#i couldn’t bring myself to draw the bone arm you can’t make me

[blossomhead]

bitch (affectionate)

[shadowdaddies]

Hello will you please write me nesta x female reader where they get into a fight and reader storms off even when nesta tells her to stop and when reader realizes she was the one in the wrong and goes back she gets into an accident (happy end please but make angsty at first)

ooh I've been in an angst to fluff mood myself lately and it seems like y'all are too

Don't Leave Like That

Nesta x Reader

Warnings: mentions of violence/injury

“Back off, Nes,” you seethed, stepping out of her reach. Nesta’s hand hung in the air for a moment before she dropped it, shoulders slumping in defeat. “I didn’t mean to be so harsh. You know I’m just worried about you. The Illyrian camps are so dangerous for females - I can’t bear the thought of something happening to you up there.” 

You knew Nesta had a point, but by now you were too angry to care. “You think I can’t handle myself, Nesta? Watch me.” With that, you disappeared, heading towards the Illyrian camps on your own, without anyone with you for protection as Nesta had argued was necessary. You were determined to show her that you could handle this simple mission by yourself. 

The meetings at Windhaven were tense, but fine as you communicated with Devlon and the other warriors as briefly and efficiently as possible. While everything went as smoothly as you could hope for, it was your goal to make it back home to Nesta as quickly as possible. You didn’t like how you had left things with her, and knew it was in your best interest to get out of Illyria as soon as possible.

You left quickly after dinner, walking quietly out of the camps to avoid any suspicion when you noticed a large, shadowy figure tracking you from the forest. Drawing your dagger, you prepared yourself for whatever may come your way. At least you thought.

A gale force wind knocked you off your feet as black swirled around you, stealing the air from your lungs as you lost consciousness. 

The next memory you had was Azriel holding you in his arms as he flew over the territory of the Night Court. Still dizzy from whatever had knocked you out, you managed to fumble out the question of what had happened. Azriel looked down at you, grimacing as he took in your state. You were apparently more injured than you realized, only registering half of what he said about Koschei’s spymaster who had tracked you down, before a sharp pain in your ribs had you losing consciousness again.

You awoke in your bed back in Velaris, bones protesting your every movement as you failed to lift yourself up on your elbows, forced to scan the room by only moving your stiff neck.

Moonlight poured in through the window, the crackling fireplace spreading needed warmth throughout the room, and Nesta lay sprawled uncomfortably in a chair that had been pulled to your bedside, where she lay sleeping with her hair disheveled, clearly exhausted herself. Tears formed in your eyes, gratefulness to see her and regret of your last words to her overwhelming your emotions. 

“Nesta,” you croaked out, willing your pained arm to move towards her. Her silvery blue eyes snapped open instantly, and she let out a soft sob as she scrambled to the edge of the bed, grasping for your outstretched hand like a lifeline. Careful of your injuries, Nesta brushed your hair from your face as she pressed a kiss to your hand, lip wobbling as she took in your appearance. You managed to whisper your request for water, which Nesta eagerly helped you. 

Refreshed with the ease to speak, you squeezed Nesta’s hand with what little strength you had. “I’m so sorry, Nes. I should have listened to you. I know you were only looking out for me and I was stubborn. I regretted my words from the moment I left-“ you couldn’t bring yourself to say anything more as the little energy you had was now expended towards producing the tears in your eyes. 

Nesta cried with you, shaking her head as she whispered, “I’m sorry. I know I come across abrasive, but it is because I care for you. I have watched so many people I love get hurt, and if something happened to you...” she trailed off, taking a deep breath before kissing your hand again. “When Azriel brought you back here, nearly dead - I can’t do that again. Please don’t leave me in an argument again.” 

You breathed out the promise as you nodded your head, “never. I love you, Nes.” She leaned in to kiss you, and you moved a hand to tap the bed next to you in silent request for her to join. 

Nesta curled up next to you on the bed, holding you close to her warmth as you turned to press a kiss to her temple, whispering “I love you,” before you both drifted off to sleep.

[pompous-puffed-up-penguin]

Reenactment (BTAA!Scarecrow x Fem!Reader)

You and Jon decide to act out one of his favorite scenes in one of Basil Karlo’s films...with an erotic twist, of course.

AN: This man has me by the throat, so of course, as soon as I got this idea, I had to write it down before I lost it to the void.

CW: Roleplay, Consensual Non-Consent, Knifeplay, Slight bondage, Rough sex, Biting

Word count: ~1200

The stage is set. Your wrists are bound, tied to the bed post in rope that scratches and reddens your skin. Wearing nothing but a plush bath robe, you are at the mercy of your captor, your husband, Paul Batcher.

At least, that’s how the scene of one of Jon’s favorite movies goes. During a Basil Karlo marathon, in between his random bits of trivia about the actor himself, he was most excited about what was ‘the most controversial scene of his career’. His character, upon finding his wife had been cheating on him with his best friend, abducts her and tortures her in a gruesome finale. It was hard to keep your eyes on the screen, but Jon seemed to delight in how much it fascinated you all the same, even providing his own personal dissection of the climax. You couldn’t help but agree with his opinion that despite the horror, there was something erotic hiding behind every action Paul performed.

So with some editing to the original script, you were here, playing the role of Charlotte, the unfaithful wife. Armed with only your safe word, you listen as Jon hums, polishing his switchblade until it shimmers in the lamp light.

And action.

“You remember this, don’t you?” Jon smirks, perfectly mimicking the one Karlo wore in that infamous scene (you can’t help but wonder if he's practiced it before). “My birthday present. And you remember what you told me when I opened the case?” He turns, and his grim expression sends shivers down your spine. “‘So sharp, you could shave your face with it.’ Well,” he says as he steps toward you, “I haven’t the guts to try something like that. Not on myself, at least.”

 Slowly, he brings the blade towards your face, and you swear you can see your reflection in the polished steel. You hold your breath as it hovers over your cheek, just barely touching your skin. “But I’ve taken good care of it. Bet you wouldn’t even feel a cut from it.” With the tip, Jon traces his knife down from your cheekbone to the bottom of your chin. Even though he’s not pressing hard enough to draw blood, you hold your breath, keeping still as Jon’s other hand lingers over your throat.

It's your cue now. Remembering how the scene went, your voice shakes as you beg ‘Paul’ for forgiveness, you can talk this out.

Jon sighs, his lip curling into a grin. “Too little, too late. But you were never good at thinking ahead. No,” he purrs, trailing the blade down the side of your neck. A whimper sneaks past your lips, your nerves on fire from the mix of sensations. Jon’s voice vibrates through your bones, down to your pelvis, causing you to cross your legs in a feeble attempt to hide your arousal. But he seems to have noticed, as his own leg comes forward, wedging itself in between your thighs.

 “You’re not even thinking about what I really want to do to you. You’re only thinking about yourself.” Jon brings his knife to the belt keeping your robe closed. “And how much you want this robe off.” He digs it into the loose knot of the belt, using the flat to lift it up and undo it. After laying the ends aside, he sneaks his blade in between the folds, and the cold steel against your lower stomach makes you gasp and shudder.

Your heart races, pounding as you concentrate on staying still for Jon. It wasn't as if you didn't trust him. But you know that one slight move from you might result in an accidental injury, especially as he draws a circle with the tip just below the ribs. Even so, the adrenaline coursing through is enough to make you soaking wet, and Jon's knee rubbing up against your sex only accentuates it. You don't even notice him undoing his belt, pulling down his pants and revealing his own excitement as he sets the blade aside.

This was the biggest departure from the original scene now, but you almost forget to moan out the main character's name. You fumble in your clouded mind, calling for Jon instead of Paul, but the scene continues just the same. In fact, you hear a small laugh from your partner, amused as he sneaks a little kiss and nibble on your neck to draw more noise from you.

"How many names have you cried out on this bed?" With two fingers, he presses down just above your groin. "How many have you taken?" He traces down, brushing over your clit and rubbing against your lips, eliciting whimpers and whines as you finally get some proper attention down there.

No, concentrate. What was your line again? 'I'm sorry...I'll do whatever you want, just throw the knife away. You know I would do anything for you.' Well, you did the best you could, anyway. Jon's rubbing, combined with him sneaking inside to massage your insides didn't help.

"Yes, pumpkin," he purrs in your ear, "I know you would." He brings his hips forward, his erection throbbing as he brings your legs over his shoulders. He lines himself up to your cunt, and your breath stops as you stare into his hazel eyes.

"Then scream for me."

And he plunges his 'blade' into you. The sudden thrust sends pain shooting through your sex, making you cry out and arch your back as he lingers inside. His breath shakes, and he grits his teeth as he moves his hips back. With another thrust, the pain courses through you again, but behind it, the hormones work to turn it into pleasure. The safe word rises up your throat, but you swallow it down. Even though Jon's sudden thrusts hurt, it's not an unwelcome pain. Again and again, he stabs into you, and your cries and whimpers spur him on. Eventually, your body catches up with his, and you come as his cock digs into you.

"That's it," he growls in your ear, his hips slamming into yours. "Just like that." Suddenly, he grabs your face, making you look up at him. Jon pants, his lips upturned in a sadistic snarl. "Look at me when you come. I want my face burned into your eyes."

Just the way he glares at you, forcing your gaze towards him, sends you over the edge again. Your body was going to hate you for this later, but the abuse was addicting. Without thinking, you cry out Jon's name, forgetting about the scene, only focusing on how he fucked you like an animal, nibbling and biting on your neck and shoulders, marking you as his. And finally, as he reaches his peak, he groans as he bites down, hard, on your shoulder. With one final thrust, he finishes, panting heavily as your insides are coated with his seed.

Your muscles twitch, the final orgasm running its course as Jon pulls out. After wiping the drool from his mouth, he grabs his knife again, and with an effortless flick, he cuts the ribbon around your wrists, freeing you. Then he falls over next to you, and the two of you lay close to each other as you catch your breath.

Finally, you find the strength to move yourself closer to Jon, resting his head on his chest. You're met with an arm around you and a kiss on the forehead.

"Brava..." You hear him whisper. "What a performance. What a spectacle."

If he thinks he's getting an encore, he's going to be disappointed. You're going to need at least a week to recover from this.

"Ah, well." He says in mock disappointment, giving another kiss. "Wouldn't want to spoil our appetite, now."

[moonluringfrost]

Potion Tester

As requested by @superflytrap, here's a longer bit of Potion Tester! Hope you enjoy!

It tastes like green and grasshoppers, like someone couldn’t be bothered to pick out the bugs before making wheatgrass juice. 

The liquid is completely smooth and it feels a little cool as it slides down your throat. 

You wait for the potion to take effect. 

Jade is watching you closely, pen poised to take notes as soon as you show a reaction.

Your pulse quickens as a minute passes and nothing seems to change.  

You hold your hands out in front of you and examine them. No change in the color of your skin, the structure of your bones. You pinch yourself on the forearm. No change in skin elasticity or sense of touch. 

Panic starts to seep into your stomach. 

You pace the length of your cage. No change in speed, proprioception, or the way your legs are structured. 

Could it be your eyes? Maybe it did something to your eyes. 

But Jade didn’t bring a mirror. 

“How do you feel?” it asks. 

You freeze. It asked you a question, so you have to answer.

And you can’t lie. It always knows. 

But admitting that the potion might have been a failure might net you worse punishment than lying. 

You search Jade’s frozen face, looking for any sort of hint of what the right answer is. 

“How do you feel?” Jade repeats, sharper this time. 

Fuck. “I. I.. Don’t feel anything,” you admit, slumping as the will to fight leaves you. 

Jade narrows its eyes. “Nothing? Are you sure?” 

“I. It. In my throat it was a little bit cool when I swallowed but that was all.” You resist the urge to move farther away from it. Running never helps. 

Jade makes a note on its clipboard. 

“Come here,” it orders. 

You do as you’re told, for lack of any better option. 

Jade unlocks the door and grabs you by the arm to pull you through the threshold. You suppress your flinch at its icy touch. 

It positions you to stand in front of it. You remember not to slouch, as you know it hates that. 

You wait for your Jade to announce your punishment. 

And wait. 

You don’t manage to suppress your flinch as Jade’s hand approaches your head, but instead of a blow, you receive a pat. 

“You passed the test. That’s a good boy, not lying to me to try to escape punishment,” it says with faux-sweetness.  

What? 

Jade’s eyes flicker with smug satisfaction, the way they always do when it’s feeling smarter than you. 

“I have to test you from time to time, make sure you’re reporting honestly. Can’t have you spoiling my data, can I?” it coos. 

You don’t respond, because you know it doesn’t need an answer from you. 

“I think I’ll give you a little reward,” it says, turning away from your cage. 

It disappears around the corner of the hall. 

You’re still reeling a little bit from surprise when it returns. 

“So, what will it be? I have some jellied fruit confections, very tasty, I made them myself,” it says, holding up a small plate of colorful cubes. “Oooor… I have another book. Though… You still don’t know how to read, do you?” It says with a chuckle. 

You don’t remind them that you can read just fine, provided the book is in a language you know.

You choose the book. Food is tempting, but you won’t feel hungry unless you eat, and you have no idea when the next reward might be. 

Not to mention food made by the lich is suspect. It could be poisoned again…

“What a studious boy you are. Keeping your mind sharp is important,” Jade praises. 

The book it slips through the bars is written in a language you’ve grown more familiar with in the last decade or so. You’re pretty sure it’s a field guide for spotting alchemical components that can be found locally. Or At least you’re pretty sure that’s what it says. You wonder if this guide is for the area outside the dungeon. 

“Maybe one day, if you’re very well behaved, I’ll let you outside so you can collect components for me,” Jade says, drawing you from your thoughts. 

You doubt that will ever happen. Its idea of well behaved fluctuates far too often.

[aviscouscurse]

Testing a Potion - Simon

It tastes like green and grasshoppers, like someone couldn’t be bothered to pick out the bugs before making wheatgrass juice. 

The liquid is completely smooth and it feels a little cool as it slides down your throat. 

You wait for the potion to take effect. 

Jade is watching you closely, pen poised to take notes as soon as you show a reaction.

Your pulse quickens as a minute passes and nothing seems to change.  

You hold your hands out in front of you and examine them. No change in the color of your skin, the structure of your bones. You pinch yourself on the forearm. No change in skin elasticity or sense of touch. 

Panic starts to seep into your stomach. 

