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vagabond-umlaut · 8 months ago

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you kiss the back of my legs and i want to cry

only the sun has come this close, only the sun

gojo satoru x wife!reader; tooth-rotting domestic fluff; gojo LOVERBOY™️ satoru; you aren't any better than him [but less poetic abt the predicament]; tw: pregnancy, 1 tiny mention of throwing up; satoru calls you 'cookie'; and he redefines the word besotted here; his thoughts are also a little yandere-ish but tht's cute, methinks; 2.3k wc; i just wish satoru was real and in my arms rn T-T

belongs to the series 'you make my heart flutter and fibrillate' but can be read as a stand-alone fic if you wanna

the fic title and summary don't rly hv a very strong connection to the fic plot— except the fact they fit both satoru's & reader's characters in this series to a tee ^_^

fic title and summary from 'gps' by shauna barbosa // header frm pinterest // divider by @/benkeibear // jjk isn't mine

you are clingy.

always have been, in fact, now that gojo thinks about it. long before the two of you were married. long before you were engaged. quite a long time before the two of you were anything apart from friends at best, acquaintances at worst.

yet now, as he feels a pair of arms squeeze tighter around his middle, not really still very much squeezing the air out of him— your husband reckons you've grown loads clingier now—

and he loves you for this. loving you even more when he feels kisses being pressed into the space between his shoulder blades.

soft lips, a tad chapped. not without the shy grazing of your teeth.

just how he likes it.

very much how he adores you.

affection, settled deeper than should be feasible into the hollow of his chest, flutters a little when you nuzzle into his back; that pleased little hum of yours quick to follow it. smiling, gojo turns his head a touch to catch a glimpse of you. it takes a beat before you remove your face to lock eyes with him, before returning your face to his back.

he huffs a chuckle, sounding incredibly fond all the same. his feelings for you can never be suppressed anyway. time has proved this to him enough number of times.

he runs a finger down the length of your arm, relishing how it leaves a line of goosebumps in its wake—

"you wanna tell me something, cookie?" your husband finally asks.

your reply doesn't come immediately. and when it does, it is nothing more than a noncommittal noise. too spoiled. too stubborn. a bit too satisfied as well, the emotion further expressed when you nuzzle his back yet again.

gojo's smile grows bigger. his cheeks hurt a little.

he thinks he can live forever with this kind of pain, not even a sigh of complaint ever leaving him.

"aha—" he exclaims loudly, still soft enough to keep the quiet of this sweet bubble you've pulled you both into, "so it's just my irresistible charm that's making you so clingy tonight, hm?"

another beat passes.

and just when he thinks he might have to do with another one of your indistinct sounds for an answer, you speak. to be more precise, whine and grumble, everything so sweet in your adorable voice.

"it's not me being clingy, 'toru— it's the baby— the baby is making me so clingy. making me feel as if i can't live even for one second without squishing you like thisss!!!"

the first reaction your tightening grasp brings out is the wind getting knocked out of his lungs— the second reaction being all that oxygen, nitrogen and carbon dioxide being replaced by a feeling so fierce and so tender— the strongest thinks his knees would have buckled under its weight had he not been lying down but standing—

not that he really minds that, though.

for you, he's always on his knees. whether you ask it of him or not. the only light in this world he is willing to bow his eyes before.

it takes him not too much effort but gojo makes a point of struggling whilst he shifts in your hold. and grins when he finally comes face-to-face with you, drinking in the way your brows are puckered and lips a little parted in an incredulous expression.

his grin simmers down however, when his six eyes notice the spark in your tummy. so tiny. so blinding. so priceless— to him and you both— he knows this, surer than he is of the scars on his palms.

thumbing the hem of your t-shirt, he hums, dragging his eyes back to be drowned in yours, "how many weeks along are you, wifey?"

"satoru," you start, voice turning sharper and just as skeptical as your face was, still is— only to be shushed by a finger to your lips. the man addressed feels his heart skip a beat at your confused big scowl— it's got to be a crime to be as cute as you— really!!!

he pinches your cheek lightly.

"it isn't like i don't remember that, cookie. i just wanted you to say it— c'mon, tell me quickly!" he presses, noting then utilising the moment your face begins to lose its cynical hue over his words.

the scowl lingers there however, twisting your delectably pretty lips—

"nine weeks," you say, hooking a leg over his waist to pull him closer. can he be any closer to you, though? your answer is always a yes, he knows you well enough to know this.

"thirty-one weeks more before we meet our baby."

it's not exactly thirty-one weeks; it's thirty weeks and five days before either of you can meet the baby, but gojo decides not to point out the error. you always hate it when he points out your tiny errors and make a point of snarking about it every time he opens his mouth to speak a word next— the man is wary not to upset his wife, yes, thank you very much.

he offers a sage "hm" in response, one he observes you accept slowly. the scowl lifts itself into a curve so fond— gojo thinks once before he vaults his next query your way. not wanting to see that smile vanish in front of him—

the ask won't cause anything so. but he can never be too sure. he has read too many books and articles to not grasp how fragile pregnancy hormones can make one be.

he tucks a strand of hair behind the shell of your ear.

fingers tarrying there when he sees you lean into his touch— not akin a moth to a bright flame, no. he can never hurt you. not even for once in his wildest dreams—

but how the north pole of a magnet hurries towards the south pole of another magnet. so different in their nature, a perfect pair of opposite crafted by the nature— maybe that's why nothing can ever stop them from rushing to each other once they're proximated, the lines of their mutual attraction existing even when thousands of miles apart.

just like you and him.

contrasting, complementing, completing each other every instant, in every facet of life.

he lets his fingers dance through the tangles in your hair, unravelling the knots in there. that pleased little hum of yours reaches him once again.

stowing the sound away, later to be placed on a pedestal in an ornate glass case as the most valuable praise ever given to him for his effort, he runs a gentle hand, nails scratching your scalp carefully.

"and at nine weeks old, just how big might our baby be?"

"i think there is a chart comparing our baby's size to fruits..." syllables unhurried and a pinch mumbled, you press your heel to draw him in a little more. "i did not really read that too attentively— oh. but. yeah!" a grin forms on your features, sleepy still twinkling in excitement.

"shoko sent me a link to this website earlier today— any ideas, 'toru, what it might be about?"

gojo does have an idea. he has a very, very good idea.

but he chooses not to say that aloud. you look so extremely adorable when you are being this excited. he would hate nothing more than to see your amped up self getting interrupted by him.

he shakes his head. your grin brightens. eyes crinkling with a glint, he can tell even without looking, is knowing.

the tips of your fingers caress his bare back, softer than a breath. "it's about when our baby forms which organs— our baby's eyes are being formed now!!! isn't that too cute, 'toru?"

"it is, cookie," he hums without any hesitation, six eyes activating one more time to zero in on that teeny-tiny spark. then deactivating when he looks back up to your sleepy eyes. a terribly tickled, equally wicked glimmer creeps into his grin. "so our baby is just like a tiny ball of cells with two big blue eyes, huh? they must look so scary, heh— ouch!"

your pinch did not really pain him, but gojo does his best to mimic an awfully wounded puppy, sogging wet from the rain and waiting at the doorstep with his moving blue eyes— it takes less than three seconds before you let go of your glare with a sigh.

you massaging the sore spot on his arm, your husband watches you give yet another sigh.

"first of all, there's no guarantee our baby will have your eye color and not mine, 'toru," you explain, pinning him under your drowsy stare, "it is very difficult to predict that for sure— and secondly: i'll punch you if you ever call our baby scary— sure, they don't really look like a human in this moment, but they'll slowly get there in forty weeks— as per the website, their face, hands and feet are forming in the ninth—"

"okay, alright!! i get your point, my insanely smart, insanely beautiful, insanely sexy wife," gojo cuts in, smiling while warning bells chime in his head at the faintest gloss in your eyes—

but maybe they weren't noisy enough. that is why he doesn't bite his tongue, rather continuing, "but you weren't actually blaming our poor human-ey baby for your clinginess, were you? it's not like they have a telepathic communication set up with you— hell, maybe they haven't even started forming their brain!"

"the baby's brain starts forming by the fifth week, satoru," your quiet reply reaches him exactly when he gets his last giggle out. the moist sheen in your eyes grows more prominent.

and his insides begin to twist—

one-third helpless. two-thirds contrite.

you don't stop talking, tone lower than he has heard you use in nearly forever, "and you better not comment on my bond with our baby— i'll punch you twice if you—"

"i wasn't doing that and i promise to never make you feel that way, my cutie-pie cookie," gojo interrupts, voice far gentler than earlier, just as low as yours, "but feel free to throw me out the house if i ever do that, even accidentally. okay?"

you're not okay.

you never are, when it comes to you being actually harsh to him, even when he's the one asking you to be— shakespeare once called love to be blind— your husband doesn't think you're blind, however. it is your well-contemplated decision to see his mistakes and see each of them as excusable, perfectly pardonable, no matter how silly or serious the world might regard them to be—

you make a noise. somewhat annoyed. unhappy too, yeah. before you push your face into the crook of his neck, nose nuzzling into the flesh there.

you would have bitten him by now. but he reckons you might be a bit too tired for all that. you couldn't even finish your dinner before facing the urge to throw up tonight, yet again.

feeling sorry, almost, gojo resumes his ministrations to your hair, half because you need to fall asleep now; the hands on the clock are close to striking midnight. the other half because he just loves playing with your hair— only to still when you suddenly pull your head back.

brows furrowed as you peer at him, eyes big and earnest.

"you don't really mind when i hug you like this, do you, 'toru?"

"no, cookie!! of course not!!" the man wastes not even a breath before he rushes to explain— because seriously, what!??

sure, he wasn't the first one to fall between you two. but ever since he did fall, he has never not expressed how every second away from you, every fraction of an instant away from you, causes him pain.

and yeah, he might have been a tad too dramatic whilst doing so, but you've always been so good at reading him— then why on earth can't you read him now? why don't you read, he loves it when you seek him out, he loves you more than anyone and anything else??

"good," your satisfied little chirp gives him a light shove away from his frantic thoughts. something tells him he should be put on alert by the way your lips curve into a smug smile next.

but gojo finds himself uncaring. just immensely relieved as he trails his fingers from the back of your head to your chin. thumb reaching out to brush the corner of your infectious smile. you continue.

"but even if you did mind, sorry not sorry— you were the one who put the ring on my finger, so you have to deal with everything i'm, mister!! no refunds nor complaints can be filed here, gojo-san~"

and neither refunds nor complaints he wishes to file, satoru muses to himself as he cups your cheek in one hand. bending down to steal the taste of your beam, your tease, your love for him on his tongue—

not when he has received the world in exchange for letting go of that poor splintered mess of a heart, he used to call his, but is now yours.

and will always stay yours—

"hey 'toru— what will you do if i chomp on your fingers right now, like really hard? will you yell? or will you be the freak that you're and enjoy it, huh?"

gojo pauses.

and wonders.

is there any binding vow one can make to secure oneself to another in every lifetime, for all eternity?

he hopes there is.

your husband really, seriously hopes there is—

'cause no way in heaven, earth or hell, does gojo satoru want to let go of you— and he will not let go of you.

this idea was ROTTING in my brain for ages, but wht gave me the spark– the boost to write this was the wonderful sukuna fic written by ari @twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat ❤️❤️❤️ i seriously love u & ur writings sm, babes 🥹🥹 everyone pls go check their masterlist out. it's studded w diamonds and pearls 😌😌🥰

and this is also for my sweet & sour bestie mimi @avatarofstars 🤭🤭— u 🤝 me in being clingy af towards our fictional hubbies 😂😂🥰

hope this was an enjoyable read! pls don't plagiarise, translate or repost this ❤️❤️

masterlist

#gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x you #gojo x reader #jjk x you #jjk x reader #kit posts 📝

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sergeantbarnessdoll · 5 months ago

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Bucky and reader on a long mission where they’re a married couple attending their new “friends” wedding reception. Bucky asks the reader to dance with him, because what kind of husband would attend an event like this and not dance with his amazing wife?

Dance With Me » Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier

Pairings: Avenger!Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Female Reader

Summary: You and Bucky attend a wedding as a fake married couple for a mission.

Warnings: Fluff, language, fake marriage, kissing, pet names

A/N: Thank you to the lovely anonymous person who requested this🩵

Written on my phone. My apologies for any mistakes.

Header made by @buckys-wintersoldier

GIF IS NOT MINE! Credit goes to the creator.

“You ready to do this?” Bucky asks as the two of you stood in front of the entrance to the venue.

“I’m ready whenever you are…” You looked up at him. “Husband.” You say.

“Let’s do this, wife.” He says.

You linked your arm with Bucky’s right arm and walked with him in the venue.

You and Bucky are on a mission as a fake married couple attending a wedding of two new “friends”. You two weren’t actually going to pay attention to the wedding festivities, except say hi to the bride and groom you two became “friends” with. You two are actually there for a flash drive that has very useful and important information on it for the Avengers.

“Look ahead.” You tell Bucky, seeing the bride and groom walking towards you guys. “Act natural.” You say.

The bride practically squeals when she sees you and Bucky, greeting you guys with a hug.

“How are you guys?” She asks. “We haven’t seen you two in a while.” She says.

“Sorry about that.” You apologized. “We were so busy with our kids that we forgot that we have a social life and friends.” You tell her, making something up.

“That’s ok.” She smiles. “We’ll catch up sometime soon. In the meantime, I hope you two enjoy our wedding as much as us.” She says, holding onto her husband’s arm.

You and Bucky gave them a nod and a smile as they walked away. You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

“We have kids now?” Bucky teasingly says with a playful smirk.

“It was the first thing I came up with!” You say.

“I’m not making fun of you.” He said. “I actually thought it was clever.

“Thank you.” You say with a proud smile.

“You’re welcome.” He smiles back. “Now, let’s get that flash drive, wife.” He says.

“Let’s do this, husband.” You say.

You and Bucky managed to slip out of the room the reception is in without no one noticing and walked down the hallway, looking for the room you two are looking for.

“Bingo.” You two stopped in front of the office you two need to search. “This is it.” You say in a whisper.

You put your hand on the doorknob and turned it, only to find out that it’s locked. You huffed quietly and turned to face Bucky.

“The door is locked. How are we going to get the flash drive?” You asked.

Bucky stared at the locked door for a short moment before smirking to himself. He put his vibranium hand on the doorknob and turned it just enough to break it, opening the door afterwards.

“After you, doll face.” Bucky says, gesturing for you to go in the office first.

You walked in the office while Bucky stood guard at the door. You rummaged through every filing cabinet and every desk drawer, but couldn’t find the flash drive. You were about to ask Bucky for help, but you discovered something. The desk drawer you were looking through had a little secret compartment. You opened it and found the flash drive with ease. You grabbed it and put everything back the way it was.

“Here you go.” You say, handing the flash drive to Bucky.

