groom arrived beaten half to death.
At least that was what you’d told yourself, what had plagued your mind for hours before the start of brunch, and what Bucky presently refused to acknowledge with so much as a bat of his eye or a word spoken in between.
“You worry too much,” he said as he sheathed himself inside you for the third time that morning.
Bucky seized your throat in one hand and tilted your chin to make sure you were capable of eye contact while he fucked you in front of the mirror. It didn’t seem to bother him at all that the face in his own reflection was bruised, bloodied, and sewn up like a patchwork quilt behind you.
Hazards of the job, he’d said.
Three masked assailants breaking into your villa the first night of honeymooning? Customary. Being yanked out of bed and made to kneel as your husband took the beating of a lifetime just minutes after consummating your marriage? More common than you would think.
Bucky hadn’t even blinked when he got pistol whipped by a gold-plated Beretta. Didn’t flinch when he was held to a wall and pummeled like a freestanding punch bag.
Almost smiled when he took a hard right hook to the nose and felt a torrent of blood flood out of his nostrils.
If anyone were to be accused of behaving too calmly in a home invasion, it would be Bucky Barnes. It seemed as though he’d seen this all before and had no qualms about getting the shit kicked out of him every now and then. Why he hadn’t so much as lifted a finger to fight back was still beyond your comprehension, though.
At length, he tightened his grip on your neck and tried to smile, his upper lip slashed in two and bruised a grim, violet hue.
“Who’s my girl?” he murmured an inch from your ear.
You whined when he delivered a particularly hard thrust, both of your hands flying to the mirror to steady yourself as he pounded you from behind.
“I-I am,” you whimpered.
The stretch was still something you were getting used to, but now Bucky knew just how to spread you open without making it hurt. He’d glide a thick finger between your folds, slide it down to your clit, and leave it there as long as you’d let him, rubbing quick circles while you bucked and moaned under his touch. And, in spite of all his cuts and bruises, your husband made sure to kiss your shoulder every now and then to let you know he still loved you—even if he was fucking you like he didn’t.
Bucky trailed his lips behind your ear and watched you writhe in time with every stroke he gave. Pressed his face close to yours, watched a desperate, fucked-out expression take over your features, and smiled to himself knowing that no one but him got to see you like this.
“Who likes getting stuffed full of this cock?” he taunted.
“I do.”
“Who loves making daddy feel this good?”
“I do.”
He never thought the sound of your vows could be repeated out loud in such an obscene way—his sweet bride bent in half with a thick, throbbing cock wedged between her legs—but he loved it nonetheless.
Bucky was rutting his hips at a breakneck pace and holding your head to the mirror like he’d never let go. Your climax was quickly coming close into view, and you felt your toes curl in the hardwood floor beneath them.
Suddenly, the chirp of a ringtone diverted your attention.
Bucky brought his phone to his ear as he continued to pound you mercilessly.
“Yeah, Steve?”
The mob boss’s business never took a break, it seemed.
“So what?”
“Yeah, no, I heard you the first time.”
“Well, I’m plowing my wife right now, can it wait?”
Your cheeks warmed with embarrassment at Bucky’s blunt choice of words. You saw his brow pinch behind you, his thrusts getting faster and sloppier, and in spite of the distraction, you sensed he was getting close too.
You yourself were right on the brink. Your gaze met Bucky’s in the mirror with a soft, pleading look, and before you knew it, your husband was bidding an abrupt farewell to his friend and chucking his phone to the side.
“Ready to cum for me, honey?”
You whimpered and nodded.
“Alright then,” Bucky said with a near-expectant look, weaving the fingers of one hand into your hair and pulling it back, tight, “Cum all over daddy’s cock.”
With a shriek you feared might carry throughout the whole banquet hall, you finally reached your peak and released around Bucky’s length, tears springing to your eyes as you closed them tight and moaned his name.
And, ever the cheeky fuck, Bucky leaned right in and kissed the sides of your face to collect all the moisture he could—‘Shit, honey, you taste as good as you look’—while he smirked. Would’ve grinned even bigger if he wasn’t so overcome with pleasure; but, as it was, he couldn’t keep from blowing his load just seconds after the last spasms of your orgasm. Bucky leaned over your torso and squeezed your body tight to his, fucking his cum deep inside you as far as it could possibly go.
For a few, dizzying moments, the man’s mind wandered to more primal thoughts of making it stick, knocking you up, and Bucky had to clench his jaw hard to suppress the groans that were threatening to spill through his teeth. Every time he fucked you, it was like something just clicked; he couldn’t rid the thought of giving you a baby.
But no, for now, the two of you were still on wedding time; before you could jet off to your real honeymoon destination—someplace in the Caribbean, if Bucky remembered correctly—your mother had insisted that you host one post-wedding event that day: a brunch.
Naturally, that meant you were obliged to serve a four-course meal on the terrace of the Canaves Oia Hotel.
The mother of the bride had been one hell of a staunch advocate for keeping this wedding party going as long as possible, and who was Bucky to tell her no? He reasoned he would have plenty of time to get you pregnant after all the wedding festivities had ended, so he didn’t mind.
At present, you tugged your panties and your dress back into place with a wince.
“I think you displaced my cervix, James.”
Bucky couldn’t deny he felt the smallest twinge of pride seeing you walk a little funny to collect the rest of your belongings and attempt to freshen up. It also gave him the perfect excuse to scoop you back up in his arms and pretend to be apologetic about your present dilemma.
“Did I really?” he asked as you giggled and tried to swat him away, “I’m awfully sorry, Mrs. Barnes.”
“Like hell you are.”
With Bucky still draped over your body, proffering his apologies again and again as he assailed your face with tiny kisses, you’d barely made it two feet toward the door before you collapsed against a table and almost toppled a centerpiece. The pair of you would be expected outside any minute now, where the rest of your post-wedding party was likely trickling in and wondering where the hell the bride and groom had gone, but Bucky seemed adamant on keeping you to himself a little while longer.
That was until the back exit swung on its hinges and a familiar, frazzled groomsman stumbled in.
“Can you horndogs hurry the hell up?!”
So Sam had heard you after all.
You just might’ve blushed if you weren’t being pushed out the door a second later, the hurried, chiding tone of your husband’s friend ringing low in your ears.
“Your old man’s ready to hit the roof,” he mumbled to Bucky, “Won’t start drinking until you two show face.”
“Probably still thinks my bride escaped in the middle of the night,” Bucky mused, flitting a look to you.
The man behind rolled his eyes and continued to usher you both outside. Sam Wilson knew exactly what had happened last night; he’d been the one to bring in the cavalry to save you both from imminent death, after all.
As you had come to find out, Sam wasn’t just a friend of your husband’s but also a close associate of sorts—the kind that would wait in the wings and do whatever it took to keep Bucky safe. When the wait staff at the villa hadn’t been able to reach you for room service delivery last night, reporting some ‘strange sounds’ inside, Mr. Wilson had sprung into action. Called the rest of your husband’s entourage and was up to your room in minutes, where they’d dealt a swift, and final, blow to your attackers. You hadn’t asked many questions after—just thanked him. Profusely.
“You look like hell,” the man observed with a sidelong glance in his friend’s direction.
“Really? I feel great,” Bucky replied.
The three of you weaved through a crowd of partygoers—every single one of whom, without exception, stopped and stared at your husband’s mangled face as he passed—and you started to chew the inside of your cheek. People were gawking, talking amongst themselves as they wondered aloud what the hell could’ve happened to the groom overnight. You felt their stares turn to you in a mixture of pity and reproach, and you wanted to hide.
“Ja-ames!” a sing-song voice trilled across the way.
You, Bucky, and Sam all stopped in your tracks to regard the duo that was making their swift approach over.
Bucky’s mom and dad.
As the older couple drew near, you half-expected to see them take on the same wan, horror-stricken look worn by all those around you, but to your surprise, they didn’t.
In fact, they didn’t bat an eyelid. Seeing their son’s face all gnarled and bloody barely even registered.
“Good, you’re here! The photographers just arrived.” Bucky’s mother swept you into her arms for a brief embrace before shooting her son a frown. Your husband, in turn, offered her an apologetic peck on the cheek.
“Sorry, ma. We got caught up,” he said.
“Sure looks like it.”
That came from the elder Mr. Barnes, who had stopped to give his son a quick once-over. He looked amused.
“Get in a fight with a grizzly last night?” he quipped.
“Three, actually,” Sam answered for Bucky, who was already grinning from ear-to-ear—or as much as his facial lacerations would allow him.
You saw father and son exchange a brief, knowing look, before it was extinguished just as fast as it had come. Clearly, some sort of understanding had passed between them, and the old patriarch seemed pleased. Proud, even. You couldn’t begin to imagine why.
“The bruising shouldn’t be too hard to edit out of the wedding pictures,” Bucky’s mother turned to you as she started to lead the group away, speaking in a matter-of-fact tone, “It’s those damn lesions on his face that always give us trouble.”
She spoke so coolly about the trauma done to her son it damn near chilled you to the bone. You never thought the wife of a mobster would be oblivious to all the violence, but to talk as though this were just another day in the life as far as brutal beatings went was a little unnerving.
You strolled along and silently wondered what the fuck was wrong with this family. Then you realized, slowly, that this was your family now. Your stomach twisted.
When you got to the garden where the photographers were stationed, you saw your parents waiting, enrapt.
And, in a matter of seconds, you watched their expressions morph from exuberance to confusion to outright trepidation. Your father was quick to look away, but your mother clearly couldn’t be bothered to stop ogling Bucky’s gruesome appearance. She forced a tight-lipped smile at the very last second and stretched her arms out to you as the five of you approached.
“You’re glowing, my dear.”
She hugged you and, over your shoulder, tried to mask a discomfited look.
Your mother and father exchanged pleasantries with the rest of the group but seemed loath to linger on Bucky for more than a minute. Like they couldn’t quite tell whether the honeymoon beatdown was fair game for discussion.
“Places, people!”
The photographers were lined up like a flock of paparazzi. Each standing, crouching, squatting with their cameras in their hands, trying to get just the right angle.
The person in charge quickly busied herself with directing and adjusting every one of your positions before the pictures were taken. Telling Bucky’s father to straighten his tie, your mother to brighten her smile, the bride to tilt her shoulders just a little bit more, and Bucky, would you please stop groping your wife?
That last command had come from his mother, actually. Bucky had been palming your ass above your dress, and his mom couldn’t stand the thought of one camera capturing such crude behavior.
“My hand slipped,” Bucky retorted, much to the amusement of a few photographers.
You and his mother gave him identical admonitory looks, but it was you who was close enough to say something.
Just when you opened your mouth to speak, though, an odd sense stopped you on a dime.
There was a warmth. In your panties. Then a slow and silent oozing sensation. You squeezed your thighs tight together and, instinctively, lowered your hand to your stomach, as if that would have any chance of stopping it.
A smirk tugged at Bucky’s lips just as the lead photographer told you all to smile and hold it.
“My cum dripping out already?” he whispered, low as he’d ever spoken but still too loud for you to bear. His parents were literally standing right there.
“Shut. Up.” You replied through gritted, smiling teeth.
“Chin to me, Mrs. Barnes,” the lady in charge called out.
You did as you were told, and Bucky’s hand on your side pressed the flesh ever so slightly.
A series of shuttering sounds, then another directive.
“Think it’ll stay in your panties?” Bucky managed delicately under his breath.
You didn’t respond. At length, his seed was seeping out of your underwear. You bared an even brighter smile for the cameras and tried not to flinch when he squeezed you again.
“Feel it sliding down your thighs?”
“Eyes forward, Mr. Barnes. Head up, and—here, please.”
The man could barely peel his gaze, much less his hands, from your body. He stroked your hip with his thumb. Then, without warning, that same hand slid down to your rear and pushed into the fabric. You sucked in a breath.
“Bucky.”
“What?”
“Behave,” you hissed, and from the corner of your eye you could’ve sworn you saw your mother turn her head.
Unfortunately for you, your husband would do no such thing. He just moved his hand even lower down your back and brushed the space around that spot with the tips of his fingers. You felt a shiver pass over you, along with a whole legion of goosebumps spreading fast across the skin.
If you weren’t on camera and surrounded by family, you probably would’ve liked to smack him upside the head.
As the cameras continued to fire away, Bucky’s touch trailed down to the outline of your panties through your dress and started rubbing small circles over the area.
“Now just the bride and groom!”
The rest of your family members stepped to the side, and it was only you and Bucky before the cameras now. Still smiling like bright, shiny dolls and communicating like ventriloquists, your lips barely moved as you spoke.
“How ‘bout I push it back in?”
“Barnes, I will kill you.”
“Now kiss!”
At the direction of the lead photographer, you kissed your husband and felt a mixture of lust, hate, and love swell up inside of you. When you pulled apart, it was the latter of these three that was searing hot in your veins.
“I love you,” Bucky murmured with a grin.
“I love you, too.”
The rest of the morning passed away in much the same fashion—being pulled from place to place, person to person, while your filthy-minded husband kept whispering in your ear all the depraved things he was planning to do to you once he got you alone. It was romantic, in a way; just terrible for your poor panties.
You reluctantly mingled and laughed with some of the most boring people you thought you’d ever met in your life—though perhaps you were a touch too horny to make a fair appraisal—and gradually, family and friends pulled you and Bucky further and further apart until you were just being carted around like show dogs and forced to hold the same conversation over and over again.
“You look stunning.”
“Buck’s a lucky guy, I’ll tell you that.”
“Are you planning on having kids any time soon?”
You just smiled, nodded, and didn’t have the guts to tell them that Bucky’s baby batter was baking inside you right now. That would’ve been a fun one to watch the reactions from your uptight, intrusive relatives, though.
And speaking of Bucky, where the fuck had he gone?
Just twenty minutes ago he’d sworn he would have you bent over one of the hotel balconies overlooking the Aegean Sea, and now he was nowhere to be found.
Your parents were currently preoccupied with their second helpings of spanakopita, your in-laws draining mojitos like water, and Sam, like Bucky, completely MIA. No one else had seen hide nor hair of your husband in a little while, and frankly, your legs were growing tired of looking.
You let out a small sigh of relief when you saw Bucky sitting a ways away on the terrace with Sam and Steve huddled on either side of him. They looked to be deep in discussion.
Steve, Stevie, Rogers, or, simply, your husband’s second in command, seemed strangely out of sorts as he clenched a fist and said something close to Bucky’s face.
You decided to let the three of them hash it out and to take a rain check on that balcony rendezvous for now.
At any rate, a pack of Pall Malls was calling your name.
You would fully concede this was a filthy habit you never should have started—like most fun things in life—but the reprieve of a nicotine buzz was too tempting to refuse. You grabbed your clutch and took off toward the far end of the lawn, set for a small alcove apart from the party.
You slipped the lighter and cigarettes from your bag as you walked. The scent of pure salt and sea foam greeted your senses as soon as you drew close to the spot—less than a stone’s throw away from the ocean.
Your hands had jammed the cancer stick in your mouth before your mind could make a single word of protest. You brought the lighter to life in your right palm and raised the flame to your cigarette until the end was lit.
Then you inhaled. Exhaled. Hoped no one would see you. You fanned the smoke from your face every so often.
You’d taken up residence on a bench just shy of the beach, and finally, you could stretch your legs and rest.
Maybe indulge in some disgusting thoughts about your husband while you were at it.
If you’d told yourself just twenty-four hours ago that your mind and body would be on the fritz craving Bucky’s touch, you wouldn’t have believed it. If someone had said sex, and cumming around someone you loved, was a worthwhile experience, you probably would’ve told them they were full of shit. But here you were, splayed out on a bench by the shoreline thinking of nothing but the way your husband’s cock felt inside you. Feeling his seed dried on your thigh and aching for a fourth helping.
You felt pathetic. Maybe you were.
In any case, you didn’t really care.
You brought the near-spent cigarette up to your lips for the last couple puffs. When you’d plucked it back out, you heard someone clear their throat behind you.
Bucky! Your lust-addled brain all but squealed.
You turned much quicker than you meant and nearly jumped in your skin to see who was standing there.
A grinning, bright-eyed blond.
In a panic, you flicked your cigarette over your shoulder and forced a smile.
“Hi.”
“Howdy.”
Okay, John Wayne, what the fuck? The man sounded, and looked, like something straight out of a western film.
“No need to stop on my account,” he tipped his chin toward the cigarette on the ground, “I won’t snitch.”
His smile took on a shade of condescension, but the face seemed friendly enough. Then, to your surprise, he reached into his back pocket and retrieved something small and silver from it. He held it out to you.
“Courtesy of your husband,” he said.
You frowned. A flask?
“It’s not even noon,” you answered.
“Bucky wanted me to relay the message that your mom invited a boatload more folks, and it don’t seem they’re fixin’ to leave anytime soon. Said you might need this.”
Gingerly, you accepted the gift and unscrewed the cap. You almost gagged when you got a whiff of pure vodka.
“Fuckin’ A,” you coughed, “What’s this, nail polish remover?”
“Stolichnaya. Can’t talk shit until you’ve tried it.”
Your eyes were still watering from the pungent stench of 80 proof spirits when you saw the man’s outstretched arm again—this time, to shake your hand.
“Joey, by the way.”
You shook his hand and introduced yourself as well, blinking back a few tears.
“You’re a friend of my husband’s?” you asked.
“From the service, yeah. We go way back.”
You couldn’t help but raise both brows in question.
“The service,” you repeated.
“Russian Armed Forces,” Joey smiled.
And when the hell did Bucky plan on telling you he was a former foreign operative? You stared at the man before you in a medley of confusion and disbelief. Surely the thick Southern drawl had to mean he was joking.
“Sorry—I thought you knew,” he said sheepishly.
Your husband’s old comrade seemed genuinely contrite, blushing a shade of pink as he turned his gaze from you. You quickly regained your composure and flashed him a smile, insisting it was fine, just surprising to you is all.
“Perks of arranged marriage,” you said, “We’re wed for life and I don’t even know the guy’s job title.”
That earned a laugh from the tall, gaunt figure in front of you. His features visibly relaxed, and he wasn’t smiling so smugly anymore. He motioned toward the bench.
“You mind?”
“Not at all.”
You fished for a cigarette as Joey sat down beside you. When he’d taken a seat, you offered it to him, and he politely accepted.
With time, the two of you got to smoking and joking around with a little more ease. You didn’t normally get to see that happen—rarely seizing the opportunity to make friends of near-strangers—but this weekend had already presented a bevy of firsts. What harm could a quick smoke break with Bucky’s old friend possibly do?
You found the man to be quick-witted and charming, if not marred by the slightest stain of conceit under the surface. He was objectively handsome: all cool, clean features with an unblemished demeanor and a set of brown eyes so light they almost appeared the color of honey in the sun. The only imperfection to be detected was a skewed, razor-thin scar on his chin. You weren’t ashamed to admit he might’ve been your type maybe four or five years, and several degrees of naïveté, earlier. But you had Bucky now; not even the most sublime, finely-chiseled Adonis could set your sights off of him.
You continued to smoke and shoot the shit.
“So you’re a Puritan, then?” Joey said at length.
“Huh?” You leaned back to stretch.
“You haven’t touched that flask.”
You glanced down at the silver canteen between you. You picked it up.
“Haven’t been into straight liquor since college,” you shrugged.
“But it’s your wedding weekend,” Joey smirked, “Think it says somewhere in the rule book you’ve gotta be hammered the whole time.”
“Does it? I must’ve missed that one,” you hummed.
Rather than answer you verbally, Bucky’s old friend opted to snag the flask from your fingers and unscrew the top himself. Made an unusually bold move and took your chin in his other hand.
“Open.”
“No!”
You bared a tight smile to be polite, but inside, you were more than a little put off by his behavior. Maybe this was some stupid rite of passage into their ‘brotherhood.’ You had to assume he was just being friendly.
“C’mon. Quit bitchin’ and open up,” he chuckled, pinching your face even tighter.
That left an even more sour taste in your mouth. You jerked your head to the left and were just about to inform the man it’d cost him nothing to fuck off and stay off, when a voice broke out through the foliage behind you.
“Honey? Hon, you there?”
Immediate relief at hearing your husband’s voice.
You craned your neck to look around.
“I’m here, Bucky!” You waved an arm to try and get his attention, wherever he was.
It took him a second, but shortly, he appeared on the other side of some trees. He had a stern, if not slightly sallow, look on his face as he made his way over.
You turned back to Joey but found that he’d vanished. Your eyes scanned the beach, the lawn, even the bushes behind you and couldn’t find a trace of him anywhere. All that was left was the flask.
“Bucky, I just—”
“We need to go,” your husband cut in.
His narrowed, steely gaze sent a jolt of apprehension through you.
“Go wh—”
“Now, baby, please. I’ll tell you in the car.”
Your face dropped.
“We’re leaving?”
Shortly, Steve trotted over. Bleak as you’d ever seen him with his hands balled in fists at his sides. And a deep-set scowl.
“Whole fuckin’ swarm of ‘em now,” he pronounced.
