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babyleostuff · 1 month

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── OLYMPICS MASTERLIST

[🛹] DISCIPLINE: SKATEBOARDING

GENRE: fluff, strangers to lovers(ish), introverted reader, vernon being the greenest flag of them all PAIRING: skateboarder!vernon x athlete!fem reader WARNINGS: explicit language and a couple of sexist comments WORD COUNT: 3.1 k

“not the anti-sex beds again,” katie groaned, like it was the end of the world.

rolling your eyes, you threw your duffle bags on the bed next to the window. though, as dramatic as she could get sometimes, and as much as you couldn’t wait for the games to begin - you were not looking towards sleeping on the cardboard monstrosities. the amount of massages you had to get four years ago because of them was not something you’d like to go through again.

“it’s not like you’re going to have sex anyway,” sam nudged katie with her shoulder and threw her own stuff on the bed next to yours.

“i’m not talking about myself, stupid,” katie said. “our friend over here,” she put her arms around you and squeezed your shoulders, “needs to get laid. she almost managed to bang that rugby dude the last time, and i can feel it in my bones,” she took a deep breath, ”she’s going to succeed this year.”

you tried shoving her away, as sam erupted in a loud laugh.

“hah hah, very funny,” you mumbled, and flicked katie’s forehead. “i’m here to win medals, not to find a hookup.”

“mhm, sure,” sam said. “we’ll see about that.”

the next morning you stood up with the first rays of sunshine, a lot earlier than most people in the village, with a plan to make the most of your only day off before the eliminations. it’d get crowded quickly, so you figured it’d be nice to soak in the surroundings without hundreds of people bumping into each other. you didn’t bother to wake the girls up - you were eternally grateful you could share this amazing adventure with them, but you needed some time alone.

besides, there was a 99% probability that sam would skin you alive if you tried cutting her beauty sleep short.

before leaving the building, you managed, to your delight, to find the gym and the swimming pool, which surely would become really handy in a couple of days. then, you found a small farmacy a couple of blocks away, and a post office where you took a couple of pictures in a photobooth and wrote short letters to your friends at home, before throwing them into the mailbox.

though the streets were starting to get busier and busier, because well - the athletes, their trainers, the volunteers, staff - everyone wanted to see what this year’s host had to offer, it was still pleasantly peaceful, and you could enjoy your time alone to the fullest. and apart from the cardboard beds, the village was so nice. the purple colours especially.

just as you turned around the corner of south korea’s apartment complex, you felt and heard your tummy rumble, and thatwas your cue to find the dining hall. fortunately, it didn’t take you long. apart from the big ass signs with “dining hall”written all over them, most people that you passed were walking in one direction, which could only mean one thing.

after a short while, you entered the big room, all purple and pretty, already filled with hundreds of athletes and staff.

scanning around the huge hall, you tried looking for someone, anyone you knew, but to no avail. most of the tables were already taken, but somehow, to your misfortune, none of them were taken by anyone from your country. you sighed and twisted the pendant hanging around your neck, trying to distract yourself from the fact that you’d be forced to sit at a table with people you did not know.

there went your peaceful morning.

without wasting more time, and before you’d completely spiral over the lack of familiar faces, you picked up a plate and cutlery and made your way to the queue for food, standing behind two chinese athletes.

the line moved slowly, but you didn’t mind. as much as you weren’t particularly overjoyed with the loud noise and chaos, it was nice to do some people-watching. the different races, heights and widths, cultures, languages - all within one building - that had to be one of your favourite things about olympics.

“isn’t that the chick kyle fucked last time?” suddenly a male voice pulled you out of your thoughts, as if your brain knew that the comment was direct to you. drowning out the noise around you, you tried your best to focus on the people behind you.

“he didn’t fuck her, she ran away the second he touched her tits,” another guy said. “fucking prude,” he snickered.

you felt your cheeks heat up - in embarrassment because you were right there, and they knew you could hear them, but also in anger because what they were saying was just not true.

“i told him to go for the track runner, she had a better ass anyways,” the first guy said, as the other laughed.

comments like these were nothing new. men like these were nothing new, but it didn’t make the ache in your chest any less painful. worst part was that you’d let them, you wouldn’t stop them - you couldn’t. anytime you tried standing up for yourself you felt at loss for words, your throat closed up, and your mind went blank.

“excuse me, guys,” a new voice joined in. “the last time i checked this was the olympics, not who has a better ass competition.”

you didn’t have the nerve to turn around to see who that new voice belonged to. you just clenched and unclenched your fists, trying to control your breathing.

“also if i may suggest one thing-,”

“you may not-,”

“you may want to check out your own ass… or the lack of it,” you could hear the smile in his voice.

the two guys grumbled something and left the line, but not before one of them bumped into you with too much force for it to be just an accident. muttering a curse under your breath, you massaged your slightly sore arm and prayed to whatever force for the two fuckers not to pass their eliminations.