You pace the length of your cage. No change in speed, proprioception, or the way your legs are structured. 

Could it be your eyes? Maybe it did something to your eyes. 

But Jade didn’t bring a mirror. 

“How do you feel?” it asks. 

You freeze. It asked you a question, so you have to answer.

And you can’t lie. It always knows. 

But admitting that the potion might have been a failure might net you worse punishment than lying. 

You search Jade’s frozen face, looking for any sort of hint of what the right answer is. 

“How do you feel?” Jade repeats, sharper this time. 

This is not good. “I. I.. Don’t feel anything,” you admit, slumping as the will to fight leaves you. 

Jade narrows its eyes. “Nothing? Are you sure?” 

“I. It. In my throat it was a little bit cool when I swallowed but that was all.” You resist the urge to move farther away from it. Running never helps. 

Jade makes a note on its clipboard. 

“Come here,” it orders. 

You do as you’re told, for lack of any better option. 

Jade unlocks the door and grabs you by the arm to pull you through the threshold. You suppress your flinch at its icy touch. 

It positions you to stand in front of it. You remember not to slouch, as you know it hates that. 

You wait for your Jade to announce your punishment. 

And wait. 

You don’t manage to suppress your flinch as Jade’s hand approaches your head, but instead of a blow, you receive a pat. 

“You passed the test. That’s a good boy, not lying to me to try to escape punishment,” it says with faux-sweetness.  

What? 

Jade’s eyes flicker with smug satisfaction, the way they always do when it’s feeling smarter than you. 

“I have to test you from time to time, make sure you’re reporting honestly. Can’t have you spoiling my data, can I?” it coos. 

You don’t respond. You know it doesn’t need an answer from you. 

“I think I’ll give you a little reward,” it says, turning away from your cage. 

It disappears around the corner of the hall. 

You’re still reeling a little bit from surprise when it returns. 

“So, what will it be? I have some jellied fruit confections, very tasty, I made them myself,” it says, holding up a small plate of colorful cubes. “Oooor… I have another book. Though… You still don’t know how to read, do you?” It says with a chuckle. 

You don’t remind them that you can read just fine, provided the book is in a language you know.

You choose the book. Food is tempting, but you won’t feel hungry unless you eat, and you have no idea when the next reward might be. 

Not to mention food made by the lich is suspect. It could be poisoned again…

“What a studious boy you are. Keeping your mind sharp is important,” Jade praises. 

The book it slips through the bars is written in a language you’ve grown more familiar with in the last decade or so. You’re pretty sure it’s a field guide for spotting alchemical components that can be found locally. Or At least you’re pretty sure that’s what it says. You wonder if this guide is for the area outside the dungeon. 

“Maybe one day, if you’re very well behaved, I’ll let you outside so you can collect components for me,” Jade says, drawing you from your thoughts. 

You doubt that will ever happen. Its idea of well behaved fluctuates far too often. 

“I’ll be back soon with something new,” Jade says as it guides you back into the cage. “Try not to miss me too much, okay?” 

It closes and locks the door before slinking off around the corner to its work station. 

You sit down in your favorite corner and have a better look at the book. 

You can hear Jade muttering to itself as it works, but you know how to tune it out by now. All the world falls away as you try to work out what the words on the page might correspond to in your own language. 

You’ve managed to puzzle out quite a bit of the language over time. Things started making some sense when you realized the typical structure of a sentence was verb-subject-object instead of subject-verb-object. Though you suppose you still have no way of being sure that any of the things you’ve assumed are correct without something to check it against. Eventually your eyes grow heavy and you drift off to sleep, book falling from your grasp to the floor.

[stahl-herz]

Trick or treat! 🎃

This is late, but: send an ask with "Trick or treat!" to the writer who reblogged this & you could receive: sneak-peek at a WIP, this case is another part of How much change does a Ripple make?'. A snippet from earlier in the story.

“Well, you’re the only one here that can see me, right?” She smiled at his nod of confirmation. “So, I’d like for everyone here to have an idea of what I look like. Please?”

Richard straightened his tie, turned around and practically lunged at the chalkboard. He proceeded to draw… a picture. To say it looked like an artistic representation of a goblin would be flattery. It barely looked like her! With a heavy sigh, she slid off the table and tried not to show how disappointed she felt.

“I guess a deal’s a deal. But shouldn’t everyone here introduce themselves?”

She glanced around the room, and the small table looked even more crowded than before. Some of the royalty looked like they were being squished between their neighbors. A red haired woman looked like she was trying very hard not to elbow the Asian woman beside her in the face. A few people were sitting with notepads behind the table, no doubt ready to take notes of the proceedings. Every person in the room (besides her) had that greyish tone to their skin! Was this just… something to do with their status? Was it genetic? She had so many questions about this!

“Right, Astrid is requesting that everyone introduce themselves. And I’d say that it’s a brilliant way to kill two birds with one stone.” Richard glanced around the room to see everyone nod.

The names of everyone blurred together for Astrid. She didn’t doubt that she would have to ask Richard to reintroduce her to most of them. She couldn’t help the grin that threatened to split her face when it was the blond woman’s turn.

“I am Eleanor Ségolène Clark the First. I am the Representative, Sword, Shield and First Queen of Canada. Yes, the moose in the stables is mine. His name is Bullwinkle-“

“Hmph, not as good as Lucy. I’d love to show you how she can breathe fire! Oh wait, I’m not allowed to bring her here.” The dust covered man beside her grumbled.

“At least my moose, James,’ She looked the man in the eye, and smiled. “isn’t a fire hazard. Which is why Lucy can’t come here, in case your tiny little brain forgot.”

I don’t know why, but I half expected people to either laugh or ‘cough’ in response to Eleanor’s response to James’ remark. But, instead, the creak of chairs shifting under people’s weight, a few sighs, and some muffled sounds of annoyance met my ears. Signe had also shifted in his chair, but in a way that suggested he was ready to get out it? A few people even glared in Eleanor and James’ direction, with the only Asian woman in the room giving a disapproving frown. She was tapping what looked like a folded fan in her hand. She would’ve looked indifferent to the events unfolding between these two, but her grip on the handle of the fan was so tight that her knuckles looked bone-white. Even Richard briefly looked upward, as if asking God for patience, before he cleared his throat.

“You’re mangy moose-“

“I do believe,’ Richard interrupted, “that it’s your turn, James?” He gestured toward the tanned man.

Said man straightened in his chair, rubbed his animal tooth arm band absently, gave an aggravated sigh and nodded.

“Hello, I am James Walker the First. I’m the Representative, and First King of Australia. I share my Sword and Shield with my sister Keri, who isn’t here today. Lucy is my pet crocodile. Yes, she can breathe fire. And it’s a tactical advantage, Eleanor.” He shoots Eleanor a glare and crossed his arms. “I’ve introduced myself, so you can mark the board, aye?”

Richard nods and makes a note on the board. The rest of the royalty introduced themselves. It turns out the black haired man beside Signe was Sasha Lebedev, the Czar of Russia! The last person to introduce themselves was Signe, who turned out to be the King of Sweden. At Richard’s mark of ‘present’ beside Signe’s name, the meeting began.

[ficsforeren]

more mafia eren headcanons pls 🤲

MORE??????? okay if you insist

So uhh this will be a continuation for this scene I wrote earlier

NSFW - DON'T READ IF YOU'RE BELOW 18

Eren tosses your knife to the side, making a clattering sound as it meets the floor. "Any other tricks of yours I should be aware of?" His voice is soothing in your ear but the gun he points to your neck is anything but.

You struggle to break free. "Get your hands off me."

"Fine," he huffs, drawing back from you. "I guess I'll just have to investigate it myself."

He pushes you forward until you're pressed flat against the wall, his gun pointing at the spot between your shoulder blades. "Arms above your head, Sweetheart," he says but his tone is merciless. "One wrong move and I'll shoot a hole through your chest."

Your breathing rags, raising both hands as he asked you to. "Good girl," he coos and it makes you sick. You can feel his hand sliding down your body, following the curve of your ass before it slips behind the high slit of your red maxi dress. He reaches between your legs, making you jolt when his fingers glide over your lingerie. "Such a cute reaction," he chuckles but he presses the point of his gun harder on your skin. "You won't be needing this." Eren rips your lingerie with one hand, casting it aside.

You're scared to your bones. Terrified. "Please stop."

He drags his hand to the front of your stomach, pulling you closer until you can feel his zipper grazing against your behind. "And what if I don't?"

But he stops once he feels you shuddering in fear. He turns you around and lifts your face by pushing his gun to your chin. His eyes find your glassy ones and even when you're glaring with so much hatred in your eyes, you're trying your best not to cry. Even if it means that you have to bite your lip until it bleeds. He smiles, reaching out a hand and you close your eyes in reflex but what he does is frames your cheek gently. "As much as I like seeing my women cry in bed," he says, "I'm not a rapist."

You thought he was going to murder you instead so when he draws his gun away and tucks it back into the pocket of his suit, you nearly weep in relief. "It's been fun, Sweetheart," he bids his goodbye as you slide down to the floor, knees trembling. "I look forward to seeing you again." And he shuts the bathroom door behind him.

He could've killed you, but he didn't. He should've been, knowing you were out there to kill him, but he didn't. And now you owe him your life.

Sick of having that thought for days, you decide to visit him again.

Eren is lying down on a bed of an overly-priced suite with his black suit discarded, his gun lying on the floor and his white shirt unbuttoned to the middle of his chest when you slip through his door.

"Your lady won't be coming back," you tell him, dressed in a red trench coat that perfectly hugs your body. Eren props himself up with his elbows on the bed, his smirk naturally finds its way to his face. His gun is close enough for him to reach. He just decides not to.

Even in the dimness of the room, you can still see the bulge that's concealed by the silk fabric of his pants. There are lipstick stains on his shirt, and some on the side of his neck.

“Well, that’s unfortunate," he says, not surprised in the slightest. "I'd spent a good amount of money to rent her for the night. Heterochromatic eyes. Very rare.”

"You've got a peculiar taste in women."

“Yeah, looks better on camera.” He shifts his weight, sitting on the edge of the bed. His hair is no longer tied, cascading to his shoulders and framing his cheekbones perfectly. “How many of my guards did you take down to get in here?”

“Three. You know, you should’ve considered hiring bodyguards that are stronger than you.”

“Yeah, you couldn’t even lift a finger against me." He chuckles at the memory. "Well I used to have Levi, but he quits for good.” He takes a cigarette from the pocket of his suit. “Did you kill them?”

“No. I didn’t want to leave dead bodies in such a nice hotel like this.”

“How very thoughtful of you.” He tucks the cigar between his teeth, lighting it up.

“I wouldn’t mind if it was yours, though," you add. "If anyone should die tonight, it should be you.”

“But you can’t kill me." His eyes twinkle mischievously as he leans back and takes a long drag. "So, what are you planning to do?”

"Why didn't you kill me?"

"'Cause you're cute." He brings his cigar to his lips, smirking as he continues, "And I kinda like your face. Wouldn't hate to see it again."

"You should've killed me. Now I feel like I owe you my life."

"You do." He flicks the ashes off. "So, I'm guessing you're here to repay me?" You stay mute but your eyes tell him the answer he wants to hear. "What do you have to offer?"

"Let me join your little boyband. I can be useful to you."

He snorts. "You couldn't even put up a fight against me, why would I want you?"

Your jaw clenches. "Then what do you want me to do?"

Something flickers in his eyes at your choice of words. He takes another drag, standing up and makes his way to the balcony. "Come. The moon looks beautiful tonight." You hesitate for a few seconds before you follow his trail.

Eren leans his back against the railing, throwing his head back as he lets the wind caresses his face. He looks... beautiful, as if he didn't belong to that kind of world. His eyelashes are long, probably longer than yours and those lips—

"Strip."

"What?"

"Strip for me," he repeats, dragging his cigar closer to his lips. "Here. Now." You keep your body still, your glare menacing, though your heart starts to thrash wildly inside your chest. "You said you wanted to repay me, right?"

“I thought you said you weren’t a rapist.”

“I’m not." He exhales clouds of smoke into the air. "I’m not forcing you, am I? I’m only asking you. Whether you do it or not is up to you.”

You can't believe you just called him beautiful. He's fucking sick.

“And you also owe me an escort," he grins lightly as he tosses the rest of his cigarette away, "You’re not heterochromatic but you do have pretty eyes.”

You feel your breathing stutter as he makes his way to you. “You want me to sleep with you?”

“No." In a blink of an eye, Eren has his hand on the front of your throat, pushing you against the glassy window until you're standing on your tiptoes. Your hands are clutching tightly against his wrist, nails scratching his skin to push him away but he only smiles that fucking innocent smile of his that always seems out of place. But when he speaks, another persona takes over.

"I want to fuck you," he says the words through gritted teeth, almost like he's growling. You can feel his breath falling on your lips, can sense the aftertaste of the cigarette he just took. “I want to fuck you raw until you cry. I want to fuck you until you can’t say anything, can't think about anything but my cock inside you. I want to fuck you until you beg me to stop and when you do, I'm gonna fuck you even harder."

You're choking, your lungs starting to catch on fire. "C-can't... breathe..."

And instead of letting you go, he smashes his lips against yours, and he's so rough with his teeth and tongue that you won't be surprised if yours start to bleed. You gasp against his mouth, desperate for air and only after he's satisfied, does he let go.

Retracting his hand, Eren brings back his juvenile smile to his face, hand gently frames your cheek as he whispers in your ear. “But again," his lips brush against your skin. "It’s all up to you, Sweetheart.”

[wheelsup]

okay but can you imagine spencer washing your hair for you?

like, i never (ever) let anyone (at all) touch my hair, but i feel like he'd be really gentle about it, and there is just something so soft and tender to me about the idea of washing someone's hair for them 🥺

that’s my dream <3 ik you didnt specifically ask for a blurb but i think about this very often. i wrote two versions of this, but this one (with two bickering best friends who are v much in love) won my heart. 

wc: 1.6k   contains: friends (to crushes, maybe ;) ), injured reader. gn!reader

-

“Spence, I promise you that I can do it by myself,” you huffed, attempting to yank off your tank top as you walked toward the hotel bathroom, using only one arm while trying to keep the other as still as possible.

“I’d be more inclined to believe you if you didn’t sound like you were going to cry,” he snickered, following hot on your trail as you tried to escape his hovering. 

“You’re being dramatic.” 