Bucky didn’t wait to hear another word. He just grabbed your hand and joined his friend sprinting back up the lawn. You could barely keep apace with their steps and, still clinging to Bucky, almost tripped and stumbled.
“Get the fuck up,” Steve spat.
You tensed. For a second, your feet scarcely moved of their own accord as you trailed behind Bucky and felt a stabbing feeling in your gut. Bucky’s best man had surely been a little rough around the edges before, but never this needlessly cruel. What did you do?
Your husband delivered an uncharacteristically gruff shove to the man’s shoulder and made sure he felt it.
“Don’t you start this shit again,” he said, “Lay off.”
Steve ignored him entirely and took the lead around the hotel’s perimeter. You glanced to the throngs of partygoers still scattered along the veranda and saw similar looks of disquiet and alarm all around.
Just when a dozen different questions of what was going on, where were they taking you, and why the fuck did everyone look so afraid bubbled to the tip of your tongue, a thunderous sound brought you to a standstill.
At the opposite end of the plaza, a cluster of tents, tables, and catering stations all splintered apart in a single, headlong explosion. A bright red column of fire shot up toward the sky, and following its ascent rose a wave of shrill and horrified screams alongside it. A barrage of gunfire rained over the crowd, and before you could even spare a look toward its source, Bucky yanked you flat on the ground. Your hands and knees were shredded across pavement, had less than a second to register the pain, and were shortly made to snake along concrete and glass toward the garden down below.
You crawled, then crouched, then bounded down the lawn following Bucky and Steve like a bat out of hell. Another explosion sounded nearby—this time much closer, sending a shower of flames sailing through the air and all over—and whole droves of people just dropped. Facedown in the grass and covered in glass. Bucky clamped your hand in his own with a force that could’ve snapped it in two, but you didn’t blink. All of your senses were kicked into overdrive and focalized, unflinching, on the sight of more carnage than you could comprehend.
“Here!” Steve called presently.
He caught sight of a jet black sedan at the edge of the lawn and held a hand up to Bucky. A set of keys were promptly pelted into his grasp, and the three of you closed in on the car, quick, without another word.
Bucky tore the back door open and practically flung you inside. He primed himself to climb in right after, when a set of footsteps and a shout held him locked in place.
“Hangar’s clear.”
Sam, by the sound of it.
He jumped in shotgun while Steve seized the wheel. Bucky hadn’t gotten the back door so much as halfway shut before the engine roared to life and the car lurched ahead. Not thinking, you grabbed hold of a seatbelt, but Bucky was quick to pull you in and jerk you down.
You weren’t sure what you’d been expecting then, but it certainly wasn’t your husband’s weight crushing you from above as he pinned you to the floor of the car.
This wasn’t the seamless, smart exit that the heroes of the action-packed stories always had. Bucky didn’t hold you tight in his arms or cradle your head to his chest. He just draped the weight of his whole body over yours and begged you strenuously not to move or make a sound. By the looks of it, too, the car was tearing up the turf of the lawn and anything else that happened to cross its path; there was no rhyme or reason to Steve’s driving, it seemed, just frantic desperation and a will not to die.
Minutes, seconds, sights, and sounds—or what little of the world you could grasp from your cowered position—all bled together in a haze. Your pulse leapt and throbbed between your ears, and little more could be heard above that sound apart from the thrum of Bucky’s own heart, the thunder of gunfire, and the wail of sirens, coming low and faint and far too late to make much difference now.
You pressed your nose to the floor and got a dizzying whiff of nylon and bleach. Would’ve like to retch but gritted your teeth instead, lying in silence and wondering without humor if the splinters, the soot, or the blood would be hardest to wash out of your white satin dress.
The price of admission to board Bucky’s Boeing 787 came surprisingly cheap: just sit back and be ‘pregnant.’
You’d been flanked by medics as soon as you arrived at the hangar—a place tucked away just a few short miles from the hotel, where Bucky kept his aircraft for speedy escapes, apparently—and had been carried onto a jet. You didn’t squirm or protest, just hung limply in their arms and let them tend to you however they needed.
After all, you looked like fucking Carrie White on prom night: coated in blood and stiff as a board. Sitting with a thousand-yard stare and a frozen, muted expression as you tried, and failed, to process what had just happened.
You watched Bucky kneel down in front of you and hardly saw him at all. You sensed him stroke your hair but felt it from a place somewhere far outside your body. Bizarre was an understatement. All you could do was blink.
“It’s not— not her blood, is it?” your husband stammered, gesturing toward your dress.
“Some of it,” one nurse answered quietly.
Aw, hell. Bucky squatted on the floor and slotted himself between your knees, trying to get as close as possible so he could make you say something, even just see him. One of the attendants raised a warning look and placed a hand on his shoulder, which he shrugged off in a second.
“She’s not looking at me,” Bucky’s lip visibly trembled as he drew you closer, “Honey, I’m here— I’m right h—”
“She’s in shock.” Another voice came flatly.
Sure, shock works. In truth, your mind was floating somewhere even higher than the 43,000 feet the plane had ascended, and your brain had gone as soft as a clump of cotton candy in the rain. You couldn’t speak, but you could think in bits and pieces. You blinked again.
“She looks like death warmed over.”
Thank you, Steve.
Off to the side in a plush, leather seat of his own, the man nursed a scotch on the rocks and frowned. Bucky didn’t have the strength to throw a punch or a pillow at his head and instead said only to shut the fuck up, man.
Your husband turned to the nurses again.
“She’s pregnant.”
I beg your finest pardon? You blinked a bit harder.
“No, she’s not, Buck,” Sam said from down the aisle.
“Well, she could be,” Bucky chided, “We’ve been going at it like rabbits since the—”
“Fuck’s sake,” Steve slapped a palm over his forehead. If you weren’t currently balls-deep in a state of mental disarray you probably would’ve done the same.
Bucky had made sure to tell all medical personnel aboard the plane that you were—or very well could be—carrying his child, so would you please take all precautionary measures possible? She’s my wife. You suspected if the doctors and nurses weren’t all on Bucky’s payroll they probably would’ve rolled their eyes and reminded him that all you needed were stitches, dressings, and extra fluids. And no, Mr. Barnes, your wife probably isn’t pregnant, even if you think your sperm is ‘built different’ than most.
“She’ll be fine either way,” the medic on your left said, stifling a chuckle. Wondering if the man had ever taken a sex ed class in his years of prudish, private education.
Bucky wasn’t convinced. Against all physicians’ wishes, he climbed up beside you in the seat and pulled you into his lap with both arms wrapped around your waist.
By turns, the world was coming back into focus for you. You met Bucky’s gaze for the first time, and the man looked overjoyed.
“See? See? She’s back.” Bucky squeezed your hip—and immediately released it when you winced.
“Mind the bandages, Mr. Barnes.”
Your caregivers pro tempore shot your husband a couple wry looks as they packed their supplies and started to leave, getting the sense that their boss wasn’t going to stop badgering them, or you, anytime soon. That worked just fine for Bucky, because then he would get to hold you any way that he liked, as long as you’d let him.
Steve, on the other hand, didn’t seem quite as thrilled.
Sam watched the medics’ departure with a wary look.
“She probably needs to rest, Bucky,” the latter said, careful with his words.
Bucky’s eyes never strayed from yours.
“She’s okay, Sam. She’s good.” Perhaps speaking more to himself than anyone else. Steve shifted in his seat.
In your periphery, Mr. Wilson was approaching with a glass in his hand. You turned your head, and Bucky accepted the cup of water for you.
“Feelin’ alright?” Sam asked.
You tried to nod, but your husband was already cradling your head like a baby, urging you to take your first sip.
A spate of water splashed down the front of your dress. You shot Bucky a look as he hastily tried to dry it.
“She’s not a child, Barnes,” Steve muttered.
“Should probably keep that elevated,” Sam cut in, nodding toward your swollen ankle, “We’ll get some ice.”
Sam tilted his head again, this time to motion to Steve. His friend pretended not to see him, and then Bucky was back on his feet, keen as ever,
“I’ll go.”
He kissed the top of your head and assured you he’d be right back. He’d just started off toward the door, when Sam hesitated. He flitted a quick look between you and Steve and looked like he wanted to say something, but Bucky was already ushering him out of the room.
When you turned to Steve, you understood why.
The man had you pinned with a stare that could’ve killed you ten times over, fisting his drink in a white-knuckled grip.
You watched him right back. Tried hard not to blink.
“Something wrong?”
You weren’t sure how you’d even mustered the strength to speak. Steve just brought it out of you, you figured.
“You tell me.” Tone dripping with disdain.
You raked your gaze over the man for a second, finding him dressed head-to-toe in his three piece suit—muddied with blood here and there, but still no worse for wear than you’d seen him an hour or two ago. It was that frown you couldn’t shake.
What had you done to piss him off so much? Shit in his cornflakes? Step on his toe? Had he seen you with Joey and jumped to the worst possible conclusion? You sincerely couldn’t make sense of the man’s indignation, so you wanted to ask him directly; before you could, though, Steve was interjecting, at length,
“We should’ve left you to die with the rest of your family.”
Your jaw slackened a bit.
“What?”
“You, your mother, your two-timing shitstain of a father. Every one of you should’ve stayed there to rot.”
Never mind the fact that he’d just wished you dead to your face—what did he mean about your parents?
“But they’re coming with us. Bucky said,” you managed.
“He did?” Steve grinned humorlessly, “He lied, doll. Your folks are probably bound and gagged at the bottom of the ocean right now.”
That sent the first real wave of fear pulsing through you. You slowly rose to your feet but, feeling yourself restrained by the makeshift IV line stuck in your skin, you stopped. You plucked the needle out of your arm.
“What are you talking about?”
You drew closer to Steve, who only sat back and sipped his scotch with amusement.
“What? That wasn’t part of the plan?” he quirked a brow, “Didn’t think anyone would dare lay a finger on your precious, self-righteous fucking family—”
You hardly even noticed you’d swatted Steve’s drink out of his hand until the glass went shattering on the floor. You blinked and raised a shaky, bruised finger about an inch from his face.
“The fuck did you just say to me?” Your jaw was clenched so tight you had to speak through your teeth.
Steve was beaming.
The door to the room flew open, and Bucky and Sam strolled in with their ice packs and pillows. They stopped when they saw the glass on the floor and your figure looming over Steve.
“You picked a real spitfire, Buck,” the blond called out, his hands raised in surrender as he smiled up at you.
Bucky seemed more surprised that you were able to stand, much less take that menacing stance over his friend, and he quickly tried to guide you back to your seat. You wouldn’t budge.
“What the fuck are you talking about?! Where are my parents?” You tried to shake your husband off as Steve’s grin grew even bigger.
“They’re fine, honey. Sit down, please,” Bucky mumbled.
“No! He said they were dead!” you shot back, eyes never leaving the smug, smirking face that seemed to be enthralled by the spectacle in front of him.
“Why don’t you tell her, Buck? Girl deserves to know.”
“Shut the fuck up, Rogers,” Sam uttered quietly.
“Tell me what?”
“It’s nothing, your parents are fine,” Bucky seemed pensive now, gaze scanning the ceiling for a second as he tried to collect his thoughts. You shoved his hands off.
“Don’t you fucking lie to me, James,” you said, diverting your attention to glare up at him, “What’s going on?”
“Either she’s a world-class actress or she really doesn’t have the first clue about this. Enlighten her.” Steve seemed a little more serene as he unscrewed a bottle of Talisker and reached for a second glass. You would’ve liked to knock back one or two—or ten—yourself.
You turned on your heels to face Bucky. At the moment, he seemed torn between imparting a death black stare on Steve and a placating, apologetic one to you. The tips of his ears were tinged pink.
“Baby—” He reached for you, but you pulled back.
“No.”
You wouldn’t ask him again. Your husband was wounded by the sight of your recoil—and perhaps by some painful truths he’d be compelled to share as well—and he wrung his hands. Started to chew the inside of his cheek.
Sam snagged the scotch and made a heavy pour.
“Why’d you marry him?” Steve said suddenly.
Bucky’s face dropped; you raised a brow in question. Before your husband could stop you, you answered,
“Because my dad was in debt.”
“For what?”
You paused.
“Real estate. Gambling. Fuck if I know.”
Steve nodded. Ignored Bucky’s sharp, reproachful gaze.
“And how much money did he owe?” he asked.
“Steve,” Sam warned.
“Four, five million—more than he could ever repay.”
This time, it was Steve to raise both brows as he mulled over your response. He almost looked surprised.
“You’re forced to marry a man just to settle a debt and you don’t even know the price that tight little body’s paying?” he scoffed.
His words hadn’t hung in the air for much longer than a second before Bucky decked him, shoving him square in the chest and sending him stumbling back a couple steps. A splash of whiskey was quick to join the bloodstains adorning Steve’s tux, and the pile of broken glass on the floor grew even bigger. The man hardly flinched when Bucky shoved his head to the end table.
“Say it again.” Your husband sounded dispassionate as ever. Like this was something he was used to doing.
“She should’ve known!” Steve snapped anyway.
You shared a brief look with Sam but found his expression inscrutable. He kicked a few shards of glass with the toe of his shoe.
“I wasn’t exactly in a place to negotiate,” you grumbled, “They were going to kill my father if we didn’t settle it, so I wasn’t all that interested in knowing how much money my A1 cunt was gonna cost Bucky. Personally.”
If he could go low, you would go lower. Fuck him.
You saw Steve grin through a freshly busted lip and straighten himself back into a seated position. He wiped the blood with the pad of his thumb while Bucky seemed to contemplate swinging again. The look in your eye cautioned him against it.
“Fair enough,” Steve conceded. He stopped to consider his words—ones that wouldn’t prompt Bucky to punch him directly in the throat—and looked to you, curious,
“Why would the mob kill him over a few million dollars?”
You shrugged.
“He’s a real estate broker. They probably knew he couldn’t fork over that kind of cash.”
Something akin to a stifled chuckle and a cough sounded from Sam, while Steve outright broke out laughing. Even Bucky’s expression softened a little as he rubbed his knuckles and paced closer to you.
“What?” you spat, “Did I say something funny?”
Sam shook his head slowly, starting, “I don’t think—”
“Your daddy’s a fucking gunrunner, sugar,” Steve wheezed, “Head of a multinational arms trafficking syndicate—motherfucker is not selling houses.”
Your insides churned with a mixture of disbelief and revulsion, but you couldn’t let them see that. When Bucky reached for your hand, you yanked it back again.
“And how the fuck would you know?” you said to Steve.
“We work with him. Used to work for him, at one point,” Sam answered.
“And the man is horseshit at business”—Steve paused to see if Bucky had shot him a warning look but found your husband far too concerned with capturing your attention—“He was $90 million in the hole when Bucky came to the rescue.”
“James?” You finally turned to him.
“And your daddy didn’t even owe the money to Bucky, he owed it to HYDRA,” Steve sneered.
“James,” you pressed again.
You couldn’t understand why your husband refused to speak—going as deadpan and radio silent as the night before. He stood there and watched you with a rigid, inflexible gaze.
“HYDRA as in— the Russian mob?” you asked him.
“No, the Girl Scouts,” Steve huffed, “Yes, the mob.”
“Schröder’s boys. Your dad’s been in business with them for years—owed them a lot of money,” Sam added.
“And your dad and Bucky’s dad have been friends even longer. So Bucky figured he’d do yours a favor and pay the debt himself.” Steve seemed eager to tell this story.
All the while, the hue of Bucky’s cheeks grew even deeper—like he didn’t want this coming to light. He sensed you wouldn’t stand down until you’d heard the whole ugly truth, though, so he held your gaze and watched you grow more repulsed by the second.
“Then why’d he need me? Just another bartering chip?” Your tongue felt heavy in your mouth, “A pawn?”
“A peace offering,” Bucky said quietly.
Steve and Sam finally clammed up long enough to let him speak, but your husband seemed taciturn as ever.
“Your father didn’t owe me anything. I would’ve paid his debt and left it at that, but he insisted I— that we marry. He wanted an alliance no subsequent financial incentive could disrupt. He would take the money I gave him, pay HYDRA, and bow out of any future dealings with them. Our marriage was supposed to guarantee that.”
Bucky spoke slow, like every word was a labored breath. Hardly the same could be said for his friends.
“That was until your dipshit weapons dealer daddy decided he’d have his cake and eat it too. Struck an even sweeter deal with HYDRA and played in our faces,” Steve said.
“At the direction of Mr. Schröder, your father tried to intercept a shipment bound for one of Bucky’s warehouses in Brooklyn,” Sam continued, “Only problem is he fucked up the execution and cost Schröder a dozen men and tens of millions of dollars in artillery and blow.”
“So Schröder paid him a visit today,” Bucky muttered.
Without realizing it, you found yourself sinking into the nearest seat and bringing a hand to lay flat on your stomach. You felt sick. More than woozy, truthfully. Your head was spinning and your stomach was twisting something terrible, as if you’d just ingested cyanide.
Fuck, did you need a drink.
You couldn’t look at Bucky or Steve or Sam any longer.
You reached for your clutch and pulled out Joey’s flask.
And, bloodlusting mobsters and outlaws be damned, the Russians knew how to make the hell out of some vodka. A single sniff of the stuff told you this was exactly what you would need to cope with your current situation.
“So you think I had something to do with the new HYDRA deal?” you asked, “You honestly th—FUCK!”
Bucky lunged for the flask in your hand before you could take a single pull. He snatched it away in the blink of an eye and shot you a look.
“Liquor? For our baby?” he barked.
You audibly groaned and were just about to tell him that his understanding of human reproduction was a crock of shit when you stopped. You saw his expression change.
“Where did you get this?” Bucky asked, suddenly pale.
“You, dumbass!”
“Me?”
Bucky was presently passing the flask around to his friends, who were eyeing a spot on the bottom of the container with shared looks of alarm.
“Your friend gave it to me earlier saying that you wanted me to have it,” you said.
All three men looked up at once.
“What friend?” Sam asked.
“Joey,” you answered, “Bucky’s friend from the army.”
If it were possible for your husband to get any paler his skin might’ve turned the color of cottage cheese. His eyes were wide with fear.
Then he was hurrying to your side. Taking your hand.
“What friend from the army? What’d he look like?”
You were still scanning Bucky’s face, trying to make sense of the apprehension etched into his features, when you managed,
“I-I dunno. Blond. Light brown eyes.”
“Tall fella?” Steve asked.
“Very.”
“Have a German accent?” Sam pressed.
“No, a real thick Southern accent,” you shook your head. It didn’t occur to you then that it could’ve been fake.
You were about to turn your attention back to Bucky, brow still knit in confusion, when a vague memory crossed your mind. You looked up at Sam and Steve.
“He had a—” You tapped your chin lightly, “—a little scar right here.”
You would’ve thought you’d just announced you had a bomb strapped to your ass the way the three men reacted. Each wore identical looks of disbelief and muted horror, exchanging looks between themselves as if they’d just discovered the Atlantic Ocean—and found the Loch Ness Monster lurking somewhere underneath.
Bucky looked the worst out of all of them. His face had drained of all expression and color as he stared at you.
“Joey?” he intoned feebly.
“Yes,” you answered—feeling ineffectual, even dense, for not catching on to what the rest of them had discovered.
Fortunately, Sam wouldn’t let you wallow in ignorance.
“Johann Schröder,” he supplied in a second, “The man you were talking to was Mr. Schröder, head of HYDRA.”
Steve held the flask in his grasp for you to see the bottom, where a skull with six tentacles was engraved. Then he tipped the canister into a glass he’d taken in his other hand and watched a frothy pink liquid spill out.
“Looks to be a serum of his,” Steve said, hollow as you’d ever heard him, “Kind of like…roofies.”
“You didn’t drink any of it, did you?” Sam asked.
“Nuh-uh. Bucky showed up right as he was trying to, uh— to pour it in my mouth.”
A beat of silence gripped the room.
Bucky looked like he might burst a blood vessel, or someone’s skull. Or both.
Still, he wouldn’t speak to you.
The inside of your head was throbbing.
You almost preferred the ruthless, irate glint in Steve’s eye when he’d suspected you of being a traitor the first time around; this cloyingly sympathetic gaze he was giving you now had to be the most maddening thing. He and Sam both looked on at you like you were a victim. Like you were something to be pitied, or coddled, or left to the capable hands of your husband—a motherfucker who couldn’t even speak so much as a syllable to you.
You felt a pressure build, then swell, then peak between your temples, and you wanted to wince but couldn’t stand the thought of looking weak in front of them.
Then your nose started to bleed.
That, at least, woke Bucky from his reverie as he fumbled around for a napkin and helped you to your feet. He looped an arm around your waist and led you off to the bathroom, his grip tightening on your frame with every step you took.
In two minutes flat, you were flooded with fifteen feet of toilet paper and tissues. Bucky cupped the back of your head in one of his broad, warm palms and kept it plastered there as he instructed you to hold it, honey, hang on, I can grab a few extra rolls right here and guided you toward a private area at the back of the plane.