“are you okay?” you could feel the guy's breath on your neck.

fuck, now you had no other choice but to acknowledge what had just happened. if it was up to you, you’d happily skip breakfast and run back to your room. who would’ve thought that the cardboard bed would be the equivalent of a safe haven.

“uh,” you took a shaky inhale, “i’m okay.”

“just turn around, smile politely, thank for the help, and move on,” you thought. but as you did that, your eyes went wide, and your breath hitched in your throat.

you found a set of hazel brown eyes looking at you with curiosity and a tad of softness as if asking a silent question if you were really okay, a kind smile that managed to calm your pounding heart on its own, and cheeks dusted in a light shade of pink as if he had just finished his morning run. the guy couldn’t be much older than you and was the perfect height. you didn’t have to tilt your head in an uncomfortable way to look him in the eye, and he didn’t have to look down at you as if you were a dwarf.

his dark brown hair was hidden under a beanie, and despite the oversized shirt and shorts, you could make out his lean build, which made him stand out from the other bulky men around. you quickly figured he was part of the us team by his outfit, but you couldn’t rack your brains around what type of sport he could be doing.

he looked so… laid back compared to everyone around.

“are you sure?” he asked, his gaze still attentive to you and you only.

you nodded your head. “sorry you had to listen to that,” you said.

“i’m sorry you had to listen to that,” the guy muttered. “you know those dudes are total douchebags, right?” annoyance flashed across his face for a second, “people like them shouldn’t even be here and-,”

“it’s okay, really,” you said with a stern voice, cutting him short. grateful - that’s what you were - and it was really nice of him to stand up for you, but you couldn’t shake off the feeling that he saw you as nothing more than a weakling that couldn’t even stand up for herself. and that had to be more embarrassing than the comments.

he must’ve noticed your sour expression, because he quickly said, “i didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“you didn’t, i… i’m sorry for snapping at you,” god, you really messed this up. this gorgeous boy just saved your ass from getting harassed, and you were acting like an ungrateful bitch. “i’m just not the best at dealing with… whatever that was,” you cleared your throat. “but thank you, it was really kind of you, and you didn’t really have to say anything, but-,”

“but i would’ve been the biggest asshole if i hadn’t said anything,” he chuckled, amusement sparkling in his eyes. “i couldn’t just let those two fuckers say those things about you. about anyone for that matter. what kind of person would that make me?”

you nodded, though if you had to be real - you were too distracted by his eyes to focus on what he was saying.

“okay, that sounded so pretentious,” he said, frowning, as if cringing at his own words. you couldn’t help but giggle at his expression. he looked really adorable despite his disgusted look.

and that didn’t mean anything good. you knew yourself, and you knew how easily it was for you to fall for a person that showed you an ounce of kindness, even if they did it just because they were a good person. and that was probably what was happening now - he saw you getting harassed, he stepped in, said a couple of words, and that would be it.

but you. you’d think about this for the rest of the olympics. about his teasing voice, the slightly curly hair coming out of his beanie, the fact that you’d never know what kind of athlete he was. the freaking hazel eyes.

“i’m vernon, by the way,” he, or vernon, extended his hand.

you cringed at the thought of your sweaty palms, still closed in fists. and it wasn’t like you could wipe them right in front of him. now that would just send you straight into a coma. but you took it anyway, it couldn’t get worse than the comments about your flat ass, you figured. and if he noticed he didn’t say anything, just smiled and nodded when you told him your name.

“so, do you have any plans for today?” he asked, letting go of your hand way too soon for your liking.

“i was planning on eating breakfast, but…,” you shrugged.

“well, i might have an idea then,” he said, a proud smile on his face. “have you ever tried skateboarding?”

…

you did not think this through.

trying to skate on a wooden board with four wheels sounded kind of appealing at the moment, but now - now that you were about to actually stand on it? huh yeah, you’d rather stick to keeping your own two feet on the ground.

“it’s not going to kill you, you know?” vernon laughed, as you looked at the board in front of you with pure horror. there was no way anyone could survive skating on that thing, let alone doing tricks and flips or whatever they did with that torture device.

“just,” he pulled the board closer to you with his foot, “lean your weight on me first and i’m going to hold you, just so you can get comfortable standing on it,” he said, as if it was the easiest thing in the world.

would he think you were a complete loser if you ran away? maybe you could blame it on a sudden stomach bug or something.