“Oh really? Lift your arm up, then.” He leaned his hip against the marble counter, crossing his arms over his chest as he waited for you to do it. One obnoxiously smug eyebrow arched on his forehead.

Sometime during the case, you’d gotten into a brief tousle with a suspect, who just had to run away when approached. If Morgan had been there, you wouldn’t have even batted a lash, but he wasn’t. So not only had you detained him by yourself, you also wound up with a minor pulled muscle in your shoulder. 

You shot him a sarcastic smile, toothless and irritated, and raised your right arm into the air. He let out an airy scoff. 

“Other one, smart ass.”

Your arm dropped down to your side, your smile falling with it as you turned sharply towards the shower. 

“Look, I’m disgusting right now. So either I suck it up and shower, or you’re going to smell me until the day we solve this case.”

Spencer’s nose crinkled at the gross truth. He wasn’t ungentlemanly enough to tell you, but sharing a bed with a coworker was quite a quick way to discover if they were in need of a shower or not. Your shoulder might be out of service, but both of you could agree that hygiene was a bigger priority. 

“You can’t even move. Just… just let me help you.”

You snorted. “Nice try, Reid. I’m not letting you shower with me.”

He rolled his eyes at your use of his last name. You only called him that when you were annoyed with him. He pushed off the counter and turned to the wall, hitting the light switch and earning a shriek from you as the room suddenly went dark. 

“I won’t look,” he shrugged, amusing no one but himself. 

“You’re a clown, you know that?” you muttered under your breath, drawing back the shower curtain and fumbling around, searching for the knobs in pitch black. “Absolutely fucking theatrical.” 

You found them moments later and ran the water, testing the temperature on the back of your hand. By the time it went from cold to warm, you noticed that he still hadn’t moved. From the sliver of light peeking under the door, you could make out just his silhouette in the corner, perched on the vanity. 

He was being stubborn about this. That, and the comforting fact that you couldn’t see a single thing –– thankfully, not even his face –– wore you down.

“Close your eyes,” you murmured. 

“It’s already pitch black in here ––”

“Close your eyes, Reid.”

Sighing through his nose, he did just that. To make sure you knew it, and also maybe just to be annoying, he made a show of getting off the counter and turning himself around to face the wall. You peeled out of your clothes as quickly as you could. In the process, you caught the long shower curtain under the heel of your foot and, as you stumbled over it, accidentally dragged it along, sending the metal curtain hooks screeching as they slid along the bar.  

The second you found your ground, you immediately shot daggers into the back of Spencer’s head, waiting for him to make a joke. As if he could feel them, he bit back his quip. Not without letting a barely contained cackle slip under his breath. 

“Okay,” you warned, stepping into the shower. Grabbing the end of the shower curtain, you pulled it tightly over your body to cover yourself as you poked your chin out to talk to him. “I’m in.”

Spencer turned and approached the shower, eyes still shut with his hands out in front of him, feeling the walls for guidance. He was still mocking you for making him close his eyes. You raised your brows; he must’ve thought he was quite funny. 

“You look like Velma when she loses her glasses.”

That knocked the funny bone right out of him. His hands dropped to his sides.

“Just get your hair wet and hand me the shampoo.” 

You drew the curtain shut again as you dipped your head under the shower stream, coming back moments later with sopping wet hair and a little bottle of complimentary hotel shampoo. 

He let you sit on the floor of the bathtub, just slightly removed from the spray of the water. Your back was to him, as he kneeled down on the tile floor, just outside of the bathtub so he didn’t have to get wet. You bent your knees to your chest, resting your chin on them.

Spencer first pushed up the sleeves of his sweater as far as he could before deciding to remove it altogether for the sake of protecting the wool against stray water. The cuffs of his work shirt were unbuttoned and rolled up to his elbows as he got to work.

Taking a healthy quarter-sized amount of shampoo into his palm, he lathered it between his hands before running soapy fingers through your scalp. The pads of his fingertips softly dug in as he carefully massaged the shampoo in.

When he started working his fingers in patterns, putting pressure near your temples and increasing it as he dragged them up the curve of your scalp, you let your eyes close. He was getting rid of a headache you didn’t even realize you had. 

The tension you’d been carrying in your shoulders eased a little, and it made him think about how much you probably needed this. One of his hands came down to massage the muscle between your neck and your good shoulder, knowing it was best to just let the hot water do its magic on the bad one. 

When the shampoo had been sufficiently lathered, he stood up and detached the shower head, bringing it down to you so you didn’t have to move. You leaned your head back for him as he carefully rinsed the soap out.

You weren’t going to ask, but thank God Spencer told you to hand him the conditioner next. This, he slathered all over the ends of your hair, making sure all of it was sufficiently covered in conditioner before loosely twisting it into a low, makeshift pony for you. 

“Mm. I was about to ask how you’re so good at haircare,” you chuckled lowly to yourself, in a half-sleepy voice with your forehead resting on your knees. Dangerously close to falling asleep. “Then I remembered what you used to look like.”

You had a lazy smile on your face just thinking about the days where Spencer’s hair used to be down to his shoulders. He looked so pretty like that (not that he didn’t look pretty now, too), you always wondered why he got rid of it. 

“Remember when I got shot in the knee?” he hummed, returning to work your shoulder. He adorned a tiny smile of his own as he started to reminisce. “You came by my house at least once a week. Brought me meals, watched movies with me. Helped distract me from the pain. Even drove me to my physical therapy appointments.” 

You mm-hmm’d that you remembered.

“You pretty much did everything shy of helping me bathe. Though, I feel like you would’ve helped with that, too, if I asked.”

You both laughed at that. You hadn’t really noticed the parallels of your situation, being injured and needing his help for once. He was happy to repay the favor. 

“I’ll, uh. Let you wash your body yourself,” he said, coming out of his daydream for a moment. He rinsed his hands off and got up, patting down his wet hands on his trousers. With one nod from you to confirm that you’d be able to do it, he quickly exited the bathroom to give you privacy. 

You emerged seventeen minutes later, clad in pajamas with towel-dried hair. Spencer was still awake as you crawled onto the bed beside him, more than ready for bed after that. He looked to the side to ask you how the rest of your shower was, and before he could get it out, you shuffled up next to him, winding one arm around his and resting your head on his chest.

“I take it you had a good shower?” he laughed. This was one of his “I told you so” moments, and for once, you didn’t mind it. 

“Mhm,” you smiled, chuckling behind it as you shut your eyes. You were falling asleep fast. “Spence, the scalp massage…” 

“Was good, right?” he boasted, inflating his own ego a bit. 

You nodded against his shoulder, not caring if you helped blow up his ego another two sizes. Burrowing deeper into the covers, nestling tighter against Spencer, you got one more quip in before falling asleep. “S’good that I think I have a crush on you now.” 

Joke or not, he pulled the blanket higher until it reached your chin, holding you with both arms and kissing the top of your head before falling asleep himself.

*

*

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[bajisbabe]

# IT’S JUST A CIGARETTE

you need a cigarette but he won’t let you have one | Aki x Reader

warnings: smoking, kissing, Aki and the reader enemies if you squint, but the reader is eager to gain his recognition too, the reader is a lil’ naive, lil’ bit of a brat, lil’ bit of a crybaby, and sucks at smoking.

synopsis: Takes place during the mission in Chapter 15. Aki is your partner on said mission. While the others are away, patrolling the halls, you find that you need something to ease the stress, so you take one of his cigarettes. And he doesn’t like that.

song: none.

photo cred (left to right): 1 2 3

You and Aki have been paired up on a mission. Forced to chase down a devil that won’t stop running. And now, it has led you to a floor in which you’re trapped in some kind of labyrinth. And try as you might, you can’t seem to find an exit.

To make matters worse, you and Aki decided to stay behind while the rest of your unit patrolled the halls. Gradually, it began to feel like hours had passed and none of them had returned. Had you known it would take this long, you would’ve gone with them.

Of course, this situation is weighing heavy on your shoulders. It has been hours—or at least that’s what you think. You can’t be sure now that the clock has stopped. Aki has left the room momentarily to check the hallway, and you notice that he’s left his pack of cigarettes on the table.

So you casually stroll up to the pack and decide to take one, feeling no guilt as you doubt he’ll miss a single cigarette. You bring the cigarette to your lips, peering around to see if you can find what you need to light it. Unfortunately for you, he hadn’t left his lighter behind. And before you can find a lighter, Aki comes rushing in through the door.

And he is quick to ruin your attempt at finding some kind of relief.

“No.” He says, snatching the stick from your fingers and tossing it to the ground. He stomps on the tobacco with his foot, grinding it into pieces and staining the carpet below. “M’not letting you smoke that. It’ll rot your bones—”

“But you smoke it!” You whine, throwing your arms out in exasperation. You were stressed and needed something to take the edge off. Surely, a smoke wouldn’t hurt; even if it was your first. “You smoke all the time, and I—”

“I don’t care,” he cuts you off coldly, glaring at you from out of the corner of his eye. “If I say you’re not smoking, then you’re not smoking.”

You sit in silence for a moment, pouting some as you glance up at him from under your lashes. He has his back turned, looking out int the hallway to see if he can find your co-workers. You decide to take your chance then, reaching out for the pack of cigarettes and taking another.

Just as you’re about to put it between your lips, he grabs you by the wrist. His grip unyielding as he yanks you closer, “I said, you’re not smoking.” He grits out through bared teeth. “Why won’t you listen to me—?”

“You’re not my dad,” you say childishly. And before you can pull away, his grasp on you tightens to an extent that has your knees buckling. You crumple, hissing in pain as he works the stick from your fingers yet again.

“Don’t argue with me, stupid.” He spat, eyes blank as he took the cigarette from you. He pulls it to his lips, tugging a lighter out of his pocket and lighting the cigarette. He shows no remorse or guilt as you sit there, on the floor, rubbing your wrist as though the pain will go away.

He catches your eye for a brief second, causing you to look away. You despise him. You don’t want anything to do with him. He’s selfish, he’s crude, he’s mean, and he just overall doesn’t treat you very well.

You hate him.

But you have no other option as all the devil hunters have been paired up or assigned to someone else. You and him are a team now, you just wish you weren’t.

“M’supposed to be your partner,” you grumble under your breath. You don’t intend to cry, but you feel a lump forming in your throat and the backs of your eyes are burning. “Yet, you don’t even treat me like an equal.”

He takes a long drag of the cigarette, parting his lips to let the smoke swirl and curl in the air before his eyes. And you’re envious. Tobacco must serve him well if he has a habit of smoking. It must make him feel good or something. You want to feel good too.

“I’ll treat you like an equal when you start acting like one,” he says, quietly and calmly. He always seems so nonchalant about things, never feeling strongly about anything unless it concerns his past or the Gun Devil specifically.

Your nose burns as the room begins to fill with lingering smoke and the scent of tobacco. You try not to make a disgusted expression; trying not to prove his point that you don’t need a cigarette. But you can’t help it as a frown appears on your lips.

He notices immediately, an eyebrow raising and a subtle tug of his lips. But it disappears before you can see it. He approaches you, steady and fast. His waist bent as he sank to your level, “Wanna smoke that bad, huh?”

The smell is enough to make you seriously regret your decision. You try to shake your head, or voice that you’ve changed your mind. But he is already grabbing you by the arm and tugging you to your feet.

“Don’t act shy now,” he says, the cigarette wiggling between his lips. One hand clutches your shoulder, the other working the lit cigarette out of his mouth. You pull back but he doesn’t let go, his fingers holding the cigarette and pressing it to your lips.

You jolt, attempting to push him away. He doesn’t budge, pressing harder until you relent. And you have a split second to note that the tip is damp with what you suspect is his saliva.

“Breathe in,” he says.

You turn away, trying to escape the sudden burning of your lungs. He shows no mercy, clutching your shoulder harder and practically shoving the cigarette into your mouth.

“Breathe in,” he repeats. “Do it now. Show me that you’re my equal.”

His equal. So, that’s what this is about. Your lungs burn as you inhale, taking too quick of a breath and doubling over as he removes the cigarette from your mouth. You cough and gag, spitting up as you try to rid of the taste it left behind.

He again shows no remorse or guilt. He simply takes another drag from the cigarette, seemingly uncaring that the same cigarette was just in your mouth. He taps the end of it against the table, letting the ash fall as he watches you cough and sputter.

“You wanna be treated like my equal, right?” He said, eyeing you from the side. He watches your eyes become glossy and wide as you finally catch your breath. Cruel and inconsiderate and he pushes on with the one-sided conversation. “Then take another drag, and don’t cough it all out this time.”

He holds his hand out, the cigarette balanced between his long fingers. His expression is blank as he waits patiently for you to make a move. You can feel your eyes burning just at the thought of having to take another drag. You don’t even want to entertain his cruelty, but you desperately want him to treat you fairly.

… should you…?

You gulp thickly, throat itchy as you slowly reach out. But before you can touch it, he pulls the cigarette away.

“Uh uh,” he says quietly, no emotion present in his voice. “...C’mere.”

You blink back tears of discomfort, still trying your damnedest not to choke over the remnants of smoke left behind from the first drag. You bite your lip, hesitating. But eventually you come to him. And he beckons you closer and closer until you two are only a breath away.

“Here,” he mumbles. “Do as I say, okay?”

You nod, your eyes on him the whole time. And he feels a strange shudder run down his spine. Something about the way you’re looking at him and how obedient you’re being. He likes it.

“Open your mouth”—you part your lips for him, and he gently places the cigarette on the curve of your lower lip—“Now breathe in. Slowly.”

He watches you take another drag, your chest trembling as you fight back the urge to cough. And you succeed in taking in the smoke. A small smile tugs at his lips as he instructs you again. “Hold it…” his eyes rack over your face, focused intently at every little twitch and jerk. “Now let it all out.”

You rush the exhale, coughing and sputtering again but not as much as before. You don’t notice the hint of admiration in his eyes as he looks at you. There’s something he likes about you—something he never noticed before.

He could’ve sworn he disliked you before. He always thought of you as lazy, ignorant, and overly passive. But something had changed in the last couple of seconds. He liked you.

“Have I”—the rasp of your voice draws his attention—“Have I proved myself yet?” Your eyes are watering, one squeezed shut as you gasp and swallow. Smoking clearly wasn’t for you. But you were desperate to please.

Maybe that’s what he liked. How you seeked recognition. Or maybe, how you fought so hard to prove yourself to him when he was no one special. You must respect him then, if you serve to please.