You could scarcely see above the bunched up wads of Charmin Ultra Strong pressed close to your nose, but you trusted Bucky wouldn’t lead you astray. You felt the welcome touch of a bed underneath you, and then your husband was helping you settle in amongst the pillows and the blankets and the rose petals that had been scattered around before—not entirely appropriate now, but a nice touch nonetheless—and slipping your shoes off your feet. You felt his hand graze your ankle, and then he was saying he’d be right back with those ice packs.
You reached for his hand before he could leave.
“I don’t want it,” you said, your voice slightly muffled by the tissues, “Want you to talk to me, James.”
Bucky’s brow pinched inward. He kneeled down in front of you, where you were sitting on the edge of the bed.
“I am— I’m talking to you right now, honey, I—”
“You know what I mean.”
Bucky wiped his hand down his face and shook his head. Like he was trying to rid himself of a thought.
“I don’t want to talk about HYDRA. Or your father,” he said simply.
“Why not?”
“You’re not in the right place to hear it.”
You plucked the toilet paper away from your face long enough to give him a stern glare.
“We’re on a plane. Fleeing Greece. After you got curb-stomped in our honeymoon suite, our post-wedding brunch was bombed by the Russian mob, I was almost drugged by their leader, and my parents are probably as good as dead, if not being held for ransom, as we speak. Please tell me a better place to have this conversation.”
Bucky was left stumped for a second. Then he slowly rose back to his feet.
“Okay.”
Infuriating.
“Okay?” you snapped, “We could’ve died five times today and all you can say is okay?”
“Uh-huh.”
Fuck this guy. You wiped your nose and stood up too.
Bucky tried to nudge you back onto the bed, wary of the ever-growing number of bumps, bruises, and nosebleeds afflicting your body. He tensed when you nudged him right back.
“I need to see my family,” You stood firm, “As soon as we land wherever it is we’re going, I’m on the first flight back to New York—or wherever they are.”
You dabbed at your nose once more and looked up at him.
“No, you’re not,” Bucky returned.
“What? You’re gonna stop me?”
“Yes, I will.”
The worst part was he wasn’t even smug about it. Just calm and self-assured. You flung your tissues to the side and threw your hands up in exasperation, feeling the need to step away from him and start pacing the room. The man’s reticence was grating on your nerves.
“Why bother, Buck?” you snorted, “It’s not like I’m even your wife, really. I’m just a peace offering that you get to bend over and fuck every now and then, right?”
You turned to make your first circuit around the foot of the bed but were shortly met with the expanse of Bucky’s chest. You looked up to find him frowning.
“Don’t say that again,” he glowered down at you.
Unlike most times before, you didn’t flinch. When he reached for your wrists, you didn’t let him win.
“I’m not your wife,” you repeated, “We may be playing the most fucked up game of mob charades, but this is not a real marriage.”
You ignored Bucky’s evident desire to grab hold of something of yours and side-stepped easily, expanding the gap between you two as much as you could. It was almost amusing to see him not in control for once, and floundering to recover what semblance of it he could.
“You are my wife,” he insisted, frown growing deeper as you crept along the edge of the room, “Everything I do now is for you—it’s not a goddamn game to me.”
“You used me for some Machiavellian marriage ploy! That is the definition of a game, James!”
“I don’t even know what the fuck that means,” Bucky said, “But I love you.”
“You met me yesterday, motherfucker!”
You could feel another bloody nose rising in your bones. You turned around, swiped your lip with the back of your hand and were surprised to see nothing there. You waited for the bleeding to start back up again. When you turned, Bucky had closed the distance between you and was holding something in his hand.
Before you could protest, he was smoothing the thing over your face—apparently he’d grabbed a washcloth and dampened it—and laced his fingers through the hair at the back of your head. He held you firmly as he blotted the blood.
“Is it so hard to believe that I love you?” he asked quietly.
He was trying hard to placate you, but his actions were having just the opposite effect. You let him wipe the blood from your face but watched him begrudgingly.
“You want someone to control, Bucky,” you said, “Love is not a power play that you get to manipulate at will.”
Bucky blinked, trying to conjure up a response as he daubed the skin with a little more force. You weren’t finished.
“You look at me and see a victim. Someone you need to watch over— who can’t take care of themse—”
“That’s not true.”
“Really? That’s not what a ‘good little wife’ is to you?” you retorted.
At last, Bucky tossed the hand towel to the side and ran a hand through his hair. He stepped toward the dresser, shrugging off his suit jacket.
“That’s a— a bit I do when I’m horny. I don’t actually want you subservient to me,” he muttered as he looked around for a hanger. Finally, he just draped the coat over the back of a chair and sighed.
“So holding me hostage from my family is a bit, too?” you quizzed.
“To keep you safe from the people who tried to kill them. I’m sorry I don’t want to see you butchered because of me,” Bucky returned with just as much biting sarcasm.
“That’s rich coming from you.” You despised the indignation in your tone but couldn’t help it. These thoughts had been brewing inside your skull for hours. You watched Bucky struggle to undo his bow tie—just like the night before—and, again, your brain barely registered the action before you were reaching for the garment and tugging at the fabric to loosen it yourself.
“What are you talking about?” Bucky asked, brow furrowed.
“Last night,” you yanked harder than you meant to. The knot just got tighter, “And today. Tonight. You’re as still as the fucking grave and won’t say a word when something bad is happening. You just let it happen.”
You tried to pry your fingers through the tie but found it stiff as ever. You groaned inwardly.
“No, I don’t,” Bucky objected.
“You’re doing it right now! You wouldn’t tell me about HYDRA, or my father, or the guy who could’ve— hurt me. You didn’t say a word of that to me, and you expect me to believe we’re in this together? That you’re trying to keep me safe? You couldn’t even—” you paused to pull at that stupid tie your husband had tangled about four times over, finally feeling it give way a little—“couldn’t even pretend to give a fuck when those men broke in last night and almost killed us!”
Just as you freed the silk from its knot, Bucky seized your wrist. Shoved your hand off of his collar.
“I had to do that,” he snapped.
He threw his tie to the floor and started to unbutton the cuffs of his sleeves. The sight of his broad, veiny forearms were only visible to you for a second before he headed toward the closet, peeling off bits and pieces of his ensemble as he walked.
“You didn’t do anything, Bucky! You just sat there and got the shit beat out of you for no fucking reason! You didn’t even try to fight back.”
Bucky had just muscled his way out of the confines of his dress shirt, leaving him in a tight, plain white tee. He turned to you with what seemed like the most pointed look of disdain.
“You think I wanted to do that?!” he barked. Suddenly facing you head-on, skin flushed a shade just shy of crimson.
“You were too chickenshit. Didn’t wanna get your hands dirty, so you let Sam do it for you,” you seethed.
Your husband looked as though he wanted to put his fist through a wall and pummel it several times over. Seemed like he did, anyway. In truth, he didn’t move—just watched you with the most cruel, unflinching gaze as he clenched his jaw.
“I’m chickenshit?” he repeated.
“Yeah. Coward,” you spat.
“Too much of a coward to keep you safe?”
“Precisely.”
At long last, you saw Bucky smile. It was the tightest, most humorless grin that had ever crossed his lips, but it was a smile nonetheless. He raised a hand over your head and bracketed his arm against the wall so he was leaning over you. Not meant to intimidate per se, but the sight of that smirk was unnerving, to say the least.
“Did you hear what language they spoke?” he asked, voice unbearably low as he drew his face closer to yours.
“It sounded like—”
“Russian, that’s right,” Bucky cut in, “Do you know what they said to me when they pulled us to the floor?”
You swallowed and said nothing. Bucky’s breaths were fanning hot across your cheeks, sending waves of a strange sensation all throughout your body—you weren’t sure if you were meant to be aroused or scared shitless.
“They told me, ‘If you move, we’ll kill her,’” Bucky deadpanned as he began to trace the wallpaper beside your head with a single, bloodied finger, “‘If you fight, we’ll dismember her and set fire to every piece of her body in front of you.’ Or something to that effect.”
The repetition of their words seared your veins like a legion of flames. You could picture them saying it. Grabbing hold of Bucky’s head by the roots of his hair and beating him over and over and over, threatening your life if he made a single move to stop it.
“Bucky—” you started.
“I know they meant it, too. HYDRA operatives make good on their promises if they really set out to harm someone.”
Your husband’s grin had transformed into something more of a crooked, downcast grimace, just baring his teeth as he tried not to lose his composure. Guilt flooded his face.
“I know I should’ve told you then. And after. I should’ve told you about your father as soon as Steve’s informant told us. I just—” Bucky stopped to swallow; he couldn’t meet your gaze—“I didn’t want that hanging over your head. Not after everything that happened last night.”
It was like a blade had just twisted in your stomach. Your throat ached. You wanted to touch him but were almost too scared to ask. He looked so fragile.
“I am a coward. And controlling. Probably the most chickenshit, overbearing son of a bitch you could’ve been unfortunate enough to marry.” For a moment, Bucky’s gaze flickered to yours, and you saw a blooming red hue around the blues of his irises, “But that’s not how I’m supposed to love you—or going to love you.”
You weren’t sure how to reply; you tried raising a hand to his cheek, just to touch the skin, but decided against it.
“I’ve been a shit husband, fake or not. I’m sorry.”
Fake husband maybe, but the look on his face was intractably authentic. Palpable. He blinked as though trying to clear the warm and heady feelings from his expression—suddenly not wanting you to see the shades of his emotions painted there—and focused instead on a few stray strands of hair that had blown over your face. He got very invested in those, all of a sudden.
While your husband stroked the corners of your face and fixed his gaze away from yours, you felt the smallest prick of warmth spark within you. Bucky looked soft and serene and sincere in his apology, defenseless now as he grazed his knuckles over your cheek and said it again,
“I’m sorry, honey. I’m so sorry.”
He paired his apology with a rapid succession of little kisses pressed to your forehead, moving his hand to the nape of your neck to pull you closer to him.
You wanted to touch him, too. You almost felt as though you didn’t know how.
So you stood there and accepted his affections and tried to nod your head when he asked if you were alright, were you hurting any, baby? You leaned into the gentle pressure of his fingertips taking stock of every cut and bruise you’d sustained over the course of that day, watched Bucky’s brow furrow with each new discovery, and tried not to let his touch stray far down your body.
You wanted to be the one with your hands on him—now more than ever.
When Bucky’s hand trailed over your chin, you tilted your head just slightly to kiss it. Your husband didn’t think much of it, just smiling down as tender as he always did, when your lips really grazed over the skin. You pressed a kiss to his finger and wordlessly urged him to move it further. Now it was Bucky’s turn to be at a loss for what to do as you took the tip of his thumb between your lips and suckled it, gently.
“Honey,” he let out a sigh, half-encouragement and half-warning—what were you trying to do?
You glided your mouth down his finger so half of his thumb was enveloped inside. You sucked it again.
“You can’t…” Bucky maintained feebly, eyes briefly scouring all the cuts and bruises across your skin. He didn’t want to see you strain yourself any further.
But whatever pain this might cause was ancillary to you; you curled your tongue around the digit and moaned lightly.
The taste of one finger alone was enough to send you into a frenzy. That and the fact that he had been so open and honest and attentive to your needs made every bone in your body want to jump his. Something about a man taking accountability for his actions and communicating them in a way that didn’t intimidate or belittle you was refreshing. Sexy, almost. Admittedly, the bar for mob boss husbands was hovering somewhere deep in hell, but you admired Bucky’s efforts all the same.
You popped his thumb out of your mouth and smiled.
“You worry too much, Mr. Barnes.”
The echo of his words from earlier—the ones he’d said as he was railing you against a mirror—made Bucky’s cock twitch. His gaze trailed down to the sheen of saliva on your lip, and he almost folded on the spot. He swallowed.
“Don’t wanna hurt you, bunny,” he murmured as you sucked your bottom lip between your teeth and peered up at him.
“Hurt me how?”
You really hadn’t meant to sound like such a tease when you’d said it, but it was hard not to come across that way when you were watching him like that.
And sinking to your knees, with your eyes glued on his.
Bucky sucked in a breath as you kneeled between his feet and nudged the seam of his pants with your nose. He felt so big against your face, you almost couldn’t fathom how he’d fit inside of you the night before. You were amazed how quickly he’d gotten hard—as if the two of you weren’t just having a heart-to-heart a second ago—and you felt your own arousal pool in your panties.
“You know I don’t mind if it hurts. Love the way you stretch me out anyhow,” you continued, and tried not to smirk as you imagined a dozen filthy images from last night flash before Bucky’s mind.
You heard him stifle a groan when you ghosted your lips over the bulge in his pants and felt him swell even more. Your mouth watered at the sound, the sensation, the raw anticipation of what was to come and knowing that you got to dictate what happened. You undid the button and the zip of his pants and damn near drooled at the sight.
Even confined to his boxers, Bucky looked fucking huge.
Suddenly, you began to understand how needy he had been the night before when he’d first wedged his face between your legs and gotten a taste of you. You hadn’t so much as sampled an inch of his cock, and you were already aching to swallow him whole.
“You have no idea what you do to me,” Bucky grunted as he planted a hand on the wall in front of him. You kissed the outline of his clothed erection and earned a full-throated groan.
Well, that makes two of us, you wanted to say but were too busy palming him through his boxers to utter a word. Soaking in the sight of him with every sweet, soft groan he made and wanting to be the reason for even more.
“Can I take you in my mouth, daddy?” you asked softly.
Bucky flattened his palm against the wall and nodded. Beyond words as you worked him out of his boxers.
For one, fleeting moment, you almost wanted to walk back your big talk when his cock sprung out of the fabric. You really hadn’t seen his length at all last night—too busy having it stuffed inside your cunt to get a good look—but holy shit was it an intimidating sight. You weren’t sure if it was just the nerves of this being your first time giving head or if Bucky truly was that massive, but you felt your courage start to crumble before your eyes.
My husband is hung like a fucking horse and I’ve never fit anything bigger than a couple fingers in my mouth. This should go well.
Bucky was evidently so turned on that he didn’t notice the apprehension in your expression. After all, you were moving your lips down his cock and seizing the base of him with what looked like excitement.
Should I…lick it first?
It seemed you would have to learn all of this on the job. You stuck your tongue out and ran it up the length of his shaft.
When Bucky groaned in response, you sensed that that was okay. You pressed a few kisses on the underside of his member and scrambled to think of what else to do.
“Fuck, baby,” your husband let out the most guttural sound as you squeezed his length in your hand. Then, to your surprise, he seized a fistful of your hair between his fingers and rutted his hips, pushing the head of himself against your lips, “Take me in your mouth.”
You heard the Kill Bill sirens blare between your ears but said nothing. You could do this—you’d be fine.
Your lips wrapped around the head of his cock, and Bucky gripped your hair even tighter. Let out a deep, satisfied moan like this was exactly what he needed. You liked that noise and wanted to take him even further.
What you didn’t expect was four more inches shoved inside your mouth before you could stop to take a breath.
The whole girth of his cock made a sharp intrusion, causing your cheeks to stretch and hollow out around him. The head of his member barely grazed the back of your throat, and still, you gagged. And not only gagged but choked, as though someone had just tried to scrub your tonsils with a fine-bristle toothbrush. Unfortunately for you, Bucky’s dick did not taste like spearmint.
He pulled his cock out as quickly as he’d pushed it in.
“Sorry. Shit, sorry.” Bucky blinked twice to get out of that blissed-out headspace and shot you a sheepish look.
The man had rarely been obliged to slow down or take five when his old, ever-changing flavors of the night sucked him off before—most blew him without trouble. But you, kneeling there batting your lashes through a few more tears than expected, seemed uncertain. Even half of his shaft made for a tight fit in your mouth, Bucky thought with some guilty feelings of arousal. He watched you wipe your chin with the back of your hand and frown.
“We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to, baby,” Bucky said, stroking the top of your head.
Suddenly, the frown was turned in his direction.
You raised a brow.
“Why? That all you got, Barnes?”
Bucky couldn’t help but chuckle—and grunt, a little—when you grabbed the base of his cock and brought it down to your swollen pout. His hand instinctively moved back to the wall.
“Honey, are you s—”
He stopped the second you rubbed him up and down and pressed a kiss on the most sensitive skin.
“My mouth isn’t made of paper mâché. You can fuck it a little harder than that,” you said, running your touch down his length while holding his gaze. You looked eager.
Before Bucky could respond, you took the tip of his cock between your lips. Flattened your tongue and glided your mouth down as far as it could go before your cheeks started to hurt—then bobbed your head even further. One of your husband’s hands made a fist in your hair while the other scraped the wall, and you could tell it was taking some serious effort not to rut his hips out of habit.
Be gentle, be gentle, your dick barely fits in her mouth—
“—fucking hell you feel good,” he groaned.
Bucky took one look and could have cum on the spot.
It was one thing to feel you licking and sucking and stretching to accommodate his length, and another thing entirely to see you knelt in front of him with the world’s sweetest gaze, mouth stuffed full of his cock and eyes all but rolling back at the overwhelming sensation. You’d nearly made it all the way to the short tufts of hair on his lower abdomen—and looked so pretty doing it.
Bucky fucking loved it. And you. And fucking you, your face, any place he could fit himself, quite frankly. He stared down at you struggling to take his cock and felt a strange new wave of desire pulsing through his body.
“You like that, doll? Like when daddy fucks that slutty little mouth of yours?”
“Barely fits but you take it so well, bunny.”
“My good little wife and her pretty fucking mouth—likes sucking daddy’s cock however deep he needs it, huh?”
You liked it more than the air in your lungs, to be honest. Only problem was you couldn’t quite speak your mind with your mouth full of Bucky, so you had only to nod. Your husband groaned when you hummed along his length and bobbed your head to answer ‘yes.’ He saw you try not to gag and decided to thrust a little deeper.
He watched his cock drag back and forth along your tongue and took hold of your hair like a vice, fucking your face until your chin and cheeks were drenched with spit. Every now and then he’d pull his cock out just long enough to ask how bad you wanted him in your mouth, how desperate you were to taste him again, and every time you’d answer a little more sweetly and incoherently than before, eyes glazed with desire and mouth open for more.
You were amazed you’d lasted as long as you had—how quickly you’d devolved into this pliable, doe-eyed cocksleeve for Bucky and how keenly you desired to please him even more. It felt pornographic and lewd and somehow still loving as he plowed in and out of your mouth and sang your praises like no man had before.
Above you, Bucky was aching for release but adamant that he wouldn’t cum down your throat—not yet, at least.
His mind was alight with those pesky, primal thoughts again, and every time he watched you swallow him whole, he just wanted to fuck his cum someplace else.
Bucky wasn’t sure if he was smitten or simply dominated by carnal desire; all he knew was that he wanted to give you his babies.
Lots and lots of babies.
A hundred or more, if he had it his way.
Again, you barely had a chance to take a fresh breath before Bucky threw you onto the bed. You’d just tried to steady yourself in a semi-seated position when the man shoved you back in the pillows and slotted himself between your legs, pupils blown wide with hunger.
In a blink, you were flipped onto your stomach with your ass yanked high in the air. Back made to arch, toes about to curl, you closed your eyes and sank your teeth into the sheets, moments away from begging your husband to fuck you right then and there, but Bucky had other plans. He seized the hair at the crown of your head and jerked your head to face forward.
The first thing to greet you was your own reflection—in a floor-to-ceiling mirror at the foot of the bed—followed by Bucky’s broad form steadying behind you. You watched him wet his lips, furrow his brow, and use one careful hand to guide the head of his cock to your entrance. Completely piqued with arousal as you were, weeping beads of desire from that place between your legs, you almost wanted to buck your hips and fuck him yourself.
You refrained.
Bucky pressed the tip of himself to your clit and met your gaze in the mirror when you let out a whimper.
“You didn’t mean it, did you?” he asked, tone suddenly dropped to that of a stoic.
“Mean what?”
It took an unbelievable amount of willpower to fight the moan in your throat when Bucky dragged his cock down the seam of your cunt and rubbed every hot, throbbing inch of himself in the slickness between your folds. You were quick to take the sheets in your hands and squeeze as tight as you could—you wouldn’t let him win that easy.
“When you said you weren’t my wife. Did you mean it?” Bucky was coating himself now, rolling his hips back and forth while you seized the white linens for dear life.
“No. I didn’t,” you said through your teeth. Your eyelids fluttered with the feel of him circling your sensitive hole.
“Do you want to be my wife?” Bucky had to have known it was an asinine question, but he asked it all the same.
“Yes.”
“You do?”
“I do. I do. Now will you just fuck me already?”
In response, and as if to make a mockery of your request, Bucky just pressed the head of his cock inside you and watched you close in the mirror—daring your hips to move back another inch.
“What else do you want to be, doll?”
To say your mind was an empty slate bare of anything but the desire to be fucked was an understatement. You fumbled to find words.
“Your wife, your girl— that’s it, Bucky.”
Your husband nudged his cock a little deeper.
“A good girl?” he hummed.
“Yes, daddy,” you cried and clenched around him.
Bucky stayed where he was and stretched your wet, aching hole with just his tip, making the world’s most shallow thrusts as he flattened his hand on your back and made sure it stayed arched while he teased you.