“mhm, yeah,” you breathed, grabbing his extended hand. “easy peasy.”

luckly for you, the skatepark was still relatively empty since most of the village was trying to fight others in the queue for food, so the chance of you skating into someone by accident was almost non existent. but that did not change the fact that you were on the verge of a panic attack. why did you say yes to this? why did you step out of your comfort zone so easily? comfort zone was good - you loved your comfort zone. that was what kept you safe from agreeing to skateboarding on a whim.

but it was so easy to say yes when vernon looked at you with so much kindness. you just weren’t able to decline - there was something about him that put you at ease, whether it was his voice or mannerisms - he oozed with so much calmness that even your erratic heart was screaming “say yes!”

“put your right foot in front of the left one,” he said, still grasping your hand tightly. “and keep your knees bent, it’ll help with keeping your balance.”

you watched him as he showed you how you were supposed to stand correctly, and tried to mirror his stance the best you could.

“that’s perfect,” vernon said with a bright smile, as if you just won the gold medal for not falling off the board on the first occasion. “told you you’d do a great job.”

“this is ridiculous,” you muttered, as your legs wobbled. “i’m looking worse than a baby trying to walk.”

he rolled his eyes and sighed dramatically, making you giggle. “i love your form of self motivation. now,” still holding onto you, vernon walked around the board, “uh, is it okay if i put my hand on your waist?” he asked, and your heart skipped a beat.

usually, you’d immediately say no, but… there was nothing usual about vernon as it turned out. if this was your day of breaking your walls then so be it. you nodded in agreement. “try to put your left foot on the ground and push yourself forward,” he said.

your thin t-shirt did nothing to conceal the warmth coming from vernon’s hand, but somehow, instead of making you more nervous, it only calmed your wobbling feet and shaking hands, grounding you on the board, making it less scary by the second. you’d never met anyone before who had been so gentle with you, so patient and understanding so quickly.

“like this?” you took your left foot off the skateboard, but before it could reach the ground you wobbled backwards. “vernon!” you shrieked, ready to fall ass first on the asphalt, but that never happened. your back met his solid chest before you could move more than an inch.

“‘s okay,” he said, gripping your waist tighter. “i’m right here.”

you breathed a sigh of relief. “i don’t think this is a good idea,” you looked over your shoulder at him. “what if i break your board?”

“i have ten others,” he stated as a matter of fact, not bothered at all even if you actually broke his board. “try again, i’ve got you.”

the next try went a little bit better, at least you managed to put your foot down without bumping into him again.

“okay, now push yourself forward.”

“just… don’t let go, okay?”

“i won’t,” vernon said. you could feel him so close to you, his breath creeping down your neck. “i won’t.”

you never thought you’d feel so accomplished by such a simple thing, you were a gold winning athlete for god’s sake, but when you finally moved, when the board skated forward and you were still standing on it - you felt a flicker of pride settle in your chest.

“that’s it,” vernon said, giving your hand a squeeze. “you’re doing great. try doing that again.”

and so you did just that. you pushed yourself forward, again and again, until your feet weren’t wobbling at all, and your moves were getting more confident.

“i’m doing it, i’m…,” you laughed, “vernon, i’m skateboarding,” you said, pushing once more.

“yes, you are!”

wait. why was his voice so distant?

that’s when you realised you couldn’t feel his hand on your waist anymore, nor were your fingers intertwined with his.

“vernon?” you asked, alarmed.

“just don’t turn around-,”

but it was too late. you took a look behind you to see vernon standing a couple of metres behind you, and that was enough to lose all of the balance, all of the control.

“shit,” you heard him scream, right before you closed your eyes shut, readying yourself for the impact.

the board flew forward as you slipped backwards, your hands flying to your slides trying to hold onto something. but there was nothing, just air.

but then - the strong grip, the warm embrace, the hands that you trusted so much - you could feel him all around you. no pain, no broken bones - just vernon.

“shit, i’m so sorry,” he said, still holding onto you. “i shouldn’t have let you go.”

gently, he helped you sit on the ground, his eyes scanning all over your body, looking for any injuries.

“it’s fine, i just panicked,” you said, and put your hand on his shoulder, pulling his gaze back to your eyes. “seriously, it was actually quite fun.”

at that, vernon’s expression softened a bit, and after a second he even flashed you a smile.

“that’s good, that’s…,” he exhaled. “that’s a lot for one morning i think.”

you laughed, and shook your head. “yeah, i think you’re right. but you know,” you looked over at the board that was still rolling on its own. “i think i’ll stick to watching you skate. i don’t think i’m built for this.”

his body shook with a silent giggle. “i’m still proud of you.”

“thank you,” you said quietly. and you truly meant it - not only for catching you, or trying to teach you how to skate - but for standing up for you when he could just ignore it and move on with his day, for pulling you out of your little safe bubble. that thank you meant a lot of things and you hoped that vernon knew that.

“were you serious, though?”

you frowned, not really sure what he ment.

“that you want to watch me skate?”.

any other day you’d say no, but…

“yes. i’d really love to.”

a beautiful smile bloomed on vernon’s face, and you knew right there and then that the feeling of gratitude was forming into something more than just that.