Bucky put it in the pocket of his suit jacket and you two got out of there before someone saw you guys. You two managed to sneak back in the room the wedding reception is in with ease. You two looked around the big room to make sure no one was looking at you before making your way to the exit.

“The coast is clear. Let’s get out of here.” You say.

“Wait a minute.” Bucky said. “May I have this dance?” He asks when a slow song began to play through the speakers.

“What?” You asked, blinking a couple times.

“What kind of husband would I be if I didn’t dance with my wife at a wedding?” He says.

You could sense his 1940s charm coming through, which made you smile. You happily accepted his offer for a dance. You two made your way to the dance floor and tried your best to blend in with everyone else. You wrapped your arms around his neck while he put his hands on your waist. You two swayed to the slow beat of the song. You two gazed in each other’s eyes while swaying to the music. Before you knew it, his lips were on yours. Your lips moved against his in sync.

“Mmm…” You hummed against Bucky’s lips before pulling away from his lips. “Let’s not steal the spotlight from the bride and groom.” You whispered.

“Good idea.” Bucky says with a small chuckle.

You and Bucky continued dancing while you thought to yourself. You’ve always heard about Bucky’s charm with the ladies in the 1940s, but never seen it until now. You have to say you definitely like this part of Bucky and you most definitely want to see it more often.

“What’s on your mind, doll?” Bucky asks, snapping you out of your thoughts.

“Hmm?” You asked, humming in response.

“I asked you, what’s on your mind?” He asks again.

“I was just thinking.” You answered.

“Thinking about what?” He asks.

“You and your 1940s charm.” You answered. “I love this side of you and I would like to see it more often.” You say.

Bucky dips his head down so his lips are near your ear.

“I’ll show you this side of me anytime you want. All you have to do is ask, doll face.” He whispers in your ear.

“I can tell you what else I want from you.” You say.

“Oh yea? What might that be?” He asks.

Instead of telling him what it is, you kissed him passionately. Bucky immediately kissed you back. You pulled away, looking deep in his blue eyes.

“I have to say…” You started. “Being fake married is fun.” You say.

“I agree.” Bucky says, agreeing with you.

Bucky kissed you once more before you two realized that you two are accidentally stealing the spotlight from the bride and groom.

“We’re stealing the spotlight from the bride and groom.” You say with a small giggle.

“I don’t care.” Bucky pecks your lips softly. “I enjoy kissing you.” He admits.

“I enjoy kissing you too.” You admitted.

“Then we should get out of here.” He says.

“Let’s go.” You say.

You and Bucky walked over to the bride and groom to say goodbye to them before leaving.

“We’re going to have to cut the night short. We have something to do tomorrow and we have to get up early for it.” You say, making it up.

“Oh ok. Well, thank you for coming. We should catch up sometime when we’re not busy.” The bride says.

“Sounds good to us. Don’t you think, doll?” Bucky says.

You hummed and nodded in response. You two then left the wedding and got in the car.

“I’d like to dance with you again sometime.” You say.

“We can dance again when we get back to the hotel.” Bucky says.

“Sounds good to me.” You say with a smile.

Bucky leaned over the center console and pecked your lips softly.

“Wife.” Bucky says.

“Husband.” You say.

🪖🪖🪖🪖🪖🪖🪖🪖🪖🪖🪖🪖🪖🪖🪖🪖🪖

-Bucky’s Doll

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navybrat817 · 5 months ago

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Bucky Barnes Masterlist - 2

Welcome to my 2nd Bucky Barnes Masterlist, lovelies, and I hope you enjoy! Here you will find some of my darker fics. These may include triggers such as noncon, dubcon, violence, dark themes, etc. Please heed the warnings. Header and banner by @sgt-seabass and dividers by @firefly-graphics. Check them out!

Main Masterlist | 1st Bucky Barnes Masterlist

I have discontinued my tag list. Please follow my sideblog @navybrat817-sideblog and turn on notifications to see new fics! I will only post fics, writing ideas and updates there.

🔥 smut 💓 fluff 💔 angst 💞 AU 🛑 dark content 💙 Navy's faves

Mini-Series and Universes

Soldat and Sparrow Universe (Ongoing)

Your fire burns for the Winter Soldier. And one day, you’ll be free. Both of you.

Winter and Fire 🔥💙

Summary: You didn’t choose to be with Hydra. Neither did the Winter Soldier.

War and Peace 🔥

Summary: Your first mission together brings inner war...peace.

Soldat and Sparrow

Summary: No one touches his Sparrow.

Night and Day 🔥

Summary: Will you be another one of the Soldat’s lost memories?

Dark and Light

Summary: You learn the real reason why Hydra wants to keep you.

Black and White

Moon and Sun

Past and Future

The Pakhan and the Printsessa - Mob Newlyweds Universe (Ongoing) 💞

You’re married to Bucky Barnes, one of the most powerful men in the world. And all he wants is you.

Harmonious 🔥

Summary: You may think you’re a pawn in Bucky’s life, but you are his queen.

Hollow 🔥

Summary: Bucky touches on memories from the past and wants to start a new tradition with you.

Husband and Wife 🔥💙

Summary: Bucky has to have you before you get to your wedding reception.

Honeymoon Suite 🔥

Summary: Bucky takes a call during your honeymoon, but you should know that you always come first.

Home Again 🔥

Summary: Your husband opens up to you about his past as you fall more in love.

Honesty and Lies

Honor and Obey

Hope, Faith and Love

Vampire Mob AU (Ongoing)

Power and money mean nothing to the powerful vampire ruler if you’re aren’t by his side.

Around Your Throat 🔥

Summary: Bucky has the perfect accessory to go around your throat.

Lay Me Down 🔥💙

Summary: You look to the past and future on your last night as a human.

Disturbia - Dark Suburbia AU

You have a beautiful home and a loving partner. So, why does it feel like something is wrong with your neighborhood?

A Plum a Day 🔥🛑

Summary: You wake up beside Bucky, but you don't know how you got there.

Winter and Kisa - Mob AU 💞

The mobster doesn't care that you're an agent. He wants you to be his.

Give Me a Name

Summary: Someone put their hands on you and Bucky can't let it go.

Almost Like Home

Summary: Bucky told you his place would be your home one day. You see it firsthand with his closet.

Dark Club AU (Tagged as Turn It Up AU)

Hold You Tight 🔥🛑💞

There's Something in the Water - Coming Soon

One Shots and Imagines (over 1k) *Some fics may get additional parts

Run Like Hell 🔥🛑

Summary: You weren’t supposed to see the Winter Soldier that day. So you ran. The Soldat loves a good chase though…and you’re not getting away from him that easily.

First and Last 🔥🛑 💞 (a/b/o)💙

Summary: Masquerading as Beta was an easy choice. Too bad Bucky Barnes had other plans for you.

You’re My Obsession 🔥🛑💙

Summary: You’re the light in Bucky’s darkness. And he doesn’t want to share you with anyone, including Steve.

Best Man 🛑

Summary: Bucky found the girl of his dreams and Steve couldn’t be happier.

Remind Me 🔥💙

Summary: The apocalyptic world is crumbling around you and you need a reminder of who you belong to.

Push and Pull (features Nick Fowler x Reader)🔥🛑💙💞 (Club)

Summary: Nick wants what Bucky has.

Prized Possession 🔥🛑 💞 (Librarian)

Summary: You’re Bucky’s rare treasure, his most prized possession.

A Debt to Pay 🔥💙💞 (Mob)

Summary: Bucky isn’t a man to be crossed.

What Goes Around 🔥💙 💞 (DBF/BFD)

Summary: Bucky is your friend's dad and your dad's friend and nothing more. Until he isn't.

Send Me an Angel 🔥🛑 💞 (Bartender)

Summary: Bucky thinks you’re an angel.

Follow You Home (Stalker)

Summary: Bucky just wants to see you smile when he visits you at the flower shop.

Two Sides of the Same Coin🔥 (Bucky and the Winter Soldier)

Summary: A night of passion awakens something beneath the surface of the man you love.

What Happens in Vegas 🔥🛑 💞 (Fae)

Summary: You get more than you bargained for when you decide to get married in Vegas.

Within You 🔥🛑

Summary: Bucky shows a different side of himself when you venture into a corn maze.

Ficlets (under 1k)

Read Between the Lines ~ (threat not by Bucky)

Summary: Things are left unsaid with Bucky during your recent mission.

Loyalty 🔥 (features Dark!Andy Barber x Reader)

Summary: Loyalty is something you’ve learned to both loathe and appreciate.

Collateral Damage 🔥🛑

Summary: You pay the price when the Avengers try to undo the snap.

Long Night

Summary: Bucky is waiting for you when you come back from a night out.

A Hero’s Reward 🔥 🛑

Summary: Bucky is a hero and every hero deserves a reward.

100 Word Drabbles

Secret Admirer Secret Admirer - Part 2 Secret Admirer - Part 3 Secret Admirer - Part 4 Forced Bond 🔥🛑 Last Call 🔥🛑 His Sparrow 🔥🛑 Stalked

#navybrat writes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x fem!reader #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #dark!bucky barnes #dark!bucky barnes x reader #soft!dark bucky barnes #soft!dark bucky barnes x reader #the winter soldier #the winter soldier x reader

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thought--bubble · 7 months ago

Text

Fear is a game for children

Aemond X Aemond Wife Reader X Daemon

Warnings Below

Word Count: 2,716

Canon Aemond Master List

Daemon Master List

Full Master List

Banners by @arcielee

Written for the Dragon friends period smut collab. Based on an ask received by the wonderful @lady-phasma that she so kindly invited us to participate in!

Header by @zaldritzosrose

Please click HERE for the masterlist for this Collab

Warnings:: Mentions of menstruation, Some sexism, Dubious consent, Oral Sex (Female Receiving), Multiple partners. (P in V Sex *Brief mention*)

Being married to a Targaryen prince wasn't half as bad as you had initially expected.

Your husband wasn't exactly warm and loving, but he was respectful, performed his marital duty, and made sure that you were comfortable throughout the process.

Yet you yearned for something more. Something other women spoke about. Not just comfort during the act but actual pleasure. The idea is that you did not need to simply be grateful that the act does not hurt but that you could derive actual pleasure from it.

You had brought this topic up to your husband multiple times. Trying to address what you were sure was a sensitive subject with the utmost gentleness.

At first, Aemond would hear nothing of it, only chastising you for your lewdness. But true to form for Aemond, being told that he was inadequate in anything would motivate him, and try he did, and he improved trying difference postions and pacing, preening at your positive encouragement. That came to an abrupt halt once your moonblood reared its head.

You had heard from your mother and other ladies of the court about the benefits of intimate connection with your husband even at this time, yet Aemond was entirely averse to the idea. Unsanitary and of no purpose being his selected terms. You took no offense to this. You knew how stubborn to change Aemond is. His ability to try something new is limited to the training yard or on the back of Vhagar. He had already done more than you had expected.

You learned quickly that the best time to get things from your husband was when he has had some wine. He is much more...... agreeable, in this state.

Viserys' big birthday feast tonight would be the perfect venue. Everyone knew it would most likely be his last so it was expected to be a grand affair, and a grand affair is was.

So, partway through the evening festivities, you find yourself sitting alone with a slightly wine soaked version of your husband. Your fingertips gently tapping on the table. You knew this may be your moment. Your moment to explain to him why this would be a positive for you both and your growing connection.

"Husband," you open conversation gently, your voice soft as snow.

"Wife?" He turns his head toward you, a small wrinkle creasing his forehead.

You love that little wrinkle. The wrinkle that tells you he is listening, that you have his attention even though his eye is not on you.

"Do you remember the conversation we had this morning?"

Aemonds back stiffens slightly, and he turns his head back to facing forward.

"I do. My opinion on the matter has not changed, " he replies dryly. His fingers lightly tapping on the smooth wooden table they rested upon.

"There are benefits, husband." You lower your voice as much as possible,"others have told me....."

He whips his head toward you, bringing his mouth close to the side of your head. "Do not tell me of your lecherous conversations with the dim-witted ladies of this court." He hisses between clenched teeth "it is beneath your station"

You open your mouth to retort but are cut short by a dark chuckle emanating from behind you.

Daemon Targaryen leans against the wall, his frame tall, his shoulders broad. His short white hair slicked back, with a smile that creeps up his face before settling behind his sharp lilac eyes.

"Oh dear nephew! Must you be such a prude? Must be the Hightower in you." Daemon swirls his wine around his goblet, his eyes trained on you, but his words meant for your husband.

"I find myself quite intrigued by your wife's lascivious conversations and would be quite pleased to hear more." he pushes himself off the wall, bringing his free hand to your shoulder, "do continue, princess."

Your words catch in your throat as heat rises to your face. Your husband and his uncle exchange some choice words in hushed tones, but you can't hear them over the rush of blood pounding in your ears.

You are finally torn from your mental whirlwind when your husband abruptly grips your hand pulling you harshly to your feet.

"My wife and I wish to retire. As always, it has been the utmost pleasure to speak with you, uncle. " Aemonds words are polite, yet the venom in his tone could not be clearer.

As your husband pulls you out of the banquet hall and through the corridors of the redkeep, your stomach is doing somersaults. It is not easy to provoke the wrath of your husband. As his wife, he has always used gentle hands with you, though embarrassment is not something he takes lightly.

You try not to imagine the fate that awaits you behind your chamber door, where Aemond will be free to let you know exactly how he feels about the shame you have clearly brought upon him.

The tapping of your feet against the stone floor echoes through the corridors. Your soft steps, your husband's harsh steps, and a third set of steps heavier than yours yet lighter than your husband's and trailing behind you

You audibly gulp before turning your head to glance behind you but before you can fully turn your head your husband yanks you forward.

"Dear uncle. Your accommodations are back towards the hall. I fear you may not be headed in the right direction. " Aemond attempts to exude an air of confidence, but the gentle shake to his voice is unmistakable, especially to a predator like the rogue prince himself.

"You fear a lot of things, sweet nephew, if I am to understand our previous conversation" Daemon continues following you and Aemond through the corridors, even as Aemond increases his pace nearly dragging you along the floor.

"Dragons fly! They do not run!" Daemon chuckles heartily as he picks up his pace as well. You can't help but admire the confidence in his voice, in his swagger. It's something you see Aemond becoming once time has had a chance to mature him.

When you reach your chambers, Aemond practically shoves you through the door. Turning his body hastily in an attempt to get the door shut. Just as the door is near to close in slips, the tip of a boot.

"Uncle," Aemond growls his hands grip the door tightly, his arm muscles flexing.

"Yes, it is me," Daemon chuckles as he pushes through the door as if Aemond is a mere fly he was swatting from his face.

"The hour has grown quite late. My lady wife and I wish to retire... tis hardly the time for company" Aemond holds his arm out towards his uncle in an attempt to corral him back out the open door.