The corner of his lips twitched, but he didn’t smile. He couldn’t, not with you looking at him. So close, mere inches away from your lips brushing his. And you seemed unbothered by the lack of space between you two. He would take advantage of your naviety to social cues later, but now he had something else in mind.

“No,” he said.

“No?” You repeated, having to clear your throat after hearing how ghastly you sounded. “Whaddya mean ‘no?’”

“I mean, no.” He said, shrugging as he walked past you. Only one or two steps away before he turned to you, having to bite back a cruel grin. He liked toying with you like this. It was nice, and it took the stress of the situation away.

Maybe, he would do this more often. You could have his cigarettes in turn, and he could play with you instead. He wouldn’t need the sticks if he had you.

“One more.” He said quietly. “One more drag and I’ll consider you my equal.”

You stood in silence for a moment, unsure of whether or not to believe him. What little you knew of Aki hadn’t brought you to believe that he was a bad guy. He didn’t seem like the type to toy with others, not that you knew of. But you didn’t know much it seems. Foolishly agreeing with a curt nod of the head, “Okay.”

You tried to snatch the cigarette from his hand, far too confident in your ability to do as he asked. But like before, he dodged you. Eyes narrowing as he gestured you to come closer. His fingers curl as you follow his lead.

“This one’ll be different.” He said.

“What?” You muttered. “Well, that’s not fair. Why should this one be different if the other two were—”

“You wanna be my equal or not?”

That shut you up. With a huff, you glanced over at him, waiting for further instruction. His heart stuttered at the sight of your obedience. You were listening to him and without fuss. He found it intriguing.

“C’mere.” He said.

You wanted to argue, to say that you couldn’t get any closer considering you were already as close as could be. But you didn’t bother, knowing he would likely just shut you down and cut you off again.

You pressed closer, your bodies brushing against each other. And for a split second, you thought about how bad of an idea this was. The devil could show up at any moment and you would be unprepared if you kept messing around with Aki. Or even worse, Denji and the others could walk in and you’d never hear the end of it. But you found yourself justifying the action with the simple thought that you could win Aki over like this.

You and him would be a team for real this time. And he would treat you as an equal and you could work so well together. Wouldn’t that make all this worth it?

You decided that you were going to go through with it, no matter what he asked of you. But you hadn’t been expecting it honestly—what he said next.

“I’m gonna take a drag, and then feed it to you, okay?”

You froze, eyes blown wide and brows furrowing. What was this, some kind of joke? You choked, and not on the smoke this time. “Very funny,” you spat. Your defenses coming up quick, you didn’t even think twice before saying it. “I’m not doing that—”

“Don’t you wanna be my equal?”

You stammer and stutter, unsure of what to say as he takes a drag from the cigarette, closing the space between you both quickly. You put your hands up as though to push him away. But you freeze again, body stiff as he grabs you by the jaw. He tilts your chin, working his tongue into your mouth with ease.

And you find yourself clutching onto his arms, as he tugs you closer. The smoke swirling out of the spaces where your lips don’t quite meet. Your lungs burn and your eyes itch, but you don’t pull away. Whether because of your eagerness to please or because of how good his tongue feels against your own, you don’t know.

But when he pulls away, your head is hazy and it’s hard to breathe.

“Breathe,” he reminds you, his large hand placed on the space just below the base of your neck. “Come on. Breathe.”

And you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. You can feel the blood rush to your head, your face heating up. Why had you done that, why had you followed him so mindlessly?

What were you thinking? What if he told someone, or if someone found out? Would you be fired? He’s your mission partner, you can’t just—

“So? Now that you’re my equal,” He says suddenly, causing you to flinch. He raises a brow before continuing without much care. “Did that ease your stress or do you need another smoke?”

[bonky-n-steeb]

𝘁𝗵𝗿𝗲𝗲 𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗽𝘀 𝗮𝗯𝗼𝘃𝗲

𝙎𝙏𝙀𝙑𝙀 𝙍𝙊𝙂𝙀𝙍𝙎 𝙭 𝙍𝙀𝘼𝘿𝙀𝙍

𝙨𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮 || Steve’s life takes a quantum leap when he finds you unconscious on the beach.

𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 || ANGST (with a happy ending)

This is the second part of six feet under.

I know I broke your hearts, so here comes the second part to mend it! I hope you love this!

“You are my mission.”

Steve felt as if the walls of his heart were pricked by a thousand needles. It ached too much for him to bear. Unable to look in your eyes, he cried in his own palms.

The Asset wasn’t built to show emotions, but you furrowed your eyebrows in confusion at the picture in front of you; your mission had just dropped down on his knees and was pathetically sobbing.

Why wasn’t your target fighting. You were informed that he was great at hand combat but not really outstanding with guns. So why wasn’t he attacking you as expected. Why was he showing you his back in surrender?

You were told what to do if the mission fought. But you weren’t informed what to do if he just... surrendered.

Walking close to your mission where he was crouching down, you stared at him for a moment. You weren’t wearing your combat gear, and neither was he. You both were instead dressed in far from modest clothes.

You didn’t know why, but you couldn’t bring yourself to harm him in any way. With the way he was trusting you, you could’ve killed him within seconds. But yet your heart somehow ached at his situation.

When he didn’t even look up, you nudged his thigh with your left foot. When your mission finally looked up, his eyes were bloodshot and he was incessantly crying.

“Fight me.” You said as he just stared at you. Your blank gaze terrified Steve more than any alien or villain ever had. You didn’t know why, but you wanted him to fight you. You weren’t able to attack him if he just gave up.

Steve blinked his eyes as he took in your words. Why weren’t you killing him? He had surrendered to you and yet you were just looking back at him instead of fighting. Why did you want him to fight you?

“No.” Steve had never thought love would be his weakness. Or maybe he had never truly realised it. Steve loved Bucky as a friend and had rained hell when his friend was in danger.

And here he had signed off his soul in your name. He would literally bring you the moon and stars if you asked to. And he would bare his throat for you to slash through. But he couldn’t possibly ever hurt you.

“I said fight me.” Steve Rogers, your mission was supposed to fight you. Not just sit down and take whatever you gave him. You didn’t know why you were angry at his lack of self preservation.

What happened next was within the blink of an eye. Steve’s arm shot up and curled around your wrist. And with a quick pull, he pulled your entire body down.

His agility took you by shock and before you could react, you were down on the ground pressed against the floor with him straddling you. Taking both of your hands in his, he pinned them above your head, making sure you were immobile.

You were royally fucked. Your handlers wouldn’t take it lightly if you messed up. And that was if you reached them in one piece. Chances were you were gonna die here, right under Steve Rogers.

You opened your mouth to bite and hiss and Steve took the opportunity and dove right in. You stilled with surprise when you felt the captain’s plump lips right against yours. This man was super insane.

You mercilessly but his lower lip and ended up drawing blood. But as soon as he started licking in your mouth with his tongue, you melted right on the spot.

The warmth of his mouth slowly brought back the warmth of your memories. Steve felt you go pliant under him for some moments before you started fiercely kissing him back.

You entwined your fingers with his and gently pressed your tongue against the bite mark on his lips. You didn’t notice the tears that slipped through your eyes and how they mixed with Steve’s own tears falling against your face.

“Steve.” You called his name just like you always did. With love and belonging. He opened his eyes to see you staring right back at him with your lively eyes.

Steve had never been happier before. Pressing his forehead against yours, he just breathed you in for a moment. “Steve.” Your hand was now caressing his face.

Your eyes peering into each other were enough to convey the million thoughts you had and the thousand things you wanted to say. Pressing a loving kiss to your forehead, he got up and you followed him.

You both sat on the floor with your legs crossed, you kept some space between you two. “I’m… I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Steve repeated as he broke down once again.

You hushed him and held him in your arms until he calmed down. “I shouldn’t have done that, but… but I wanted to know.” Steve couldn’t ever forget how your face had morphed into that of betrayal as he recited the words.

“But I want to know one thing. Do you love me? Or… or is it some tactic of hydra to ruin me?” You wanted to slap Steve for asking this stupid ass question. Of course you loved him!

But then you realised where he was emotionally. If you were in his position then maybe even you would fear the same. “It’s real Steve. It’s definitely real.”

You framed his face with your hands and caressed your thumb over his cheeks. “Steve, I love you. And by ‘I’, I mean Y/N and Soldat. My soul belongs to you, no matter it’s name.

How can you doubt our love when it was the only thing that brought me back?” It was true, you wouldn’t have remembered anything if Steve hadn’t kissed you.

You could see the colour fill in Steve’s face. He pulled you in a bear hug and held you tight. “I love you. I love you.” Steve chanted in your ear just like before.

Once you were both calm enough to think straight, you decided to go out on the beach. You sat in the sand with your head tilted on Steve’s shoulder as the sea breeze kissed your wet cheeks.

“I barely remember who I was before all this Steve. I can only remember glimpses of the shield and the avengers. I’m no more the Y/N you once saw.”

Steve was silent as he listened to each and every word of yours. He wanted to say so many things back, but he knew he had to listen to you first.

“But I remember how they took me Steve. It was probably my third official shield mission and we had all thought that base was not active. But when we broke in, the operatives were waiting just for us.

It was trap and we fell willingly into it. The others managed to escape, but… but I couldn’t. And they took me Steve. I… I waited for you people.

I still remember shivering in that cold cell all alone, praying for you to find me. But you never came. And with time I just kept forgetting until I couldn’t remember anymore.” Your voice cracked yet you kept going.

“Even after you retired, you still were hydra’s number one target. It’s almost personal now. It took them some time, but they finally traced you and they knew you were alone.

I was supposed to use a boat as long as I was out of visibility and then swim till the shore so that you wouldn’t notice me. But I miscalculated the current and the rocks on the shore.

After I abandoned my boat, I jumped into the water and got caught in the water currents. It was a terrifying experience, just spinning wildly underwater as the water took you.

But I was oddly at peace as I thought finally I would be free. But then I hit my head on the rocks and got washed up. And I woke up remembering absolutely nothing in your warm bed.”

“I’m sorry.” Steve couldn’t ever forgive himself for all that had happened to you. He was sure shield must have tried their best, but he couldn’t help but feel guilty.

“Don’t be. It wasn’t your fault. I’m sure they must’ve tried.” You both sat quietly staring at the calm ocean which reflected the night sky.

“Do you still love me?” You asked with a dejected sigh. “I’ll always love you.” Steve replied pulling you closer. “Even after knowing who I am and what I was here for?”

“You could’ve easily completed your mission. I know you are capable enough of doing that. But, you did not. You couldn’t harm me even when I openly surrendered to you.

So yes, I still very much love you and I’ll stay by your side forever.” The last word pierced through your heart like a knife. You couldn’t give him what he wanted.

“Steve, I… I have to go.” Steve looked at you quizzically. “Where?” You gulped audibly before meekly replying, “Hydra.” You could feel his body tense.

“You aren’t going back there, no matter what.” You wanted to believe Steve’s words, but you knew that couldn’t happen.

“I’ve tried to run away. So many times. But they always find me. They’ll find me this time too. And if they find me, they’ll find you too and I can’t let that happen.

I won’t be able to live if something happened to you. I’ll never forgive myself. And that’s why I need to go.” If this sacrifice was going to keep Steve safe, then so be it.

“Nothing will happen to me. And if they come, we will fight them. Together. And nothing and no one can stop us if we are with each other. Stay with me, please!”

You kissed his cheek to stop him from pleading anymore. You couldn’t tolerate the man you loved begging you. “I’ll… I’ll stay with you. I promise.”

Steve hugged you so tight, you wondered if you broke some bones. But being in the arms of the man who loved you, felt better than heaven itself. It was a different kind of a feeling, one that no words could ever describe.

“Steve, what do you think about Paris? I’ve always wanted to go there.” You asked as you both sat silently on the beach, basking in each other’s presence.

“I’ve always thought about visiting Louvre too. But I never really got the chance.” Even as a sickly kid, Steve wanted to get mesmerised by the art in the famous museum.

“And what about Sydney? Or Amsterdam? Or Barcelona?” Your eyes lit up like an excited kid. “What about all of them?” Steve jested.

Steve wanted to travel the world too. In a sense he already had, but it was always for some mission and never for the sake of relaxation. “Yeah, we could do that!” You exclaimed as if the thought hadn’t occurred to you.

It would be a new beginning for both of you. A new life away from your tainted past. A fresh canvas to paint with the colours of your own choice. A much needed restart that both you and Steve needed.

“What are we waiting for? Let’s pack our bags!”

[yesimwriting]

Dying Starlight

A/n: i dont think an audience for this exists?? ik it’s not shadow and bone related, but ive been reading red queen and i wanted to try writing maven and ive been playing with this idea. umm...on the off-chance that there is an audience for this i do think of this as more of a series but i’ll probably end up deleting this lol 

(Series?) Summary: reader is a childhood friend of Mare’s who isn’t officially part of the Scarlet Guard but gets captured by Maven. As a prisoner, she feels like her mind is being messed with as she begins to see a more human side of Maven. The new King tells himself the only thing he sees in her is that she’s a way to get to Mare, but something about her genuiness is infectious. 

-- 

Irony twists things. Right now, the irony that my last thoughts might be about how I wish I had been trusted with a suicide pill twist my impending doom into something almost comical. I’d laugh, but I’d rather not startle the rats in my cell. This has been their home for presumably years, but I’ve only been down here a few hours. 

I scratch the back of my wrist, staring at tired stone walls like they’ve done something to me. I wish I knew what time it was. How long have I been down here? How long has it been since I was separated from Mare? An hour? Three?Each passing minute strikes me like a bullet, but I can’t count them. I’ve never had a talent for accurately feeling the passage of time.

My head aches, frustration and dread tangling themselves in the pit of my stomach. Mare told me the Queen can search through someone’s mind, seeing memories even they can’t remember. What will they do when they see I know virtually nothing? What will happen when they see how close Mare and I truly are? i can’t do anything and the unknown hurts more than my bruised rib. 

The sound of the heavy door that divides the luxury of the castle from the wasteland of the cells creaks. I only let my arms flinch, moving from my side to wrap defensively around my stomach. Dull footsteps echo down the pathway that lead to the cell I’m in. I don’t cringe, not even when the sound of walking stops. 