“my eliminations are in two days, uh and maybe, only if you want, you could come?”

you nodded eagerly. at this point you weren’t sure you were able to tell this man no at all.

and you couldn’t wait to see where that would get you.

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lovebvni · 2 months

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repetition (a pick-a-pile)

in honor of my friends kai ( @klxudykai )and nile (who doesn’t want to be tagged), i want to do a little pap! this will be black white and purple themed for them too (their pfp colours)

i know both of them are going through cycles of repeating their actions over and over, and it is hard for them. i know it’s frustrating — hell i hate repetition. but you find peace in it.

this pick-a-pile is just advice for your manifesting and/or shifting journey. there is no real theme, but i asked spirit to bring up something you need to repeat for each pile.

this pap is intuition and shufflemancy-based. i am not using tarot nor cards at all for this. this is also for entertainment purposes. take my words with a grain of salt AND please do not use this as legal or life advice.

now, inhale and exhale. believe in your intuition, and pick a picture.

[1 ; 2

3 ; 4]

pile 1 the spiral.

hi pile 1! here’s confirmation for your pile : cycles, crying, cynical, the letter c (in your name of in the name of your significant other. casey and clark stand out.), puns, clairaudience, crown, clowns, (a lot of words w the letter c jesus christ..), underwater, drowning, sinking, the sea, oceans, water (s), fix your face, black, sexism, activist, reality shifter, cyclones, spirals, “i feel like im not seeing any signs/progress”

well pile one, you could feel like you are stuck in a cycle. just a torpedo and you’re getting hit with the same things over and over. you’re wondering why things aren’t changing, why this won’t end, but it’s because YOU won’t change. this is the harshest i think i have ever been in a pick a card, but you really need to get over yourself. realize you aren’t the person you should be, throw that person away and reinvent yourself. you want a lot in life, and you aren’t going to get it if you don’t decide to change yourself. the universe chose you for a reason, but if you keep having your own pity party, you aren’t gonna get anywhere. stop getting mad when you’re being told the truth. it isn’t there to hurt you. it’s there to help you. the truth is a tool. and as long as you keep ignoring it, you keep hiding from the monster inside your closet, it’s never gonna leave. it’s gonna haunt you. it’s like a negative spirit. lure it out and keep it coming. it is gonna hurt, but it’s worth it.

your required repetition is “continue to listen and change yourself. transformation.”

the waiting season is one where you need to work, don’t keep sulking.

now to interpreting your song, her by poppy. you have been trying to be someone else that you are not, for someone else. the chorus

“I'm getting to know her And all of her anger You won't recognize her If you encountered I'm getting to know her And all of her anger Picked herself up Put her back together”

you need to change and you know it, and you don’t know how. start with your anger, your sadness, a strong emotion and unravel it. unwrap it like a gift. keep pulling to you get to the root of the cause — hold it.. nurture it… and get the mud off it.

see this as a new start, pile one. i love you. you need to know you’re strong, and you can do this. don’t get annoyed, because i know you’ve been told this before. fix your face.

pile 2 ghouls

hello pile 2! here’s confirmation this is your pile!!: fairies, love, purple, green, heart chakra and third eye chakra, shadows, “on a silver platter”, polite, scars, romance, sacred, girl blogger, skull and bones, doja cat, fear of success, screaming, pink, sexuality, white, sensuality, fire and ice, opposites, blood, self sabotage, royalty, alternative, goth, knight, disability, multilingual, this specific dynamic, vampire

simplicity. simplify everything. that’s all spirit is saying. don’t over complicate things. that’s like all spirit is saying u guys 😭😭

they r literally saying clear your mind, just be the person you are meant to be. listen to your intuition, be creative, have love in your heart, even when times are hard, and let emotions flow.

spirit told me your manifestations are actively coming in 😭😭 idek why you’re reading this pac! like there are no notes, nothing else you need to do. just listen to your intuition and be in tune with yourself. god i love this pile bc yall r js so sweet and light hearted — like there’s so much hidden positivity here that’s waiting to come out.

good job on how far you’ve come, and hav fun where you’re going! love you pile 2!

pile 3 — unclear memory

hi pile 3! here’s your confirmation: “even a worm will turn”, disappointment, ditsy, protector, big eyes, proposal, hobbit core, hermitcraft, minecraft, silence, under another’s control, blush, light colours (pastels), resting, new opportunities, distractions, distant, chapell roan, wlw.

you’re over possessive but you cut out your heart. or someone else cut it out. you need to get your priorities straight. there’s so much going on in your brain. they all lead to the same thing, don’t they? like how a spider web meets in the middle.

you’re sad, i can tell, but you won’t let anyone know. you think you’ve done enough, or even too much, but in reality you’ve been distracted. you’re trying to hide your main in overworking. doing too much.