"Oh, but I have been left unsatisfied by our earlier conversation and a dragon...... well, we simply can not go unsatisfied. " Daemon feigns a smile toward Aemond before setting his sights on you.

"Now princess, if you wish for me to take my leave, I will. Just as soon as you tell me the subject of these conversations with the ladies of the court. The conversations that serve to upset my nephew so much." Daemon wiggles his eyebrows at you before settling himself in one of the chairs placed before the hearth in your marriage chambers.

"Well......" You trail off unsure of what you should do. You're placed in a room with two quarreling dragons, and you feel the fire breathing down your neck. You look toward your husband for some guidance, but he simply looks down.

"We speak about girlish things. Things I am sure would bore you greatly, my prince."

"Hmmm...." Daemon scratches his chin, his smirk returning to his face when he sees how uncomfortable Aemond is.

"What kind of girlish things was my dear nephew chastising you for? For I am sure it was not because you spoke of gowns, balls, or childbearing. " Daemon starts to tap his foot, and your stomach curls.

You know the situation you are in. You refuse Daemon and meet his wrath now, or you appease Daemon and meet Aemond's wrath later. You decide you are better off calming your husband then to attempt to avoid the questions asked by the elder dragon prince.

"We spoke of benefits." You clear your throat and pull and the neckline of your gown, the material suddenly tight around your neck and heavy upon your frame.

"This bores me" Daemon drawls annoyed. "What is it?"

"The benefits of...... intimate moments with one's husband... during.... well..... when a lady has her moonblood. " As the words leave your lips, you turn your head to the side in a desperate attempt to not look at your husband.

"Is that it?" Daemon laughs loudly. Though the laughter is not joyful, instead it is condescending.

"Oh, nephew! You are supposed to be a dragon! Yet you fear a little blood?" Daemon stands up hastily from his chair. He casts a sideways look towards Aemond before smirking and making his way to you swiftly, wrapping an arm around your waist.

"Uncle......" Aemond voice is a low growl and he stands with his legs spread slightly apart.

"It is wholly unsurprising that you have yet to...... bloody your blade. " Daemon snickers his back, turned away from Aemond, his arm still around your waist. "Such a fearful boy. Now pay attention. I am about to teach you a lesson you would be wise to learn...."

With that, Daemon tightens his grip around your waist, walking you backward toward the bed you share with your husband, pushing you gently until you land softly on your back.

"Nephew. As a dragon....." Daemon leans down, pushing your dress up your legs and around your hips. "Blood is not something we fear." He deftly wraps his fingers around the band of your small clothes, quickly pulling them down your legs before discarding them.

"Come" Daemon beckons Aemond to stand behind him, Aemond stays rooted in place at first but after a sharp look of annoyance from Daemon he slowly walks over until he is behind him.

Daemon brings his hand to your heat opening you up with his fingers. His hands are cold, sending a shiver up your spine.

"Are you sore princess?" Daemon's question pours over you like warm water, the chill running down your spine replaced with a heat.

"Why would she be?" Aemond's voice cuts through your haze briefly.

Daemon pinches his nose before turning to look at Aemond. "Because, ladies can be sore during this time. you tout around all of your knowledge yet do not know this?"

Aemond scoffs and turns his head. "The affairs of women are hardly my concern"

You try to keep the thoughts in your head from displaying on your face.

"The comfort of your wife should be your concern Aemond" Daemon runs his fingers through your folds swiping the pads of his middle and forefinger over your pearl. "however do you cope princess?"

Your back arches slightly at the touch, a soft sigh slipping out from between your lips.

"Such a responsive thing. You are a man of good fortune Aemond. Unfortunate that you have squandered it until now."

Daemon brings his head down between your thighs rolling his tongue over your clit, humming as he goes.

Your reaction is instant. Aemond has never gone down on you at all let alone during your cycle. Your hands quickly find their way into Daemon's hair pulling him closer.

Your eyes shoot open as his slides one cold long finger into your heat, crooking it upwards and exploring your insides. You look for Aemond, slightly raising your head and find him frozen. His one pupil blown and taking in the sight before him.

You moan loudly as the lewd wet sounds of Daemon's mouth sucking and licking at your heat ring loud around the room. You feel that pressure that you have experienced very few times start to build in your lower stomach, tightening like a coil, ready to pop loose at any moment.

Daemon lifts his head from you, your juices and moonblood are a cloudy mixture that drip down his chin.

"Give in for me sweet girl, show your husband what you look like when a man does as he should" Daemon growls as he brings his face back down to your heat, biting gently and sucking harshly on your swollen nub.

The pleasure that had been building in your lower stomach reaches a pinnacle and crashes over you like a wave, your back arching off the bed, nothing else exists for you in this moment aside from your pleasure and the momentary relief you feel from you feminine aches.

The noises you make are unbecoming for a lady of your standing but not even the 7 could keep you quiet now.

Daemon leans back on his haunches, a sly smirk on his face clearly pleased with himself. "And that, dear nephew, is what a satisfied woman looks like, a new view for you, of that i am sure."

Aemond angrily shoves Daemon to the side causing him to lose his balance temporarily.

"You are most welcome princess" Daemon taunts haughtily, he makes no moves to clean off his face instead focused on Aemond who has now lowered his own face to your heat desperately attempting to recreate the scene he just witnessed.

"Slower nephew. There is a build up that must be done"

Aemond slows his movements suddenly, the overstimulation you were feeling calms to a gentle wave of pleasure as your husband flicks his tongue across your sweet pearl.

Daemon gets up and crawls onto the bed kneeling beside you.

"Princess..." He coos directly into your ear while pushing your hair back. "Are you feeling better now?"

"Y-Yes" your breaths are short and broken, each stroke of Aemond tongue across you overstimulated clit cause a small twitch.

"That is good." Daemon brings his lips to yours pushing his tongue into your mouth, the taste of wine and copper fills your mouth heightening your pleasure as it once again builds.

You bring your hands down to Aemond's hair using it as an anchor to hold him in place as you take your pleasure from him rubbing yourself against his prominent nose as he shoves his tongue into your clenching entrance.

Your hips roll as you move climbing up that wall of pleasure once again, Daemon trails bloody kisses down your neck and over your cleavage, before grasping your left breast, kneading the fatty flesh beneath his palm.

"You are taking much longer than I did nephew" He taunts his mouth up against the side of your throat, biting a nibbling at the sensitive flesh there.

Aemond takes this taunt as a challenge pressing two fingers into your core and flattening his tongue against your pearl. His fingers digging into the fatty flesh of your thighs.

The stimulation of your core, mixed with Daemon's tight grip of your breast and needy kisses sends you hurtling back towards your peak.

"Aemond... please Aemond" you gasp as you feel your body tense, a small tremble spreading throughout your entire frame.

"Hmmmm" Aemond hums applying more pressure to your pearl and pushing his fingers into your body at an accelerated pace.

"One more time for us princess" Daemon whispers into your ear, gently biting at the lobe.

"One more!" You gasp out before succumbing to your orgasm.

You gasp loudly, feeling as if you could take all the air in the room into your lungs and it still wouldn't be enough.

Aemond raises his head slowly from between your legs the same mixture dripping down his face and covering the tips of his white hair.

His eye connects with yours as he stands and starts to loosen the laces of his trousers.

Daemon pulls away from your neck and watches Aemond as he pushes himself into your core in one swift motion, his face and hair still covered in your blood, his ravenous eye upon you and his fingers digging so deeply into your thighs you are sure he will soon break skin.

"And now nephew....." Daemon chuckles and slightly pushes back his hair. "you finally look like a dragon"

To be added to taglists click HERE

#aemond x reader #daemon x reader #aemond fanfiction #daemon targeryan #prince aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen #hotd aemond #ewan mitchell verse #daemon fanfic #ewan mitchell fanfic #matt smith fanfiction #jess fics

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eleanor-bradstreet · 2 years ago

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Still Going (Anthony Bridgerton x Reader)

Anthony Bridgerton x fem!Reader Rated/warnings: T - suggestiveness, language, panic attack, feels Word count: 1.4k

Summary: A meaningful moment with your new husband. Author's Note: This is just a lil idea that popped into my head last night. Inspired by just wanting to hug the sad!Anthony from one of @fayes-fics stories. Thank you to @colettebronte for helping me pin down the right moment for the header. 💙

Months into your marriage and your husband still left you numb with pleasure each and every night as you tumbled with one another across your bed. Two things had become abundantly clear to you soon after marrying Viscount Anthony Bridgerton. First was the reason unmarried young ladies were not allowed in private company with young gentlemen, particularly of the rakish variety. And second was that you were one of the lucky ones who did not view cavorting with your husband as some sort of grueling, customary duty for the sole purpose of conceiving children. No indeed, it was proving to be the highlight of your life together as he unlocked unimaginable sensations within your body that left your mind soaring even as you lay limp and panting in his arms.

It was in just such a moment on a still summer night at Bridgerton House that you both collapsed back into the pillows together, spent and euphoric from your lovemaking. You chuckled, nuzzling in close to Anthony’s side as he planted a soft kiss on your forehead. You were fuzzy, lapsing into welcome sleep when he leaned away to reach for something on his nightstand. Then you heard the small clatter, immediately followed by his hissing curses.

“Dammit! No…” He rolled away from you, sitting on the edge of the bed as his voice rose in volume. “No, no, no. Fuck!”

Your eyes flew open to see his broad back hunched over, clutching something in his hands. You gathered the sheet around yourself and shifted to sit behind him. “Anthony? What’s wrong?”

In the low moonlight from the windows you could see he cradled his pocket watch in his palm, a splintering crack now etched across its face. His shoulders were beginning to heave, his breath growing short as he stared at it, transfixed. “It broke…” he croaked. “It…it just fell. I’ve dropped it before, but it broke and I…” He was gasping now, fighting for air like a drowning man as his eyes darted and his hands began to shake.

You had seen this before, one of his spells when fear and overwhelm consumed him. It had happened when his youngest sister had broken her leg during childish roughhousing, again when his brother had received an innocuous bee sting, and again when you had come down with a nasty but passing fever after your honeymoon. Every time someone he loved found themselves in harm’s way he was liable to lose control of his faculties, only temporarily, as his mind spun toward the worst possible conclusions. You knew why he suffered this way and didn’t judge him for a moment. Instead, you had committed yourself to bolstering him through the storms, learning techniques that helped call him back to himself.

You wrapped an arm around his shoulders and felt how he trembled.

He continued mumbling to himself, eyes locked on the watch, each word rasping. “It broke…I can’t…what do I…”

“Anthony?” You kept your voice clear and steady. “Anthony, look at me.”

He turned and you were nearly undone by the anguish you found in his eyes. You brought a hand to his cheek and pressed your foreheads together, his frantic exhales gusting across your skin. “My love, it’s alright.” You soothed, stroking his face and running your fingertips into his hair, imploring him to hear you. “You must control your breath. Anthony, follow me.” Reverting to what had worked before, you took his hand and gently guided it to press flat over your heart. You did the same, bringing a hand to rest on his heaving chest so that you mirrored one another. Tears threatened to form at the terrified pounding you felt under your fingertips, something so vulnerable within your husband who was otherwise a pillar of strength.

He was still panicked, nearly vibrating against you as he choked for air, but you kept your breath slow and deliberate, leading him out of the tempest with something solid and rhythmic. After a few moments he fell in sync with you, shuddering inhales that struggled to pace with your own, and desperate exhales as he released the disquiet that surged through him. His pulse began to slow, ever so gradually, and you felt the tension begin to melt out of his frame. He still clutched the watch tightly in his free hand, but the one against your skin grew soft and warm again as he regained himself.

“That’s it. Very good. Everything will be alright.” You cooed, running your thumb over his cheek. You hated that he was faced with such demons and were grateful that your methods of combatting them seemed effective. Anthony sagged against you, starting to breathe through his nose as he settled back into equilibrium. He was always exhausted after his episodes.

“Let me see.” You dropped your hands and gently pried the pocket watch out of his, inspecting it. As far as you could tell the damage was only superficial. Just a fracture in the glass but the mechanism was still ticking. “We can get this repaired.” You reassured him.

He looked back at you, eyes huge and pleading. “It was my father’s watch.”

This was a fact you knew well, with Anthony himself having told you many times before. It wasn’t that he thought you ignorant, it was the anxiety of the moment speaking for him.

“I know, my love.” You nodded. “It is precious. But it is not broken. It’s only the glass that is cracked, see? It’s still going.” You held the timepiece next to his ear so that he could hear its steady ticking for himself. Undeniable relief lit across his face as he let out a shaking exhale, inclining himself to listen more closely. The tempo of the watch gears proved as soothing to him as the beating of your heart. You smiled, knowing the worst was behind you. “First thing tomorrow, I’ll take it to the jeweler and have the glass replaced.”

Closing his eyes for a moment, Anthony nodded. Then he turned to kiss your wrist and place the watch safely in the drawer of his nightstand. Sliding back into the center of the bed, he wrapped you in his arms and burrowed down into the sheets, breathing deep into your hair as he pressed you to his warm, naked torso. “I’m sorry,” he sighed. “I’m sorry you have such a fool for a husband.”

You pouted. “Why would you say he is foolish?”

“Because he goes to pieces over something as silly as a broken watch.”

“I don’t think it’s silly.” You stretched an arm across his chest, tucking your head under his chin. “I think it speaks to how deeply he cares for his family. How much he honors his father’s memory, like a true gentleman.”

“Mmm. True gentlemen should not fall prey to such reckless displays of emotion.” He fell back into his Viscount’s tone, bitter and exacting. His censure in that voice was cutting to anyone but most of all to himself. His brutal self criticism had nearly come in the way of your betrothal, and it was something you were actively encouraging him to reduce. Particularly in this matter where he was so obviously not at fault, you would not allow him to chastise himself. You saw things from another perspective entirely.

After a moment, you spoke softly. “I think it may be your heart’s way of asking to be heard.”

Anthony scoffed. “You think I have one?” Not the reaction you wanted, but perhaps the one you should have expected.

You pulled back to meet his eyes, arms still banded tightly around one another. When you looked at your husband, the most handsome man you had ever seen, the man who had fought for your affections and filled your life with wonder every day since he had won them, you felt nothing but certainty.

“I know you do. I have seen it.”

His features softened, brows turning up as his warm eyes grew misty. With the hint of a smile tugging at his lips, he lovingly brushed a hand along your cheek. “You have seen it?”

“Yes, and in time you will see it too.” You smiled and leaned up into his gentle kiss then returned to lay your head on his chest, trailing your fingers languidly through the dark hairs found there. “I would not have married you if you did not possess one. It is nothing to be ashamed of, Anthony.” You curled more tightly against him, pressing your ear down until you could hear the proof of it. The heart that you loved so dearly, the one bound to your own, now returned to its strong and constant cadence.

“It is beautiful. It may have some cracks, but it is still going.”