At this point, you didn’t care what the man saw or heard. You fought with your hips and whined into the sheets.
“Bucky!”
“Wanna be my obedient little cockslut?” he asked.
“Uh-huh.”
“My bunny?”
“Yes, James.” Your cheeks were enflamed, almost hot to the touch.
Bucky suddenly drove himself inside you all the way to the hilt. He squeezed your hip in one hand and with the other slipped a finger between your folds to rub vicious, tight circles against your clit as you bucked and moaned beneath his touch.
“How about a momma?” he pressed, almost too low to be heard, “Wanna be that, too?”
His hips fell into a quick and easy rhythm against your ass, stretching you wide and filling you up almost seamlessly. Your mind was too consumed with pleasure and him to think much else, but barely, you managed,
“W-what?”
Bucky delivered a thrust that knocked the breath from your chest, leaning down to rub your clit even harder.
“Do you want to be a mommy? Have me fill you up and put my baby inside you?”
Oh, fuck. Fucking—what the fuck? Your toes curled as a new jolt of pleasure shot through you, and your gaze locked with Bucky’s in the mirror. He knew exactly what he was doing.
“No— James, we’re not, shit—” you stopped to take a breath as he fucked you rough from behind, smirking the whole time, “We’re not ready for that.”
“Look pretty…ready to me,” Bucky stifled a groan when you squeezed around him and made obscene little noises sliding up and down his cock. He watched the way your pretty, wet pussy stretched and swallowed him down to the base and imagined it dripping with his cum. He snapped his hips against your ass even faster.
It wasn’t clear just who was more overcome with desire—both of you blissed out and fuckdrunk as you’d ever been—and then Bucky flipped you onto your back.
He wanted to see your face as he fucked you slow this time, lips hovering mere inches from your own as he dragged his cock gently in and out of you.
“James,” you breathed, digging your heels in his back with a wordless plea to speed up, baby, please.
In truth, you just knew what would happen if Bucky had the advantage of slow and soft sex with a mouth lowered close to your ear. How he’d shower you with kisses and bring you right to the edge, rolling his hips against your body with strings of sweet praises flowing fast off his tongue.
“Just one, honey,” he mumbled, lips grazing the edge of your jaw, “One baby and I promise we’ll be done.”
Yeah fucking right, you wanted to return with a roll of your eyes but felt your insides churn as he grazed that spot.
“Can you do that for me, doll?” he eased his dick back and forth and snaked a hand between your bodies until his palm was laying flat on your stomach, “Fit my baby in there?”
You couldn’t deny the feelings of pleasure were heightened to no end when he rubbed the heel of his palm into your tummy and continued to rut into you. That feeling of fullness, the delicate nudge against your most sensitive place, paired with the warmth of Bucky’s hand on your lower abdomen, was as close to euphoric as you’d ever felt before orgasm, and it wasn’t hard to tell from the way your body responded. Bucky worked his touch even deeper and watched you writhe beneath him.
“My sweet girl,” he cooed, rubbing that spot, “You’d look so pretty all swole up down here, don’t you think?”
Fucking hell, this guy was good. You squeezed your eyes shut and tried to shake your head.
“Someone…tried to kill us…twice in the last twenty four hours,” you managed between labored breaths. Trying not to whimper when the head of Bucky’s cock kissed your cervix and you felt him bottom out inside you.
Balls deep and enamored with the expression on your face, Bucky laid a kiss on your forehead and smiled.
“I’ll take Schröder’s life with my own two hands if it means keeping you—” he paused to press his palm even firmer on your stomach, “—and our child safe, honey.”
You wanted to believe him. You sincerely hoped your husband could make good on his promise—even if it meant delivering an agonizing, bloody death to a man you barely knew—but you sensed deep down that there were no guarantees in the world Bucky Barnes inhabited. From what little you’d seen in the last day and a half, it had become clear as ever that there were no certainties; no promise of tomorrow, much less a probability that things would pan out exactly as you planned. Add to that a living, breathing child between you two, and the prospects for a safe, secure, and peaceful future were small. Infinitesimally so, in the grand scheme of things.
“No, Bucky,” you finally opened your eyes to find his tender gaze watching over you. Still moving his hips gently, still blanketing your body with his own, “That’s entirely just— just irresponsible. You know it would be.”
“Making a child together?” Bucky seemed wounded saying the words.
And, in spite of the serious turn your conversation had taken, you could see and feel with the growing pace of your breaths that both of you were close. You wanted more than anything to repair that muted, injured look in his eyes, but then Bucky was blinking it away, to the best of his abilities, and lowering his head back down to yours to impart a soft barrage of kisses along your skin. He resumed before you could even think to speak again.
“Okay. No, you’re right. It’s your choice, my love,” he murmured against your cheek, getting back into the more deliberate rhythm of his thrusts before. He stayed there holding his body and his lips as close to yours as possible, and when you felt tempted to say something again, you found the sound drowned by a cresting wave of pleasure.
Your legs tightened around Bucky’s sides, and your head fell back on the bed. You felt Bucky’s drop right beside you, turned just slightly to graze his lips against your ear.
“Gonna cum for me, doll?”
You nodded.
“So close, Bucky,” you breathed, a tremor passing over your thighs as they squeezed him even tighter.
You felt your husband’s hand move from your belly to a place just below it—taking care to bring the pad of his thumb to that wet, aching bundle of nerves—and started drawing circles. Your back arched from the bed, into him, and the coil of pleasure in your lower half swelled.
“Good girl,” Bucky growled, “Good fuckin’ girl, taking me so well.”
The praises and gentle circuits of his thumb continued as he fucked you harder into the bed and panted against your skin. Increasing the speed of his thrusts before catching your mouth in a sloppy kiss, body sinking into yours.
“Gonna make a mess of this cock, huh? Show daddy just how much you love it?”
You whined in response, feeling your muscles start to ache from how hard your legs were wrapped around him. Bucky invaded your mouth with his tongue, kissing and licking and craving your taste as he fucked you stupid—and begged for your release.
“Cum for daddy, honey, I know you got it. Let daddy feel it, baby, please.”
A couple more snaps of his hips and you gave him just that: a hot, cascading ripple of bliss spreading all throughout your body, sending your mind in spirals and every muscle under your command a tense, throbbing mess. You swallowed a scream and took a bite of Bucky’s shoulder instead, causing the man above you to grin and fuck you harder.
“That’s my girl,” he mumbled with an audible hint of pride.
The smile only started to waver when his own release was coming close. Suddenly, his grip was moving to your hip and pinning you down to the bed, brows pinching in and breaths starting to hitch.
“Honey— honey,” he said, voice strained, “Baby, you— you gotta let go of your— ah, fuck.”
Still riding out the highs of your orgasm, you hardly even noticed how tight you were holding him with your legs, and shortly, this raised issues for Bucky, who was trying like hell to heed your wishes and not cum inside you.
“Baby, let go, I gotta—”
He probably could’ve fought to shake you off a little harder, been a bit more adamant about his efforts, but you looked so comfortable and lithe and sweet beneath his frame, so blissed out and happy to be taking his strokes, Bucky almost had to pinch himself to rouse his lust-addled brain to action and remind himself that this was how babies are made, man, get the fuck off of her.
Bucky let out a long, strangled groan as the ropes of cum left his body before he could think, or move, fast enough.
He hastily pushed your legs away and pulled out, but not before painting your walls with a good portion of his load. His hand fell to his cock and started jerking the rest of it out over your stomach, body washing with pleasure.
Vaguely, thoughts of babies and ballgames and neat white picket fences crossed his mind, but those views were fleeting; he remembered what you’d told him and forced himself back to earth, dropping a quick, apologetic kiss to the side of your face.
“I’m sorry. Should’ve pulled out quicker,” Bucky panted against your neck.
You stroked his bicep and shook your head.
“You’re fine. I kinda had you down like a boa constrictor for a second,” you breathed and shared a weary laugh.
Before you knew it, Bucky was sliding off the bed and shuffling toward the bathroom in search of a towel. You prodded the warm, gooey mess on your belly with your finger and raised an eyebrow. Curious, and only slightly worried.
Bucky had been hitting it raw for a day now—surely one more half-load of his wouldn’t get you pregnant, right?
Fortunately, you didn’t have much longer to ponder that thought because a trill of a ringtone sounded from the nightstand.
A phone call? At 45,000 feet?
“Just the intercom,” Bucky called out, “Probably Steve about to start complaining that we fuck too loud.”
Huh. You stared at the trimline-looking telephone on the table and let it ring. Then the sound stopped.
“You think they could hear us?” you asked.
Bucky had just wet a washcloth under the sink and was rifling through the cabinets for something else.
“Hope so,” he said with a shrug, “You know I’d never miss a chance to let ‘em know I took a trip to poundtown—”
“Please never say that again,” you groaned, closing your eyes in sudden fear of what Steve and Sam may or may not have just been made privy to outside of the room.
You were just about to speak up again—perhaps to tell your husband there would be an indefinite travel ban to poundtown if he didn’t hurry the fuck up with that towel—when the intercom’s jarring peal started up once more.
Fuck this. Ignoring the sticky-sweet puddle of love still painted on your stomach, you sat up and crawled over to the phone and ripped it off the hook.
“Barnes residence,” you announced without ceremony. Then, imagining how smug Steve was probably looking on the other end of that line, you decided to be crass and add, “Bucky Barnes is very busy laying pipe on his wife right now, but if you could leave your name and number, he’ll be sure to call you back as soon as possible!”
You heard the caller burst out laughing, and you smiled to yourself. Pleased to have made an otherwise moody and brooding Steve Rogers crack at one of your jokes, you were just about to hang up when the caller cut in.
Bucky was returning with your towel in hand, lips curled in the faintest of smirks at hearing your crude declaration, when he stopped at the foot of the bed.
He saw the smile fall from your face, and his did, too.
From the other end of the line, a soft and familiar Southern drawl crawled out of the phone’s receiver.
“Sure thing, doll. Tell him it’s Joey Schröder calling.”
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#bucky barnes#bucky barnes smut#bucky barnes fanfiction#bucky barnes fic#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes x you#marvel#mcu#mob bucky barnes#marvel smut#marvel x reader#james buchanan barnes#james bucky barnes
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No joy in giving if you’re never pleased
pairing: rengoku kyojuro/fem!reader
premise: When a certain Hashira proposes to marry you for the sake of conforming to social norms, you find yourself in a spot where you’re unable to refuse the offer. Despite your initial agreement on keeping the union strictly professional, however, his accidental exposure to an incredibly potent form of aphrodisiac causes well-hidden feelings to quickly rise to the surface in a single night.
cw: 18+ MDNI, canon divergence - HE LIVES!!!, arranged marriage, s pollen, loss of virginity (he loses his v-card, not you), creampie x2 (double delight, lol), brief mention of domestic violence from reader’s previous marriage.
wc: 7.3k
———
Rengoku Kyojuro had never planned on getting married. It’s not like the thought didn’t cross his mind occasionally, but how could he, with the life he’s chosen to lead?
Despite the tendency of coming across as a bit daft because of his rather eccentric nature, Kyojuro is far from stupid. He’s well aware that if a marriage were to successfully prosper, it requires a number of things; one of them being stability. Stability that is, for the most part, expected to be constant.
So with this very important fact taken into account, how on earth is he, the Flame Hashira of the Demon Slayer Corps, expected to provide stability for his partner? Constant stability, at that?
After all, missions often keep him away from home for long periods of time. If it’s not the missions, then it’s certainly the endless training sessions that cause for an incredibly busy schedule. And what about the apprentices that have yet to show up on his doorstep?
At this point, the only time he ever slows down is when he needs to recover and gather his strength back after a particularly nasty fight. And even then, when he’s got nothing else to do but spend his days resting in bed and tending to his injuries, he’s usually completely elsewhere with his thoughts, already strategizing on how to further hone his already sharp skills in order to avoid causing more harm.
However, being the Flame Hashira comes second to being an obedient son. So when his father presses on the matter by the time Kyojuro turns 27 years old, he once again does what is expected of him and dutifully finds himself a wife.
The arranged marriage ends up becoming just that – arranged. It’s a spring wedding: beautiful and sudden just like the season it’s been placed into. You lay eyes on each other only once before the knot is tied, and then you’re whisked away to house Rengoku.
You’re both in dire need of it, though. Him, because his father demands it, and you, because you’re a widow who’d just recently buried her now-late husband, but who remains to be too young and heirless to be able to safely cling to that title.
Unlike your first husband, however, Kyojuro treats you exceptionally well. While he may not be present most of the time, leaving you to tend to your shared home more or less on your own terms, he always, always makes sure to treat you with respect. He speaks kindly to you each time your paths do end up crossing, encourages you to spend time with his equally as kind-hearted younger brother Senjuro, and enthusiastically compliments your cooking whenever he gets the chance to eat it.
He’s also never raised his hand against you – a habit your previous husband had often acted upon and that had left you with plenty of scars even long after the ones on your skin had healed and faded away. No, instead, Kyojuro doesn’t touch you at all.
And by that, it truly means not at all.
You may sleep in the same bed on the nights when he’s around, but it’s like a chasm stretches itself between you and your husband the second you clamber underneath the covers together. It’s not emotional distance, per se – your personalities seem to be getting along just fine, at least from what you’ve gathered so far – so you suspect that it must be a different kind of issue that’s stopping him from consummating the marriage.
When asked, even whilst becoming a bit flustered, he’d openly admitted that he expects nothing from you concerning the matter. That he never really gave much thought about fathering children, since they could easily be seen as a weakness by his enemies and thus potentially used against him, as morbid as that sounds.
But even with your initial wariness and doubt after the conversation, he’s since made it clear time and time again that he’s perfectly content with keeping your marriage purely platonic, exactly like he’d said. The union keeps both sides of your families happy, while still allowing you the safety and freedom you’ve always desired as a woman. And as for him, the ability to continue his work uninterrupted is seen as only a plus in his eyes.
Some would call his reasonings selfish, but you’ve long since learned that your husband is anything but that. Everything he does, he does for others. Having a wife is already risky enough as a swordsman, and yet he has still chosen to obey orders and take you in, even going as far as to teach you some of the more basic self defense maneuvers for some peace of mind.
Besides, during the first couple of months, the entire thing had sounded like a dream. Having a husband in an arranged marriage who willingly provides, treats you like an equal, and is generally fond of you without the more forceful, unpleasant aspects around it; could you ask for anything more?
Well, yes. You suppose you could. But wait! It’s not that you aren’t appreciative of the things he gives you – in fact, you’ll be forever grateful for them, storing and cherishing them for the rest of your life – it’s more so… about the things he doesn’t.
Because while he may hold lovely conversations with you no matter the time of day, and while he may smile brightly each time you welcome him back home in the courtyard, the crown of his head bathed in sunlight, no matter what kind of ploy you attempt, Kyojuro just doesn’t seem to be picking up on the fact that you don’t see this marriage as strictly transactional anymore.
Over the last year, feelings for the golden-eyed Hashira have blossomed inside your heart. You’ve tried not to succumb to them, heeding his wishes, but have still ended up catching yourself buzzing with pleasant nervousness when in his presence more than a handful of times now. To make matters even worse, you even have trouble falling asleep next to him in bed because of how fast your heartbeat begins to race the moment he enters the room – a treacherous heartbeat which you have no doubt he can hear.
Alas, nothing seems to sway him. The closest you’ve ever gotten is on a couple of occasions when he’d come home bearing wounds that weren’t so severe that they needed to be looked over by Shinobu, but nevertheless required to be tended to. He’d tried to reassure you countless of times that he could handle them on his own just fine when you’d stepped in to help, but you’d stubbornly insisted every single time without fail.
“Of what use am I as a wife if I can’t even patch up my own husband?” you’d said one time, carefully reaching for his arm. The blood had mostly dried up by then, already beginning to flake. “Just let me help you, Kyojuro. I promise it’s no trouble. It’s what life partners are meant for.”
Kyojuro, surprisingly, had kept silent after that, for once allowing you fully to continue your ministrations. Still covered in grime and watching you with visible uncertainty, he’d caught but didn’t vocally acknowledge the small gasp you let out the second your fingertips had made contact with his alarmingly hot skin, and, by the time you’d bandaged him up, had even hesitantly promised you that he’d take it easy for the next couple of days.
You, on the other hand, were incapable of stopping yourself from thinking about the heat his body emanates from that moment onward. It supposedly reaches its peak only during battle, he’s told you this in order to soothe your worries, but even by the time it winds back down, you still find it dangerous. It’s no wonder he’s so quick to warm the bed the second he lies down, the man is practically a walking, breathing furnace!
And just the thought of that heat engulfing you; wrapping you up in its warm, tender embrace, caressing every inch of you, filling you– Well, perhaps it’s enough to drive any spouse just a little bit mad with yearning.
But what can you possibly do? All he ever does is talk to you. Occasionally, he’ll perhaps slip up and ogle at the exposed side of your neck, or the curve of your lips, but it’s often all so fleeting that you don’t even have time to properly reciprocate. Before you can even begin to wonder if he’s actually capable of lusting after you, he’s already back to his friendly, unsuspecting self.
However, that all changes when he comes home one evening after his training session with a certain Love Hashira. Because that night, you come to learn that the sweet, always vehemently respectful Rengoku Kyojuro who you cherish so dearly, is perfectly capable of lusting after his wife.
He’s just good at concealing it with politeness.
———
“Kyojuro, is that you?”
Looking into the mirror you’re sitting in front of, you briefly pause combing your hair to smile at the reflection of your husband who now stands leaning against the open doorway of your shared bedroom. The lights in the hallway behind him are off, shrouding it in darkness just like the rest of the house for the night, but the soft glow coming from the couple of candles you’ve lit earlier to aid your routine before bed is just enough to define him.
From what you can gather from a single lookover, he seems to be perfectly fine physically-wise. There are no cuts slashing his smooth skin, and no bruises that paint it painfully violet. No sight of blood, chipped teeth or broken bones either. Actually, the only two things that seem to be in a state of disarray are his clothes and hair.
He’s missing his signature haori and the top three buttons of the black uniform jacket that he wears underneath are undone, revealing his neck and the edges of his collarbones. As for his hair, you’d best describe it as mussed. Like he’d felt the constant need to run his hands through it multiple times, pushing it away from his face over and over again through the course of the day.
For someone who normally looks well put together, these small but otherwise specific changes in his appearance almost strike you as somewhat indecent. Perhaps it might be a bit of an overreaction from your side, however the entire time you’ve known Kyojuro, you’ve never seen him act sloppy or salacious when it comes to his image.
It causes your stomach to sink.
Surely he wouldn’t…?
No. He most certainly would not. A good husband like Kyojuro would surely never stray towards a ghastly thing such as infidelity, right? He’s one of the most loyal and honest people you’ve ever met. You just can’t even begin to imagine him lying and deceiving you about anything of this sort.
Nevertheless, your voice still proceeds to wobble slightly as you pick up the comb again, worrying thoughts rushing through your mind a mile a minute. “How did your training with Miss Kanroji go?”
“Mm, I’m not quite sure to be honest. It was a bit odd,” Kyojuro mutters as he steps into the room.
You don’t fail to notice how different he sounds. The tone of his voice is uncharacteristically quiet, almost subdued. It only proceeds to worsen the feeling of dread that’s forming in the pit of your stomach now.
“Odd?” you repeat, carefully following his movements in the mirror. He’s aimed straight towards you. “How so?”
“Well, I gained the upper hand on her while sparring and she panicked and threw some kind of powder that Miss Shinobu is helping her perfect right at my face,” he explains, scratching his cheek. “It’s supposedly perfect for her technique. Small doses can stun and disorient enemies, but apparently she threw so much of it at me that she immediately had to send me home.”
You turn your head to the side in one quick movement, concern for your husband causing your eyes to open wide and diminish your earlier worries. It flusters you so much that you abandon all sense of formality, “Shouldn’t you go see Kocho if that's the case, then? If she’s the one who helped develop this powder, surely she can help!”
His mouth curls into a lazy grin when your gazes connect, a mere shadow of the beaming smile he otherwise tends to give you. He’s positioned himself right behind you now, standing so close that you can feel the heat that his body emanates brushing over your back in steady waves. The thin silken robe you’ve donned can barely be considered a barrier, but despite his warmth, you want to shiver instead.
“I thought the same thing, however Mitsuri had made it abundantly clear that I’d find everything I’d need to get better at home. Multiple times actually,” he says thoughtfully. “Come to think of it, she seemed to be in quite a rush to send me back to you.”
“To me? Really?” you mumble, facing the mirror again. Since he’s standing so close to you now, you can’t see his face in the reflection anymore, but for once that just might be a good thing. The wild infatuation you have with him has turned you incapable of having your thoughts in order if you’re stuck looking at his eyes for too long.
“Oh, yes,” he says, nodding even if you can’t see it. “She kept apologizing profusely, rambling that you’ll help me take care of it. I’m still unsure what she meant by ‘it’ exactly, but either way, I have strong faith that you’ll manage just fine.”