your repeating advice is “get back on track and focus on your morals”.

but dont become some else. become yourself. stop holding grudges. get yourself back.

pile 4 — kisses

hi pile 4! here’s confirmation this is your pile: shadow work, brooklyn nine-nine, wolf pack, furry, july, suicidal but continuing, height difference, jumbled thoughts, flowers, blue and pink, wash off the makeup, ombré, counting crows poem.

this is my dogs favorite song 😭😭

pile four, you have been looking for outer validation when you don’t need it. you’re searching for signs, for love, for confirmation you’re on the right path when you really jay need yourself. you’re putting yourself down and other people/the universe on a pedestal. YOU ARE THE UNIVERSE!! REALIZE THAT!

what you say goes. what you want will happen. and that’s that.

your advice is as follows ; “you need to just rest.”

and i think that’s great advice. sit down and relax. listen to music, meditate, be at peace. work on yourself. try journaling too!! it will help.

thank yall for reading!! <3 i hope this helps someone. finishing this at 5:55 pm btw!!

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nanawritesit · 1 year

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Twice Headcanons: How They Act When They’re Jealous!

Nayeon:

on the outside, she’s completely calm. she gives off such calculated control, you’d never even know she was jealous

however on the inside, she’s having a complete downward spiral

her jealousy just validates the insecurities she already has; that she’s not pretty enough, not smart enough, not cool enough… not good enough for you.

she’ll start overanalyzing everything about her personality until she’s drowning in her own self criticism

all of this introspection makes her grow distant, which is your ONLY sign that something is wrong

the only thing that will snap her out of this is if you sit her down to her and explain in vivid detail how much you love everything about her, and how no one could ever replace her 💞

Jeongyeon:

scarily quiet

doesn’t like feeling threatened, so she gets insecure whenever someone seems to be making you happier than her

will start digging for dirt on whoever seems to be interested in you, doing a full background check

“hey Y/N, did you know they flunked out of college? no? oh, i just heard that through the grape vine.”

gives you a cold glare every time you mention their name

will protectively place a hand on your lower back the whole time you’re out with them

it’s not that she doesn’t trust you, it’s them she doesn’t trust.

if she gets pushed hard enough, she won’t hesitate to call them out on it in front of everyone

“why don’t you find your own girlfriend/boyfriend/ partner instead of chasing after mine? it’s honestly really pathetic.”

Momo:

the opposite of jeongyeon, she’s loud and fiery about her jealousy

not afraid to make a scene whatsoever

it’s kind of hot honestly

won’t hesitate to publicly humiliate someone for coming onto you

“Oh, you thought they were interested in you? That’s cute. Why would they want you when they already have me?”

would get violent if anyone put their hands on you

“get your filthy hands off of them before i break every bone in them.”

will kiss you in public if it makes people stop staring at you, and will smirk at them from across the room afterwards to rub it in their face that she’s the one who gets to kiss you

you would never even think of trying to make her jealous, she would be far too terrifying 😭

Sana:

her? jealous? no, never. jealousy is barbaric and petty, something totally beneath her!

at least… that’s what she tells you

if it’s just some average person, she wouldn’t care and just brush it off

but if it’s someone she perceives as more successful than her, she’ll start getting insecure

she doesn’t like competition, so if someone manages to shake her, she turns a little sour 😙

very passive aggressive

“why don’t you go hang out with them, since you two are so close?”

however, she’s adorable when she’s jealous, and has the cutest little pout… you can’t stop yourself from grabbing her face and kissing her, which 9 times out of 10 makes her feel better

Jihyo:

she doesn’t get jealous very often, she trusts you a lot and knows you wouldn’t run off with someone else just because they showed interest in you

she doesn’t see other people in your life as competition, she’s secure in the fact that she’s the one you chose as your partner

she would pretty much only get upset if she felt that you were blatantly disrespecting your relationship by shamelessly flirting with others

she doesn’t like to be controlling, but there are times when she’ll tell you not to associate with certain people anymore because of how they don’t honor your relationship. it’s not an ultimatum, more of a test to see how much you really care about her

but that’s only in the worst case scenario. most of the time she’s very open about her feelings. she’s not afraid to be vulnerable with you :)

Dahyun:

she doesn’t get jealous too often, but when she does, it can be intense

she doesn’t like coming off as insecure so she tends to keep it to herself

if it starts getting to her, she might start mirroring your actions

you start hanging out with your friends more than her? she can do that too. you have friends of your preferred romantic gender? she has some of those too

it will either go two ways: one, you’ll feel hurt and realize how you’ve been making her feel, and then the behavior will stop on both ends

or two, you’re perfectly fine with what she’s doing, and she realizes her jealousy was silly and lets it go

after this, she would FINALLY feel secure enough to have a talk with you about spending more time together 😑

Mina:

turns into a completely different person

she’s highly competitive, and will immediately double down and turn their little game into a death match

if you don’t seem interested in the other person, she’ll go to extreme lengths to secure your love by making extravagant public displays of affection

that person needs to know that she loves you more than they ever could

however, if you decided to play with her heart and act interested in this person? you’ll surely regret it

she has a ph.d in revenge, and will make you 10x more jealous than you made her 💋

she hates feeling replaced or forgotten, so if you start making her feel that way, she’ll immediately try and flip it back on you before it sinks in.