Tagging: @angels17324 @bridgertontess @broooookiecrisp @secretagentbucky

#bridgerton #bridgerton fanfiction #anthony bridgerton #anthony bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x you #bridgerton x y/n #bridgerton imagine #anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton x you #anthony bridgerton x y/n #anthony bridgerton imagine #female reader #fluff and feels #romance #regency romance

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romanarose · 7 months ago

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To Have and to Hold

Marc Spector x fem!reader

Masterlist : Moon Knight Masterlist : Marc Spector Masterlist

Read on AO3

Summary: You and Marc just get married and he can't wait to get his dick inside you.

Warnings: Blowjob, butt stuff, anal play, cumming untouched, make-up smearing. I tried my best with some spanish and hebrew.

Immersivity: Reader is fem but no gentitle mentions for reader. Wears make up and a dress but I tried to write thing in a way that would make sense for a wedding in most cultures. Header is just for aesthetics, not mention of skin, dress, any of that. reader had grabable hair (theres a line about getting semi undressed so if you wear veils or hair covers that is you guys taking it off to smash.) Reader wears heavier make up and Marc can pick her up. Marc says the traditional chritian wedding vows (that doesnt mention anything religous) but thats not neccecarily the vows the said at the actual wedding. I know marc is jewish and the reader can be christian or not I knooooooooow

A/n: Jewish Marc <3 I tried to get pics of weddings from different cultures, the bottom one is from Guatemala is pintrest is to be believed! Add this to the list of fics i've written for @whatthefishh

1K Words

*****************

Married. Finally married. Marc Spector was your husband, and absolutely no one was going to take him away from you.

After the ceremony, you and Marc run off to the nearest side room you could find, dodging all your family and friends in order to consummate your marriage right away. Giggling and laughing like children, Marc pulled you by your hand, dress flouncing around and his Kippah secure on his head. All alone finally after days of family surrounding you, the two of you quickly get into just enough state of undress for what you need. His dick in your mouth.

“My beautiful wife…” Marc grunts, thrusting into your mouth and stretching your lips around his considerable length. “My perfect girl…” Your mouth was so wet and warm. So soft around him, accommodating his hardness and beautiful eyes gazing up adoringly through your wet lashes. Marc placed his large, rough hand on your cheek, pulling his cock out just enough to turn and press it into your cheeks. He loved to feel himself inside you.

You, in turn, love feeling him. It didn’t matter if he was stuffing himself inside your cunt, if you were feeling the vein of his cock along your tongue, his finger in your asshole with his sweet lips locked in on your tender flesh, or simply lying together watching TV with your fingers entangled in his deep brown curls. You were his and he was yours, and now it was sealed forever.

Marc’s dick slid down your throat, making you gag a little but Marc knew what you could handle. He didn’t want to hurt you, especially not today of all days, but he also knew what you liked. He also knew how to fix your make up, which you knew he was going to need to do as the tears began to blur in your eyes.

You’re dripping wet, absolutely incomprehensibly turned on by the simple fact you are married, married to the most amazing man in the entire world. Oh, and an amazing ass. That was an aside. A side that your fingernails were digging into right now, anyway. He was built like a fucking PEACH.

Marc murmured, growing breathless. He was so fucking easy to get off with blowjobs, it made you laugh. “I love you so goddamn much…”

You relinquish his right buttcheek, but you don’t leave his cute little booty be. No, your hands stay busy, reaching under him to play with his balls, but that wasn’t their final destination, merely a pitstop to sliding a finger up his butt. One time you did that and he came on the spot, which embarrassed him but you thought incredibly hot.

Marc moans loud enough you swear you were going to get caught. He’s so fucking easy. Marc likes to act like a tough guy, but really he’s just a whimpering mess who likes his butt played with, and you were happy to oblige. When he’s particularly a mess, Marc-y Marc rambles, and today was no exception as you slobber all over his length.

“Perfect fucking wife, ahuvati, can’t believe I actually got you to marry me.” he chuckles a bit in disbelief. “How’d that happen, huh?”

You mumble around his dick. You’re a bit preoccupied to answer.

He laughs again. “Oh, right.” He shakes his head, cradling yours in his hands before sighing contently, balls beginning to draw up. “My wife, my wife, eeshtee, mi esposa… my fucking wife.” Marc thrusts in deep at that, and you know he’s about ready to cum because he’s losing control. What he doesn’t know is under your dress your thighs are rubbing together, as turned on as he was and you haven't even been touched yet. You just needed him to keep talking… Luckily, Marc always knew what you needed. Marc was strangely much more talkative during sex than he was outside of it.

“To have and to hold, from this day forward.” Wet thrust into your drooling mouth, mascara running down your cheeks and neck.

“For better or for worse.” Fuck, you were getting as close as he was, the heavy smell of sex heating up the small room. Everything felt erotic and warm, your dress suddenly getting sweaty.

“For richer or for poorer” His face was getting sloppy, but no less strong. You remove your hands from his sweet cheeks to play with his balls.

“In sickness and in health.” You scrape your nails across his left asscheek, no doubt taking some skin with you. You’re whimpering at this point, slit throbbing to be touched but you wanted to cum from his voice alone.

“Forsaking all others.” It was dizzying, the tone of his voice strong and sure and just so certain in his words. He was so certain this was forever and ever, and so were you.

“To love and- and to ch-cherish, shitshitshitshit!” He grips your hair and you grip his thighs, both of you cumming in time as he says his last words.

“UntilDeathDoUsPart” Marc spills out the final phrase in a hurry fucking his cum down your throat as he cries out your name, your own toes attempting to curl up in the wedding shoes.

Sliding his softening cock out your mouth, you see the remnants of your lipstick on him. Yeah, you were going to need him to fix your face. For now though, Marc puts his dick in his pants and drops to his knees, looking you in the eye with a shit eating grin on his face. “Did you just cum untouched, baby?”

Playful, you smack his face knee. “Shut up!”

Full of joyous laughter, Marc picks you up and spins you around, making you squeal in delight. “Ani ohev otah! So fucking much!”

Nothing in the world felt better than being in Marc Spector's arms.

***************

This goes out to my beleoved Mona who alway shared ehr thirst idea with me lolololol this is something we were workshopping together while I was in line for Bleacher lol (fun fact I stopped a fight there.)

For now, Im going to be focusing on my work for the ZIne, my pride event, and trying to finish either awakening or blessed be the fruit. thats my goal this month. Maybe more if you wanna be wild if were luky, but that series means so much to me I don't wanna half ass it. It needs to be perfect bc were about to deal with Santi's trauma.

Want to see more? Want to keep up? I dont have a tag list for follow @romana-updates and turn on noifications!

Thank you all so much for your support! Im considering doing something MK for the pride event (see my pinned post) but Im unsure yet. I know I'll have lots of joel and a Santi.

love yall lots!

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beingsuneone · 1 year ago

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The One

SYNOPSIS: it would’ve been fun. If he would’ve been the one.

FANDOM: Harry Potter

PAIRING(S): Mattheo Riddle x Fem!Reader

RATING: G

CHARACTERS MENTIONED: Goyle, Crabbe, Draco, Theo, Pansy, Enzo, Blaise, Tom, Voldemort

GENRE/AU: Angst, Unhappy ending, Arranged Marriage Au!, reader is married to Goyle (not by choice),

WORD COUNT: 2.4k

WARNINGS: Angst

A/N: *cough* the 1 by Taylor Swift was my inspo. *cough* header and dividers made by me. I would also like to make a part two to this. Note: Voldemort/Toms son Tom Jr who looks exactly like him! (Pre-Voldemort)!AU hope this helps.

DEDICATIONS: the people who voted for him in the poll :)

CREDITS: N/A

The silver band on your finger glistens in the bright lights of the wedding hall, looking anything but enticing; instead of a symbol of love and comfort, it was like a shackle that tied you to a man you didn’t love forever.

Your eyes scan the crowd for the millionth time this evening, trying to seek out a pair of familiar brown eyes— your heart drops for the millionth time this evening, and you realize all over again that no matter how many times your eyes search for his, it will not make him appear.

He won’t come, you know that now as your new husband leans over to ‘kiss the bride’.

You try to wipe the disappointment off of your face, let go of his messy brown curls and smooth words, his rough hands and intoxicating scent.

Mattheo Riddle wasn’t yours to think about anymore; the man in front of you was.

Why your father thought a marriage alliance with Gregory Goyle would help your family, you’ll never know.

Worse, Goyle was, at one point, at least a decent friend of yours; You, Mattheo, Draco, Theo, Enzo, Blaise, Tom, Goyle, and Crabbe, used to strut around Hogwarts like you owned the place— let’s be honest, you damn near did. You and your protective group of Slytherins.

You allow your lips to touch Goyle’s for only a moment before you pull back and smile cordially; the two of you walk arm-in-arm down the aisle until you reach the doors at the end.

The moment you’re through, you push him away.

“I’m sorry, Y/n.” He says sadly. “If I could have said no, I would have.”

You shake your head, not even listening. “He didn’t even come, Goyle. I thought he’d at least try.”

Goyle sighs. “It wasn’t up to any of us. Not even Mattheo.”

Your eyes sting so you force your face to go deadpan and stare at Goyle. “I will always love you as a friend, Goyle, but I will never love you as anything more.” You say, retreating towards your dressing room.

He says nothing in return. He doesn’t need to. The feeling is mutual.

You enter your dressing room and release a strained breath, resting your head against the door after you close it.

Taking a deep breath, you allow yourself to daydream; to think what this day would be like if Mattheo was the one wearing a suit, the one saying his vows and sliding a ring onto your finger. You let yourself imagine all of the things you would’ve shared with him in this alternate reality, all the joy you might’ve felt. The future you might’ve been able to look forward to.

A tear slips silently down your cheek as your throat closes, suffocating you in the feelings you wish you were feeling.

Someone clears their throat and your eyes fly open, as your whole body snaps stick straight.

It’s your father, sitting eery and alone in a dark room. “You had to grow up one day, Y/n,” he says as his cold gaze sweeps over you. “Stop running around with that Riddle kid and risking your future.”

You shake your head. “The only real future I had was with him, Father.” You tug on the skirt on your wedding dress, and then your hair. “All this— this glamour and camaraderie is you, father, you playing puppeteer with real live people. I don’t know what status you think you’ll get from Goyle, of all people.”

Your father just sneers and pulls up his sleeve— an elaborate tattoo meant to symbolize his allegiance to Voldemort. The dark mark. He says, “You know exactly who that boy’s father is, and exactly where that puts me in relation.” He pauses. “This is what the Dark Lord wanted, Y/n.”

“…what?” Your mouth hangs open, and you wonder why the dark lord would want to torment you personally. “Why would he… I don’t understand.”

Your father just brushes past you and twists the door open. “If the Dark Lord doesn’t tell, you do not ask.”

……

“You’re going to marry him, right?” Pansy asks, smiling at you in the way that friends do when you have a crush on someone.

You shrug, playing it cool but despite your heart going a thousand miles a minute; excitement courses through your veins at the thought of Mattheo. “I think we’d have to become an actual thing first, Pansy.” You laugh.

She winks at you playfully. “I don’t think that’ll take too long, Y/n, He is whipped for you.”

You shake your head. “He is not.” Your heart still flutters.

“He is.” A new voice cuts in, and it sends a shiver down your spine. You turn to face Mattheo, who is now leaning in the doorframe.

What an entrance.

Pansy looks between the two of you and smirks mischievously. “I‘ll leave you two alone and go bug Blaise.” She slips past Mattheo.

You can’t meet his eyes as you grin stupidly at the floor, and the shirt in your hand.

“You talk about me often?” He says, settling on the floor next to you; he breaks you out of your stupor by gently tugging the shirt out of your hands.

You finally look at him. “No, only when Pansy brings you up. Which is always.” You bite your lip as you smile. “I don’t mind it though, you’re one of my favourite subjects.”

“That’s good,” he agrees, toying with a lock of your hair. “I think the guys are sick of hearing about you.”

“Of course they are,” you banter, “They already know everything about me.”

Mattheo leans in closer. “I don’t think they know everything.” His head dips down until his lips are just millimeters from yours. “They wouldn’t know what your lips feel like, would they?”

He bridges the gap and the two of you spent what is probably several minutes just kissing, and when he pulls away you’re breathless.

“No, I don’t think they know that.” Your voice comes out high-pitched, still trying to catch your breath both mentally and physically.

“I hope they never find out.” He says quietly.

You nod absent-mindedly. “Me too.”

….

You sigh deeply and set down the box in your new living room. Trying to put a positive spin on it, you think about how it won’t be terrible living with a friend instead of your parents, who were never there when they needed to be and always there when you needed them to leave.

Emotionally and physically.

You and Goyle are throwing a housewarming party, per his mothers request; so, technically this box really shouldn’t be in this room right now. It needs to be prepped for the party.

Goyle walks into the room. “Malfoy wants to know if he should invite Mattheo.”

You shrug. “Tell him to invite him, I don’t think he’ll show up either way.” Getting over Mattheo has not been easy, and when you think about him, his absence still sends several intense stabs through your heart.

You can still feel the ravines where the cracks in your heart formed. If he did show up, it would either put you on the path to healing or destroy you all over again and possibly forever.

You were fully prepared for the latter if it meant seeing him one last time.

But he won’t show, just like he wasn’t there when you really needed him just a few months ago, when some other man’s ring was being slipped onto your finger and you were near powerless to stop it.

Goyle stares at you for minutes, as if you’re fragile and need to be handled gently. “It is short notice.”

You pick the box back up and walk past him, just to stop at the foot of the stairs. “That’s not what I mean and you know it.” Then, you go upstairs and place the box in the guest bedroom. You have all this space in your new house and absolutely nothing to do with it.

Rooms filled with expectations and soured dreams.

….

Parties should be fun; this cake, considering it’s your favourite flavour, should taste good. You’re surrounded by the faces of your closest friends, all your family— though you aren’t fond of many of them— and all of Goyle’s family. Yet, all you feel is unfulfilled aching for Mattheo.

You feel so pathetic, always thinking about Mattheo, always relating everyone moment to your first love.

But you had wanted him to be your last. Your only. Your everything.

Draco is here, and he’s the one who asked about inviting Mattheo, so you’re pretty sure he’s not coming and you know you absolutely shouldn’t ask.

Instead, you stare at Draco as you eat the tasteless cake, wishing he’d somehow understand what you wanted to know.

Doesn’t help that he’s across the room.

“Y/n, come upstairs for a minute.” Pansy says, dragging you away from the party and into your bedroom. Or what will be your bedroom, anyways.

When the door has shut and she’s locked it, she turns back to you. “You can’t spend the whole party pining over the possibility of Mattheo showing up, Y/n; I know how much he means to you but you have to accept that you’re married and it’s over. You’re only going to hurt yourself more if you keep obsessing over this.”