I was not born into a rich family, but I was born into a proud one. Fear was practically a criminal act in my household. I’ve been trained to suppress all signs of weakness. My eyes don’t leave the stone wall, I mentally trace the pattern of a long crack in a specific rock. It reminds me of the slope of the Big Dipper. 

Will I ever see stars again? The answer leaves a sharp pain in my chest. 

“Mare told me about you.” 

The words jar me, my stomach dropping in revulsion. Mare had trusted him, and here he stands--successful because he’s a traitor. I know what it’s like to be the most overlooked sibling and to crave to change that. I know what it’s like to want to succeed more than you want air in your lungs, but I don’t think I’d ever betray someone. I like to think that there’s a line even the monster in me won’t cross. 

I don’t look at him, partially out of an attempt to protest and partially because I’m afraid of what I’ll see. “She might have mentioned you in passing.” 

His scoff is ridiculous. “She didn’t lie about your sense of humor.” 

That almost makes me wince. His words are too close, too personal. It’s like he knows me. I turn my. head, ready to cut through the uneasy beginning to get to the miserable middle if it brings me to the end faster. 

“You’re here to torment me, not make small talk.” Turning had been a mistake. I regret it instantly. His expression is unforgiving--cold, sharp, and made up of only angles. But that’s not why I stare. I did not expect him to be objectively attractive. The fine slope of his nose, the sharpness of his cheekbones, and the ice blue of his eyes. I need to snap out of this mindset. I’m sure his beauty will not be so distracting when he’s burning me. “Though some might consider that the same thing.” 

He scoffs again, the sound dry. The sneer of his lips does not diminish his attractiveness. The fact makes me loathe him. “I wonder if you’ll still be so prone to humor after you’ve been broken--any information of worth extracted from your thoughts.” 

“Let me save everyone the trouble and just tell you everything that I know now.” My back straightens despite the pain in my ribs. I look pathetic, dirty and in a torn dress. He’s regal, dressed in fine, all black clothing. “I know that Mare wanted to kill you today, I know that she needed a distraction and that her distraction needed to be expendable, which is why I’m sitting in front of you.” I squeeze my hands together awkwardly, a bit of genuine irritation rolling in my stomach. “That’s literally all I know, I’m not even part of the Guard.” I scratch the back of my wrist. If I were him, I wouldn’t believe that, but I’m being honest. How pitiful can one person be that they’re worth more disconnected from the group they work for than as an actual member? “You don’t take that kind of risk for someone that’s only skill set is in thought.” 

I didn’t mean to say that out loud, but I don’t regret it. Maybe he’ll think that my story is so pathetic it has to be true. “You have to know more than that.” 

“The Scarlet Guard only reaches out to me on a need-to-know basis, and anything worthwhile to you is something I clearly didn’t need to know.” In a way, I’m glad I can’t give him anything. “So are you going to kill me with a bullet or do you prefer more flamboyant executions?” My death should be plain. I am human completely--I bleed red and I have no powers. “I do think anything more than a simple death is more trouble than I’m worth.” 

His lips press together oddly, something beneath his expression tightening. “You don’t think your dearest friend will return for you?”

The sarcasm in his voice sparks something in me I thought only my sister could. “I think she has a lot of responsibilities and I wouldn’t blame her for having priorities.” 

His eyebrows draw together. “I think you’re painfully unaware of how attached to you she is.” I press my lips into a thin line. “She’ll come for you.”

Something selfish in me hopes that he’s right. No one has ever wanted me enough to come back for me. My mother wanted perfect daughters that knew how to only think in terms of trapping men with stable careers. My sister did it, but I could never manage, and to my mother that made me useless. 

“If you believe it,” I mumble beneath my breath.

I don’t know if he hears me. I can’t bring myself to care if he did. “For your sake, you better not have lied to me.” 

My back relaxes against the raspy wall, fighting down a grimace as the motion irritates my rib injury. “Cross my heart, Your Highness.” 

I watch him carefully, his expression turning into something much more grim. “A King is referred to as His Majesty.” 

“My father was a prominent war general and my mother only wanted daughters she could use to social climb.” I fight down a grin. “I know what I said.” 

His expression darkens into something bone chilling. “I am the King and you’ll refer to me as such or deal with even less pleasant circumstances.” 

I fight against the urge to cower, picturing Mare’s strength in my veins. There’s weakness in everyone, and if I squint I can see the thin cracks in him. “You have everything--the crown, the power, the support of the people, and it’s still not enough. You won and you still feel like you’re competing.” 

“You don’t know anything,” he seethes, practically growling. 

I shouldn’t press him, but the more he reacts, the more weaknesses are revealed. “I know what it’s like to have a sibling that’s the sun, and no matter what you do, no matter how hard you try, you’re always trapped in a shadow.” 

The lighting makes his eyes look almost glazed over. “My mother will be here soon and the truth will be revealed.” 

He can run from me, but not the truth. Cal has nothing, he has everything--the father that never cared for him is dead, and yet he’s still trapped. Our similarities hurt me more than my physical injuries. 

Maven turns, his gaze moving off of me feels like the removal of heavy shackles. “It would do you well to not press me. You’re worth as much whole as you are broken.” 

There’s the strangest hint of something more to his voice. I wonder if he’s speaking to more than just me. “You haven’t won until that voice in your head telling you that you’re not enough is silenced.”

“You’re a powerless girl who isn’t even wanted by a dying cause and couldn’t find a husband to drag her above the poverty line. You know nothing about me, and if you keep pretending I’ll slaughter you in front of your dear friend.” 

He leaves without another word. I fall asleep with my back against the wall and my ribs aching. 

[scarlvtbitch]

Rusty

bucky barnes x female reader

summary: it’s bucky and reader’s first time but its also buckys first time in 90 years, he feels a little bit insecure about it

warning: smut (unprotected sex, metal arm kink kinda)

Y/N and Bucky were dating for a month now. After years of miscommunication and pining after one another, they were finally together. The team was really relieved because they didn’t have to suffer through their doey eyes and sexual tension. But there was sexual tension, alright.

After a month of dating they haven’t been intimate that way. They’ve kissed and cuddled but nothing more than that. Y/N wanted nothing more than to be taken by Bucky. She wanted her body to be only his. He never tried though. That was the frustrating part for her. Whenever they would be making out he was always the first one to pull away. Something would always come up before they could go any further.

This just made Y/N insecure. The first reason that popped in her brain was that he didn’t like her enough to sleep with her. One day, she was with Wanda on the couch. It had been a long time since she’d seen her and she really needed her best friend in moments like this. She couldn’t keep it in her chest any longer.

“Bucky doesn’t want to sleep with me.” She blurted out, making Wanda almost choke on her drink.

“Did he tell you that?” 

“No.” She groaned and hid her face in her palms. “Every time things get...heated, he always pulls away. Am I that ugly?”

“Y/N, don’t talk like that. You’re beautiful and you know it. I’m sure Bucky knows it too. That can’t be the reason, you just need to talk to him.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” If only her anxiety didn’t eat her alive whenever she thought a million different ways the conversation could go. But an idea came to her head. Bucky was going to drop by later, just like he always did and it was the perfect opportunity to talk to him. However, she decided to add a little bit of spice of her own.

It took the whole afternoon for Y/N to get ready. She showered, shaved, did her hair and makeup. Then she put on the sexiest set of lingerie she owned, which consisted of black lace. She put nothing over it.

A knock on the door startled her, she took one last glance at herself in the mirror before she opened it.

Bucky’s mouth dropped at the sight before him. Y/N’s figure was hugged by black lace, her breasts on full display for him. He gulped as he could feel his mouth start to dry. He accepted her invitation to come inside. He could feel his erection begin to spring to life. His heart was wildly beating inside his chest and he could feel his palm start to sweat under his glove. Y/N waved her hand towards her couch, silently telling him that it was okay to take a seat.

He sat down and she was straddling his lap in an instant. Her core hovering over his bulge. He growled as he pushed her head towards his lips, Y/N moaned at his roughness. He suddenly pulled away.

“Buck, do-do you not want this? Do you not want me?”

“God, no, doll. I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anything or anyone. You’re so goddamn beautiful, I don’t know how I’ve held myself back so many times. The truth is...” He rested his hands on her hips as he took a moment, scared of saying the words out loud. “I haven’t done this in ninety years. I don’t want to mess it up.” Y/N quickly raised her hands and cupped Bucky’s face. Caressing her thumb over his cheek bones.

“Baby, you won’t mess anything up. We’ll go slow, if you want. I don’t want to pressure you, I’ll wait for you no matter what.”

“I appreciate that, doll.” He grabbed one of her hands that was resting on his cheek and brought it over to his lips. “But you’re way too irresistible for me to wait any longer.” She squealed when he picked her up and carried her over to the bed. He gently set her down and his lips started making their way down her body. He pulled down the cups of her bra and freed her breasts. He wasted no time in latching his mouth to one of them while his flesh hand played with the other.

Y/N squirmed underneath him. The river between her legs making it hard to focus on anything else. He spent too much time between her breasts, and while he had a really talented mouth for someone who was scared of being bad because he hadn’t done this for over 80 years, she needed it somewhere else.

She dug her nails deep in his fabric covered biceps and whined out his name.

“What’s the matter, doll? What do you need?”

“You. Just you.” She managed to say. Bucky smirked against her and pulled away to take off his shirt. Y/N had seen Bucky shirtless while training but that didn’t stop her from being mesmerized by him. She was pretty sure he was sculpted by the gods themselves. Bucky laughed and her heart skipped a beat when she realized she actually said that aloud. 

“Thanks, doll. You’re pretty beautiful yourself.” He winked at her and she went to hide her face in her hands but he grabbed her wrists and leaned forward. Placing gentle loving kisses on her cheeks, nose, and forehead. Her heart melted at his actions.

Y/N decided enough was enough and went to pull his pants down, along with his underwear. His fully hard member bobbed against his stomach and she felt a rush of wetness emerge from her heat. Her eyes widened when she saw him. He was thick and long, she already thought he was perfect but this was the cherry on top. She gave him a few strokes, wanting to see what he felt like in her hand. Solid but soft and warm. He closed his eyes and grunted above her, his hand suddenly on her wrist as he put a stop to her motions.

“I need to be inside you.” Y/N nodded furiously against him before he lined himself up against her center and wasted no time in thrusting forward, all the way to the hilt.

Y/N cried out at the feeling. She felt so deliciously full and sex has never felt so right. She’s had sex before of course, but never with someone who she had strong feelings for like the man who was currently inside her. Wanda had once told her that casual sex was nothing compared to sex between two people who adored each other. Boy, was she right.

Bucky groaned and stilled above her. Wanting to savor how it felt to be gripped by her walls, and also wanting to give her time to adjust to him. She gave him the green light a few seconds later.

“Move, Buck, please.” 

“As you wish.” He then thrusted in and out of her at a steady pace. Y/N moaned at how good he felt, her exes could barely bring her to an orgasm but with Bucky, she knew she wasn’t going to last long. 

“Harder.” She breathed out.

“What was that?” He paused his motions.

“You’re such an ass.”

“Beg for it.”

“Fuck me harder, please.” He didn’t need to be told twice. His hips pounded into her harder and faster. The only sounds in the room were skin slapping against skin, the headboard rattling against the wall and their moans and grunts filling the air. Y/N suddenly got an idea. She brought her hand to his metal arm and gestured towards it.

“Touch me with it, please.” Bucky’s eyes widened because in all truth he didn’t want to use that arm during these activities. He was too ashamed of it.

“Y/N-”

“I love you, Bucky. Every part of you. So I’m asking you touch me with it.” She repeated.

Bucky’s metal arm snaked its way in between them and started rubbing tight circles against her clit.

She hissed and cried out when the cold met her warmth, getting her closer and closer...

Bucky could start feeling her core flutter against him, signaling that she was almost there. 

“Come for me, doll.” He rubbed faster against her, giving her one last deep stroke until she exploded underneath him. Her orgasm triggered his and he buried his face in her neck, giving her a small bite as he spilled himself into her.

Y/N moaned at the feeling of his cum deep in her belly.

They panted against each other until they were able to catch their breath and get their heart rates back to normal. He pulled his now soft member out of her and Y/N frowned at the loss. He tugged at the sheets on her bed and went to cover both of them up. Y/N nestled against his side, resting her hand on his sweaty chest.

She leaned forward and kissed his shoulder, keeping her face buried in the crook of his neck. His flesh arm trailed up and down her back, drawing lines with his fingers.

He placed a kiss against her hair and then whispered an I love you before sleep finally swept over both of them.

[cheekygreenty]

Hi, I just saw your prompt list for Shadow&Bone!! could you possibly do No. 2 from Angst, but like with a happy ending? Like reader n Kirigan are togeather but then Alina's comes along.. just, please let be happy at the end. I like angst, but my heart can't handle sad endings 😢😢 thank you!!! ❤❤

Future- The Darkling x Reader

(Very very angsty with a happy (?) ending. It made me cry a lil bit writing it ngl)

You trusted him, wholeheartedly. At least that's what you told yourself every day since she came to the Little Palace; the place you had always called home, where you felt safe from the prying eyes of the public.

Yet now, the place was fueled by harsh rumors of him and her. Everywhere you went you could hear a whisper, nobody tried to hide it anymore, the words were always entirely devoted to your crumbling union;

'I thought they were happy'

We were.

'How can he and Alina not be together, it's destiny.'

I'm starting to think so too.

You didn't acknowledge it. Just put on a sweet smile and a brave face. Don't let them see you're hurting. Even in your own home, you had to pretend and lie, which at the end of the day, when you laid in an empty bed, made you exhausted.

He told you she meant nothing more to him than a mere weapon. But that was when she first came and when he still managed to make it to your shared chambers and would whisper sweet nothings as you fell asleep.

It was different now, on more than one occasion you caught a glimpse of them together, him looking at her the way he always looked at you. However much he claimed to be a good actor and manipulator, there was something there and he couldn't deny it either.

You hadn't confronted him about it yet fearing that if you did, the truth would hurt and sting and make all those rumors true. In addition, you haven't seen him in days and the last time you did, he told you to stay away from the wonderful Sun-Summoner.

The truth was you knew deep down in your heart that she wasn't at fault. That she was not the root of the problem. You constantly fought with yourself to stop any hatred you felt towards her. She was lovely, kind compassionate, and innocent. She didn't deserve to feel your wrath.