Chaeyoung:

she’s highly possessive in her relationships. you belong to her, and she belongs to you. that’s the agreement you both made when you made things exclusive

and she’s not likely to stay with someone who doesn’t honor that commitment, so if you think she’ll tolerate you flirting around and playing the field, she won’t 😬

however if you’re not actively trying to make her jealous, she’s way more calm in how she handles things

she won’t lash out on you, but rather explain to you that it bothers her how this person looks at you/ talks to you. that way, if you continue to let it happen, she can’t say she didn’t set clear boundaries with you 😗

Tzuyu:

probably the least jealous member tbh

has a mindset of “if they want to, they will.”

i.e, if you want to cheat on her, you will. then she’ll leave you and move on with her life 💁🏼‍♀️

but obviously you don’t want to, because HELLO you’re dating chou tzuyu???

for real though, she’s super confident in herself, so she doesn’t get threatened easily

if you ever did manage to make her jealous, she’d probably just tell you straight out

and you’d apologize profusely because you’re WHIPPED for this woman as you should be

#girl group imagines #girl group fanfic #girl group scenarios #girl group x reader #twice scenarios #twice fanfic #twice reactions #twice headcanons #twice imagines #nayeon imagines #jeongyeon x reader #momo scenarios #sana x reader #jihyo x reader #dahyun x reader #mina imagines #chaeyoung x reader #tzuyu x reader #twice x reader

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goodeapple · 8 months

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someone could come love me, if somebody knew me (aemond t. pwp o.s.)

AS IT WAS PROMISED, SO SHALL IT BE BESTOWED.

"Aemond has a dragon dick, send tweet."

pairing : Aemond x Ysilla (Rhaenyra'sDaughter!OC)

warnings : Pretty tame I'd say- handjobs, slight oral play, fantasy of exhibitionism, Aemond's dark little mind & his big ole dragon dick.

word count : 3,000+

title from "fue mejor", Kali Uchis & SZA

Ysilla’s line of sight darts to his crotch, peering intensely at the leather holding him in. She stares, gaze unbroken and unbothered, even as he fidgets under her scrutiny.

“Can I see it?”

Her inflection is curious, lacking a lustful lilt and somehow, that makes this all the more humiliating.

“I am not a thing for you to study, wicked girl.” The Dragon Prince snarls. He feels heat pulsate in his face. As if he is a monster, reduced to the oddity of his anatomy instead of the man, the scholar, the fighter he has fashioned himself to be by his own will and his own way. But now, he is nothing but a butterfly pinned in place as strangers pick him apart with a sickened curiosity. The socket of his absent eye aches wildly, a sympathetic partner to the abnormality between his knees.

“Pleaseee, Uncle.” His niece’s pleading compels her to her feet, her fingers lacing together to bring a begging fist under her chin. Her heart-shaped face is cherubic, lips parted in a prayer that Aemond wants to answer with his tongue. Or better yet, his cock. The vision of that, of him feeding every fat inch of his pole downdowndown her throat, until she would choke on him and make sweet tears roll down her cheeks… it seems so real, so well within his limits to make true.

Aemond snorts, tossing her a disdainful look, one he musters from his very tangible dislike for her and those she holds closest.

“Don’t beg, Silli, it doesn’t suit you. I said no- I’m positive you’ve never heard that before, but I’m not your papa.” His sneer twists his thin lips down, transforming his regal visage into something ugly. “I won’t give into your every whim just because you bat those pretty eyes at me.”

Ysilla gazes blithely back at him, swaying on the balls of her feet. Her dress flutters around her ankles, the delicate chains wrapped around the fragile bone there catching the candlelight. She’s barefoot- curiously. Her amber satin slippers were shucked off at the door before she had sunk into the too big chair in the center of his room. To quite simply make herself comfortable- to carve out a space wherever she lands, is a trait Aemond finds irritating but commendable.

At once, an impish smile illuminates her face, her irises lavender in bloom. “You think my eyes are pretty?”

Aemond bottles in a groan, gritting his teeth in exasperation. Such a little brat.