You reel back, though you’re thankful for how bluntly Pansy says it. “I know, Pansy, I know. I just— I don’t know if can ever get over him. I mean…” You trail off trying to find your words. “Goyle was probably the last person out of our group that I would’ve chosen if I couldn’t have Mattheo. Truly, I think I could live if it was Enzo, or Theo, or even Draco, but not Goyle.”

She sighs. “But it’s not them, and it is Goyle.”

“So, what now?” You huff. “I’m just supposed to… I don’t know, keep his house and have his kids?”

Pansy’s eyes soften but she doesn’t respond; its a rhetorical question and there really isn’t any proper answer for it.

Then, there is a knock at the door. Pansy unlocks and opens the door, just enough for her to see who it is.

When she does, she says nothing. You watch her slip out the door before you even see who is behind it.

And then he steps in.

Mattheo Riddle.

“Hello, Y/n.” He says, so plainly as though he hasn’t just affected you in more ways than you could ever possibly count.

You look away. “You actually came.”

He clears his throat. “I did.”

You can almost picture him a few years back, standing in your dorm room door, smiling at you in that teasing way that made you knees weak.

Except he’s not smiling, and there is absolutely nothing blissful about this moment.

“There’s something I have to tell you.” Mattheo shuts the door behind him. “If it changes anything at all.”

…..

“There’s something I want to tell you, y/n.” Mattheo says one day, cryptically. “I’m just not sure if I should yet.”

You brush his hair out of his face. “Whatever it is, you can tell me, whenever you’re ready.”

He shakes his head, but he’s not disagreeing. “I’m worried you’ll see me differently.”

“There is nothing in the world that could make me see you differently, Mattheo.”

He seems sated by your words, and pulls you into a hug, resting his chin on top of your head. The two of you stay like that for a long while before he finally says, “I’ll tell you, but not today.”

You nod silently and focus on the feel of his arms around you, not wanting to take a single moment with him for granted.

…..

“What is it, Mattheo?” You say exhaustedly while you sit down on the mattress. “What could you say that would change anything?”

He takes a deep breath and sits beside you. “I know why this is happening, why Voldemort singled you out.”

You look up at him. “Mattheo…” trailing off, you stare at his sleeve in horror, dreading what you think he’s going to say. “Please tell me you didn’t.”

He furrows his eyebrows, following your gaze; when he realizes, his eyebrows shoot up again. “No! No, That’s not why I know.”

You visibly deflate with relief. He instinctively curls his arm around you but then quickly pulls it away. “Okay,”

He chuckles dryly. “My reason is actually much worse.” Mattheo pauses, blowing out a breath. “I’m his son.”

After a moment's hesitation, you shoot up from your spot, your eyes blown wide with disbelief. “Mattheo, you cannot be serious.”

He stands up, and sits you back down, trying to keep you calm. “It’s not like I want to advertise that my father is the most notorious dark wizard in history.” He reaches out and pushes a strand of hair out of your face, like you used to do to him so many times. “But he didn’t want you with me, Y/n, all of this is happening to you because of me.”

He sinks down to his knees in front of you and takes your hands in his.

“So,” You start. “I was personally targeted by the dark lord because you couldn’t bother to mention what’s probably a very important detail.”

His fingers tighten around yours. “I was so scared that you wouldn’t love me anymore if I told you, and then, by the time you were engaged, it was too late.”

You push his hands away. “Mattheo, I would have loved you no matter what you told me.” The hurt in your voice makes him back away from you and you can see the pain swirling in his eyes too.

“I told you. You know. Now, we can fix this.”

“No, Mattheo,” You stand up and push him towards the door. “It’s too late. You’re too late.”

He shakes his head rapidly. “No. No, it’s not.” Mattheo tries to stop you from opening the door but ultimately you push him over the threshold. “Please, Love, We can make it work— we could run away, do anything— please.”

You can’t look at him as you speak, while tears flow freely down your cheeks. “We were something, don’t you think so?”

His face falls, and you can see his heart shatter— you can feel your heart mirror his.

Perhaps, though, the most painful part is when he replies; “Yeah, we were.”

All content belongs to @beingsuneone , do not repost, copy or post on other platforms without my permission.

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yuugen-benni · 1 year ago

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''Not a Father's Day''

When your husband gets a baby fever TAGS: Childe x reader, the word ''sex'' appear only once, mentions of pregnancy (yes I'm breaking my own rule), Modern AU A/N: This is based on ''How I met your mother'' T4 E7, and I'M OBSESSED WITH THE HEADER PLUSHIE AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Guys, when you get married remember, Marriage has three stages:

Stage number 1: Teen era Even after you've known each other for years and years, almost tried to kill each other, and probably seen you both naked, you'll act like teenagers in their prime. You know, teasing, blushing for any reason, sex in the most inopportune places, those things that one day you will remember and feel ashamed of yourself.

Stage number 2 - Finding out The part of the relationship where you realize you knew absolutely nothing about your partner. Actually, "Nothing" is an exaggeration but you get the point. You start to know about small things that are shocking to the point of being considered a secret. Everyone has a secret, right? And the best way to count them is to dump each one. For example, Childe talking about her crazy exes:

''it's raining, look!….Oh, this reminds me so much of a crazy ex of mine who was in front of my apartment one night yelling about how she and I were meant for each other, and her husband was by her side! And the unbelievable was-''

And he kept talking and talking, while your expression was screaming ''There is more ?!'' and your mind thanks God for being normal;

Stage number 3 - Perfect couple

Here is when you became a perfect couple. What is a perfect couple? Two people who have spent so much time together that they can now create an encyclopledia about their partner. Habits, tics, favorite foods, the number of Hot Wheels cars your partner has collected, that sort of thing. Even reading expressions is possible;

The fights end and so do the disagreements

But there is only one subject that can break this: Babies.

''Hey babe, I'm back!" Childe announces his arrival, the door closes behind him as he walks over to you in the kitchen, and peck your lips "I was on my way here when I found out this little sock on our doorstep…?" Childe leans on the counter by his side with a confused expression while he plays with the child's sock, noticing the cute little blue patterns. You, who was kindly decorating cookies for Childe's siblings, looked up to look at the little thing

''It must be from new neighbors, they got the opposite apartment and knocked our door asking for help'' You started, leaving aside the piping bag ''Finally some new people! It's been so long since someone rented an apartment here'' the man commented, approaching the cookies discreetly before wincing at the slap you gave his hand

''They have two kids'' Continuing ''a baby girl and a boy with Teucer's age''

At the mention of his brother, Childe's expression changed, forgetting his red fingers. ''Awesome, we could invite them to dinner this weekend, If that's not a problem'' He gave an idea, but then raised an eyebrow at your dull expression

''They seem like good people…but I-I'm sure they'll ask those awkward questions like 'when are you two having a baby' and then apologize for being intrusive after being intrusive'' Of course, it was just an assumption, you had only interacted with them for minutes but your biggest mistake in this conversation was bringing up the subject you two avoid. Childe laughed awkwardly, scratching the back of his head.

''Well-''

"Childe, we already talked about this. You just have a silly baby fever, and in case you didn't know, fever goes away" You quickly dismissed him, knowing he wouldn't give up so soon. Having a child was a big request, a big wish. But it's not like it wouldn't be ''easy'', you have enough money to have 50 kids and they still wouldn't use up half of Childe's bank account. His family lives in the apartment next door and could teach you more about how to take care of children…But there was still an insecurity boiling inside you.

"But what if it doesn't go away ? What If the urge to go out just to buy little socks for our child keeps eating me ?" He was almost pleading, looking into your eyes just when you tried to avoid his gaze

"...First, you need to give me good arguments" you replied after sigh, somewhat expressing your guilty. Childe opens a big smile and approaches you once more, A fox look - persuasive "hmm... don't you want hold a mini silly Childe in your arms ?-"

"Cut it off! This is serious!"

"O-okay!" He chuckled softly before silence filled the room, he looked at the floor and then at the main kitchen window "We would practically be building a story…That's not the reason I would want to have a child, in fact you is my reason. Sometimes I feel like you are the reason for my existence… and they would [literally] understand me"

You stayed quiet and walked away from the counter, taking off your apron before gently kissing his lips. He cupped your face, wiping away the small traces of flour on your cheeks. ''I'm convincing, aren't I?'' He whispered and pulled away, taking a few steps backwards as he bit into the cookie he stole while you weren't looking. Bastard. You didn't even have time to shout at him because the man was already on the other side of the apartment; you sighed, but couldn't help but giggle.

You married a idiot, a handsome idiot. Have fun.

#yes guys I like sitcoms it's my obsession #this was actually fun to write!#benni #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #childe x reader #tartaglia x reader #ajax x reader #genshin x reader #genshin imagines #2024 is my year #genshin #childe #tartaglia #Obrigadaeuteamo

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seiya-starsniper · 10 months ago

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Turn the Page (A New Beginning, Another End) - Dreamling - Rating: Explicit

AO3 Link (COMPLETE)

Dreamwidth Link (COMPLETE)

Tags: Post-Book 10: The Wake (The Sandman), Comic Book Ending Spoilers, Parallel Universes, Multiverse, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, This is a story about Dream of the Endless but NOT about Morpheus, Imprisonment, Injury Recovery, Canon-Typical Violence, meet ugly, Getting to Know Each Other, Getting Together, Miscommunication, dream of the endless is bad at feelings, but significantly better than Morpheus, Oral Sex, Dream of the Endless switches genital during sex, Item Retrieval Quests, Fantasy Quests, Protective Hob Gadling, oaths of fealty

Summary:

In a different universe, a different realm, another Dream of the Endless meets another Robert Gadling. In a world where magic never left the realm, where dragons roam the lands and where science and magic are married rather than apart, this facet of Dream is not so heavily burdened by his function, and this Hob does not gain immortality as part of a wager. But some pieces of the story do not change across the universes. Dream is still captured by Roderick Burgess. Hob Gadling will still lose his family, and later his wife and child to tragedy. But they will always meet, as they were meant to, and in this universe, they also get the chance to fall in love.

Whoohoo, it's finally here! My fic for the @the-centennial-husbands-bigbang!!

I was so lucky to be paired with @five-and-dimes as my artist for this event, their art for my story is absolutely MAGNIFICENT. They even made the header for me as well, because they are THE BEST HUMAN BEING 🥰🥰💖💖

Chapter 4 Art Here!

#dreamling #the sandman #dream x hob #hob x morpheus #centennial husbands big bang #seiya writes #seiya writes dreamling #you have NO IDEA how happy I am to finally put this thing into the world

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vagabond-umlaut · 10 months ago

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it's easy to ferry souls, not carry them

deep down in the realm of the netherworlds, there exists a rower who transports deceased souls from the land of living to the land of dead-

and occasionally lends an ear and a hand, in the event of yet another collision between their weary queen and her just as cheery suitor...

[uraume deserves a raise.]

▸gojo satoru x fem!reader; the tale of kore!gojo & hades!reader w a guest appearance by charon!uraume; uraume is a very nice parental figure to you [ooc!uraume but ehh]; the reader is honestly so sweet and hot-tempered...; the cutest doggy cerberus too is there!!!!; gojo satoru must be his own warning...; uraume does not like gojo [no parent [blood-related or not] actually wld]; fire hazards; 2k wc

▸ i've nvr read percy jackson and wtv i wrote here is based on my shaky knowledge of greek myths and stuff 😁😁 anyways, this header's from pinterest, these dividers are by @benkeibear and the characters used ain't mine. pls do not plagiarize, translate or repost this. enjoy reading! ❤️

▸ belongs to series 'wreaths of asphodel' – same universe as the work 'hey, where is the pomegranate tree?' — but you can treat this as a stand-alone fic if you wanna!

"why is kore so set on marrying me, uraume?"

it isn't the ask itself which causes the rower to nearly lose grip of their oar– but the way it is spoken: soft, solemn and faintly tense. they look away from the endless expanse of the styx before, to find you staring at your reflection in the inky waters, features unnaturally crumpled.

uraume holds back a frown. "has her majesty considered asking the god the same?"

"i have asked him," you mumble, "but i did not receive any conclusive answer in return. the imp was being too vague– must be a trait learnt from those shifty nymphs always sticking to his side."

if your faithful follower detects anything except dislike in your words, they make no mention of it. merely humming as they continue to row the boat, "and may this servant know the question her majesty asked the god?"

"two," you mumble even more clumsily now; they take a beat to grasp it, too concerned by the way you drape yourself over the edge, nearly falling into the water as you say, "i asked him two questions— one, if he loves me; two, if he wants to have children should we get married."

shock must not be uraume's first reaction to these queries, yet it is— and for a moment, it isn't you sitting there anymore.

instead, it is a little girl, no older than seven or eight years, cherubic face fixed in a look of deep concentration and fascination while the rower narrates to her stories from times millennia ago–

only for the child to morph into a young lady– no, goddess– the very next beat... slouched under a regal cloak too heavy for her shoulders, under a royal crown too large for her head... that sweet innocence of childhood nothing but traces now, having been withered by the foul, dirty politics of those damned deities high up on that mountain—

"what answers did the olympian offer her majesty?"

"he said he would love me and sire my children if that is what i want— i asked if he wished anything out of our union— he said all he wanted is to be my husband–"

something between a frustrated sigh and an exhausted scoff erupts from you, becoming an opaque fog the moment it hits the frigid air of the underworld. uraume plucks the oar out the water to come sit next to you, letting the boat be driven by magic.

"you're worried," they state, forgoing all formalities in favour of giving you some much-needed comfort. you never much cared for stations anyways, quite unlike your elder brother, the former king.

"an unfamiliar friend poses more risk than a familiar enemy, uraume," you mutter, resting your head on their shoulder, "why do you think kore wishes to marry me so much, if not out of love or the prospect of the powerful offsprings we might beget?"

"marriage is not solely for love or for procreation," the rower starts to explain, mildly amused before it grows into sympathy at your baffled expression.

ah, they muse fondly, not unlike a parent watching their child witness the world seemingly the first time ever since they learnt to walk, you who presides over something as profound as death yet knows not of the trivialities of life...

"it can also be for many other reasons like–"

the remainder of the words skitter away from uraume— cerberus is playing with gojo.

the fierce guard of the netherworlds, the three-headed hound, loyal and dutiful to a fault: hades' dearest canine companion is frolicking with the god of life in a green meadow, that most certainly was not there so close to the stygian marsh, when they last—

"gojo is laughing," your remark draws them away from their musings, only to find a changed shadow over your countenance— pensive yet not thinking at all; almost as if you too are floating in the stale air of your kingdom akin the soft flower petals...

another ring of raucous laughter pierces the silence, mingled with a delighted series of barks— cerberus is busy licking gojo's face now, the olympian reduced to a puddle of giggles as he scratches behind the dog's ears.

his happiness so clear in the stretch of his grin and the crinkle of his eyes, very much the jarring contrast to the last time—

oh. oh, oh, oh–

"escape," the word leaves uraume in a sudden moment of realisation, as quiet as a breath but loud enough for you to whip your head back to face them, confusion engraved into your scowl. "escape?? what is that supposed to mean, eh?"

the rower feels their lips lift into an infrequent smile. "the god of life wishes to marry you to escape— from his mother, or from his many suitors, or perhaps from mount olympus itself."