But with that came the confusion of who to blame. You or Him. It made you tired and weak. The smallest of tasks made you drained and tears would well in your eyes at the thought of having to live another day like this, a day full of questioning yourself and the man you loved more than anything in the world.

No matter how much of a strong person you swore you were, this was taking a substantial toll on you. He had become your support network and he knew it, he loved it. He always said he finally felt appreciated when you came around, that he wasn't alone anymore. He had conditioned you to be this way. When times got tough, he was always your shoulder to cry on.

No doubt that shoulder was now next to Alina. Perhaps they went on a horse ride, visited the Black Heretic fountain, or were enjoying a rendezvous next to the lake.

You didn't want to know, all that mattered was that he wasn't there with you when you were falling apart. Maybe you relied on him too much.

You wondered if he noticed the whispers too, or the way you'd been missing crucial meetings, or even if he noticed you wearing your red kefta more often, ditching the black once you'd heard Genya speak of making a golden-black kefta for Alina, per the Darkling's request.

That was a punch in the gut. It hurt more than him avoiding conversation with you or even his deterrence of touching you. He had bestowed his colors to her when not even three months ago he didn't know she existed. It had taken you a long time to gain his trust and don his signature black yet all she had to do was waltz in and show up. And it hurt.

And now here you were, training the next generation of heartrenderers, as you did almost every day. You had given your life to the Little Palace and its Grisha and this is how you were being repaid. Not even Ivan, who you had shaped into an excellent soldier, had looked your way lately.

'Excuse me Ms. Y/L/N I have an urgent request from the General' You whipped your head around to the young Grisha boy with an obviously hurt look on your face which he couldn't understand.

'Of course' you choked out and took the piece of paper from his hands and watched him in sorrow as he left.

Ms.Y/L/N? what happened to moya sovereignny? You were never one to uphold the formality, but this was just another blow to your confidence. You were no longer referred to as his other half which only meant your position in the palace was quickly dwindling.

You opened the wax-sealed envelope and took out the thick sheet of paper. There was a time when he himself would deliver the news to you himself and use it as an excuse to spend extra time with you.

'I cannot make it to the meeting with the King this evening, attend and report back to me anything relevant, no horse business'

You scoffed loudly, drawing attention from the young Corporalki around you and leaned on the table in front of you. Not even a please or thank you. With the note clutched in your hand and tears of frustration in your eyes, you stormed out of the Corporalki room and towards his war room.

You peeked through the open door and seen him. He didn't look at all busy as he chatted with Zoya, Ivan, Fedyor, and some other Squaller you didn't recognize. Zoya threw her head back in laughter at something Fedyor said but Aleksander kept his stony expression. You threw the door open dramatically and everyone froze.

'Leave us' you cautioned as Aleksander's onyx eyes looked right into your own.

Nobody moved but Zoya was the first to speak ' Y/N, we're actually in a meeting if you couldn't tell' while everyone nodded along, except him.

You never had anything against anyone in that room, but in that moment you couldn't help yourself and used your small science to bring everyone to their knees in front of you, except him.

'Leave us' His voice rang out in the midst of their sharp breaths and chest-clutching. They scrambled to their feet and left one by one, Fedyor quietly muttering 'moya sovereignny' as he passed you which filled you with some courage. The door shut and the sound echoed over the walls.

You threw the note across the room and let it hit his arm. 'Did you forget your manners General? Or does it only apply to the people you claim to love?'

'Funny you should say that Y/N, you haven't attended any meetings in weeks without providing a reason. You're making me look like a fool'

'I'M MAKING YOU LOOK LIKE A FOOL?!' Your tears were now streaming down your face, falling quicker than you could wipe them away.

He stayed silent and that broke your heart even more, he could've said something, anything.

'Aleksander, I'm trying to keep myself together for everyone, I'm trying so very hard to appear normal and happy but I don't think I can do this any longer. The whispers and the rumors, watching you and her-' You slid down the door and sat on the floor, head resting on your knees. '-It's getting to me.... and it's killing me.'

You thanked the Saints you didn't see his face, for the silence spoke for itself. He didn't deny anything or reach out to comfort you. I've lost him.

'All I wanted was a happy ending.' You laughed a sad laugh that pulled at his heartstrings. With your eyes still facing away from him, you didn't see his hand go up to wipe the lone tear that fell down his face or the slight shake in his hands as he did so. He had no words that would comfort you. He knew what he'd done. He'd been avoiding you ever since he realized it. He didn't want to see you cry or see how his actions affected you.

Telling you that it means nothing to him was of no use. You had it in your mind now, forever engrained around his name, the rumors wouldn't stop and Alina was still around. He truly felt nothing of importance for her. All she meant for him was a key to a better future with you.

He approached you slowly, getting down on his knees next to you. He took your hand in his and held it up to his lips. He never prayed, but right now he silently muttered words to all the Saints. Don't let her leave.

'I'm so sorry Darling. Y/N I love you so much.'

'But you love her more' You yanked your hands away.

'NO. no. Y/N. I swear it. You are everything to me' He had grown serious now, he wanted you to look at him. He missed you.

'Then explain why you're parading her around like a Queen, letting her wear your colors, probably sleeping in her bed'

'I have never toucher her in that way. I'm yours Y/N.' Please look at me.

You lifted your head and looked at his beautiful face. He too looked tired, exhausted. His eyes were red and puffy. Saints, I've never seen him cry.

'You will have a happy ending. I promise Darling' He took your face into his hands and connected your foreheads together. 'I promise. I'm doing everything I can to make sure you will, and even if I can't, I swear you will you and our children-'

Children. Aleksander never spoke of them to the point where you had settled with the idea you'll never have them. Something about the desperation in his voice made you believe him, Aleksander was strong, he never gave up but he also never sacrificed himself for anybody. Up until now, you didn't think yourself worthy enough to be saved in exchange for him.

'-I would give up everything to see you and them safe, away from harm's way. Right now, the world doesn't deserve them, but once I do what I have to do, I'll give you children. However many you want, Just stay. Please'

You were borderline hysterical as you melted into his embrace. Weeks of frustration and hurt disappeared into thin air. Aleksander held you so tight you were having trouble breathing but you didn't care. He held you all day and all night. All meetings and tasks forgotten.

He explained everything in detail, from the stag and firebird to what happens if things don't go to plan. He kept nothing from you, not even the stress and pressure he felt. You comforted him as he always does to you. You fell asleep together and dreamed of a life with a happy ending, one where you never had to doubt his motives, you dreamed of your future.

Taglist (if you want to be added, plz tell me!)

@theonelittleone @searching-for-gallifrey @lostysworld

@0-artemis

[drabsyo]

I was wondering...I was always confused about Narcissa’s hair. It’s been a while since I read the books. Did she color it blonde to show her now belonging to House Malfoys. Or was it naturally blonde? Movies confused me a bit I guess.

Yes, this had me confused too! I've agonized and toiled over it, more than I probably should, about how I should draw her hair because people have generally different views, which is totally understandable! 💕

And I've always wanted to discuss it, so now that I've been given a reason to... Well.

If you take a look at some of my Narcissa fanart, you'll notice the different ways I'd color her hair. I was so confused. Is she a light blonde? Dark blonde? A mix of raven hair and blonde hair? If she has blonde hair then why does her family have (mostly) dark hair? And WHY does she have blue eyes?! This woman is absolutely confusing! (Which is kind of, you know, fitting because Narcissa always loves to be a mystery to literally anyone lol)

So I did my homework, asked around, and scoured every bit of information, canon or otherwise, that I could find about her. It led me to this:

In canon, this is what the Black sisters look like. You can find the page here. Narcissa is a child here, and already has blonde hair. So we can go ahead and safely assume that she was born with natural blonde hair. But in the films, Narcissa has black and blonde hair. I don't actually know why they gave her that hair color, maybe so that the audiences wouldn't question her blood relations with the Blacks--I don't know. I really don't. But now we have a book version Narcissa, one who has full blonde hair. And a movie version Narcissa, one who has raven and blonde hair. At least, that's how the different hair colors started: a movie version, and a book version.

So... here's where it gets confusing.

To my knowledge, it isn't actually explained why her hair color is the way it is in both the movies and the books. Having blonde hair does raise many questions, how is she the "only" blonde in a family of dark hair and dark eyes? To top it all off, it gets even more confusing, because fanon writes and draws her either as a full blonde or a mix of raven and blonde hair. We just have this large pile to sift through of her having either hair color. No one actually explains anything. She's just... infuriatingly there. She's either blonde or raven haired and blonde. BUT fanfiction writers, as I've observed, give their own reasons why Narcissa's hair color is the way it is in their respective stories. And it's actually pretty creative and interesting! It adds even greater depth to her character, and it fits the narrative of the story even better. Remember, the character we're dealing with is Narcissa Black. One of her main traits is "she won't do anything unless there is a clear purpose behind it." This character is deliberate, meticulous, and she makes sure to plan ahead at all times. And so, some fanfiction writers decide to play on that.

You can skip this part if you want to avoid spoilers but I've compiled a small list of instances in (Cissamione) fanfiction where Narcissa's hair is mentioned.

🔹 In Extinction by rubikanon in Chapter 10: Build and Break, Hermione asks Narcissa about it. Here, Narcissa has black and blonde hair. She explains that she only decided to dye it blonde to "fit in with the Malfoys." We can gather two things from that alone, which resonates with her character perfectly: 1.) Narcissa is loyal and 2.) Narcissa purposefully wants to show the rest of the world how loyal she is by committing to having blonde hair. The woman has some serious commitment, and it shows. But now, the way that it's slowly growing back into her natural black hair color, hints that perhaps Narcissa no longer wishes to fit in with the Malfoys. However, if we take an even closer look, we can safely assume that Narcissa isn't the kind of person to just leave her hair color "unattended" like that. Remember, she's meticulous. And this is a big deal for her, the fact that she's just kind of letting it grow back instead of either fully dyeing it back to black, or dyeing it back to blonde. It suggests that perhaps she's a little unsure this time, perhaps it is her uncertainty that is the reason why it's now a mix of both. Another grey area? Or maybe it's actually something more deliberate? Maybe now, she likes that it's a mix of both. That other half now being solely for Draco, and not to fit in (completely) with the Malfoys any longer. Who knows why Narcissa does things the way she does? We can speculate to the ends of the earth, or be as smart as Hermione Granger (or with the case of Extinction, see Hermione's thoughts), but something tells me we'd still be a good step behind.

"Which one is your natural hair color?" I wondered aloud.

(Narcissa) She glanced up at the unexpected question. I was relieved she hadn't sensed my attention yet. It's not like I meant anything by it, I told myself. She was so beautiful, one couldn't help but notice. And feel physically drawn to her. And want to see her two-toned hair fanned across her back, slipping over the bare skin, silky beneath my fingers...

"Why do you ask?" Her query brought me back to reality, and I hurriedly corrected my imagination to include a pretty dress covering the rest of her.

"I don't know." I chewed the inside of my cheek, suppressing my other thoughts. "I'm just curious."

Her gaze returned to the fire. "You've seen enough of my relatives to guess which color is genetic. The blond is something I added to fit in with the Malfoys, after Draco was born." She was quiet for a moment. "He looks so much like his father. I suppose I wanted to share some resemblance."

🔹 In Killing Me Softly by Looktotheedges in Chapter 4: Nagging, Hermione suggests that perhaps Narcissa is part Veela because of her blonde hair and very attractive features, like Fleur. Which is this whole other theory/plot that's very interesting, but won't be discussed in this post. Narcissa tells Hermione that Sirius has always been blonde, and that it isn't out of the question for her to be blonde either. Sirius Black. A blonde. I know! Maybe it's there because it's funny that Sirius is actually blonde like Narcissa. Prissy, haughty, lady-like Narcissa. Arguably the 'girliest' cousin that he has. No, no, no. He doesn't want to be anything like Narcissa. Anyway, if that's the reason, I think that's hilarious and cute.

Narcissa turns away. 'I am aware my appearance is frightfully drab. Work has been…'

Hermione holds back a disbelieving scoff. 'Narcissa. You always look beautiful. And you’re talking to the witch with grass in her hair who practically lives in her office all week.'

Narcissa just leans further over the crib. 'A blonde little boy. It has been so long since… I can almost imagine…'

Hermione stands next to her. Looks down at the peacefully sleeping Louis. He does look remarkably like Draco. 'Are you sure there’s no Veela blood in you? You weren’t secretly switched at birth?'

'Like a changeling?'

'It would explain your blonde hair.'

'Sirius was also blonde, it is not completely out of the question for us Blacks.'

What?!

(...) 'I know. But it is the truth. He was blond until he was about seven… then it began to darken. Mousy. Dull. He wanted to look cool and brooding instead, so he got his hands on some kind of charm right before he set off for Hogwarts. A new, edgy Sirius. It was around then he forbade us from calling him Siri. Said it sounded too girly.'

🔹 In Fixed in Time by TheWorldsaBeastofBurden in Chapter 9: Sisters and Saviors, it's also tackled a little humorously. Andromeda let's a little comment slip while they're in the middle of trying to heal Hermione. Something funny, something that suggests Andromeda and Bella, when they were children, have always wondered why Narcissa is blonde unlike them.

The first words spoken occurred after they’d risen and attempted their casting. Andromeda’s preparedness to take on their task had been clear in her mind so Narcissa rose with her sister, wrapped an arm around her waist and held her near as the woman raised her wand to draw up the rest of the injury she’d dropped, half a slash across Hermione’s hip bone…

That remained half, as Andromeda growled out, “...it isn’t working.” she looked to Narcissa, “Why aren’t you powering me?”

What nonsense? “I am!” she insisted. She was! Or “I- I am trying to!” Her magic was active and alive, pulsing to rise from her skin and transfer into Andromeda’s but it- it wasn’t working! “Could...could it be that you were disowned?”

“Disowning doesn’t take away the fact that we share blood, our magic is directly related. Ugh, Bella always said you were adopted!”

“Oh ha- oh.”

“...oh?” Andromeda returned.

“...it’s not an issue of power. It is what I intend to aid in casting,” Narcissa slowly worked out. Oh, it was most blessed Mister Goyle could be brought to assist the present Hermione. If her present self had been brought to aid Andromeda? “...I cannot harm Hermione.”

Andromeda sighed with some frustration. “I understand you are so tenderly in love-”

“It isn’t- I’m avowed! I- when we arrived from the future we had to escape Malfoy Manor, I couldn’t bring Hermione through the wards without...I couldn’t add her directly, that would be visible. I had to...attach her permission to mine.”