“That’s swell because… I think yours are pretty too, Uncle. Especially your hidden jewel.” Ysilla draws closer and closer, and the walls seem to cinch around them. She shouldn’t be here- he may be her blood but Ysilla is unwed and young and beautiful beyond her means. He should have sent her away when she came knocking, a small bound journal promising something of importance to him, her ticket into his den. Giddiness had manifested in the trembling of her fingers and he couldn't lie- he was intrigued. If only to watch Ysilla’s fire extinguish when he paid no thought to whatever had caught her fancy.

“I dreamt about it last night. It adorned my crown- not my tiara- my crown as Queen. Nestled front and center, staring down any man, any woman, who kneeled before me. Guarding me, protecting me, loyal… to me.”

Aemond puts desperate distance between them, her words striking a match within him.

Ysilla’s spiraling locks threaded through the Conqueror’s Crown, refined but still imposing, seated on the forged throne. Aemond gleaming in white, a striking savior at her side, first Lord Commander of the Queensguard. And even when he cannot be there, his jewel watches over all. An All Seeing Eye. He does not replace his surrogate orb. It be a piece of himself he shells out to shield her, and then, when they’re together, he’s comple-

The back of his knees meet resistance and he stills, refusing to bask in the jasmine gust brought forth by his niece’s closeness. She brings her palm to his jerkin covered chest and presses- urging, asking. Aemond stares down at her. She’s so tiny compared to him, so much smaller, weaker but she might as well have a blade to his throat.

He gives, settling into the armchair, wishing to become one with the buttons and the stitchings. When she drops to her knees, it is with a grace that is ingrained in her, blended into every shift of her body.

“I want to touch you, Aemond. I want to make you feel good.”

Her hand creeps along, fingertips dancing over his clothed thigh, conquering the distance to his laces like a soldier riding through a battlefield. Aemond feels himself start to surrender, a loss he will still win as the heat from Ysilla’s palm leeches through the hide of his breeches. He’s warm all over, tongue heavy in his mouth, words too much to muster. Beads of sweat lick their way down the nape of his neck.

Ysilla stares at him, her chest level with his knees. There’s too much light in here. He can see every delicious inch of her. No shadows to hide in, no darkness to dim her. She’s all propped up and on display in the late evening sun beaming through the balcony doors. Every beauty mark dotted along her spun sugar skin is penciled in by hand from the Gods, each strand of blackblue hair dancing away from the heat of her blistering surface. It makes this dream too real. He doesn’t know what he’ll do when he blinks and she blows away like a puff of smoke. He breathes out, nerves spiraling in his stomach and spreads his knees.

Aemond doesn’t make a habit of looking at himself. He washes and dresses with a detachment perfected over the years. When he realized how he differed, when his voice dropped and his bones stretched him to the brim and something else grew right along with him, he had floundered on how to handle it.

Who was he supposed to ask? His mother was out of the question- Aemond would rather crawl through smoldering embers after scooping out his other eye before he went to her. Aegon was self explanatory; his brother’s failed attempt to drag him down the Street of Silk was enough humiliation to last a lifetime. He toyed with the idea of going to Ser Criston or his grandfather, and some days it did seem tempting but his shame always held him tight by the throat. He was already different, already looked down upon with a pitiful gaze and whispered poor Prince Aemond, such a waste and no eye, no prospects, no future. He didn’t feel like piling on to his already stacked deck.

“You have to… yeah, and then untie me from, right, just like that.” The back of his eyelid and the pitch of his patch are a comforting darkness as he cycles through the prayers in his head. Warrior, grant me the strength to emerge- no. Mother, I ask your mercy- definitely not. Father, may you judge me justly. Yes, it’s solid, spans the points he needs to make. Aemond settles on it and repeats it, backwards and forwards as the tension imprisoning him in his breeches releases and he feels something spring up and off the flat plains of his abdomen.

“Aemond… Uncle, look at me.” He sucks in a breath through his teeth, ending his litany. It’s no use, his Gods are not listening. He hopes, he regrets, and he caves as he looks down at his lap.

The tip of it curves into a point, not sharp but defined. Blunt thickness runs through his shaft, until the base of him flares garishly into a hard knot. It’s as long as his forearm and thicker than his wrist. He always seems to be at attention, at mast at every surge of adrenaline, every lingering puff of perfume, every dashing neckline of Ysilla’s gowns when she curtsies- no, reign it in. A viciously red mushroom-tapered head splits to allow a bead of excitement to form and trickle down the lengthy march to his stones. He winces, his cock giving a readied pulse as his niece’s palm settles over his groin.

“Oh, Gods,” Ysilla looks upon him with a wonderment he’s never seen. It stills the air in his lungs. “Aemond, you’re beautiful.”

Shamefully, that sends him whimpering, the honeyed praise in her tone wrapping him in a caress that stokes the heat in his belly. She glances up at him with a gentle curiosity, but her attention quickly returns between his legs as he jerks from her proximity and the damp warmth of her exhaling breath.