"wha– how– hah," you breathe out a disbelieving little huff, "that is simply ridiculous. have you even heard yourself? that is ridiculous."

used to such resistance from yourself, even more from your brother, they move to state their points, only to beaten by you as you persist to speak.

"no one in their right mind will decide to come live in the underworld, no matter how overbearing their mother or insistent their suitors are. have you seen this place? it's too, too unlike the lushness of the earth or the grandeur of the heavens he has experienced. and–" you add, a harsh laugh accompanying it. "gojo satoru is a god. a fish might leave the water— but a god never steps a voluntary foot down that horrible mountain. never."

"but the olympian never truly lived on mount olympus," uraume says once they're sure you've completed your tirade, "and you are a goddess as well. why do you speak so ill of the heavens then?"

"why?" you echo the word. they nod, hoping you take the bait they've intended for you. you do.

"why, because that place is nothing but a shining apple with a rotten core!! everything is polished marble and glittering gold there. people constantly wave at each other, lavishing smiles and praises like there is no tomorrow. everything is so warm and bright— what a bunch of lies and liars!"

familiar fire burns in your aura, the immense heat making the waters erupt into boiling— uraume uses their powers to cool the river down, lest anything disturbs you.

you're too far gone in your rage to be shaken, however, continuing:

"but it never can hide the grime and dirt accrued beneath such shine and sheen. nor the vicious minds and crooked hearts of those deities up above– what lame excuses of gods and goddesses, hah. and you might think me to prefer the light and warmth up there— you will be sorely wrong, my dear uraume!! i much prefer the genuine darkness and frigidity of my beloved kingdom to the faux comfort of the awful mount olympus—"

"is there no possibility the god of life too despises mount olympus for these same reasons, milady?"

you open your mouth and close it, then open it again to let out a very aggrieved whine– momentarily transporting uraume to your younger days. the rower merely chuckles when you punch their arm lightly.

"you're the worst, uraume," you cry, getting up and moving to sit on the other end of the boat. the rower too rises but only to resume rowing the boat by the oar.

"you never spoke this way when sukuna was the ruler— only because his baby sister is the ruler now, and you think she is very stupid—"

"as much as i respect and revere lord sukuna, he wasn't one to listen to anyone else," uraume interrupts gently, "you do, though– which is why i spent so much time telling you this. i hope you did not mind."

"hey, no," you immediately wave away their concern with a wide grin, eliciting a smaller one from the latter, "i could never..."

another peal of laughter and barks rings through the otherwise-quiet. you abruptly trail off, the same conflicting expression from before on your face yet again. though not without a spark in your eyes, uraume notes, almost as if you're slowly learning how to solve the puzzle who is repeatedly offering himself to you.

uraume keeps the silence you initiate, choosing to row the boat while you keep staring at the assortment of hues near the stygian marsh...

until you call their name and declare, an odd firmness in your smile, "well then, it is decided. i shall allow gojo to stay here for as long as the god so wishes to, escaping whatever or whoever he is escaping. and i shall protect him from the latter, should it ever come for him."

a beat. your smile falls into something graver. "would it be better if i swore by the dread water of styx, uraume?"

"uh, um," the rower finds themselves at a loss of words, the first time in seemingly forever, and they have been around since titanomachy– but before they can recover themselves enough to formulate a proper reply, a giggly voice joins in—

"well, if my rose does that, i would consider myself the most blessed amongst all mortals and immortals!"

— and the waters surrounding the boat shoot upwards in a scathing geyser-like jet and steam— the ferocious queen of the netherworlds visibly torn between remorse and terror, as they offer uraume a stiff nod and gojo a horrified look, before vanishing in a wisp of fog.

the boiling waters of the river styx calm down only after a twenty-minute-long struggle by uraume, joined at the very end by gojo.

the latter looks positively delighted, when the former collapses to the bottom of the boat, exhausted beyond belief. "hey, charon. was that a result of your queen getting flustered by me, huh?"

yes, it was. it very much was, the sentences nearly slip past the tired rower's crumbling defences... until it hits them– who they serve, and who they don't.

uraume decides to throw back a glare and a lie. "her majesty was not flustered, lord kore. she was enraged at how you invaded the privacy of her weekly boat ride, intended to make her relax."

"oh, puh-lease," the god makes a face. the rower is certain he would have been punished in the pits of tartarus for all eternity, then some more were he to pursue you this way during your brother's reign, let alone disrespect you thus.

ignorant and insolent, he continues, "in few days time, i'll be allowed into the privacy of her living quarters; what is the privacy of her boat th—"

"you're lucky you did not make such outrageous remarks in front of the queen," uraume cuts him off, none too kindly nor gently, "if you did, her majesty would have certainly burnt you along with the boat to a crisp–"

"i know," comes the defeated reply within the instant. and while gojo is still not in uraume's good graces, the latter decides to notch him a level higher, considering the god of life accepts their queen's powers.

not many do.

he strikes a pathetically pitiful figure, uraume reckons, seeing him sit then slouch on the bench. "was she serious when she said she would protect me?"

your loyal subject nods, certain and solemn. "yes, she was. the queen is never careless when it comes to making promises."

"oh, that's reassuring," gojo says quietly— only to recline even further in the very next beat– an anguished, grating wail tearing from him to the stifling silence looming near the stygian marsh. uraume wonders if it is worth it to steer the boat towards acheron... then push him into its waters of woe...

they decide against it on catching the desperation worn by the god.

for all it is, it might nothing more than a ploy. yet something tugs at their mind to pause and listen when gojo howls, "why does my rose always scurry away after tilting my world on its axis? why does your queen always torment me like this, charon?"

uraume stares pensively at their face in the sacred waters of styx for a while. then heaves a mighty sigh.

certain, this exchange between the goddess of the dead and the god of life will impact not only your and gojo's respective worlds— but the general world and everyone else in it, as well.

did you know, in the actual greek myths, persephone was never called so before her marriage to hades? she got it only after, w the name meaning "bringer of death". her initial name was kore, referring to her being a maiden & the spring goddess.

the river styx was called the "dread river of oath" by homer– in both the iliad and the odyssey [greek epic poems], swearing by its waters is the "greatest and most dread oath for the blessed gods" -> this shows how serious the reader is towards ensuring gojo's safety and freedom, and how deeply this affects gojo as well [source: wiki 😇]

also: the reader is totally ready to jump into the water to swim away when she realises gojo was listening in on her conversations- but then she remembers she can js vanish away and so she does js tht— the queen of the underworld, and of escaping, hehe

also also: the reader is slightly jealous when she is talking of the shifty nymphs always sticking to gojo's side. [uraume identifies it; you think it is js your usual dislike to such frivolous things and ppl as flowers and nymphs etc.] [hades is emo imho 😊]

▸ masterlist

#gojo x you #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x reader #satoru x you #satoru x reader #jjk x you #jjk x reader #gojo fluff #jjk fluff #kit posts 📝

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sergeantbarnessdoll · 3 months ago

Note

At Bucky & R’s wedding, Steve gets everyone to chant “ONE OF US!” at the end of his best man speech, and Bucky gets flushed in the face— before R leans over and tells him that it’s okay, because it’s just more proof that she’s his and everyone knows it.

Yours and Only Yours » Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier

Pairings: Husband!Bucky Barnes x Wife!Reader (Newlyweds)

Summary: You assure Bucky that you’re his and Steve chanting “ONE OF US!” is just more proof that you’re Bucky’s and everyone knows it.

Warnings: Fluff, language, kissing, pet names

A/N: Thank you to the lovely anonymous person who requested this🩵

Written on my phone. My apologies for any mistakes.

Header made by @buckys-wintersoldier

GIF IS NOT MINE! Credit goes to the creator.

Today couldn’t have been more perfect for you and Bucky. It’s yours and his wedding day. You two just got married and now you two can officially say that you’re newlyweds. As of right now, you two are enjoying the your wedding reception with your friends and family.

You and Bucky held hands lovingly as your maid of honor, Natasha gave her maid of honor speech. Steve is next with his best man speech. Everyone applauded Natasha at the end of her speech. Steve stood up, talking her place in front of everyone. He had a lot of nice things to say about you guys.

“I knew you and I would be great friends when Bucky introduced you to me.” Steve smiles at you and Bucky. “You and I are so close that I can call you my sister. I don’t know what it’s like to have siblings, but I’m sure we’ll figure that out together.” He says, making everyone laugh lightly.

Every word Steve said is true and it made you smile. It made Bucky smile too, knowing that his best friend is very fond of his wife. Steve continued his best man speech, getting to the part of the speech he’s been waiting to say since you and Bucky got engaged. Steve turned his attention to you and Bucky before saying it.

“Y/N, now that you’re married to my best friend, I can officially say that you’re one of us.” He smiles. “ONE OF US!” He chants loudly.

Sam joined in on the chanting and so did everyone else. Bucky smiles with a flushed look on his face. You notice and put your hand in his, intertwining your fingers with his and leaned over.

“It’s ok.” You whispered in his ear. “It’s just proof that everyone knows I’m yours and only yours.” You said softly. “Plus, this gorgeous diamond ring is even more proof that I’m your wife.” You say, kissing his cheek.

The flushed look on Bucky’s face faded away when you said those assurances. He turned his head and kissed your lips softly and sweetly. Everyone applauded when they seen you two kissing, making you and Bucky smile and laugh lightly against each other’s lips. Sam stood up and stood next to Steve.

“I have something to say…” Sam announces. “Enjoy your honeymoon next week.” He tells you and Bucky. “I’ve always wanted to say that.” He says and sat back down.

Everyone couldn’t help but laugh. You bursted into a fit of giggles, leaning your forehead against your husband’s shoulder. Bucky had a smirk on his face when Sam said that. Steve concluded his best man speech with a few more words before sitting down. Soon, everyone went to the dance floor and danced the night away.

“What Steve said is sweet.” You said, gazing up at your husband.

“Mhmm.” Bucky hums in agreement. “What Sam said was interesting too.” He smirks. “We are going to enjoy our honeymoon next week.” He whispers in your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Keep it PG13, Buck. There’s kids here.” You remind him.

“I know.” He said. “I’m just pointing it out.” He says with a smirk.

🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵

@cevansbaby-dove

-Bucky’s Doll

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little-diable · 2 years ago

Text

Pen Pals - Tommy Shelby (smut)

Boy, do I adore working on fics with @zablife – thank you for adding your beautiful touch to this fic and for writing Tommy's letters. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this. Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: Tommy and the reader have been pen pals as teenagers, though ripped apart by the war. Now, as she is trapped in an abusive marriage, she finds Tommy's old letters again, and she can't help but wonder if he had made it home from war, and if so, could if he could be the helping hand she's desperate for?

Warnings: 18+, smut, unprotected piv, mentions an abusive husband and a gun, a very happy ending

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x fem!reader (5k words)

header by @deathofpeaceofmind

(Y/n) could still remember the call she had found in the paper as she had been a young teen, asking children and teenagers from the United Kingdom to send in their addresses, to find pen pals they could practise writing with. She had been filled with excitement, and even though her father had told her to not follow the call, undoubtedly worrying about the mail they’d receive, she still had run all the way to her post station to send off a letter, asking them to pair her up with a pen pal.

It had taken weeks for the first letter to arrive, addressed to (y/n) in a slightly wonky handwriting, introducing himself as Tommy Shelby. Back then she hadn’t even dared to guess the kind of friendship that would form between her and Tommy, the young boy from Small Heath, a city she has never been to before.

Ever since Tommy had written that very first letter, (y/n) had started to share her deepest secrets with the boy, confiding in the one she’d eventually fall for, without ever meeting him. But life hadn’t been kind to the two, ripping them apart before they could have even tried to grasp the chance to meet, before she or he could board a train to finally cross the endless hours laying between their homes.

War had been cruel, to both their families, killing innocent lives before they could evolve into the people they were destined to be. (Y/n)’s heart had ached in her chest when Tommy’s very last letter had found its way to her, saying goodbye to the woman that had been by his side for the past years, at least on paper, one with the ink soaking through the expensive paper they’d steal from their family members close by.

She had collected every letter he had written, stored away in a box she hadn’t opened in years, long forgotten like the words she had once known by heart. Within the first few months of the war people would talk about for decades to come, she had found it too painful to think of Tommy, wondering if he was still alive, breathing in the smell of gunpowder, of dirt and blood. The mere thought of said vile mixture had brought tears to her eyes, clutching the fabric of her blankets when she was laying awake late at night.

The years had passed and with those years the memories of his letters had faded, allowing her heart to make peace with the ghost of old times she had run from. It was almost ironic how she had found the wooden box again, trying to hide the gun she had bought from a man down the street, needing to find something she could use to protect herself against the man she had married, one with the alcohol he’d pour down his throat, with the money he made from gambling, and the anger he’d unleash upon her in moments he’d call ‘moments of weakness’.

Her hands had trembled as she had grasped the first box she could find hidden in the back of her closet, freezing she felt the all too familiar wood beneath her fingertips. Tears had welled up in her eyes, fingers stroking along the outlines of the box before she slowly opened it. The gun had been long forgotten, placed on the ground next to her kneeling frame as she started reading the letters, mind racing, just like her heart.

With her breath hitched in her chest, (y/n) reached for the last letter she had received from him. She could still feel the pain his words had unleashed upon her, forcing the young woman to accept that he may never write to her again, buried with those that left their homes with hopeful hearts and strong minds, set on winning the war.

“Dearest Y/n,

I am writing to thank you for your last letter and the photograph you enclosed. It will surely bring me comfort when I am far from home. I must admit that I have been thinking of you often as I prepare to leave, knowing we will not be corresponding as frequently or perhaps at all. I never realised how much my happiness depended on you and the words we exchanged over the years. I know now that you’re the only girl who has ever mattered.

Take care of yourself whilst I’m away. I will do my best to return if only to see your lovely smile in person one day after this war has ended.

Yours, Tommy”

While her heart screamed at her, cursing (y/n) for forgetting about the man she had once planned to marry, crossing the country to make her way to him, her mind started questioning if there was even just a slight chance of Tommy being still alive. Perhaps it had been her own moment of weakness, and yet she couldn’t stop herself from searching for a piece of paper and some ink, starting scribbling down words she could barely read with the tears blurring her vision.

“Dear Tommy,

God, it’s been years, hasn’t it? And yet I can still remember the endless hours I’ve spent pressed against the window of my parent’s living room, waiting for your letters to arrive. How oblivious I’ve been, too naive to understand that life would rip you from me. For years I’ve tried to make my peace with the thought of you amongst other fallen soldiers, but it seems as if the pain has never quite subsided.