Months ago, the fact that he’s willingly allowing himself to be vulnerable with you, letting you nurse him back to health without any sort of fuss that he can do it himself, would make you soar. Now, however, all you feel is the heavy weight of pressure settling down on your shoulders and chest.
With feelings involved, you’ve begun to greatly fear failure. After all, if you fail, you can’t impress him. And if you can’t impress your husband, then you can’t make him fall in love with you. And if you can’t make him fall in love with you, then–
“Darling,” he drawls all of a sudden, sounding even less like himself now. Less clear. “Do you mind if I comb your hair for you? I’ve always wanted to give it a try.”
“Hm?” You blink, momentarily confused from the way he’s disrupted your train of thought with such an unexpected request. “Oh, I, umm… Well, if you’re feeling well enough, then yes, of course you can. Go ahead.”
You haven’t even noticed how tightly you’ve been gripping the comb until you release your hold on it in order to hand it to him. Your fingers brush against each other with the action, the heat of his skin pouring into yours, making you sit up straighter.
You’re still not used to it. How can you be, when there’s rarely any contact?
“Not to worry, I’ll be gentle,” he says, chuckling quietly as he trails his gaze up and down your stiff posture. The smile is apparent in his voice.
“I know. I’m not worried,” you utter, sheepishly avoiding your own reflection in the mirror. Since your hands are empty now, you clasp them together, settling them on your lap while you wait.
Meanwhile, Kyojuro proceeds to begin combing your hair for you. He’s gentle exactly like he promised you he’d be, taking his time with every knot and tangle that had formed during the day. Silence stretches as he works, but you have trouble noticing it because of how loudly your pulse insists on pounding inside your ears, ringing through your entire head.
He’s touching you. Great heavens above, he’s touching you, and it’s outright nerve-racking. His touch is as light as a feather, but you can still feel him dragging his fingers along the length of your hair. It’s sending tingly sensations all over your scalp, all the way down to your spine.
When he reaches underneath your hair to comb it from the bottom up, his fingers briefly brush the side of your neck. It’s only the merest hint of intimacy, a mere sliver of it, but you can’t help but shiver this time, thighs squeezing together.
He pauses and you stare in the mirror with eyes once again open wide like a fawn’s, only this time it’s yourself that you’re worried about, not him. You can see the reflection of his chest and his shoulders. Both seem to heave with the deep breath he takes now.
A couple of seconds pass before he sinks the comb into your hair again. Still gentle. “Did you bathe?”
The random question takes you aback a bit. Puzzlement laces your tone because of it as you say, “Yes, I did... A little before you returned home.”
“I see,” he murmurs. His chest expands as he inhales another deep breath. “You smell nice.”
“Ah,” you say, looking down at your lap again. Heat creeps up your face at the compliment, slight relief washing over you. “Thank you.”
“You know,” he says eventually, slowly pushing your hair to one side, making use of having you distracted, “I may not have a sense of smell as keen as the one young Kamado possesses, but I’ve learned that your lovely scent grows stronger if you wear your hair on one side like this.”
“Really?” Your hands itch with the need to cover your burning face. He’s practically showering you with praise and you haven’t got a single clue on how to respond.
“Really.” He carefully fixes a strand of hair behind the shell of your ear. “It grows so strong, actually, that I just want to… Hm. Want to…”
“Kyojuro!” His name leaves your lips in a shrill squeal when he suddenly leans in and presses his nose into the crook of your neck that he’s exposed. Caught by surprise, you push up from the chair in one hasty movement, spinning to face him.
The sight before you makes your skin pull taut. Your husband stares at you with hooded eyelids and pupils so big and dilated that they’ve nearly swallowed the entirety of his irises. They grow even larger when they fixate on you.
His smile grows, revealing teeth. “Oh, I’m sorry. Did I startle you?”
“A little bit,” you admit, soothing yourself.
He’s sweating profusely. You don’t fail to take notice of the obvious sheen of liquid salt that sits on his forehead now, as well as the feverish blush that has overtaken his entire face, neck, and even the tips of his ears.
You frown, taking a step towards him as worry takes over the initial shock for a second time, but he’s quick to raise his hand to stop you.
“No, it’s better if you stay back for now. I need to think,” he says, voice suddenly profoundly hoarse. Unlike before, his breaths have turned shallow and concerningly fast-paced now, the furrow of his brow prominent. He pants as he bends over, slamming the flat of his palms onto the nearby dresser. “Just-... Let me figure out a way to solve this.”
“Solve what, Kyojuro? What’s gotten into you? Should we go see Kocho?” You say his name again, but this time it comes out as little less than a cry. When you take another step towards him despite him telling you not to, you see how the muscles in his back strain with effort.
You hesitate, weighing your options, but the urge to help your husband is so strong that it prevails in the end. Much to your dismay, however, even with your new goal set in place, you only manage one more step forward before you suddenly find yourself wrapped in a blazing hot embrace, with your back pressing against the dresser – the same dresser he had just been leaning on merely a second ago.
Your body tenses up, clearly startled. This is what it means to experience the strength and speed of a Hashira. The movement, so inhumanly quick that you couldn’t possibly follow it with untrained eyes, had practically swept you off your feet. Your heart pounds inside your chest. Inside your throat, even.
The reason? Instead of slaying you, he’s got his hand on the small of your back, pushing in and arching you in such a way that your bottom halves are basically pressed flush against one another. The other grips the edge of the dresser so harshly that you can hear the wood creaking in protest.
You open your mouth to say something, but nothing comes out, only a mere hitch of a breath. The prominent outline in his pants that’s now firmly pressing against your thigh has rendered you speechless.
He’s aroused. You can tell that even with his clothes getting in the way. So aroused, in fact, that it must be hurting him. And sure enough, when you lift your head to look up at him, the expression on his face can only be described as pained.
His fingers twitch when you make eye contact, slipping lower, down your back. He grabs a fistful of your robe, pulling and straining it tight over your front. Since you’re not wearing anything underneath, your nipples pebble against the silk in response to the rubbing of the fabric.
He involuntarily groans deep from the back of his throat as his pupils dilate even further at the sight; a sound you’ve never heard him make before but have fantasized about hearing on some lonely nights nonetheless. The wood of the dresser that’s behind you struggles to not turn into splinters now. Meanwhile, you struggle to keep yourself from not falling apart just the same.
“Aphrodisiac… A strong one. Need to… let you go,” he croaks out between heavy breaths, jaw flexing as he grits his teeth together. He’s completely stiff and continues to sweat, so much so that there's a droplet cascading down his right temple, gliding along the curve of his handsome face.
You see the effort he’s putting in to keep himself from what you suspect is ravaging you, even if every last cell in his body seems to be screaming at him to do the exact opposite. This thing that he’s experiencing right now – the aftermath of Mitsuri’s new weapon, the aphrodisiac – is cranking up his lust levels to a thousand. It’s no wonder that the Love Hashira had rushed to get him home to his wife as soon as possible the second she’d realised the amount she threw at him.
And who else can he turn to but his wife with this sort of issue?
“You can let me go only if you truly want to, dear. It’s fine, I’m fine,” you find yourself saying, hands trembling as you place them onto his chest. His heartbeat is so fast that you’re worried for his wellbeing. The rush of blood that his heart must be pumping throughout his entire body must be unbearable.
He draws in another breath at the soft coo that’s appeared in your voice, closing his eyes and pressing his forehead against your cheek. His exhales fan your skin, creating moisture, sticking you further together. He’s so warm to the touch that you’re beginning to sweat as well.
“Kyojuro.” You reach up to run your fingers through his hair, making him shudder. It’s damp to the touch. “Do you want to let me go? I trust you to be honest with me.”
He stands still for a long moment, just inhaling your scent and keeping you close until he finally makes his decision and slowly shakes his head, rubbing his forehead against your cheek like an affectionate cat would. “No.”
“What do you want, then?” you ask quietly.
“I can’t say,” he whispers. “The things that are running through my head right now… They’re vile. Filthy.”
“I see. Will you let me help? Please,” you utter softly, cautiously reaching down to wrap your fingers around his belt. You tug at the buckle, pulling him forward. He follows obediently, causing your heart to flutter. “Let’s try and find you some release, all right? I’m worried about you.”
“All right,” he says, giving in and hissing lowly through gritted teeth when your fingers delicately trace the protruding bulge in his pants. He’s smart. Deep down, he knows this is the easiest way.
You move your hand away in an instant, but his hips buck forward on their own, pushing further into the already narrow space between you, searching for more friction from your palm. He whines at the foreign way his body reacts now, eyebrows drawing tightly together in embarrassment.
When you look up at him, his face has somehow managed to sear into an even deeper shade of red than before. All he can manage to say to you is a weak, “I’m sorry.”
“Nonsense. I should be the one apologizing,” you say, reaching to untie your robe. You’d ask him to do it, but something tells you that he’d tear it right off of you at this very moment, surely ruining the delicate garment. “You’re in no state to be teased so cruelly right now. It was very foolish of me.”
He parts his lips to say something, but the words fade into nothing from how fast saliva begins to gather inside his mouth as soon as your robe comes undone and reveals the nakedness underneath.
Kyojuro can’t resist ogling openly – it’s his first time seeing a woman completely naked, after all. The curve of your hips, the weight of your breasts, the smooth skin of your stomach, the gentle hairs that gather between your legs... All of it is far too much for him. It’s forcing him to swallow so thickly that it makes his Adam’s apple bob in his throat, and yet the drool just keeps on coming.
He hunches his back as he gets ready to pick you up and slam you on top of the dresser to do god knows what, but he stops himself at the very last second. You watch, lips parted, as his hands tremble around you like you’re wrapped in some kind of invisible shield, muscles painfully spasming with the effort. A second groan escapes him, this one brimming with frustration, allowing saliva to dribble down the corner of his mouth.
He’s not an animal, for crying out loud. He’s a man, a husband – a respectable one at that.
So act like one!
Clinging to his last shred of sanity, he quickly wipes the drool away with the back of his hand, not caring that it’ll surely get into the sleeve of his uniform that way. Even if he usually wears them with pride, he currently holds so much resentment towards the clothes he’s got on his back that it’s making him see red. They’re incredibly stuffy, so he can barely breathe in them, plus they’re also causing him to overheat when he’s already way past burning.
There’s also a third problem with the clothes, however.
They’re keeping him away from you.
Lacking the patience to undo the rest of the buttons on his jacket, he simply rips them apart even as you frantically reach out to stop him from doing so. The crispy white shirt underneath meets a similar fate, causing even smaller buttons to fly everywhere. Something tells you that you’ll both be stumbling upon them for the next year or so.
Shrugging the now-ruined garments off of his shoulders, Kyojuro at long last exhales a somewhat relieved breath.
This time it’s your turn to unashamedly leer at him. You drag your eyes across the broad expanse of his chest and shoulders, across the healed, milky-white scars that cover his body from previous battles. The muscles on his arms, the subtle veins running along his biceps and forearms. His stomach is toned, equipped with a golden trail of hair that disappears below his belt, and his skin is tinted slightly pink at the moment, sweat making it appear dewy there as well.
He’s beautiful.
And he’s clearly having a rough time, so you’re quick to take his hand.
“Wait. Before I-” He hesitates, searching for the proper word. “Before I bed you, I just wanted to say that I’ve never done this with anyone before. I’m worried I may not know how to, uh… sate you properly because of it.”
You look up into the flames that dance behind his eyes for a long moment. Even whilst barely keeping it together, he’s still worried about you and your pleasure. It makes you so happy that you can’t help but chuckle.
“Always so formal,” you say, still smiling. “But in all seriousness, I appreciate you telling me and thinking about what I want. Don’t worry, I will do my very best to take good care of you and show you the ropes. We’ll learn the rest as we go. But first things first, let’s try and bring down your temperature back to something a little more… Well, passable.”
He nods but doesn’t say anything as he lets you take his hand again and lead him towards the bed. You turn him so that the back of his knees hit the edge and apply pressure to his shoulders to urge him to sit down. Before you know it, you’re climbing onto his lap, straddling him in such a way that already has him breathing hard through his nose.
You wrap your arms around his neck as you place a kiss onto his forehead, tasting the salt there. Then onto the bridge of his nose. As well as his left cheek and the corner of his mouth. His lips part immediately at that, hands desperately bunching up the covers underneath.
You press your forehead against his. Angle your head slightly to one side so that your noses don’t bump. “Close your eyes.”
As he has done so many times in the past, Kyojuro once again does what he’s told, though this time he does it completely willingly. And almost immediately after he does, he feels it.
The softness of your lips lightly pressing against his own.
The kiss itself is gentle. Loving. A proper form of affection exchanged between a husband and wife. You guide him, mainly paying attention to his bottom lip, making sure to go slow enough to help him adjust despite the fact that you can tell he wants to go faster. Every so often, you poke the merest hint of your tongue out, testing if he’ll open up to you. He does, of course.
So you venture deeper into his hot mouth. You glide your tongue across his teeth, tangle your fingers into the thick, beautiful mane that is his hair, and you tug at the roots until he’s mindlessly pushing his hips up in response, trying to shove himself into you despite his pants getting in the way.
You’re well aware that he’s in a hurry, but you can’t help but drag the entire thing out just a little bit. Who knows, this may as well be your only chance to have him like this. So you might as well use it.
“Hold me by my hips, dear,” you mumble, eyeing the thin string of saliva that tears when you dip lower to kiss his neck instead.
You focus on his Adam’s apple, sucking lightly and surely drawing blood close underneath the skin as you feel his large hands wrap around your hips. Your actions will prove apparent by the time morning comes, but you have a faint inkling that he won’t truly mind. The collar of what is left of his uniform jacket is high anyways.
He sure doesn’t seem to have a problem with it now, as he’s moving you back and forth on his lap, using you to try and get himself off on pure instinct. But even if you’re completely on the same page, the grip he has on you has gotten so tenacious that you have no other choice but to grind against the hard length of him.
“Mind your strength, I’m no Hashira,” you say between deep breaths. His blatant need for you is working you up fast, wetness gathering between your legs, and you don’t need to look down to know that you’ve ruined his pants.
He eases his grip and moans into your mouth when you kiss him again, this time a bit more sloppily than last time. Your bodies work together without you having to plan it, twisting and writhing in unison, maximizing the pleasure you’re both experiencing.
The hair that frames his face is so damp that it clings to his skin. You push it back and whimper when he presses you down harder, causing the zipper to bump against your most sensitive part.
Hearing it brings his blood to a simmer. He’s so out of it by now that he nearly babbles when he speaks, “You know, I can’t count how many times I’ve thought about making you sound like this over these last couple of months. And now that I’m actually hearing it… Ha-ah… It’s so much better than any of the things I imagined in my head.”
“Oh?” Your heart flutters in your chest once more at his forwardness, goosebumps forming over your skin from the thrill. So it wasn’t all in your head; he’s wanted you, too. “But I thought you said you wanted to keep this union purely platonic.”
“What I want… What I wanted for a long time now,” he says, dragging his fingers up and down your spine and looking you directly in the eyes, truly meaning it, “is to be both inside you and inside your heart. If you’ll have me.”
“Of course I’ll have you,” you whisper, unable to fight back the smile that’s forcing itself onto your lips. “I mean, you’re my husband, for crying out loud! There’s no need to be so poetic about it!”
The rest of his clothes are tossed aside soon after, and you waste no time straddling him again, now that you’re finally skin to skin. Sitting on top of him, you use both hands to stroke the whole length of him, squeezing it with your fists gently after you spit on it so as to not overstimulate him too fast.
Even his cock is beautiful just like the rest of him is. Big and curved slightly to the right, with a tip that flushes a deep pink when the velvety foreskin that surrounds it is pulled back and played with. You’re wet enough to take him, but after coming face to face with his size, something tells you that you’ll need all the extra help you can get.
Meanwhile, Kyojuro watches you through such heavy eyelids that you can’t possibly notice the hearts that have formed in his eyes. He’s still panting, biting his tongue to stop himself from pleading and moaning, but the way he clenches his thighs underneath you, unable to stop the pearl of pre-cum from forming at the slit, tells on his desires in an instant.
“We’ll go easy at first,” you utter, unsure if you’re trying to comfort yourself or him.
“Yes, easy,” he repeats, voice rough. He’d never rush you, but it’s evident that he’ll start bursting at the seams if you don’t sit on it soon.
“All right,” you say, drumming your fingers and lifting your hips just enough to align yourself with him, heart beating so fast that it’s making you a bit lightheaded.
His upper lip trembles as his cockhead grazes and catches against your entrance with the movement. He clings onto you, stiff and as expectant as he is desperate, chanting the word please, please, please over and over again inside his head like it’s a broken record.
Luckily for him, his prayers are answered. Slowly, you begin to lower yourself onto him. Even with his size, it’s pretty easy because of how you help guide him inside. You both let out sighs of relief and pleasure when your pussy hugs the tip of him, and moan by the time it begins to take more; squeezing and accepting the rest of him until he finally sinks into you down to the hilt.
At long last, he’s in, nestled in nice and deep. Throbbing and hot, stretching your walls. Pressed firmly against that soft, tender spot inside you that makes you want to wiggle your hips on top of him because it’s far too much to handle otherwise. The pressure the fullness provides awakens the butterflies inside your stomach and draws them into a frenzy.
“Gods, Kyojuro, my love,” you breathe out, letting your robe slide down to your elbows. It only exposes you further, but you don’t mind. You’re comfortable with him. “I can barely fit you inside me.”
“Hah. Makes you an admirable wife,” he says, chuckling even if his pupils are still blown way out of proportion, signalling that he’s still going through it. “I’m–I’m very grateful for it.”
You giggle at his odd choice of praise, pressing the flat of your palms on his stomach so that you can begin to move. However, the second you do, he’s back to holding you by your hips, trying to keep you in place.
Your gazes connect and he blushes even harder, features contorting. “W-wait, don’t-”
“It’s okay,” you say, continuing nonetheless. He’s gotten so warm inside you that you’re positive he’s on the brink of climaxing. “There’s nothing wrong if you come fast. It’s your first time.”
Kyojuro sucks in a sharp breath, fighting tooth and nail to focus. He’s already sensitive enough as it is, but the aphrodisiac he’s inhaled is only making it ten times worse. The sensations you’re making him feel at this point are causing his brain to short-circuit. Unlike during battle, his thoughts have turned into a pathetic jumble.
He wants to please you, that much he’s sure about, however he’s so out of it that he doesn’t even know where to start. So he lets you take charge, grunting out his approval, listening to the wet, sloppy sounds as you ride him, and by the time you slam your hips down for the fifth time, he closes his eyes, clenches his jaw, and spills everything he’s got, unable to stave off the pleasure any longer.
Your movements stutter when you feel his release begin to fill you steadily, overly warm and most definitely plentiful. You pause midway, causing it to trickle down your thighs, allowing a sticky mess to start forming between you.
“Oh, dear,” you whisper, covering your mouth to suppress a quiet laugh. It’s good-natured and you’re sure he knows it. “We’ll make children like this if you aren’t more careful, you know.”
“Crap,” he mutters, sighing. You can feel him twitch inside you at the idea. When he opens his eyes to look at you again, they’re more mellow than they were before, however they’re still brimming with burning want. “Don’t tempt me.”
Your eyebrow arches in amusement. You’ve never heard him swear before. Not even when he’d been so tired that he wasn’t watching where he was going and had stubbed his toe once. You’re unsure if you approve of it, but perhaps you’ll let it slide in this particular setting.
But onto more important matters: after taking a moment to breathe, you quickly realise that he’s still completely hard even after coming as strongly as he did. Your best guess is that it’s either because of his unfathomable stamina, or Mitsuri’s little present. Perhaps a mixture of both.
So that must mean that this entire thing is far from over. Tracing your fingers over his happy trail, you lift your hips a little and slide them back down just as gingerly. The seed that he’s spilled inside you just now lubes the movement as you test out the playing field. Somehow, it feels even better than it did before.
His eyelashes flutter as he blinks, zeroing in on the creamy circle that’s gathered at his base now. Once again, a wave of heat flashes over his body, hitting him like the train he’d just barely made it alive from all those years ago.
“You all right?” you ask, a little breathless now. Your hand reaches between you on instinct, a little moan slipping out the moment it strikes contact exactly where you aimed it.
Kyojuro just nods his head and continues to watch you, studying you carefully and paying attention to the way you rub your fingers and play with yourself. He’s more present in his head now that he’s climaxed, the fog lifting just a bit. It lets him notice that the movement of your hand seems to come naturally to you.
Is this what you do when he's gone for weeks at a time? Possibly thinking about him and touching yourself between your legs? Arching your back while imagining his hot, calloused hands are pushing you right back down, coaxing you to take more?
The idea excites him, and that excitement urges him to contribute to the pleasure of his spouse. And while he may not be experienced in giving it just yet, he picks up on things impressively fast. Body language, eye contact, he’s able to read what you want. So you’re not even all that surprised when he starts to bend his legs at the knees and then thrusts upward, making you gasp when he suddenly burrows himself even deeper inside of you with the action.