🔹 In Glass Silence by Zarrene Moss (Menzosarres), which probably gives one of the most interesting backstories for Narcissa's hair, for why it's blonde. I can't put a clip of the scene here without hogging up a huge chunk of space on your dash, so I'll try to explain it as best I can instead.

Understand that these come with serious 🛑spoilers🛑 so please do read it at your own risk.

In Glass Silence, Narcissa's hair and eye color was black at birth. But after an accident with raw magic, something Bellatrix wasn't able to control when they were children, Narcissa almost dies. Bellatrix, using even more raw magic, tries desperately to pull Narcissa's "life force" back, but at the cost of losing the eumelanin that made Narcissa's eyes and hair black. Narcissa survived, but now has very little eumelanin left, which is why she's so pale, blonde, and has blue eyes. Every time Narcissa looks at a mirror, her reflection is a reminder of the day she almost died. Bella, on the other hand, is reminded of that day every single time she looks at Narcissa.

So! These are only a few fanfictions I could think of at the top of my head that tackles the issue of Narcissa's hair. In the books, to my knowledge, she is described as having blonde hair and very pale skin.

But let's take another deep dive, if you're up for it.

These are mostly theories, which are largely unconfirmed, but I think they're interesting to think about.

There's this description in the wiki:

"Narcissa Malfoy is described as tall, slim, "nice looking", and very pale, with blue eyes, long blonde hair, and a clear, cold voice. Her hair colouring thus differs from most of the House of Black, who generally have dark hair, though Narcissa does possess the arrogant good looks characteristic of her family."

There's also this pinterest photo of the Black sisters being compared to each other side by side, descriptively and physically. I'm so sorry, I don't know who drew it, but here's a link to the post on pinterest.

"Narcissa threw back her hood. She was so pale she seemed to shine in the darkness... long blonde hair streaming down her back."

Which is interesting because this hints that she's... different. It's a bit literal in this sense--she comes from a pureblood family, arguably the most influential and notorious one, the Blacks, who mostly have dark hair and eyes, and yet her physical appearance directly contrast that. There's also the matter of her namesake. She's the only Black to be named after a flower instead of a galaxy or a star. We aren't really given any explanation why she's the only one who's different. Even Sirius, who fought and died for the side of the Light, is named after the brightest star in the sky. Even Andromeda. It's been said that this is actually meant to be a parallel of some sort to Lily Evans. Narcissa and Lily are both named after flowers, even Petunia (Lily's sister). And I know there's this thing where it's a tie up to how Harry was ultimately saved by a mother's love: Harry lived at the beginning because of his mother's love, and Harry lives once again at the end of the books because Narcissa, a mother who wanted to save her own son, saved him.

If you read that scene in the books where Harry is saved by Narcissa, the whole scene is actually... pretty soft? There's that sort of disarming softness about Narcissa in that moment, where Harry expected to be callously dragged and prodded for a heartbeat. Instead, he gets a surprisingly gentle touch, a curtain of long blonde hair shielding him from the darkness, and the kind of tenderness he wouldn't expect from his enemies, "Is Draco alive?"

It's almost like Narcissa's appearance is something of a "tell". With Andromeda, she's described to have kind eyes, open, unguarded. She inherited her family's dark eyes and dark hair, and she even looks like Bellatrix's twin. I suppose we could say, Andromeda wants to fight that in any way she can by being openly kind. Narcissa is quite literally the opposite--guarded eyes, stoic expressions, cool and calculated emotions. We're veering into this fine line between fanon and canon in terms of their characterization (but only due to lack of canon materials) but personally, I think Narcissa having blonde hair and blue eyes is somewhat more fitting for her character. Again, this line:

"Narcissa threw back her hood. She was so pale she seemed to shine in the darkness... long blonde hair streaming down her back."

It's like that one glaringly obvious hint that everyone overlooks simply because... because it's the most obvious one. "Me! I'm different! I'm the last person you'd expect, but it really is me!"

Anyway. I've rambled on long enough. Hope this clears up some of that confusion, anon. Hoping it didn't ADD even more confusion... 😂 At the end of the day, this is just me speculating, gushing, and being One Big Fool™. So.

But either way, blonde hair, dark hair, mix of both, I adore her. Pretty much.

[doubledgesword-2]

Hello lovely! How pe you’re having a nice weekend!💕

I saw that your requests are open and I was wondering if I could request a head cannon or Drabble of adult trip with a blind darling??

Hope you have a nice day!💕✨

Aww yeeesh! I did have a lovely day and a nice weekend, thank you so much! Here's your nice cup of Rose tea hon, enjoy it!

WARNING TOOTH ROTTING FLUFF AND A LIL BIT OF OOC! ENJOY!

Chrollo

Whether you were born like this or you had an accident that took your sight, it doesn't matter; Chrollo would do everything for you.

And when I say everything, I mean every little thing, from guiding you around the room to bathing you or showering with you to help. 

"Chrollo, I can do it; you don't have to worry" you chuckle nervously as his hand gently scrub your arm; you feel his fingers gently rub the soap on your shoulder, and you're hoping he can't see you blush. 

"Hush, dear, and let me love you" he kisses your shoulder, and you shudder at the feeling of his warm lips against your skin. 

When you casually ask how the clouds look like or what color is the ocean, or what color are the trees this time of the year, his eyes tear up a bit. He looks at you with a drunk love look and a warm smile.

 You're so perfect for him, because him being a romantic, this is the perfect time to be poetic. 

He will find an object that's very soft and very fluffy in texture; his hand will take yours and slowly drag it through the material so you can feel every single fiber of it. 

"That's how clouds are like, love. This time of year, the trees are red, and that's like cinnamon, and the ocean is blue, and aqua and those are like salty blueberries." 

"Ewww!" You laughed, and he chuckled, still holding your hand in his. This moment was a real treasure for him.  

"May I see how You look like?" He immediately tears up. This boi is low key the most sentimental in situations like these ones. He can't help but be overwhelmed. Sure he's a thief, but he's a humble one, albeit unfair on occasions but never with you. 

Chrollo takes your hands and places them on his cheek. Your fingers feel so soft on his skin, almost like you're afraid to damage him. They glide over his nose, feeling how it arches, over his eyebrows and his eyelids. 

Then they pass over the cross on his forehead into his hair, caressing it until your arms are looped around his neck and you hug him close, your ear on his chest listening to his racing heartbeat. 

"You have a strong heart" You can't see how his cheeks are tinted pink or how his breathing has picked up because, dammit, you're amazing at getting these kinds of reactions out of him. 

He will read to you, even though you have learned Braille. He wants you to be drunk on his voice and the passionate way he makes the story's impressions. 

No one, and I mean no one, is allowed to begin a demeaning sentence towards you or some comment about your blindness that makes you uncomfortable. He will shut them up with one look and the flare of his aura.  

When you guys go out, he insists on guiding you even though sometimes you have held him back before a car could run him over because he was too focused on taking care of you. He didn't see the vehicle coming. Ironic. 

"That was a close one, don't you think?" He kissed the crown of your head, holding you close as the two of you kept walking to your destination. "Now, do you believe I can take care of myself?"

"We'll see," he chuckles. 

Illumi 

Your encounter with Illumi is always a tale to tell. 

You see, you were at a coffee shop, drinking your favorite drink and eating a nice treat/pastry when he passed you by dropping one of his pins in the process. He had been so tired and beat that he didn't even notice. First one right there. 

"Excuse me, sir," You bend over and felt for the big round top of the pin until your fingers grasped it and held it tight, minding the other pointy side. "You dropped this" Illumi doesn't say anything in acknowledgment. He simply extends his hand to you. 

But you are not giving him the pin, and this annoys him so much. Then his eyes look up to yours. They are blueish but glazed over and almost white. You're blind. Illumi reaches for your hand, startling you for a quick second, but he picks the pin and lets go. 

"Is this seat taken?" He asks suddenly, and you smile towards his voice.

"Go right ahead." 

That day Illumi was so intrigued by you that he couldn't help but stalk you a bit, you know, for research purposes in case he ever finds an opponent like you. 

But it turns into so much more.

 He meets you every day he can, no matter where he goes with you. He makes no effort to help you, though, and don't expect him to do so. He appreciates you too much, and in his mind, you're like a wild cardinal, and if he were to help you, it's like putting you in a cage. Once he lets you free again, you won't know how to survive on your own. 

He wants you free. He loves you free. 

But that doesn't mean he won't be there for you or step in when circumstances are far too grave for you to handle. 

"Llumi, how does the sky look today?" 

"Gray. It's going to rain" his response makes you chuckle; you have never seen gray, but his honesty makes you smile. You outgrew your frustrations about this situation a long time ago. 

"Can we stay to feel the rain? I want to smell the petrichor once it's over" Illumi looks at you with the same expression he gives everyone. He knows you might catch a cold standing in the rain; he doesn't understand why all you said would be relevant. But then he reminds himself, he has taken for granted all of these things because he can see them. 

"Only a couple of minutes once its starts. If it gets bad, we'll go inside. You can smell the petrichor afterward" he holds your hand, and you two sit there on the park bench. 

Illumi doesn't get cuddly or lovey-dovey with you. Still, he will allow himself moments where he can't help but admire you and be grateful for having you in his life. He will never say that. Ever. But he'll think it.

One time he entered your apartment and found you sitting on the rug in the living room, reading Braile. 

"Illumi is so nice to hear you today. How was your day?" He's always impressed by your ability to sense him. When he asked once how you could recognize him if he was so quiet, you said you could feel his presence in the room since it was calming to you even when he tried to conceal himself. This melted his heart. 

"What are you reading" He came to sit on the sofa, his legs brushing your arms like a loving gesture. Your hand grabbed his leg, squeezing him in recognition, and then went back to the book. 

"Would you like me to read it to you?"

"Yes," It was a lovely evening that day. 

Just like Chrollo, he's very protective of you since his line work makes him kind of famous, some people are bound to have seen you and try to get to you to get to him, and this is where Illumi draws the line. 

Rest assured, no one will touch a single hair on your head if he has his way. The beginning of his bloodlust alone is enough to make everyone panic and turn away.

"Illumi, hon is alright, I'm here, I'm right here. Look at me" you would open the curtain of his luscious hair to hold his face and make him look at you. "I'm fine, see?" 

"They are not worth it," he says after holding you close to him. He'll kill them later. 

Hisoka 

This little shit will always be a little shit, in this case, a loving and understanding one, but still, the point remains. 

You bumped into him on the streets, and the minute it happened, it annoyed him so much. He was in the process of turning and giving you your dues when he noticed you had actually stopped and been grabbing his wrist. 

"I apologize, I'm so sorry" you're not looking at him, and that annoys him even further. 

That's until he notices your vacant look and your body language. You may not be looking at him, but your whole body is poised to listen. Listen to him. 

"Are you blind?" He blurts out but not really; his smirk says it was intentional.

"All my life, sir," you chuckle, letting his wrist go and leaning a bit on your white cane. 

This makes him giggle, and he invites you for a coffee if you're available.

The rest after that marks your relationship. 

Hisoka behaves like a child whenever he's around you. He hides his presence to try and scare you, but you can always sense him. You can even imagine him pouting as you find him and poke him with your cane. 

"Not fair, little fruit." 

"You smell like bubble gum, hon," you chuckle, bringing him down to kiss his cheek. 

He holds you close and loves when you let yourself go and depend on him a little.

 Lke him cooking for you, doing some chores around the house (He doesn't have to, and you tell him that, but he just says you'll have to reward him later), and the two of you baking together—with him covering you in flour as much as he can without you noticing.

"Soka, I know my cheeks and forehead are white; you are a terrible boyfriend, love."

"Mmmmm, so mean, (Y/N)-chan" He kissed you as he puts more flour on your nose. 

Hisoka knows he has to leave for extended periods since he can't stay put in one place plus his job. But will always call you and answer your phone calls no matter if he's fighting with someone at the moment.

 "My precious darling, I *grunts* I'm in the middle of breaking someone's arm at the moment *huffs* can I call you later, love?" You cringe at the sound of the bone-breaking over the phone but chuckle slightly at his antics.

"Yes, you can, Be safe" oh, oh, oh he loves your concern for him. It just makes him moan obscenely in the middle of the fight, making his opponent disgruntled and allowing him to finish them off.

"On second thought, dear, we can talk right now. I'm currently free." 

He will bring you stuff from his travels and jobs, all with different textures and pleasant smells so you can experience them. 

Now this, this is the moment of truth. While you're distracted touching everything he brought, he takes away his texture surprise. Suddenly he lifts your hand to touch his hair, then his face and arms. 

"How does this one feels, mmm?" He hides the fact that he's nervous by being playful, but you can feel him being stiff. 

"It feels soft," then your fingers gingerly brush a big scar over his chest "it feels like no matter what, I love you. Like you can trust me with each one of these" 

He won't admit it, but it's nice that you can't tease him for his blushing cheeks and aghast expression. But he chuckles to alleviate the lump in his throat as he takes your hands in his and pulls you in for a hug. 

When the two of you go out, he's always holding your hand, or you're holding his arm. He has convinced you to not use your white cane while walking with him. He'll be your eyes. 

The moment someone bumps into you…

"Hey, watch where you're going, woman!" 

"Oh, so, so sorry, sir," you apologize, and Hisoka is smiling at the man. 

"Yeah, you better be" 

"Little fruit, do you want to know how fluttering butterflies feel?" As he says so, your face is tickled by a lot of fluttering little wings, and the experience mutes the man's screaming as he Hisoka gently drags you away. 

[avintagekiss24]

day with destiny | b. barnes

→ pairing: aristocrat!bucky barnes x aristocrat!black!reader

→ word count: 3000

→ warnings: 18+ ONLY, smut, sex, biting kink

→ challenge: @cockslut-padalecki​ not my ninth

trope: aristocratic society

song prompt: crush by jennifer paige

→ square filled: @star-spangled-bingo​ 2021

g5: clothed sex

→ author note: i was finally able to reign myself in with these word counts, lol. i saw this gif of baby faced sebastian and couldn’t help myself. he looks like a little shit, but look at those pink lips… anyway, these are modern!aristocrats. lyrics to crush aren’t obvious (except for one line at the very end), but worked into the dialogue. i have no idea who made the gif, i got it from google. i also have no idea who made this divider, as i also got it from the google.