Sometimes I catch myself dreaming of the life we could have shared, the house we would have lived in and the children we could have had. An easy life that now seems more far away than ever before. Perhaps it’s foolish of me to rip open the wound that hasn’t properly healed, but just the slightest chance of you still being alive seems a price worth paying.

The naive child living inside of me is hoping for your reply, anxiously awaiting the darkening truth to be revealed. But if you’re receiving this, know that I’ve never stopped loving you.

Yours, (y/n)”

For a moment she had debated telling him about the situation she found herself trapped in, the loveless marriage she was a hostage of, but she didn’t have the heart to do so, scared that somebody besides Tommy would read the letter. And so she folded the paper, staring at it for a few moments before she rose from the floor of her walk-in closet, praying to whoever was listening, that the old address of his would still be the right one.

…

Weeks have passed since (y/n) had sent off the letter, using the address she still knew by heart, a shot in the dark that would probably never be returned to the light. It had been foolish of her to write the letter, forcing her further down memory lane, a path she couldn’t retreat from, stuck in the emotions her younger self had carried deep inside of herself, loving a man she hadn’t ever touched before, a man she hadn’t ever spoken to before, only knowing his handwriting and the thoughts plaguing him.

And while (y/n) had spent most of her past days trapped in her thoughts, her husband had found his way back home, drunk off his mind, smelling of places women like her wouldn’t be allowed to enter. Fear simmered deep inside of her, mixed with the slightest bit of hope, praying to God that Tommy would reply, or at least somebody who knew of Tommy Shelby.

It was early in the morning by the time her doorbell went off, forcing (y/n) out of bed with trembling limbs, arms slung around her waist to try and shield herself from the cold of the morning. Slowly she moved towards the door, opening it just enough for her to take in the body on the other side of the door, “Morning, (y/n), here I thought this may be of importance to you.”

A letter was pushed into her outstretched hand by the postman, sharing a slight smile before she murmured a “Thank you, Frank”, watching him move away. Her heart picked up its pace, eyes staring down onto the address of hers that had been written by a handwriting she didn't recognise. Slowly but surely the daunting realisation began to settle in, this hadn’t been written by Tommy. Times may have changed, but if there was one thing she was certain of it was Tommy’s handwriting. Was this what she had been fearing? Was he no longer human but bones and rotten flesh?

Tears welled up in her eyes, making it harder for her to see as (y/n) found her way back to her empty bed. She stared at the envelope for a few moments, trembling hand wiping away the falling tears. It felt worse than she had imagined, a pain so biting, she felt bile rise in her throat. A pain that was guided by her anger, anger addressed at those greedy men that have ripped millions of people from their families, greedy men whose decisions have forced Tommy to part from their evolving bond.

A deep breath was exhaled as (y/n) opened the envelope, careful not to destroy the parts that had the address of the sender written on them, an unfamiliar street she hadn’t heard of before. Her trembling fingers unfolded the letter, freezing as she read the first few words.

“Dear Miss Y/L/N,

I apologise for any delay in correspondence as my secretary is unfamiliar with this address.

Of course, I remember you and the years of our acquaintance before the war. As you say, much has changed with time. I’ve a business in Birmingham, Shelby Company Limited, as well as several race horses which occupy my time. I cannot give quite so accurate an account of my time in between as you have done. My memories of the war and the subsequent years are not pleasant ones. However, I confess I keep your photograph by my desk as a reminder of simpler times when the world was a better place.

It is my hope that you have found happiness in your life. I am told it is a choice one must make for themselves though I still seem to be deciding. Perhaps I should flip a coin as I would have done in the old days?

Sincerely, Thomas Shelby”

He was alive. Tommy Shelby was alive. A sob wrecked through her, followed by another. (Y/n) pressed the letter against her chest, holding it tight as if she was hugging Tommy. A man that had changed like the tide rolling in, a man who had left behind his happiness on a warfield, a man who no longer addressed her by her first name. Changes (y/n) didn’t care about, rising to her feet in a frenzy, this was her chance. A way out.

(Y/n) didn’t worry about the chances of Tommy pushing her away, didn’t even think twice about the what if’s, the chances of him not wanting to meet her. She had been desperate to find a place where she could hide away from her husband, and if Small Heath – the city she had been supposed to move to years ago – was her calling, she’d follow it blindly.

Clothes were thrown into her old suitcase, not caring what she was packing, too focused on the racing of her heart, the blood thumping through her veins like alcohol. A blind happiness that drowned out the sound of her bedroom door being pushed open, exposing her stumbling husband.

“What the hell are you doing?” (Y/n) froze, eyes squeezed shut for a moment before she slowly turned towards him. He was drunk off his face, could barely balance himself, God’s timing seemed to be perfect, he’d pass out soon, giving her a chance to blend in with the dark morning. “I asked you a question, woman.”

“I,” (y/n) stumbled over her words, fisting the fabric of her thin dress as she was wrecking her brain for a lie to distract him with. “My mam’s sick, I need to visit her for a few days, you know how she is, I can’t leave her alone.”

He stared at her for a few moments, either too drunk to notice the tremble of her voice, or too distracted by the tiredness clinging to him. With a nod thrown her way, he found his way to their shared bed, no longer paying attention to her movements. Relief flushed through her, guiding her through the next moments, closing her suitcase, and with one last glance thrown at her husband, (y/n) pulled her ring off her finger, placing it down on the small reading table placed next to their door.

The morning was cold, a sensation her busy mind paid no worries to, wrapping her coat tighter around herself. Slowly her doubts began to resurface, doubts that distracted her from the dark path to the train station, hoping that she wouldn’t have to wait long for the next train she could take, leaving this very life behind.

Her eyes found the dark ones of the ticket seller, smiling at the grim looking man, “I need a ticket to Birmingham, please.”

…

As a teen (y/n) had imagined the very first time she’d make it to Birmingham, to Small Heath. Back then she had been filled with excitement, a giddy feeling that had left her insides churning, wondering how it may feel to hug Tommy, wondering about the places he’d show her. Naive dreams that had evaporated into a cloud of anxiety, a cloud she was now trapped in.

It had taken her hours to find her way to the streets of Small Heath, but even though the day had turned into evening, (y/n) felt no tiredness clinging to her fleshcage, no exhaustion she was slowed down by. No, by now her confidence had passed, turning into worries that ate her from inside out. Would he even want to speak to her? Would he accept her, or force her to turn away?

With every further step (y/n) took, clinging to the address she had found on the back of his letter, the worries began to grow. A part of her screamed at (y/n) to turn around and leave, to forget about this trip and to tell her husband that her mother didn’t need her help. But her curiosity forced her to keep on moving, till she came to halt in front of the house the address had guided her to.

Trembling fingers were balled into fists, knocking on the heavy door with a deep breath exhaled. There was no turning back, no way out of this mess. She counted the seconds fading by, wondering who’d open the door. (Y/n) knocked again after a few moments, taking a step back as the sinking realisation began to broaden in her system. Only as she turned away from the door, shoulders slumped, legs suddenly feeling heavier than before, the door was ripped open.

“What do you want?” A man had opened the door, presumably younger than she was, and yet his eyes carried something that made (y/n) wonder what cruelties he had been forced to see.

“I’m looking for Tommy Shelby.” (Y/n)’s words were quiet, nothing more than a whisper, and yet he seemed to pick up on them perfectly fine.

“Why? What do you want from him?” Her eyes flickered down to the letter she was holding, wondering how to explain to the man that Tommy Shelby was the lifeline she was clinging to, needing to be pulled from the soaring waves before she’d drown.

“I’m an old friend of his.” While (y/n) was looking for more words to speak, trying to find a way to beg the man to guide her to him, he kept studying her, gaze focusing on the letter she was holding. It took him a few moments to reply, taking in her tired features before he stepped out into the evening, taking her suitcase from (y/n) before she could speak up.

“He’s down at the Garrison, I’ll bring you to him, ‘m John.”

…

“I can’t do this.” (Y/n) froze as they arrived at the Garrison, eyes set ahead on the entrance. Should she really do this? Was this the right decision? She didn’t even know what Tommy looked like, hadn’t ever received a picture of the man she had once planned to marry.

“What’s wrong? Thought you’re an old friend of Tommy’s?” John alighted another cigarette, curious eyes not wandering from her features. On the way to the Garrison they had exchanged a few words, getting to know one another, even though he hadn’t asked any questions about her relationship with Tommy, not one question had been wasted on the man’s name.

“It’s a bit more complicated than that.” (Y/n)’s eyes found John’s, sending him a sad smile that was frozen on her lips as his hand found the back of her shoulder, giving her a slight push forward.

“Don’t you worry, ‘m sure he’ll be happy to see a pretty face like yours.” Before she could even try to inhale another breath, (y/n) was pushed into the pub, taking in the smell of alcohol and cigarettes that lingered in the air. Her heart was pounding, not able to pay attention to the greetings thrown John’s way, wondering if Tommy was any of these men. Would her heart recognise him before her mind would?

“Look at that, John, did you finally find a woman interested in you?” A man with a prominent moustache spoke up, arm finding its way around John’s shoulder, pulling the man against his chest. Too many curious eyes were focused on (y/n)’s frame, making her feel rather uncomfortable. But while she tried to find comfort in her coat, hiding away from their gazes, John shook his head, murmuring something about Tommy to them.

“A friend of Tommy’s, eh? Alright, come, let’s bring you to him.” The older man took her by her wrist, a gentle touch (y/n) couldn’t focus on, realising that she was truly about to meet the man she had once known better than her friends and family members. No words threatened to leave her, lips pressed together as the man guided her through the pub, coming to halt in front of two smoking men.

Piercing blue eyes found hers, and something inside of her clicked. She tensed, unable to inhale any air her aching lungs were desperate for. Time seemed to stand still, earth had stopped rotating, no longer guiding her through the passing by seconds.

“You’ve got a visitor, Tommy, says she’s an old friend of yours.” It truly was him. The man with piercing blue eyes that reflected no emotions, a stoic glance that could freeze hell. The other man sitting in front of Tommy rose from his seat, nodding at him before he blended in with the other men, making room for (y/n).

Silence engulfed the three of them, seconds Tommy used to take in her frame. Did he recognise her? She had changed over the years, looked nothing like the girl in the picture Tommy had apparently kept close, but if he felt the same pull she was currently feeling, he must know it’s her, guided by the heart that had been broken one too many times.

“Leave us alone, Arthur.” The man squeezed her wrist before he parted from them, sending Tommy one last curious glance. Tommy reached for a cigarette, alighting it before he pointed his hand towards the empty chair. Her trembling limbs forced her to sit down, unable to speak up with her dry mouth. “Flipped a coin, you know, wasn’t sure what it was trying to tell me, but I guess I finally have my answer.”

“I’m sorry.” The apology bled from her lips, eyes not daring to move from Tommy, taking in the handsome face she’d never be able to forget again. “I’m sorry for just turning up like that, but I needed to take my chance, even though I’m a few years too late.”

“Does your husband know you’re here, (y/n)?” She froze, wondering how he knew of the man she had left behind, even though she wasn’t even wearing her ring.

“He’s no longer my husband, at least I no longer want to call him that. You know, I thought you were dead, no further letters have found their way to me, my mother told me to move on, to marry before I get too old. But ever since your last letter I’ve felt everything but happiness.” Tears welled up in her eyes, she fumbled with her fingers, feeling pathetic and yet overly relieved to finally be in Tommy’s presence.

“Small Heath is no place of happiness, and it’s certainly not safe for a woman like you.” (Y/n)’s throat began to tighten up, unable to bite down the anger simmering inside of her, not understanding what he meant by his words.

“I’m safer here than I’ll ever be around my husband.” It took Tommy a few moments to reply, finally realising why she was fleeing from her home. He stubbed out his cigarette, rose from his seat and stretched his hand out for (y/n) to take. Shudders ran down her spine, feeling his skin pressing against hers for the first time, an unfamiliar sensation Tommy also seemed to be distracted by for just a fraction of a moment.

“Let’s get you home then.”

…

“Drink?” (Y/n) could only nod her head, taking in Tommy’s office, the books her fingers ached to touch, the paintings her eyes couldn’t stop admiring. She felt awfully at peace, finally calm enough to exhale the built up pressure.

“I have to admit, I didn’t imagine that being at your place for the first time would play out like this.” Her chuckles left him smiling, staring down into his drink before Tommy took a sip, leaning against his desk.

“How did you imagine it?” Her eyes found his, hand tightening its grip on her glass as she took a step closer towards him, just close enough that she could easily touch him, if the alcohol would give her the confidence to do so.

“I don’t know, I guess young (y/n) didn’t worry about anything but finally being with you. God, I was ready to leave everything behind for you, and if I’m honest, I think this is one of the few things that has never changed over the past years.” His hand found her side, pulling (y/n) against his chest before she could begin to understand what Tommy was doing. He was holding her close, chin placed on top of her head, arms slung around her middle. Both deeply exhaled as if all weight had finally been lifted off their shoulders, no longer carrying the pain the past years had unleashed upon them.

(Y/n) lifted her head off his chest, eyes finding Tommy’s, wordlessly communicating the love that has never subsided, forever etched into her racing heart. His eyes flickered down to her lips, making her awfully aware of their closeness, a thought drowned out by the feeling of his lips meeting hers for the first time. For a moment both froze, minds unable to realise that they were finally kissing.

He tasted of alcohol and cigarettes, a taste she’d forever remember, a taste she’d take to grave, cherishing every part of Tommy, even on her deathbed. He was the darkness she’d walk through, rising with the shadows he had once sent to hell, calling him home once his time was running out.

Her gasps urged Tommy on to add more pressure to his touch, hand finding her chin to keep (y/n) in place. The kiss was unexpectedly sweet and soft, not rushed by the endless years they’ve spent wondering about this very moment. (Y/n)’s hands found the hairs at the nape of his neck, tugging on his roots in a desperate need to deepen the kiss.

“You have to be sure about this.” Tommy murmured the words against her lips, eyes even more piercing than before, finally giving away the whirlwind of emotions he was stuck in. His fingertips danced along her sides, gently caressing her skin through the thin fabric of the dress she was wearing, sticking to her limbs since this very morning.

“I’m more sure about this than about anything else, are you?” Her whispers left him chuckling, forehead pressed against hers to release a deep breath.

“I’ve waited for this moment for years, of course I’m sure about this, about you.” Another kiss was shared between them before Tommy interlaced their fingers, pulling (y/n) towards his bedroom. The giddy feeling she hadn’t felt for years began to fill her, an emotion so familiar and yet so new, making her blood grow warmer, filling every inch of her body.

They came to halt in front of his bed, eyes not daring to break contact as he pushed the straps of her dress down her arms, falling to the ground to expose her naked chest. He took his time admiring her, eyes wandering up and down her frame, not able to break down the small smile widening on his lips. Impatient as one can be, (y/n) pulled him closer, hands working on the buttons of his vest, finding its way to the ground with his shirt soon following.