His cum spurts and dribbles out even more by the time he draws back, but he’s rather quick to push it back in, unable to get enough of how tightly you wrap around him whenever he accidentally hits the spot. So he continues the rhythm, slowly but surely making you start to bounce on his cock; all while trying to rub the same messy little circles over your clit that he’s seen you do.
He’s able to keep up with you this time.
And he sure as hell keeps up. The heat that he’s unknowingly pouring into the sensitive bundle of nerves is making you tremble. He gently pinches it the exact same way he’s watched you do it, immediately soothing it afterwards with his thumb and by rubbing his other hand up and down your side, sending little jolts of pleasure throughout your entire body.
His gaze is soft. Perhaps even a little expectant. He takes pride in making you feel good. “Like this? Is this how you want it?”
“Yes, oh, yes,” you utter, whimpering. When he smiles, it reminds you of the sun. “You’re perfect.”
Moments flit by, breaths intermingling. You’re unsure how much time has passed, but eventually you begin to squeeze your thighs around him, toes curling, orgasm approaching dangerously close. “D-Don’t stop, okay? I’m close, so don’t change a thing or else it’ll fade away.”
“Wasn’t planning on it,” he says. You throw your head back at this and he feels his heart dance because of it.
With his help, you let yourself go. Fully. Without shame and with zero remorse. And when you finally come for the first time from a man’s touch, no, your husband’s touch, it is so tender and passionate and powerful, that you can’t help but moan his name out in pure bliss and squeeze him so hard that you make him fill you up for a second time, helping him ease his desire even further.
In the end, you spend a small eternity wrapped in each other’s arms. Basking in the afterglow, stealing an occasional kiss, telling each other silly, unimportant things that you’ll think of fondly for years to come.
Only this time, however, your wonderful husband makes sure to touch you everywhere.
#biscuit fics#rengoku kyojuro x reader#rengoku x reader#rengoku kyojuro smut#demon slayer x reader#demon slayer x you#demon slayer smut#kny x reader#kny smut#kny rengoku
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Camaraderie

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader
Summary: Spencer and some unwanted guests catch you singing at a bad time Trope: Fluff! Just fluff! w.c: 1.1k a/n: something short n’ sweet, get it? i know i said i was sick and I still am but i wanted to really write something based on this post so i did and since I’m still battling the flu, this isn’t my best work nor has this been edited but still posting it for the fun of it all! Hope you like it. Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated! 💗

Spencer Reid was never one to forget. After all, his near perfect memory didn’t allow him to, which was a curse and a blessing on itself. So it came to everyone’s surprise when Morgan came strolling in the BAU office after hours to pick him and Luke up for a scheduled boys’ night out and the boy genius innocently asked what he was doing there.
“No way,” Morgan chuckled, eyebrows raised in disbelief. “Pretty boy has forgotten something? It must be my lucky night ‘cause this only happens once in a lifetime.”
“You really forgot?” Luke clarified as they all packed into Morgan’s four door vehicle. “Oh man, I thought you were pulling my leg a while ago when I brought it up and you made no comment.”
“It really slipped my mind!” Spencer’s voice going up in defense.
The duo laughed.
“Or maybe you’re getting old,” Morgan needled as the car came to a stop at a red light.
Spencer shook his head, wishing to drop the subject. “Hey, do you mind passing by the apartment for a bit? I didn’t tell her that I was going to be out late since it you know, slipped my mind—”
“Can’t you just text her for that?” Morgan argued back.
“—and I’ll drop off my dirty go bag.”
“Oh got the missus doing the laundry?” Luke teased.
“She’s not my wife yet,” he sighed dreamily. If he was going to be honest with himself, he was looking forward to it. He had half the mind to propose elopement when got down on one knee but the excitement you radiated off when discussing about themes, dinner placements, and the wedding gown was enough for him to dispose of that idea quickly. It didn’t matter how fancy or how long the planning would take, as long as at the end of it all, he got to call you his and you get to call him yours. Everything in between was just lavish wrapping to present the world Mr and Mrs Reid.
The car came to a stop, bringing him out of his musings.
“Thanks Morgan,” Spencer started to exit the passenger seat. “No need to go up, I’ll be quick.”
They both shook their heads, also stepping out—Morgan from the driver’s side and Luke from the side beside him.
“We’ll say hi to the future Mrs Reid,” he patted his back as the trio packed into the elevator up to his floor.
Spencer shrugged his shoulders in acceptance. With your busy work schedule and the upcoming nuptials, it was a rare occurrence for anyone from the team, expect for Garcia, to catch even a glimpse of you.
Echoing melody was the first thing that greeted them once they stepped out of the lifts.
He laughed under his breath, already knowing that it was coming from the home you both shared. It had been a ritual for you, of sorts, as the only neighboring apartment was empty from tenants. There was really no one to scold you for making any ruckus at this acceptable 7pm time. Spencer, for one, wasn’t one to spoil your fun. He loved seeing you be free, dancing around in his clothing and singing the lyrics no matter how off key.
Key slotted to the door, he let themselves in without any words exchanged—just looks and laughter under their breath.
—and I’m obsessed Are you free next week? I bet we’d have really good
Spencer admired your swaying form from behind. Wearing his Caltech tee that was three times too big for you, neckline slipping off to one shoulder. His very own personal sunshine chasing away all the darkness that had tainted his very being.
Unaware of your audience, you belted out the next cheeky lyrics. “Come right on me, I mean camaraderie. Said you’re not in my—”
Luke slapped his mouth to stop his chuckle from escaping while Morgan’s eyebrows raised at an all time high.
“Love,” Spencer urgently called out.
“—timezone, but you wanna be—eek!” You shrieked, turning to face the voice of your lover, only to find two more unaccounted for in the audience.
“Hey pretty girl,” Morgan drawled out. “That’s some nice singing you’ve got there.”
You felt your face flush with mortification. Out of all the people to have caught you, it had to be Morgan. The self titled big brother who liked to tease all he held dear to his heart.
“W-what are you all doing here?”
Spencer reached out to give you chaste kiss on the lips. “We’re going out for a boys’ night out and I forgot all about it.”
“That doesn’t explain why you’re all here exactly.”
“I was just going to drop off my dirty go bag and they wanted to say hi,” he smiled at the embarrassment he could clearly see written in your expressive face.
But i bet we‘’d have really good bed chem How you pick me up, pull ‘em down, turn me ‘round Oh, it just makes sense How you talk so sweet when—
“Oh my god,” your feet pattering on the hardwood floor as you ran to stop the vinyl still playing in the background. “Not one word,” you threatened the duo with a finger raised up high.
They both raised their hands up in defense but mirth was clearly painted on their faces. This was definitely becoming a lethal ammo perfect for quips and teasing.
“Okay, you three out,” you all but pushed them out to the lobby. “I need to bury myself in copious amount of wine and please, forget everything you saw, okay, and Spence—” you leaned in to give him a kiss goodbye and squeezed his hand that held yours. “—I’ll see you when you get back. Have fun!”
The door slammed shut without another word uttered.
Morgan turned to Reid with a smirk on his lips. “So camaraderie, huh?”
“Shut up,” Spencer quipped back, giving him a slight shove towards the elevator.
But before he himself stepped into the awaiting lifts for a night of no doubt teasing and innuendos, Spencer sent a quick message back to his other half with cheeks red and a grin on his face.
Your wish is my command, love. Later.

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!
#spencer reid fanfic#spencer reid fic#spencer reid fanfiction#criminal minds fanfic#criminal minds fic#criminal minds fanfiction#spencer reid#spencer reid fluff#spencer reid oneshot#spencer reid one shot#spencer reid x fem!reader#spencer reid x you#spencer reid x y/n#spencer reid x reader#dr spencer reid#Spotify
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On Tommy Kinard
"It's not that I don't like Buck and Tommy, it's just happening so fast, he's underdeveloped!"
*clears throat*
Here is a recap of what we know about Tommy. And this is just off the top of my head, I didn't rewatch anything.
He was closeted at the 118 before and found the atmosphere repressive. He (probably) acted like a dick to fit in. When presented with the chance to make things better, he took it, and developed positive relationships with Hen, Chim and Bobby.
He was in the army and trained there as a pilot.
He knows Muay Thai and has a set up in his house.
He likes to work on cars and has a lift at his house (where TF does he live is my question - he has some nerve being agog at Buck's loft if he has a muay thai gym and a car lift)
He is down for violating departmental policy at the drop of a hat (has done so on at least two occasions) to help a friend and has no problems fucking with the fire chief.
He is a nerd. He likes pub trivia and has incorrect Star Wars opinions, and can keep up with Chim in the movie-quoting department.
His favorite movie is "Love, Actually" and he likes craft beer and monster trucks.
He came out when he transferred to Harbor and felt comfortable enough to stop lying about who he was.
He follows MMA and has friends in Vegas who like him well enough to hook him up to a frankly insane degree.
He'll risk his own life and engage in helicopter skulduggery to save people he doesn't know...I mean, apart from doing that for a living.
He'll take time out of his day to give a tour to the cute boy who called him up and offer to give that boy flying lessons (a significant time investment) which was probably maybe about more one on one time with said boy.
He yearns for the belonging and found family that the 118 became after his departure and probably befriended Eddie hoping to earn a plate at the cookout, aside from just clicking with him.
He likes Eddie and Chris a lot and they like him. Chimney also likes him.
He was attracted to Buck right away and was emotionally aware enough to pick up on Buck's jealous feelings over Eddie and his friendship, even if he was surprised that it was him Buck wanted to get to know.
He respects and values Buck and Eddie's friendship and wanted to make sure Buck knew that.
He's brave enough to shoot his shot by planting one on a dude.
He's a lil bitchy but also generous and ready to throw in with this insane guy who's inviting him to a family wedding after 0.5 dates.
He showed up to a bachelor party when he was on call because Buck asked him to, then showed up in turnouts after fighting a fire for like 12 hours yadda yadda we all know this part.
He has got it BAD for one Evan Buckley, who he only calls "Evan" which according to LFJR is a conscious decision by the writers, which fascinates me.
He was willing to take a chance with a man just discovering his sexuality BUT wasn't willing to put himself through that if the man in question wasn't ready for it. When Buck showed him that he was, he was all in.
He does NOT take his coffee like that.
Oh and
He's a beast.
This is VASTLY more information than we knew about ANY of Buck's previous girlfriends with the possible exception of Abby. Even Taylor did not get this much development over 20 episodes (things we knew about her: she was an ambitious and ethically flexible reporter, did not eat fudge, had a dad in jail, and sometimes jogged for exercise, she was capable of being nice and did love Buck, I believe). And as for it being fast? Sometimes it just be like that? A relationship doesn't have to have year(s) of buildup. Sometimes people do just meet, like each other, and start dating, in fact in the real world that's usually what happens. It's in TV Land that you have to have eighteen seasons of UST before pulling the trigger. Most of the time in reality people just vibe off each other and decide to go out and THEN they learn about each other.
And they've got a great start. You'd think they'd barely spoken by how a few naysayers are talking about it - the loft scene was like a solid five minutes of very open conversation, the Cringe Date seemed to have gone well and again, open and honest (if cringey) conversation before Cockblocker Eddie showed up, and the coffee meetup was again....open and honest conversation. They're not gonna show us long scenes of them exchanging firefighting stories and workout preferences (I mean, I'd watch that, but it's not what the show is about).
In conclusion, anyone saying he's poorly developed or the relationship is "out of nowhere" either is being willfully obtuse or has ridiculously unrealistic expectations for relationships and/or what constitutes character development.
As for whether they have chemistry, that's a matter of subjective opinion. Given that a TON of people watched that harbor tour scene (even when it was posted as a sneak peek) and started going "wait...what's going on here...are they flirting??" might be a clue. People were talking about Bi!Buck maybe happening with Tommy based solely off that clip of the harbor tour and what they were seeing between them. And imho that loft scene was crackling. But we all see things through the lenses of our biases, myself included.
Got that off my chest, whew.
#9-1-1#evan buckley#bucktommy#911#tevan#kinley#tommy kinard#9-1-1 meta#9-1-1 shipping#fandom discourse#firepilot#trying to use all the ship tags we have#buck x tommy
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♡︎ 𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙥𝙮 𝙮𝙖𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙝𝙪𝙨𝙗𝙖𝙣𝙙! ♡︎
characters: sub!yandere!AFAB!characters x dom!gn!reader
warnings: character uses he/him pronouns but has female genitalia/tcock (words such as pussy, vagina, cunt will be used), character is transmale, reader has you/your pronouns, cock/strap, yandere character, established relationship, protected sex, unprotected sex (don’t do that folks), breeding, creampie, belly bulge, mentions of pregnancy, mentions of death and light torture
notes: you can think of any character you want with this fic, i just had a wild thought during a car ride at my vacation. divider from @/cafekitsune
yandere! husband who has been in love with you since they first met you. what started out as a simple fascination developed into an unhealthy obsession until he finally got the courage to ask you out on an official date
yandere! husband who gets surprised when you accept his ask for a date, sheepishly smiling as you tell him that you found him pretty and had been building up the courage to do the same. who nearly fall into his knees right then and there with sheer nervousness yet also giddiness at your confession, finding the wobbly smile on your face endearing
yandere! husband who gradually built a stable relationship with you over time. there were moments where he thought of just drugging you up and stealing you away to keep you all to himself but he chastised himself for such thoughts when you have been nothing but loyal and honest. he thought of killing those annoying bitches and assholes who tried to hit on you or blatantly flirted with you in front of him, imagining cutting out their tongue and burning their eyes with scolding hot iron only to snap back to the present when your hand wound around his waist, introducing him as your lover excitedly
yandere! husband who got scared when you accidentally walked in while he was changing after a shower, terrified that you will leave him after having seen his top scars and cunt. who could hear his heartbeat in his own ears, rapidly beating like a frightened bird thrown into a cage while he waited your reaction. who try to apologize only to be cut off with your comforting words and accepting hug
yandere! husband who proposed to you first, getting on both of his knees as he presented you the ring in the box. who lets out a sweet laugh when you kneel down in return, showing your own ring that you bought for him
yandere! husband who definitely cried on your wedding, wiping away his tears silently as he turns his back to you, not wanting you to see him in such a weak and vulnerable state. turning back to you with the wet handkerchief still in his hand, who can feel the tears coming back once again as he sees your knowing look and comforting smile
yandere! husband who is happy with your married life. the new adventures of moving into a new house, decorating it to your liking and modifying your rooms being an exciting life for him. he loved the moments where you two put paint of each other’s faces instead of painting the walls, choosing the colors on complete random with an eeny, meeny, mini, mo game, dancing with you bare feet in the kitchen as you both wait for the water to boil for the cup ramen at midnight. he would want to hold your hand in his own, the wedding rings clicking against each other softly as he giggles
yandere! husband who wants to try for a baby after years into the marriage. it was a surprise to him how he managed to wait patiently for so long after your marriage. while he wanted desperately to get himself knocked up at the night of consummation of your marriage, he understood your wishes to wait until the perfect time. finally, he thinks it is the perfect timing, after years of protected sex and daydreams of feeling his cunt get filled, tells you of his plan
yandere! husband who purposefully poked a tiny hole into every condom there is at your home, who huffs a fake annoyed noise whenever the material tears as you try to put it around your strap. he may have a pout on his face and talk about trying it raw on the outside but on the inside he is fucking giddy. he wants to feel your cock constantly pushing into his wet pussy walls so bad and he couldn’t help but curse silently under his breath when you take out a lone condom that was thankfully reserved in the pockets of one of your pants
yandere! husband who suggests on riding you instead of taking it as usual. a sudden change in your usual sex life but you didn’t mind trying new things out. laying on your back, you watch and let out occasional groans and low moans as you see how his sweet pussy swallows you whole, the fat of his ass higgling every time he bounces himself on your strap, asking you to slap and squeeze it. which you do gladly, lightly slapping as the jiggling flesh, making your husband giggle
yandere! husband who gets annoyed as the feeling of the condom around your cock, skillfully bouncing himself until he ‘accidentally’ slips your strap out. he swears it was the amount of lube you used, grabbing your cock with his hand and tapping his dripping pussy with the tip. your husband who makes a show, wiggling his hips as he slides the tip inside and sinking down until he feels full again. not yet, he thinks to himself, knowing that you would get suspicious if he tries his plan too early on
yandere! husband who keeps ‘accidentally’ slipping your strap out of his gushing cunt, whining until his patience finally ends. the next time it slips out, his fingers pinch at the tip of the wet condom, pulling on the material with a pout and a mumbled “it’s in the way..” until it comes off with a lewd pop!
yandere! husband who disregards your frantic words of protection and taking a second for you to put on another one, turning around to face you now as he sinks down onto your strap with one move. the feeling of your own cock, without any annoying latex in the way making him cream around your fat cockhead instantly, a drawn out satisfied whine falling from his lips
yandere! husband who clenches around your strap on purpose every time he moves. his hands guiding yours to touch his chest, the top scars that healed beautifully and to squeeze and fondle his nipples “u-until i sta—anngh ah haagh mmgh♡︎! start to lactate, just like your sweet baby momma uungh♥︎!!” while his pretty pussy squeezes your strap like a vice, unwilling to let go or not even daring to think so. he wanted to feel your cum, hot seeds painting his walls white and making his legs shake
yandere! husband who silences your weak protests for a protection with a messy kiss. noses knocking together, tongue immediately pushing into your mouth and wanting to ‘connect’ with you on a deeper level. he wanted everything you have to offer and seeing the small trail of saliva left behind as you pulled back for a gasping breath made him giggle deliriously
yandere! husband who increases his pace when he hears you struggling to talk, words of cumming together coming out in a jumbled mess as he sits himself fully in your lap. pushing your pelvises together until no gap was between them, throwing his head back with a satisfied mewl when he finally feels it. that warmth he’s been craving so long, filling up his womb, mixing with his love juice as the excessive mixed cum drops down your strap
yandere! husband who gets pushed into his back, legs pushed up and over until his knees were beside his head. put into a mating press with your annoyed face staring down at him just made him clench around you, a drunk giggle of your name falling from his lips. he gladly spreads his weeping pussy open further, with you still inside him, letting you see the mess you two made
yandere! husband who drops his act entirely, wiggling his hips with heart shaped pupils as he asks you to breed him. cum inside him as many times as you want, he wants a baby with you, it’s about time you two take your relationship to the next level. “i’ll be a good baby momma… and you’re already a wonderful lover who would become a wonderful parent. come on [name], breed me full of your seeds♥︎”
yandere! husband who gets fucked thoroughly to his wish. crying out all sorts of filthy words every time your cock sinks back into his cunt. thin drools on his chin, old tear stains constantly being replaced by new ones as his pussy clenches around you for the nth time, forcing you to cum earlier than you usually does. overwhelming amount of your mixed cum wetting the bedsheets, your thighs and his own as well as his butt. not like he cared, he wanted to make sure he gets knocked up, that you get him knocked up as he creams around you again, creating an even thicker halo of white around your strap
yandere! husband who shows his filthier side, holding your head against his chest and asking you to suck on his nipples, who place your hand over his tcock, telling you to “s-stroke! my cock too ahh haagh♡︎ mgh n-not fair that mmuungh uunghk my cock is being left alone♡︎!”
yandere! husband who lets out one last hoarse wail, the wetness of his cunt making you groan as your strap cums inside him for the nth time that night before collapsing on top of him. he had passed out, tired from the continuous pounding he received as he lay there peacefully with flushed red cheeks, tearstains and drools on his chin and cheeks while pretty bruises and lovebites cover his skin. the most notable bruises being the ones on his hips and thighs, making you grimace at the painful wound you saw. but hey, the small bulge in his belly from your excessive cum inside his womb made you happy. it definitely made him happy too
yandere! husband who occasionally regains consciousness during your aftercare for him. who groans and refuses to let you pull out for bath, straddling your lap inside the warm water filled bathtub. he couldn’t help but slur out a “noo… don’t pull out” as you push his pelvic away from yours, feeling the cum inside his pussy to drip down his legs
yandere! husband who now eagerly wait for the signs of pregnancy with a full boxes of pregnancy test at his side of the nightstand, who still poke secret holes into your condoms because when did he said he wanted only one baby with you?
⇨ characters i think fits: jing yuan, dan feng, yingxing, sunday, aventurine, argenti, dan heng il, gepard, sampo, luocha, caelus, luka, jiaoqui, itto, baizhu, ayato, thoma, childe, pantalone, dottore, kaeya, kaveh, lyney, neuvillette, sethos, heizou, venti, rubedo, aalto, xiangli yao, scar, yoriichi, haganezuka, douma, kaigaku, jyugo, uno, kiji, honey, trois, kenshirou yozakura, musashi, houzuki sanzou, ruka gojou, seitarou, tsukumo, mitsuru, sinbad, sharkkan, spartos, koumei, titus, muu alexius, sphintus, rafayel, mammon, asmodeus, mephistopheles, diavolo, belphegor, simeon, solomon, satan + anyone you like
#nobu.writes#hsr x reader#honkai star rail x reader#genshin impact x reader#genshin x reader#wuwa x reader#wuthering waves x reader#nanbaka x reader#magi x reader#obey me x reader#love and deepspace x reader#kny x reader#sub wuthering waves#sub wuwa#sub genshin#sub genshin impact#sub hsr#sub honkai star rail#sub obey me#sub nanbaka#sub magi#sub love and deepspace#sub character#sub yandere#transmasc character#dom reader
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Not Her Man
Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Childhood friend!Reader
Chapter Synopsis: Feathers fall gracefully slow
Warning: Girlrotting
Word Count: 3193
Part 1 • Part 3

You were always scared to do drugs.