Blue eyes peer over at you from across the table, the gaze searing into the side of your face. A smile tugs at the corners of your mouth, but you don’t dare cut your eyes— this game is entirely too fun to give in now. Instead, you take a deep breath, pushing your chest out— your tits— shifting roughly in your seat just to make your flesh jiggle, before you release the air slowly.

Cabinet meetings are never fun. Rich, old white men going on and on about their views for the country— your family of course bringing the only sense of color into the society. Some old man yammers on at the front of the room behind the podium. Heads nod, claps ring out at random intervals, loud here here’s filling your ears as you roll your eyes. You don’t have the least bit of interest in any of it as it stands today, but your blue blood, and rank in the family— poised to take over for your dear old daddy in the coming years— requires your presence.

Bucky Barnes is quite the same. Young, bored, and too damn pretty for his own fucking good. You squeeze your legs together abruptly, the images of the last cabinet meeting playing back in your mind. Hot, sticky breath. Reddened, swollen lips— against your ear, sucking on your skin. The salt that exploded on your tongue as he shoved his thumb into your mouth.

You stand quick, clearing your throat— sending a silent message to the youngest Barnes at the long table. A hand grabs your wrist, stopping you as you start to move towards the back of the room, “Mother?”

“This is important, daughter,” she whispers harsh— a warning.

“And so is my bladder, mother.”

She sighs heavily, but releases the grip around your wrist, “Yours and the Barnes boy, apparently.”

Flicking your eyes quickly, you smirk as he pushes his chair underneath the table and starts towards the large doors at the back of the room, rubbing at his chin with his hand, the sunlight glinting off of the rings adorning his long fingers. You watch him as he moves— so easy, so confident— as he runs his hand through his dark, perfectly clipped hair, the Loubotins on his feet clicking softly.

You only drop your eyes when he slips through the door and out of view, “Ten minutes, mother.”

She knows. She knows that you know she knows, but she just sighs again and lets you saunter off without a second glance. Dress dragging behind you, bottom lip sucked between your teeth, heart and blood starting to race as each step draws you closer to your silver tongued foe, lying in wait for you in a random, deserted hallway.

He’s leaned against the wall, gazing out over the city beneath, hands drawn into his pockets. He’s a sight, but he always is, each little brown hair in place, chin and cheeks so clean shaven that a hair wouldn’t even dare sprout. Body lean in that black military jacket, gold medals and hand stitched ribbons hanging from the pockets.

“We have to stop meeting like this,” you smile soft, crossing your arms over your chest, leaning against the very same wall.

Bucky glances over his shoulder, that shit grin he’s such a proud owner of spreading on his face, “Then stop propositioning me.”

You laugh— it’s gentle and soft, the dissonance of your long relationship easily melting away. He finally turns and takes a few steps towards you, extending his hand, tenderly taking your fingers. Those deep, emotional eyes stay on yours as he lifts your hand, lips brushing— glancing ever so lightly over the backs of your delicate, manicured digits. Then he smiles, slow, sweet, teeth sinking into his blushed bottom lip as he blinks just as slow.

He’s a sight, this Bucky Barnes.

Keenly aware of his family’s teetering reputation, hanging on by a mere thread as of late due to his fathers extra curricular proclivities, you can’t help but take a swipe, “I’m surprised you’re family’s allowed back in the building. It got a little tense last time you all were here.”

“It did, didn’t it?” he answers quickly, placing your hand on his shoulder before he pulls you in close— a long arm wrapping your waist, pinning you to him, “I don’t remember much though, as my face was buried in your cunt for most of the meeting.”

Shivers race the length of your spine. He feels it— revels in it— savors it.

Lively brown eyes bounce back and forth between heavy, brewing blues, “You aren’t afraid that the rest of them will move to vote your family out, Lord Barnes?”

“Not in the slightest,” you’re met with a defiant shrug, “I hate this shit.”

“Oh, how original! An aristocrat that hates the god given privilege bestowed upon him.” You sigh, tilting your head towards the ceiling as he nuzzles into your neck, your hands sliding up and over his shoulders, “You’re predictable, Barnes.”

“You’re one to talk about privilege, My Lady.”

“Am I?” You retort quick, quirking an eyebrow.

A brilliant smile is cast upon you, blue irises like gems, sparkling under the light, “Your blood is the richest in the room— the bluest of blue— and you speak with such animosity of mine as if you haven’t prevailed your entire life because of it.”

“Bested by the color of our skin, which has precluded my lineage of its rightful place for years,” you scoff, leaning into him, “It was not privilege that got us here, Lord Barnes,” you whisper, “It was persistence.”

He chuckles against your skin, the vibrations rattling through your body, right to your bones. Hot velvet slips along the curve of the junction between your shoulder and neck before teeth scrape and then sink— tenderly— right into the meat, making you gasp. Hands grip, fingers dig into his opposite shoulder as he nips and nibbles.

“You’ll lose everything,” you breathe, heavy, languid as his mouth, his tongue, his lips move to your jaw, your chin, “Your family will be ruined.”

“I’ll be okay,” Bucky hums low, a smile on his face, dark eyelashes splashed over his pink tinged cheeks. His long fingers play with your lips, prodding gently as he rests his forehead to yours, “With a face like mine baby,” he whispers, that devilish smile painting his red tinted lips, “I was born to marry rich.”

He pushes his leg between yours, spreading them, pushing the meat of his thigh right against your sex— the thin silk of your panties sticking to the balmy, wet flesh. The tips of his fingers flirting with the inside of your calf before pushing up over your knee, skirting up your own ticklish thigh.

Bucky takes pleasure in the honeyed giggle that bubbles in your chest and slips out of your mouth, knowing not just anyone can coax such a genuine reaction from you. Metal fingers push higher— sweeping softly, back and forth, over the powder pink silk panties, discovering the warm wet spot, a white hot fire filling his eyes.

“Will you marry me?”

You grunt some, leaning in, putting full lips right against his ear, “Absolutely not,” the words whispered.

“You sure?” he squints, drawing your face back in front of his, thumbing at your bottom lip, pulling it open, “There’s something in those eyes.”

“Let’s not over analyze, Lord Barnes,” you tisk, slipping a hand between your bodies, cupping his cock— squeezing his heat— with care of course, “Don’t go too deep with it. It’s just—”

“What?” brisk, curt— the words cut off by a feverish, deep kiss. Tongue licking into your mouth, sweeping against the roof— heavy, hot, rushed, desperate for you as he groans, “What is it?”

You pull at his belt, at the button and zipper, hand and fingers sinking into his open pants, pushing through a rough, dark, tuft of wiry hair. He whirrs, strained and broken, body clenching up as your warm palm wraps around him. Long, slow strokes pull more tiny sounds from him— a skilled muscle memory, what he likes, what he doesn’t, what he needs— taking over.

A sweet kiss, soft and quick, is pressed against his cheek, your lips against his ear once more, “It’s just a little crush, Bucky. Just some little thing that raises my adrenaline when I need a shot.” His cock jumps in your hand, a quick hiss and stunted grunt filling your ears as you lick your lips, “Don’t make too much of it.”

Bucky grabs your face, squeezing your cheeks hard, puckering your lips before he kisses you feverishly again. The cool metal digits grab your neck, a soft pressure constricting the muscles as he pushes you back, back against the window— using his body to crush you to it.

The smack of his lips disconnecting from yours ricochets off the walls, filling the small hallway. He licks your lips, dragging his tongue from your chin right to the tip of your nose as he anchors your leg on his hip. Hot flesh fingers slip up your thigh, pulling your panties to the side, the cool air sending a shock to the wet, delicate flesh of you. He sucks that bottom lip back between his perfect teeth, tilting his head back slightly to peer at you through those long, dark eyelashes.

You mimic him. Tilt your head back on the glass, sink your teeth into your swollen lip, hand still stroking him slow, wetting the pads of your fingers with his silk. His hips rock soft into your palm as you sweep your fingers over his tip before dragging back down his length, gripping him firm. With a quick blink, you’re staring at him— angry, thick, throbbing in your hand. A bead bubbles out, spills right over, a long string hanging from his reddened tip before his cock twitches again— leaving you breathless. Knees almost buckling. Mouth going dry as your lungs struggle to fill.

“Come on, baby,” Bucky purrs, goading you as you push his cock through your folds, rolling your hips, teasing your waiting slit with his tip.

Surprise sweeps through you when frankly, it shouldn’t as you sink down on him. The muscle memory of your hands don’t translate to the muscles of your cunt— his size, how much you have to spread to accommodate him, like a revelation each and every time. Bucky almost never rushes it, and neither do you, like it’s something new every time.

But it isn’t, no no, it’s ancient for the two of you. Connecting like this in long, skinny hallways, cramped closets, old hotel rooms under the mask of darkness. The muffled sounds of your sex as you try and ultimately fail to keep quiet, filling the abandoned spaces— bringing life to them again.

Loneliness often fills your chest if you go too long without it.

Bucky is buried to the hilt in you now— rooted deep in the tightest, hottest space of your body. He takes a minute, pushing his hips, wiggling— adjusting— before he pulls out slow. All the way, cock bouncing as soon as it breaks the threshold. He doesn’t wait long though. Nope. He’s back inside of you within seconds with a slam of his hips, pushing you up the window. Pulling a squeak and a rush of air from you.

Those red lips of his part, his heavy tongue pushing out to slip along his bottom lip as his eyelids drop, covering the blue you’ve come to enjoy. You can’t help but reach out, place your warm palms and fingers on his blushed cheeks, tracing his nose before they prod at his bottom lip, the tips just sinking into that wet mouth. He draws long breaths, exhales them all over your face as he starts to move.

You let the rhythm carry you away. Up into the clouds as your head rolls to the side, hands fall to his chest and around his neck. Tits bounce with each shove, starting to spill over and fall out of the square shaped neckline of your intricate dress. Hair starts to fall out of place, heat rises in your cheeks, desperate little wet noises beseeching him.

Bucky’s a good fuck. Ever the playboy, never thinking twice of an encounter until— well, you, as he so softly put it one night in one of those dark, old hotel rooms while you both dressed. There’s a filth to it. The way he toys with you. Speeding up suddenly— skin slapping, echoing down the hall— and then, without warning or hesitation, slows down. Down to nothing almost. Soft pulses of his hips, just enough to drive you mad. To make you beg him for more.

To make you weak. To keep you coming back.

That’s how he is now. Barely moving, wanting you to squirm. Two big eyes, pupils blown stare up at you. Mouth agape, the smallest little curve on them. He wants you to beg. To tell him just how much— “Bucky,”

“Yes?” he shoves hard, pushing deep, “My Lady?”

“Please,” there it is, the beg— the want, “Please, Bucky.”

So, the filth is back. Yeah, it’s a little dirty how he grips your thigh, hard, nails digging and scratching into the meat of it. How he licks into your mouth and bites your lips before shoving that metal hand into your neckline, palming the delicate mound of flesh beneath. A brown nipple is soon exposed, tight and hard, after a quick tug of his hand yanks your dress down. It disappears again within a flash, right into his mouth, tongue circling.

An arch curves your spine when he sucks, a deep, low, stressed grunt sounding from somewhere deep in your chest. Your lips pucker, forming an o as you breathe heavy, then gasp quick before digging your teeth into your bottom lip and inhaling sharp. An already tight grip on his bicep and left shoulder constricts even more as he really picks up the pace, desperate and feverish his hips, tongue slipping into your cleavage.

There’s nothing but sounds and sensations— the squelch and squeak of his cock stuffing you, your stiletto slipping off the foot that’s hooked around his waist and thudding against the floor. The gold medals pinned to his military jacket bouncing soft against the thick material. His metal fingers tapping against the windows as he holds his weight.

Flashes of heat ripple through your body— muscles tensing and straining, cunt clenching, clamping. Fists balling. Stomach and head twirling as he gives you his best. And God, do you appreciate his effort.

The fuse proves to be short on this crisp winter day. A coil that had no chance of staying intact snaps earlier than you expect, body tightening hard, nearly freezing you in place the second before you start to come. Crying out— no shame, no sense of care if anyone hears— you just let it take over. Let him drive it home, hips snapping against yours, jutting, thrusting, pushing and pulling, sending you higher and higher.

Goosebumps on your skin. Heartbeat in your ears. A white hot flash, nearly blinding— it’s just that good. Metal fingers sink between your legs, playing with your clit, enticing it further as it spasms— wanting to feel every last bit of what your body has to offer.

Bucky hammers away, until he can’t. You’re just too sweet— too warm and wet and inviting. He’s painting your insides white within minutes, hot, quick shots of silk, filling you up, and then spilling back out. His head falls heavy to your chest as the last digs of his hips work themselves out, lips sticking to your damp, exposed skin.

You wrap him up, hands and fingers splaying out on his back, holding him tight and close as he empties and stills. Then, the two of you just breathe. Let the day, the room full of people, your families, your duties, just fade away. It’s just you and Bucky and that cool window against your overly warm skin.

It breaks— the moment. Just as it always does. Your body becomes empty as he tucks back into his pants. No longer pinned to the window, you bend to replace your shoe, pull at your dress. Bucky runs his thick fingers through his dark hair, you picking and smoothing at your own.

Stepping off after a few sobering moments without so much as a look or a smile, you're caught, a tight hand around your wrist, pulling you back. You crash into his chest, crash against his lips in one last, deep, sweeping kiss. One that once he pulls away, your eyes stay closed, lips stay puckered.

“You sure you won’t marry me?”

You know that if he asks one more time, your resolve will fizzle— and you will, “Very sure.”

A lopsided grin covers his mouth as he tilts his head, “Just a pesky little crush, huh?”

“There’s no vision of you and me quite yet, Lord Barnes,” you sigh, turning away and stepping  down the hall, “You just pray that I don’t decide to join the rest of the party and vote you out.”

“Make sure you keep a copy of your vote for me. I’ll want to frame it.”

You throw him a quick glance, “And why would you do something like that?”

“So I can show our children just how mean mommy was to daddy before we got married,” he starts, buttoning up his jacket. He kisses the pads of his fingers and blows on them lightly, sending you a kiss, “I have white picket fences in my eyes.”

Without another word, he spins on his heel and takes off in the opposite direction. A hum vibrates in your throat. The sounds of your heels and his shoes slap against the walls as the two of you walk away from each other.

It doesn’t take a scientist to understand what’s going on, baby.