“I want to take my time with you, love you properly like I should have done years ago.” His raspy words left her trembling, only able to nod her head. Slowly she sat down on the mattress, crawling up the bed with Tommy following her every move, lips finding back together as he towered over her. He kissed his way down her throat, sucking on her skin, leaving marks he’d renew with every rising of the sun. Cold hands explored her chest, tugging on her hardening nipples, wanting to coax every sinful sound from her swollen lips.

“Don’t ever stop touching me, Tommy, promise me.” Her whispers filled the room, words caught in her throat as his mouth replaced his fingers. (Y/n) arched her chest further against him, high on the feeling, not once had she been touched like this before, not used to being treated like a woman that deserved to feel pleasure.

“I promise, even if it may be the only promise I’ll ever keep.” Tommy’s mouth moved further down her body, hands tugging on her panties, exposing every inch of her body to his wandering eyes. He cupped her heat, felt her arousal dripping from her tightness, body begging for his touch, needing to feel his hands on every part of her. Her moans rumbled through her, guided by her pleasure, the unfamiliar desire she had to adjust to.

His mouth found her bundle of nerves, a touch that left her gasping in surprise. Not once had her husband wasted his time on pleasuring her, not once had he used his mouth on her, a sensation so intimate, (y/n) was grateful that she got to share her first time experiencing it with Tommy. His eyes found hers every now and then, as if he was checking in to see how she was feeling, if she was enjoying the way he was touching her. And great heavens, she was.

“Feels so good, fuck, never been touched like this.” Her confession left Tommy smirking in pride, grateful that he was the one to push her into the soaring waves of her orgasm. Two of his fingers teased her entrance, giving her a moment to stop him should she feel uncomfortable, but (y/n) didn’t dare speak up, too caught in the web of pleasure he had spun. He fucked her slow at first, fingers moving in a steady pace, before he began to build up the pressure, curling them against her swollen spot.

Her moans grew louder, walls clenching around him, not able to stop herself from giving in, calling out his name as her first orgasm of the night flushed through her system. Tommy gave her a few moments to cling to the feeling before he pulled away from her, watching her panting frame while he undressed, exposing his naked body to hers. He was gorgeous, a perfect man made for her only, a man she’d never willingly part from again.

Tommy interlaced his fingers with (y/n)’s, staring down on her as he pushed into her, a movement that coaxed a heavy moan out of the both lovers, needing to adjust before he could start fucking her. It felt like their bodies were made for one another, one with the love they’ve shared for a decade, the love so intense it had never managed to fully let go of them.

(Y/n) searched his lips, drowning out the sounds that left her, swallowed by the kiss that left both panting. Her eyes fluttered close and for a moment (y/n) felt like her teen self, remembering all those nights she had spent wondering how being with Tommy would feel like, how he’d touch and love her, but nothing would ever manage to describe what she was truly feeling in this very moment.

A moment filled with love and adoration, a moment so perfect no human mind would ever fully grasp it.

His fingers found their way back to her pulsing bundle, pushing her further into the darkness he had her trapped in, wanting to see the pleasure tugging on her features once again. (Y/n) choked on his name, eyes squeezed shut as her second orgasm rocked through her, robbing her of any strength lingering in her system.

Tommy kept moving, chasing his own high as his eyes watched his cock disappear inside her tightness, coated in her arousal. The sight left his cock twitching, about to release himself on her walls. He managed to pull out just before his orgasm would rock through him, jerking himself for a few moments before he painted her thighs white, letting go with a deep moan.

Both were panting, bodies searching one another, not fully realising that the past moments have truly just happened. They still had their fingers interlaced, not daring to let go just yet, not even as Tommy reached for a tissue to clean her skin, not even as he alighted a cigarette to fill the quiet bedroom with blue smoke.

“There were times where I thought I may have found love again, and yet it had never been the same love you’ve managed to make me feel with your letters. I’m not a good man, (y/n), I’ve done things worse than you’ll ever be able to imagine, but I’m selfish, I won’t let you leave again, not when I finally have you to myself.” She rose from her position, body fully turned towards Tommy, and with her lips kissing his once again, (y/n) murmured a soft “I won’t leave you, not now, not ever”.

#Tommy Shelby smut #Tommy Shelby imagine #peaky blinders imagine

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imyourbratzdoll · 2 years ago

Text

𝒏𝒐 𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒔𝒆𝒆𝒔 𝒉𝒐𝒘 𝒃𝒓𝒐𝒌𝒆𝒏 𝑰 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝒂𝒎

part 3 of 💔broken family💔

summary - your life has gone downhill so fast, having drowned your emotions in alcohol, you're met with your ex-husband dropping your son off.

warning - angst, alcohol abuse, self-doubt, thoughts of disappearing, flashbacks, sad moments, crying, swearing, mentions of not taking care of themselves.

the gif I use isn't mine, headers by me.

part 1 - part 2 - part 4

Warnings and Reminders - Please do not plagiarise, copy, repost/republish, adapt, or translate any of my work on any social media platforms, apps, or third-party sites. The only platforms I post my work on are: Tumblr and Wattpad. I do not own any character of any franchise (Marvel etc.) All my works are fiction and may be dark or triggering content: READ ALL WARNINGS BEFORE PROCEEDING.

You didn’t know how long it had been since you last saw Ari and Jason. You didn’t bother to check your phone or take good care of yourself. You hadn’t left the house, and it had gotten worse than when your son was living here, sure. He didn’t love you, but at least someone was there to bring you out of the dark. The bottles piled up in the corner, and bags had gathered under your eyes. You had showered, unable to live with the smell that would occur if you didn’t, but you barely ate. You couldn’t stomach it. The food had slowly gone off, and you relied on the alcohol between your hands to bring you back to those happy dreams, the world you would rather be in than this one.

You had probably lost your job, but you had already lost everything else in life that you didn’t care anymore. You took another swig, more tears flowing down your face as the memories kept replaying over and over. You stared at the blank tv, remembering when you had first met Ari.

You were in your twenties, wearing the prettiest light pink sundress and standing in line to get your favourite coffee. You hadn’t noticed the hunk watching you from a table. His laptop opened in front of him as you caught his eye. You were naive but not stupid. He had seen you come in every day, always ordering the same thing and always wearing a different colour sundress. Your head turned, and your eyes connected, causing a spark to flow through the two of you, and you gave him a soft smile, your cheek heating up as he returned it. You remember some asshole bumping into you just as you went to take a sip of your drink, causing the liquid to splash out and stain your dress. Ari had shot up, moving toward you so quickly, making sure you were okay, and giving the man hell before he went and ordered you a new one. You remember sitting down with him, feeling so shy, in the presence of someone so handsome.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” He sat down next to you, handing you napkins and putting a large hand on your back as he stared at you with those beautiful blue eyes. “I’m so sorry that happened to you, crap. I forgot to introduce myself.” You swear your heart stopped as he chuckled. The smile on his face and the sound that escaped him was so… So perfect. His eyes connected with yours again, “I’m Ari. What’s your name, gorgeous?” Oh, at that moment, you wished your name was gorgeous. Your heart was beating so fast you thought it would beat out of your chest.

“I’m Y/n.” His warm hand encased yours, giving it a soft squeeze, and the rest was history. You had fallen in love, got engaged a year after meeting, and then had Jason two years after getting married. You went so perfectly together, you were happy, and it was as if you were two pieces of a puzzle that fit together, but then everything changed.

You blink, coming out of the memory, gulping down some more of your drink. You are startled as there is a knock at the door. Not knowing that you were supposed to be expecting someone, you got up and headed over to the door, slowly opening it and sighing as you came face to face with Ari, his eyes moving up and down your body, and you just sipped the wine out of the glass in your hand. “Did you need something?”

“I’m here to drop Jason off.” You raise a brow, wondering why he is dropping your son off, thinking that maybe he has another date with the unknown woman. “Are you up for taking care of him?” You roll your eyes, placing the now empty glass down.

“Of course, I’m up for taking care of my own son. I’m his mother.” Ari nods and lets you know that he will go and get Jason, and you sit back on the couch. When your eyes land on him, you try and smile. “Hey, baby. I missed you. Did you have fun at your dad’s?” He stays between your ex-husband's legs, clinging to him as if you’d steal him away. “I got some new toys for you?” You could feel this draining you further, bringing you deeper into the darkness.

Jason’s ears perk up at the sound of new toys, causing him to run to his room. “I can take to daddy’s!” You hold back the tears, not wanting Ari to see you so weak as you realise your son still doesn’t want to be around you. How could you fail as a mother? You watch as he comes back with the new toys, holding them in his tiny arms as he heads back over to his father, you try and smile at them, but this is breaking you too much.

As they leave, you place your head in your hands and burst into tears, screaming and crying. Why was this happening to you? All you wanted to do was hold your son in your arms and tell him you love him. All you wanted was for Ari never to have stopped loving you. The tears kept flowing, and you whimpered into your hands, feeling your heart squeeze inside your chest. Everything had become too much, and you didn’t think you could go any longer like this. You were so lost in your mind that you didn’t notice Ari walking back into the house, his heart breaking as he heard your screams. He had rushed over, kneeling on the ground and bringing you into a hug, his hands gripping the back of your head as your fingers curled into his shirt, sobbing into him, finally letting go of all the pain.

“Shh, shh. It’s okay, honey. I’m here. It’s okay.” He whispered, but his words were no comfort, not when you knew he wasn’t really here. He would never be here for you. Why would he? He left. Ari held you closer as you shook your head.

“You’re not, and it’s not.” You pull away, staring at him with tear-filled eyes. “I don’t have anyone anymore, Ari. You left. I lost the love of my life because you stopped loving me! I’ve even lost my son because he blames me!” You slam your fists into his chest, more tears flowing down as your heart keeps breaking. “Why are you even here!? Why are you acting as if you care?!” You bite your bottom lip, whimpering and sobbing, staring into the love of your life's eyes, thinking that the hurt look you see is all in your head. You push away, curling into the couch and turning your head. “Just go… It’s what you do best, Ari. You never even gave me a reason…..” You look at him. “Was I that hard to love?” You watch the many emotions go through him, but your eyes slip closed as you lean back into the chair. “You can go now… Looking at you hurts too much.”

Ari nods, leaning forward and placing a soft kiss on your forehead before he walks out of your house. Your tears continue to flow because again. You are truly alone. Your eyes open in shock when tiny arms wrap around you, hugging your body. “I sorry, mummy! I wuv you!” You stare at your son before your eyes move up and lock with Ari’s. Your arms slowly wrap around Jason’s, and you rest your head on top of his head as your eyes slip back closed, smelling his sweet scent, having missed him. “I stay?” You pull back and look at his wide blue eyes.

“Do you want to, baby?” He nods, nuzzling his head into your chest. You look back up to Ari, and he gives you a nod and soft smile before looking back down at your son, holding him closer to you. It felt like you finally got to feel your baby in your arms again before everything went wrong. But you couldn’t get your hopes up because it would break you if he turned around and did what he did before. “Thank you… I’ll drop him off tomorrow.” He waves you off before leaving. “Baby, what do you want to do today?”

“Food and movies?” He stares up at you with wide eyes, and you nod, excusing yourself first to brush your teeth, change and wash your face, needing to get the scent of alcohol off of you before heading back into the room, noticing him nuzzled into the pillow. When Jason’s eyes meet yours, he gives a little smile. “Mummy!” You smile and head over, sitting down and breathing in as he nuzzles into your side, holding onto you for dear life. You grab your phone and scroll through take-out options.

“Did you want pizza for dinner, baby?” He replies with a little yes, and you nod before standing, his little hands going up as he signals he wants to come with you. You pick him up, place him on your hip and make your way to the kitchen, setting him down on the counter as you prepare the snacks for the movie as you both wait for the pizza. “Have you been enjoying staying at your father’s, baby?”

Jason nods, “Is good. But at night is sad. Like here.” You tilt your head, stopping what you are doing and wiping your hands onto a teatowel. You slowly move over to him and cup his cheeks.

“What do you mean sad, baby?” You stroke his cheek, staring down worriedly at him. “Baby, what happens at night at daddy’s house?”

He sniffles, pouting as he looks up at you. “At nigh’, daddy cries. Is like here when you cry, he tries to be quiet, but I hear him.” Jason leans into your hand. “Is sad.” He pats your hands, “I in trouble?”

You shake your head, “No, baby. You aren’t in trouble. Do you know why he’s always crying?” You continue to stroke his cheek.

Jason shrugs. “All hear is I sowwy.” You nod, pressing a kiss on his head.

“Okay, baby. Don’t worry. Nothing is your fault, okay?” He nods, sucking on his thumb as you go back to the food, your mind now filled with why Ari was crying and who he was apologising to. You knew Ari was one to cry when something really hurt him. It was another one of the reasons you fell in love with him. He would let his feelings out, you had thought you found the perfect guy when he chose to communicate through problems instead of leaving, but you guess you were wrong with your judgement. “Alright, baby. The snacks are ready, and pizza is on its way. Do you want to help mummy carry the snacks to the loungeroom?” Jason nods, grabbing some of the food as you pick him up and grab the remaining. Once you’ve sat down and placed the snacks on the coffee table before you, you turn toward your son. “What do you want to watch, baby?”

“Avengers!” He giggles, punching the air. You shake your head, smiling before putting the Avengers on, “Captin!” Your son squeals, seeing his favourite superhero on the screen. “Pow! Pow!” You smile, sinking into the couch and holding your son close, your heart finally feeling warm after feeling so cold for so long. “Mumma! Wook! Cap ‘Merica!” Jason’s head moves from you to the screen, staring wide-eyed at the blue, white and red man. “Look like daddy?”

When those words slip from his lips, you stare at the screen, seeing the resemblance of the man you love. Your eyes move down his body and back to his face, those pretty blue eyes. You blink and shake your head. It’s your mind, and it’s playing tricks on you, making you see him because you miss him. You feel a finger poke your cheek. You look down and see your son staring at you with furrowed brows. “Yeah, baby. He looks like daddy.” You lean forward, pressing a soft kiss on his forehead, smiling as he bursts into giggles.

“Mumma?”

“Yeah, baby?”

“You still wuv me?” He pats his chest, pouting.

“Oh, baby. Of course, I still love you and will never stop loving you.” You place him onto your lap, “Why do you think otherwise?”

You stroke his sides as he pouts at you. “Just tought… I, bad boy, tought you stopped wuving me.” He sniffles, fat tears brimming in his eyes.

Tears fill your eyes, bringing your son closer to you as you place a kiss on his head, pulling him into you. “I will always love you, baby. Even when you hate me, I’ll still love you.”

Jason shakes his head into your chest, “I don’ hate you! I wuv you mummy!” Hearing those words felt good... But no one would ever know how broken you really are.

thank you for reading!

feedback and reblogs are greatly appreciated.

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