You saw Rafe at his highs, you were with him, keeping him from doing anything stupid like when he was so sure he could backflip from Tanneyhill’s rooftop and land on the grass perfectly.
But you also wondered how difficult it was for him to get clean. To suffer from withdrawals. And as you lie on your fur carpet, staring at the glimmering crystals of your chandelier, with your closet half emptied and scattered all around your room, along with rolling wine bottles on the polished hardwood floor of your bedroom, you think you might have understood just a little.
Blocking him was the hardest thing you have ever done in your life, especially when it was your routine to giggle over whatever interaction you had through text that day. The itch to open his account for any update made you want to bind your hands together.
Your parents are out of the country, busy overseeing their business, forgetting to oversee their daughter. Your maids were there for you, at least they try to be. They bring you food on schedule, even sliding in a few scoops of ice cream every now and then in your room when your sobs start to echo around the halls.
Rafe tried to contact you multiple times. First, through your phone, but you blocked him. Next, he tried to throw pebbles at your window, but your seventy-six year old gardener fired a shotgun at him, thinking that he was a burglar. Next, he tried a different approach, he was sending you gigantic bouquets of your favorite flowers, making the hallway leading to your room look like a wedding set up, the flowers perfumed the entire house too, drawing a concerning amount of bees. One epipen to your chef’s thigh later, Rafe stops sending them.
He never really does anything right. All he does is mess up, create more problems for himself. You almost wanted to give in, but you remind yourself of the things he said. Anger and hurt quickly replaces pity.
A familiar chime of your phone had you groaning. Your friends are probably going to have another attempt of making you step out of your room, like inviting you to have your nails done or shop, just to get your mind off of Rafe.
You just let the ringtone end and you go back to staring at the chandelier, wondering if you’ll be quick enough to get out of the way if it somehow falls. Before you can plan a strategic roll, your phone rings again.
Blindly reaching underneath the scattered pillows, you finally locate the buzzing device. You answer without looking at the caller ID.
“Y/N speaking.” You mumble lazily.
“Hey, girlie.” There goes the high-pitched voice of your friend. “Sooo, the girls and I-hush!” You hear a bunch of girls giggling behind the line and your brows crease together in annoyance. “We’re going on a party tonight and we’re thinking that maybe you’d liketocomewithus?”
You play with the lace of your dress, eyes just following the patterns when you hear your name being called again over the phone.
“I’m not in the mood for parties.”
“You are never in the mood for anything anymore.” She whines behind the line. Her tone prompts you to sit up to pick up the stale wine you left out in the open for too long. Taking a sip and ignoring the thin coat of dust it caught after you ransacked your closet for something that made you look confident, only for you to end up squeezing in the dress that Rafe got you as a present for your 13th birthday. He didn’t pick it out for you, of course, but it still made you all fizzy and bubbly and excited inside.
You put down the wine to scratch at the waistband that is digging on the skin of your under bust, the fabric being stretched beyond its capacity.
“I know.” You tried to sound apologetic. “I just can’t, okay?”
She sighs, making you let out a grateful sigh. There’s still some ceiling viewing you had to get back to.
“I’m picking you up at seven.” She speaks with finality and before you can answer, she continues. “Please don’t let that awful man get the satisfaction of knowing that he has this much effect on you.” You can hear her begging behind the phone. She and the other girls are just looking out for you.
With an unwilling heart, you decide to get on your feet, your socked foot nearly slipping the moment it touches the wooden floor. Cursing, you finally crouch on the piled up clothes you threw earlier.
“Fine, I’ll come.” You roll your eyes. “Dresscode?”
You hear an airy chuckle and you can imagine her pinching your cheeks if you were within her reach. “Party’s open to all, Kooks or Pogues. In the community beach house. You dress however you like. I’ll match your vibe, if you’d like.”
This makes a smile creep on your lips. She’s definitely on the top 10 list of the most annoying people you know but you thank God everyday for a friend like her. “You know I love you, right?”
She snorts before bursting out in a fit of laughter. “Duh. I love you too.”
“See you later.” You grin. “Tell the girls I’m coming too.”
“Sure, see you!”
You hang up and get started on searching for the right outfit. Well, there’s the classic white flowy dresses, but everybody wears them. You could wear a short and a cute top, show some belly? Blech, you’re not exactly in one of your maneater moods. But perhaps if you covered it with that oversized white pinstriped polo, it could work? Yeah, something casual yet put together. It’s not like you’re dressing to impress anybody, or somebody in particular, you’d prioritize comfort over fashion tonight.
A knock on your bedroom door pulls you from your thoughts. With a shrug, you throw your chosen clothes on your bed.
“Coming.” You call while trudging over to open the door. There stood your maid, she was looking anxious, wringing her wrinkly hands. “What is it?”
She glances at your odd choice of clothing before she looks away so as to not make you uncomfortable. “Well, uhm, Sir Cameron is here again, miss. He’s waiting for you downstairs, in the drawing room.”
You press your lips in a firm line. “Tell him I’m not here.”
Your maid smiles apologetically. “He…he saw you in your bedroom window before he came in, miss.”
Huffing, you tap your feet impatiently. “Just tell him I’m busy.”
“He said you’ll say that.” She mutters, amusement in her tone. “And he asked us to tell you that he can wait.”
You close your eyes to keep them from rolling. “Whatever, he can stay as long as he likes, but I’m not coming down to meet him.” You push the door a little wider and your maid’s eyes widen at the state of your room. “I’m sorry, I know you’re busy but can you help me clean up?”
The rest of the afternoon was spent tidying up your room.
It was dark out, a couple of minutes past seven when your phone buzzed. Knowing that it’s your girlfriends, you pick your bag, filled with the usual party necessities and head downstairs. It’s a habit, assigning yourself as the responsible friend who stays sober to look after the others.
You are slipping in the pearl bracelet your grandmother got for you last Christmas when you hear your name being called and in instinct, you turn around.
“Oh, right.” You say with a tone that is drier than the Sahara desert. “You’re here.”
Rafe’s standing just outside your drawing room, his hands falling to his side.
“Yeah.” He spoke awkwardly, his eyes glancing at your outfit, familiarity crossing them before he looked at your eyes again. “I was waiting for you.”
You exhale softly and he just stood there, waiting for your reaction.
“I know.” You say simply. “Gotta go.” You start walking again to your door.
“Wait, Y/N.” He easily catches up. “You’re…you’re coming to the party, right?” He asks hopefully.
“Yes.” You respond without looking at him.
Rafe smiles but it quickly dissipates when he sees a different car waiting for you. “Hold on, I can drive you there.” He says quickly, his hand gripping yours just to get you to listen to him. “I can drive you to the party.” He says in an uncharacteristically sheepish way.
For a second, you look at him, really look at him. His smile grows wide. He missed having your eyes on him. You’re his best friend, and he’s used to doing everything with you by his side. He also liked how dependent you were on him too, always asking for his approval. You have a bit of an overbearing attitude but he would be lying if he’ll say that he doesn’t miss you doting on him too. Perhaps you’re not the only one who’s dependent on this odd friendship you both have.
“No, thank you.” You say before pulling your hand away with a sharp look thrown his way. He watches you walk away to greet your friends. He’s still stuck there, staring, even after the car drives away.
He doesn’t understand it.
You’re the emotional one, why are you doing so well without him? You never go to parties with other people, it was always him that you stick close to. Clinging on him, pulling him to the dance floor when he’s about to do a line of coke, or accidentally knocking his cup when he’s had too much drinks.
Running a hand through his face, Rafe decides to hop on his car and follow you to the party. You’ll be in the same space as him in the next few hours. He’ll get another chance there. He’s certain of it.
He didn’t get the chance.
With you by his side all the time, you memorized his set of activities at parties and you evaded him perfectly. Rafe decided that it was best to stand by the punch table. You’d get thirsty eventually, and he’ll be there waiting if you do.
On the other side of the house, farthest from Rafe, there you sit by the porch swing, admiring the push and pull of the waves. The party was at its climax and everybody was cramped inside the house, dancing and drinking, or doing unholy activities. You don’t know how you managed to slip away from your friends but you’re glad you did. You needed the fresh air.
You’re just starting to get comfortable when a man stumbles out the door. You watch him struggle to keep himself up. He looked lost? Or just flat out drunk. You watch in amusement as he scratches his blonde head, he must be having a whiplash from all the blinding neon lights inside and suddenly his vision switches to the bright light provided by the LEDs.
His feet twist and he starts to fall to the side, your head tilting to follow his fall. You wince when you hear the loud thud of his body hitting the floor, followed by his muffled but loud groaning.
“Motherfu-” He sits on the floor, his legs sprawled out in front of him as he shakes his head like a dog.
“You alright, JJ?” You chuckle.
He whips his head to you, cursing again when his vision spins. “Y/N?” He drawls out while rubbing his eyes. “You saw everything?”
Still laughing, you get up to crouch next to him. “I did.” You smile when he groans out again. “Are you okay?”
He props up a knee and rests an arm there, he looks buzzed, his eyes are heavily lidded as he stares off into the ocean.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” He glances at you. “Well, this is a strange sight.”
“What is?” You mumble as you look away from him, deciding to play dumb.
He shrugs animatedly, hands gesturing to you and the entire space of the porch. “Usually, wherever you are, your boyfriend is not that far behind.” He points a thumb behind him. “And if I wasn’t imagining it, I’m pretty sure I just saw him brooding over the drinks.”
You chuckle dryly as you bring your knees to your chest. “He’s not my boyfriend.”
JJ looks at you with an unimpressed face. “That’s all you heard.”
Playfully punching his shoulder, you sigh. “We fought.”
He frowns, back straightening immediately. “He didn’t hurt you, did he?” It’s kind of sweet how your words seemed to have sobered him really quick.
“No! No, he didn’t.” You reply right away. “Well, at least not physically.”
You watch him grimace. “Outside physical fights, I have little to no idea how to respond.”
“That’s okay, JJ. I don’t wanna talk about it, anyway.”
He gives you a boyish grin, as if to reassure you before scratching at his jaw, your eyes mindlessly follow his movements and you see a scratch.
“You’re hurt.” You tell him, pointing at your own jaw.
“Huh?” He touches his jaw and winces. “Ow! Must’ve scratched myself when I…uhm.”
“When you decided to attack the floor.” You finish for him and he clears his throat. “You’ll have to disinfect it.”
“Pfft, it’s fine.” He shakes his head. “It’s just a scratch.”
But you are already grabbing your bag by the swing and you return with a small kit.
“I forgot to bring wipes.” You mumble before crouching down in front of him. He swallows at your close proximity. “Come on, JJ. It’s just antibacterial cream.”
He hesitantly shows you his face and you gently apply the cream, tutting when he dramatically pulls away.
You grab his face and tilt it slightly and JJ squeezes his eyes.
“It fucking stings.” He nearly whines, making you roll your eyes.
“Don’t be a baby!” You huff and he stays still for a second, allowing you to smear the cream evenly and he rolls away from you as soon as you’re done.
JJ was muttering about God knows what while you’re busy putting your stuff away. When you sit next to him again, he’s much calmer, a lazy smile back on his face again.
“Thanks, Y/N.”
You throw him a playful glare. “You’re welcome.”
He touches the scratch and you almost tell him off but he quickly pulls his hand away.
“Why didn’t Cameron make you his girl?”
You blow out a big sigh. “He doesn’t like me.”
“Bullshit.” He laughs but he clears his throat when you look at him unamused. “Sorry.”
“It’s fine.” You smile at him genuinely before averting your eyes. “I wouldn’t blame him. I mean, you saw how I can be.” You chuckle this time but there’s no humor on JJ’s face, he’s looking at you rather sadly. “I care too much and everybody suffocates around me.”
“I don’t.” He says quickly. “I was just being dramatic earlier.” He rubs his nape. “I’m not used to having people tend to me, I mostly just do it myself.” He seeks your eyes and you finally look at him.
You hear a creak behind you but before you can look, JJ cups your face to keep you from breaking your eye contact, making your breath hitch.
“I liked being taken care of like that.” He whispers and your lips part slightly.
“JJ.” You say breathlessly and he grins, his face leaning dangerously close to you. “You’re drunk.”
He gently bites his bottom lip and you have to look away from his blatant flirting. “I’m sober enough to kiss, I promise.”
This…this isn’t right.
You gently push him away and his lips immediately form a pout. “You’re such a kid, JJ.”
He clicks his tongue and angrily stoops as he glares at the ocean. “You had no idea how long it took me to build the courage to do that.”
“Five minutes?” You jokingly bump his shoulders, making his act break at the edges, a smile threatening to crack on his lips. “Seriously, J, I can’t kiss drunk guys. It’s unethical.”
He mimics you in a childish voice and buries his face on his palms harshly. He turns to you again, with his hair disheveled and sticking to his forehead and red blotches appearing on some areas of his face. “I’m not as drunk as you think I am.” The way he glances at your lips had your throat drying up. “I really wanted to kiss you.” Aside from Rafe, you have little to no experience with the male attention and frankly, you don’t know what to do.
You place a hand on his shoulder and stiffly pat it twice. “You’ll get over it.”
JJ looks at you exasperatedly. “You’re taking this too lightly, this is my feelings we are talking about.”
You stifle a laughter. “Oh, so you have feelings for me.” You raise a brow at him and he nods his head enthusiastically.
“Every guy on this island has a thing for you.” He says animatedly. “If it wasn’t for your bodyguard, we would have made our move long ago.”
You are deeply flattered, you can’t resist the girlish smile from tugging on your lips, your cheeks slowly heating up.
“You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”
He looks deeply offended and places a hand on his chest.
“You’re the ultimate dream girl, stupid!” He dodges a punch from you. “You’re like the total package. You’re sweet, and smart, you’re also very pretty, you can be funny too when you let loose.” He wiggles his eyebrows at you and this pulls a laughter from you, a real, genuine laughter that had your shoulders shaking.
“When are you gonna get serious, J?” Wiping the tears from the corner of your eyes, you get up. “Wait here, I’ll get us a drink.”
He gives you a two finger salute before lying smack down on the floor, with his arms spread out. You shake your head, chuckling when you open the door.
And your hair stands on end.
There stood the very person you have been avoiding the entire night.
But for once, he isn’t wearing a scowl or a condescending cocky smile.
He was looking at you like a man defeated and broken.
“Rafe.” You whisper as you reach for him but you stop yourself before your skin can touch. He looks at your hand and then your eyes. You don’t know if it’s the trick of light but you could have sworn his eyes are glassy.
“Hey, Y/N, everything alright?” JJ calls.
Rafe glances at JJ and then back at you, he nods slowly as he takes a step back. Your heart aches as you watch him take another step away from you but you will yourself not to follow. He runs a hand on his mouth and he turns away from you.
You stare at his back as he leaves, torn between choosing your own pride or running after him. For what seemed like hours, you stood there, frozen. Still lost in the onslaught of emotions that surged through you.

Not Your Girl • His Girl

#rafe cameron x reader#rafe cameron x y/n#rafe cameron x you#rafe cameron#outer banks#drew starkey x y/n#drew starkey x reader#drew starkey x you#rafe angst#rafe outer banks#rafe imagine#rafe x reader#rafe obx
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Always the bridesmaid never the bride
I'm not going to lie. I forgot if this was a prompt or a response to something I posted since I got it back before Thanksgiving. But if it's the former then:
Danny says this to Bruce at Clark and Lois' wedding. He is convinced Bruce is in love- or in lust, at the least- with Clark because the wealthy man constantly popped up at their office for important "business" and "private exclusive" interviews.
Now, Danny won't lie and say he's a better journalist than Clark or Lois- those two are the top two of the Daily Planet. There is a reason almost all Superman stories are covered by them- but he's darn good himself. After retiring from protecting his town from Ghosts, he's only ever used his powers scarcely, but they have helped him with a few articles here or there.
His career as a reporting journalist was mainly made by his ability to stumble across trouble alone! Danny had won awards for his articles. He has been included in a city time capsule project.
Danny got the scoop on Jason Todd being alive story way before everyone else. After realizing the boy was in witness protection, he hadn't even exposed it without speaking to Mr.Wayne first. The man was nothing like the tabloids had one believe. Danny found him a severely intelligent man with a deep love for his family and city. He just distracted people with his razzle and dazzle, hiding his beautiful soul in plain sight.
It had been an eye-opening conversation. The duo made a deal to wait until Jason was safe to be announced; Danny waited three whole months before he was greenlighted to release his story. Jason Todd had officially "returned" from the dead with an exclusive interview with Danny Fenton.
Danny honored and protected his dignity by writing a story that made the public love the returned young man. He hated reporters who only dragged people's names through the mud because that wasn't real investigation; that was just accepting the latest gossip on the streets.
Bruce was so grateful that Danny hadn't put his son in danger that he even gave Danny a business card that went to his home office!
And yeah, okay, Clark had Bruce's personal cellphone, but Danny just couldn't understand why the billionaire was so hung up on Clark Kent. It wasn't like the guy was Superman!
And maybe he was overly happy to find out Clark and Lois were an item. Sure that someone as good as Bruce, for all his facade of being a party boy who never grew up, would never chase a taken man. Danny had been right, too, because Bruce Wayne appeared less and less around the Daily Plant office.
It was.....sad not to see him, but Danny was a very busy journalist. He was grateful that the distraction had finally taken the hint and scurried off somewhere. What irked him in the following year and a half of Clark and Lois dating was how often Perry signed the two to cover Gotham News.
Mostly at one of Bruce Wayne's extravagant parties! Yeah, it was sort of cool that most of Bruce's parties were charity events. He had checked the numbers himself, finding that Bruce's efforts were honest and working to better his city. How many billionaires actually kept their word when wanting to be a philanthropist?
Of course, Danny had to write a piece on it. The people needed to see the positive change Bruce was making. Sometimes, it felt like people forgot how much he gave to the city. The article went viral, and people on the other side of the world were praising the good man Bruce.
Perry had given Danny a raise for it.
Clark had ruined that significant mark on his record by placing a wrap present on his desk with a wide grin. Apparently, the two had gone on a yacht trip together without Lois or Bruce's significant other. Whoever that was. "Bruce wanted me to give you this as a thanks."
Ugh, the smug asshole was just rubbing it in Danny's face that he was still friends with his ex. The present had been a shitty ship in a bottle that Danny had placed beside his writing awards in his living room. You know it would be a waste to just throw it out.
Or let it get dusty. Or not stare at and wonder if Bruce knew he liked pirate movies, so the fact he had a model replica of Captain Jack Sparrow's Black Pearl made for Danny was really no big deal.
Then Bruce came by the office after buying out the Daily Planet, giving Clark a month's vacation paid due to some "family emergency."
Danny had been worried about Ma Kent and Pa Kent- the pair had visited the Daily Planet and were the nicest people to ever walk the planet- so like the well-mannered man his mother raised, he had gone to the farm with some of his Dad's famous fudge. Only to find the Kents unaware there was an emergency in the family until Danny reminded them.
He had been a journalist long enough to call bull on their meaningful glances. Danny knew that neither Bruce nor Clark would dare cheat on Lois. They were both too good for something as sleazy as that- and honestly, Lois would kill them- but that didn't stop Bruce from obviously still carrying around a torch for Clark.
Which meant he gave him unfairly favorable treatment in the workplace. Ugh! Perry didn't even seem to care, stating that Bruce had signed their paychecks, and as long as he wasn't forcing Clark into anything harassment-worthy, Danny just had to deal with his coworkers having friends in high places.
That meant they got away with different things. He just had to suck it up and accept it.
But now, Clark and Lois tied the knot. Bruce had to back off. He would never overstep a friend's relationship like this. Danny might have seen him sneak a few glances at the dancing couple- not that he was staring at Bruce Wayne! But the man was one of the hottest topics to write about, and he never knew when a good story would pop up.
It was rather sad, really. How Bruce forced himself to come to a celebration of the man he loved marrying and choosing someone else. Danny had dedicated a drink to his heartbreak- from clear across the room.
He wasn't on a personal cellphone number basis with Bruce Wayne, let's allow a "Drink your broken heart sorrow away with me" basis. And maybe Danny had a few too many. Perhaps he lost count after realizing it was an open bar because, surprise surprise, Bruce was footing the drink bill for all guests.
Danny doesn't remember what made him think he could cross the room to Bruce or why he found the courage to point a finger in his face before slurring, "Always the bridesmaid, never the bride, eh Brucie?"
He does remember those piecing blue eyes locking him in place, brow folding in concern as Bruce replied. "Mr. Fenton, are you alright?"
"Me? Oh yeah! Just enjoying the party." He throws his arm up, spilling some of the alcohol out of the cup. He doesn't mind since the DJ starts to play one of his favorite songs, and he just has to sway to the beat. "This is a fun party. Are you having fun? I'm having fun!"
"I think you've had a little too much," Bruce says, helping Danny to his feet. When did he fall? Oh, right, when he was dancing. He laughs again, curling up on Bruce's chest. He feels it shift with the vibrations of the other man's voice. It's rather nice. "Did you come alone? Is there someone I can call for you?"
"Can I tell you a secret, Brucie?" Danny mutters, leaning forward to whisper into the man's ear before he can respond. "I live alone. I have no one to take care of me. I can't even drive."
"I see. I can have my driver take you home then. Can I see your wallet? I want to read the address-"
Danny has a second to think Oh no before his stomach lurches, and vomit falls out of his mouth all over Bruce Wayne's fancy suit that probably costs more than his house. Danny's eyes water. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I don't usually drink, and I feel terrible, and I-"
"It's alright. " Bruce says, smile still perfectly kind, understanding, and slightly dizzy. Danny knows he's lying, though- his reporter eyes can see right through that facade. He's pissed that Danny threw up on him. Understandably.
He starts sobbing, apologizing even more, and pointing out how he knows Bruce is actually upset.
Bruce looks mildly surprised before throwing one of his arms over his shoulder and helping him out of the hotel ballroom. The reception had started hours ago, and despite it not being anywhere near over, no one would bat an eye at them leaving early.
They were walking down the hallway. Danny found himself leaning on a counter, laughing into his hands about a potted plant, while Bruce chatted up the lady at a computer. He told the pair that Bruce should rebound with a man instead of a woman if he wanted to get over Clark but was ignored by them.
Rude.
Then suddenly, Danny was being pressed into a soft mattress on his back while someone was taking off his shoes and losing his tie. When did he get home? How had he moved that quickly?
This didn't feel like his pillow. Danny has a special one. He can't sleep with it. He packs his pillow when he travels, even if it's just one night he plans to stay. Danny has used the same pillow for years now.
"I'm sorry, I can't get your special pillow, but I can give you lots of water." A man says, making Danny blink and open his eyes. His eyelids feel so heavy that it takes him a moment to stay open.
Above him, Bruce is carefully unbuttoning his suit jacket. The billionaire had removed his own coat, but the vomit-covered white shirt remains. Danny feels ashamed at the sight even as Bruce pulls his arms out of the jacket sleeves.
"Sorry," He whimpers. "About the vomit."
"It's alright. You needed to throw up. Do you feel better?"
Danny nods, closing his eyes and feeling a warm towel run along his face. He sighed as the sticky, gross feeling around his mouth was gone, and he sank further into the Not Right But Comfty pillow.
"Sleep well, Mr. Fenton," Bruce says, tucking the blankets around Danny once he finishes cleaning him up. Danny hums, already half gone, when he whispers.
"You're a good man. No matter what you present to the world. No matter if you believe you're not, I know you're good."
There is a moment of silence before Bruce replies. "I paid for the hotel room. It comes with a free breakfast, so when you're feeling up to it, come down for food tomorrow. Have a good night, Mr. Fenton."
"Stay?"
"I'm sorry. I never intended to stay; I just wanted to get you somewhere safe. Going home in your state would have been a bad idea."
Danny's words are nearly too slurried to be understood as he slowly slips away: "Always the bridesmaid, never the bride, Fenton. Bruce would never want you."
He wakes up with a killer hangover, confused about where the hell he is, and almost has a heart attack when he realizes he crumpled up the suit pants he rented. All that is so hard to process in thirty seconds that he nearly missed the written note on the nightstand.
Call me xxx-xxx-xxxx
XOXO
Bruce Wayne
What in the world happened at Clark's and Lois's wedding!?
#dcxdpdabbles#dcxdp crossover#Never the Bride#Part 1#spirt halloween ship#Danny is a reporter at the Daily Planet#Develops a crush on a celeberity he interviewed#Bruce never paid attention to Clark's coworker#Until the wedding#Now he can't stop thinking about him#misunderstandings#Bruce and Clark were just doing JL stuff#TW: Blackout Drinking
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i am making you feel sick?

Jacaerys Velaryon x Aegon’s Widow!Reader
warnings: this is pure angst, no happy ending, incest (aunt and nephew), mention of infant death and non-consensual voyeurism.
It's been a while since I posted anything, so if you like it, please don't hesitate to like, comment and reblog because that motivates me to keep writing 💖💖
If you have any ideas, questions or headcanons you want to share, my inbox is always open 🤗💖
Disclaimer: English is not my first language so I apologize for any mistakes.
I hope you have a good reading!

Shame.
Guilt.
Sick.
That's what Jacaerys feels every time he sees you and Jaehaera.
He wasn't the one who hired Blood and Cheese to kill Jaehaerys nor was he the one who butchered Maelor. However, he still feels sick when most of the time your eyes look empty and emotionless, or the nights that Jaehaera wakes up screaming because she dreams of her twin's head rolling on the floor again.
Jacaerys wasn't the one who murdered your children but he still wasn't a good man. If he was a good man then he would have let you leave this castle full of bloody memories and be free with your daughter. But the council said he needed you to strengthen his claim on the throne as well as to prevent the greens from rising against him. So he married you.
On your wedding day, Jacaerys finally saw, after days, an emotion in you: anger. You were dressed in black, and when you had to hold hands you dug your nails into him and recited your vows as if they were an insult. But he was not angry or offended. He felt that he deserved it for having put you in this position.
The night didn't get better when it came time to share a bed. If it had been up to Jacaerys, it would never have touched you, but Corlys Velaryon knew him well, so part of the council was present to witness the marriage being consummated. It did not matter that Jacaerys protected your body with his and the sheets or how much he tried to make it easy and pleasurable for you. It was humiliating and it was horrible, as soon as the council left the chambers Jacaerys joined in your silent crying.
When Jacaerys thought his guilt couldn’t get any worse, you got pregnant. The entire council was happy because the king would finally have an heir, but he felt sick seeing how miserable you looked. At least, before you would leave your chambers and occasionally he could see you smile—never at him, of course, always at Jaehaera—now you spent all your time in bed as if you had no energy for anything else. Sometimes Jacaerys would come to feed you and read you some book he remembered you liked in your youth. Your ladies took care of cleaning you and feeding you, on the days the king couldn’t come to eat with you because he had a meeting or was busy.
Jaehaera's cries got worse because you weren't comforting her anymore, you weren't talking to her anymore. And more than once Jacaerys thought about ending it all, giving you the moon tea himself so that your body would rid itself of the creature that caused so much misery. He preferred things to be the way they were before even though you barely tolerated it.
But the kingdom and the throne were more important, he needed an heir. If Aegon's prophecy was true then from his blood would come the prince that was promised.
Jaehaerys prayed that you would have a child so he would never have to touch you again and make you suffer again. If the council asked for a replacement he would say it would be Aegon, his brother. He couldn't bear to see you pregnant again, he didn't want to see you so isolated from the world ever again, he didn't want the only thing you did was cry, that the only thing you seemed to feel was pain and sadness. He hoped that once you gave birth and were free of the creature, things would get better.
But he had to have been more specific in his prayers, he had to have asked the gods that the child would look like him because when he held his son in his arms for the first time all he saw was Jaehaerys.

Taglist for all my House of the Dragon works
@chaotic-fangirl-blog @venus-flytrap3 @ajordan2020 @iloveallmyboys @sweethoneyblossom1 @fudge13 @crystal-faith @tita004 @ichanelvxgue @snowprincesa1 @joyouart @rosey1981 @alastorhazbin @papichulo120627 @apollonshootafar @jasminecosmic99 @partypoison00 @labellapeaky @rebelliuna @bxdbxtxh15 @impartinghades @thegirlnextdoorssister @angeliod @snh96 @aleemendoza2425-blog @natashaobo @watercolorskyy @nyenye @savagemickey03 @kishie8 @ewwwitsel @arabis-world @missusnora @nzygftoji @alisoncdariel @cookielovesbook-akie @partnerincrime0 @klara-lily @427120lxld @justhereiguess2
@buckylahey @wa801 @artistadistrada2002 @thelastemzy @justanotherkpopstanlol @jacesvelaryons @aemondwhoresworld @cassiopeiablog @multiversemayhemme @dixie_elocin
hotd masterlist

#jacaerys velaryon x reader#jacaerys velaryon x you#jacaerys x you#jacaerys x reader#hotd x reader#hotd x you#hotd x y/n#hotd angst#jace x you#jace x reader#jace velaryon x reader#jace velaryon x you#hotd fic#hotd fanfic#hotd fanfiction#house of the dragon x reader#house of the dragon x you#jaehaera targaryen#targaryen reader#targaryen!reader
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how they would propose | sdv bachelors x g/n!reader | part one
-> summary: in game, the farmer is always the one to present the mermaid's pendant to their lover — what if it was the other way around?
pt. 2
a/n: starting with half the boys, i'll be working on the rest of them + bachelorettes after ! i got a bit carried away with elliott's ... but can you blame me?
alex
carries the pendant around in his pocket for a week, hoping the right words will magically find him if he does
(they don't)
definitely the type to lock himself in the bathroom and stare at himself through the mirror while practicing what to say to you
decides to propose during a quiet walk in the evening so he has your full attention and all the time in the world to profess his love to you
alex swears his heart is about to fly out of his chest as the two of you walk hand in hand around pelican town, the sun long gone below the horizon. the street lamps guide the two of you, fireflies intermittently emitting gentle flashes of light.
he doesn't even realize you're expecting a response from him until you wave a hand in front of his face, moving in front of him so he's forced to look into your amused gaze.
"alex," you laugh, and his breath hitches, "are you listening? you look like you've been zoning out."
he musters an empty laugh back at you, internally panicking as he desperately tries to recall what you said. "what? me? no, i was just, uh . . ." think, alex, think! you can't mess up now! "i was thinking about gridball." he wants to smack himself.
"really?" you reply, raising your brows. "you're thinking about gridball, now? while i was talking to you about our anniversary coming up?"
shit.
his face pales, stopping in his tracks in the middle of the bridge near the museum. he groans, dropping your hand to run it through his hair — surely he can fix this, right?
"okay, cut the act," you say, worry beginning to show in your features. "is everything alright? what's bugging you?"
"nothing, really! it's just that, uh . . ." alex inhales a quick breath to prepare himself before grabbing both your hands in his. "you know i love you, right?"
"yes . . .," you trail off. you look at him with concerned eyes, beginning to look uneasy. "now i'm really worried—"
"no, no! just hear me out, alright?" you nod. "you know, before you moved here, my view on life was pretty boring," he admits. "all i really cared about was gridball and my grandparents. and dusty, of course, and i guess sam and haley, too—" he shakes his head, blush beginning to cover his cheeks. "whatever, you get what i'm trying to say, right?"
"i'm not entirely sure if i follow," you reply, smiling at how flustered he's gotten. "what are you getting at, alex?"
he sighs. "listen, you moving here was the best thing that ever happened to me. you've shown me there's tons more to life than whatever i was doing before, like giving random gifts to everyone in town just to make them happy, or being a badass and fighting off monsters!" you laugh, and he grins. "anyways, now that i've had a taste of what being with you is like, i don't think i'm willing to share."
your jaw drops as he reaches into his pocket and gets on one knee, opening his palm to reveal a mermaid's pendant.
"will you marry me, y/n? so i can spend the rest of my life learning more awesome stuff from you?"
he nearly collapses in relief when you nod, whooping in joy before engulfing you in a tight hug. after a few moments, he can't help but kiss you strongly, a hand cradling the back of your head with the other on the small of your back. you smile into the kiss, pulling away only to look into his teary, overjoyed eyes.
"aren't you forgetting something?" you tease, glancing down at the pendant that's still clutched in his hand.
"oh, right!" you bend your head forward as he places it around your neck, beaming at the sight.
you hold the jewel in your hand, adrenaline pumping through your blood. "looks like we'll have to plan a wedding," you say, happily pecking alex's cheek.
"yes, this is so great!" he exclaims as he jumps in excitement, unable to control himself. "alright, first, we gotta figure out where we're going to cater food from, but i know grams will want to bake our cake," he rambles, grabbing your hand as he practically starts to drag you home. "oooh, and we should totally ask sam and his band to play something for us! he knows all the songs we like, anyway. i think all the guys will help me get all dressed up, but i bet haley and the rest of the girls would go crazy over helping you pick out what to wear, they probably know better anyway—"
"alex," you interrupt, laughing at his antics, "relax. we'll figure all this out tomorrow. let's just go home." he nods.
"you're right, honey," he agrees, swinging your intertwined hands playfully. "i'm going to need all the rest i can get if i'm gonna spend all of tomorrow bragging about my engagement."
shane
leaves the pendant in his nightstand drawer and looks at it every night before he goes to sleep for nearly a month
he truly never thought he would get married — who would want to marry him, the town drunk?
regardless, the past year with you has proven otherwise, and he knows now there's no one else he wants by his side
he decides to do it quite impulsively one day, literally grabbing it from his drawer and walking to your farm
(marnie nearly faints in excitement when she sees him walk out with the mermaid's pendant in hand, while jas cheers him on)
shane starts to get nervous when he doesn't see you anywhere on the farm, making sure to double-check all the chicken coops and barns before heading toward your house. your pet runs up to him, sniffing the hand wrapped around the pendant curiously.
"got any advice?" he asks jokingly, though he doesn't receive an answer — just a tilted head and wide eyes. "guess this one's on me," he sighs, looking at the jewelry nervously.
"shane? is that you?"
shane nearly drops it as he quickly shoves his hands into his pockets, watching as you step out from your greenhouse. of course, he thinks, the one place i didn't check.
"what are you doing here?" you ask, smiling at his sudden appearance. you're wearing dirt-covered gloves and your hair is touseled and frizzy; shane thinks you're glowing. "dinner's not til later, isn't it? or else i'll need a little time to get ready."
"no, i thought i would stop by a little early," he says. "i had something i wanted to talk to you about, actually." you nod, taking off your gloves and putting them in your bag.
"of course, what's up?" you ask, looking at him with those damn eyes that he could never resist.
"we should get married," he states bluntly, excitement sending chills down his body.
he wants to kick himself as you stare at him, blinking twice before saying, "y-yeah, i guess we should."
he nods, swallowing. "it makes sense, y'know?" he reasons, suddenly avoiding your eyes. "we've been with each other for a while now, and things have been going pretty good." he pauses. "you've gotten me through a lot, you know that? i mean, before you got here, i didn't think anyone in this town gave a damn about me — but you obviously do, for whatever reason, so i'll spend the rest of my life trying my best to be the guy you see me as."
he takes the mermaid's pendant out from his pocket, sheepishly looking at you as he holds it. his eyes are watering with emotion, and by the looks of it, so are yours.
"so, what do you say, honey?" he asks softly. "will you marry me?"
"yes," you reply, smiling as he puts the necklace on you. he laughs in disbelief when he sees you wearing it, still in shock that this is his reality. you roll your eyes, pulling him in for a deep kiss. you cry out in surprise as he hugs you strongly and even lifts you off the ground slightly, his eyes brighter than you've ever seen them.
"i can hardly believe this is real," he sighs, pulling you into his side. "guess i did one thing right in my lifetime."
you slap his arm, resting your head on his shoulder and closing your eyes. "you definitely didn't plan this out, did you?"
"huh? what makes you think that?"
"you couldn't even wait until dinner to ask?" you joke. "i guess it wasn't really a question, either—" you laugh as he pokes your side to cut you off.
"don't forget, you're the one who said yes," he retorts, smiling nonetheless. "you're officially stuck with me."
elliott
oh, he's had the mermaid's pendant for months. pretty much since you two got together
he tried to keep it a secret, he really did, but by the time he actually decides to propose, the rest of the bachelors and bachelorettes know
still, he wants the proposal to be for you and you only, so he plans on asking you during an evening picnic dinner on the beach
that doesn't stop him from asking his friends for some help, though
"is this really necessary?" sebastian questions, placing a candle into the sand and creating a pathway to the picnic blanket near the water.
"i think it's romantic," leah sighs, handing him another candle from the box in her arms. "he's been planning and buying all this stuff for weeks now. plus, candlelight always makes things more magical."
"i'm sure the moon will be bright enough tonight to add some 'magic.'"
"the light itself is not our concern, my friend," elliott says, wrapping an arm around seb — who scowls at the contact, but decides to let him get away with it just this once — and waving his arm to show off their setup. "i need this beach to represent a scene of pure love and endearment tonight, for my beloved deserves no less than a proposal for the century!"
"right," seb monotones. "well, the candles are all set up, so i'm heading to the shade."
"you want the speakers over here, el?" sam calls out, holding up one of his wireless speakers at the entrance of the beach.
"i've got one over here, too!" abigail yells from behind the cabin.
"perfect!" elliott replies, grinning as the setting he's been picturing finally comes together. he waves goodbye as everyone begins to head home, turning to the only part of his plan left untouched — the picnic blanket. i suppose the rest is up to me.
-
"are you ready, my dear?"
"elliott, i've been ready for the past twenty minutes," you say, playfully smacking the hands covering your eyes. "can i look now?" he laughs before finally lowering his arms, watching lovingly as your eyes widen at the setting in front of you.
"shall we?" he asks, holding his arm out. you gladly hold on to him as the two of you make your way down the beach, in awe at the candles lighting your way.
"i must be dreaming," you say, shaking your head. "how did you—? wait, where's the music coming from?" you realize soft acoustic music is playing throughout the beach, feeling as if you're in a movie scene.
"ah, that? i asked sam and abigail if i could borrow their speakers," elliott explains proudly. "i also recruited leah and sebastian to help me create this enchanting path."
you laugh. "let me guess, you asked alex and haley to distract me and bring me to the library?" your jaw dropped. "no, and you asked maru and penny to get lunch with me? all so i wouldn't come to find you?"
"i had a feeling my darling would venture to my whereabouts, so i requested the help of our colleagues to keep you away. though i'm sure it was difficult for you, i wanted this to be a surprise," he admits, smiling at you. "do you . . . like it?" he asks quietly, a bit scared he had done too much.
"elliott, this is more than anything i could have asked for," you say, warmth coating your words. "what's the occasion?"
he sighs in relief before replying, "have i ever needed a measly excuse to spoil you, dear?"
"i suppose not," you agree amusedly, recalling all the times you've returned home to a bouquet sitting on your porch.
finally, the two of you reach the end of the path, sitting together on the blanket. a big basket covered with a cloth sits at the center of it, as well as two plates, utensils, and your favorite food.
you shake your head. "this is ridiculous," you state, looking at elliott with big eyes. "how long have you been planning this?"
he hums in thought as he plates your food, pushing it towards you. "that, my dear, is none of your concern," he says, "though, i will say it took quite a bit of strategy. and money," he jokingly adds.
after the two of you eat, elliott hands the basket over to you, trying his very best to contain himself.
"i thought it'd be fitting to get you some gifts," he states, as you begin to uncover its contents one by one.
inside, you find a framed version of your favorite photo with him, a hand-painted mug, a poem, and—
you gasp. "are those rubies?" you ask, a couple red stones glittering at the top of the basket. you pick them up, realizing they're matching keychains.
"courtesy of emily," elliott explains. he hesitates, breathing out lightly before continuing. "rubies signify love and passion, you know, as well as good luck and prosperity."
you laugh lightly, holding up the keychains to the moonlight to see them shine. "perfect, should work wonders for us and the farm—"
"they also symbolize weddings."
you blink, gently setting down the gems as you look at him. he holds out the mermaid's pendant he has been patiently keeping for you, eyes already shining with tears as you gasp.
"y/n, the time we have spent together has been by far the best of my entire life," he starts, "and when i look to the future, i'm afraid i cannot picture one without you walking by my side. you are, and always will be, the love of my life, my shining light, my fairy book tale. you, my love, are my happy ending.
"so, will you do me the honors and marry me?"
you jump into his arms as soon as he finishes speaking, both of you laughing as he happily holds you.
"yes, elliott, of course!" you exclaim. he grins as he holds your face in his hands, covering your face in kisses before finally landing on your lips. your hands run through his hair before you fall backward, elliott landing on top of you with his hand cradling your head. you peck his nose, and he laughs once more before helping you sit up.
"here, let us celebrate with some wine!" he decides, grabbing two bottles he had left in the corner. "shane and harvey said these were the best the winery had to offer."
"you really got the whole town in on this, huh?" you tease, barely containing yourself as he helps you put on the jewelry.
he rubs the back of his head, slightly embarrassed. "well, it began with leah, and i thought it wouldn't hurt to tell harvey, but then of course i had to tell—" he stops himself. "secrecy has never been one of my strong suits, has it, love?"
you shake your head, leaning into his arm as you listen to the sound of the music mixing with the crashing of the waves.
"don't worry," you reassure, and he looks down at you with nothing but love in his gaze. "you have plenty of other traits to make up for it."
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