“Ooohhh, he’s happy to see me.” Her grin is wicked, a toothy pluck of her mouth. Her cheeks are pinker than the Dornish dress Baela gifted her on her nameday last week.

Cheeky brat.

Ysilla hocks spit into her hand and Aemond grimaces. Being raised with only brothers has certainly left an impression on her. It's not oil but it’ll do in a pinch. Her fingers are lithe and thin, hands dainty already but seeing one trying to wrap around him? It’s laughable. It’s arousing- painfully so.

“You didn’t let me finish earlier.�� Now that he has nothing to do but listen, his crafty little niece seems to have taken advantage of his predicament. Aemond can’t help but feel a tiny bit impressed. “So when I found the book in the Dragonstone stacks, after I cleaned off the layers of dust, I read all about the many men in Targaryen history who have been… afflicted by this… hardship. Aegon the Conqueror, Maegor the Cruel- which may have played a part in the six wives- but the last documented entry was well over 50 years ago. A tale forgotten to time and dismissed all the same as just another peculiarity with our family. But this Aemond…” she pumps him slowly, demanding his attention, making him bow for her even when she’s the one on her knees.

“We are closer to Gods than to men. By our dragons of course, but by this as well! You are something special, can’t you see that?” He likes to hear her excited. Her passion is appetizing, drawing him in to take a bite.

His ego perks up at her attention, but so does his pride. Dragons don’t like to share. Aemond doesn’t like to share. “How do you know if it’s not just me who's been ‘afflicted’?”

Ysilla shrugs, and he doesn’t know her well enough to tell if she’s being untruthful. “I’m very thorough in my research. Just not as quite… hands on as I’m being with you. You’ve always been my favorite uncle.”

Aemond could take her by the hair, twist it nice and tight around his fist, rise to his feet, keep her down on her knees where she belongs- not just there but with him and thrust down her throat until he taps her heart.

“Did you ask my brother the same way you’re asking me?” Aemond growls, nudging at her knee with the side of his boot. He wants to touch her but he has to be careful. His resolve is thinning by the minute and he fears that if he can actually feel her- the suppleness of her skin, the silkiness of her hair, he’ll give way and start something that cannot be undone.

“Nope, I asked Helaena. Girls talk, Aemond, especially over a flagon of wine.” She elbows his thigh in retribution, but it’s gentle and frivolous and the smile she gives him is all teeth. Fuck, she’s lovely.

Aemond’s hips jump off the chair, chasing the heat of Ysilla’s hands. She smirks, stroking him softly, the delight in her eyes dimming down to lusty pools of amaranthine.

“So you’re doing this out of what, kindness?”

“I like to think of it more as academic curiosity. But, if I can help you become more comfortable with this part of yourself and maybe even aid your future wife in the process, well that’s just all sugar then, isn’t it?”

“I won’t marry, I will bear no children. I might as well take the Black.” Aemond recites, his tone bored to tears. His future fizzled out to ash once he realized there was no way in any Realm that he could ever properly lay with a woman. He couldn’t, wouldn’t damn any wife to a hopeless tomorrow. Occupying himself with other things helped- he’s a resourceful man. After all, great men never got anywhere by thinking with their cocks.

Ysilla’s brow furrows and her jaw ticks, an unhappy look passing over her face. “Never say never, Aemond.”

His dick pulses, and Ysilla’s eyes go wide, feeling the might of him in her own grip. She raises her gaze back to this face, and the dazzlement there makes him feel taller than tales.

Aemond smirks, his straight laces loosening. “I like when you call me that.”

She pumps him, tightly, and he shivers, a gasp slipping through his drooping jaw. There’s a burn at the base of his spine, a familiar one he would entertain only when his needs raged a war within him.

Her lips are pouted, shimmering in the dusk drawing the room into darkness. He wants to see the stars sparkle over her skin, the moon crest over her breasts in a gauzy beam. Wants to peel off every offending layer until she’s naked, slick and soft and starving for him and the beast between his legs.

A stranded curl sways in front of her eye, caught in her fanning lash. His fingers twitch, starting forward before he anchors his nails through the furniture’s stuffing and right down to the frame. Ysilla’s tongue flicks out, wetting her parched lips.

“Do you want to touch me?”

She wears the crown as she rides him, the Throne Room’s chandelier haloing her dramatically. He’s not sure if they’re alone- the embrace of her hand about his throat keeps his attention on where it is demanded. On her. If there are any stragglers stupid enough to hang around, what an honor it is for them to witness a mating, a claiming. The Dragon Queen taking what’s rightfully hers, for the Gods and everyone to see.

“No.”

“You’re a liar, my Prince.” That’s even better than his name, fuck him.

“I think you want to touch me. I think you want to feel me. I think you want to see… just how far… I’m willing to go.” One solid lick of her tongue, from the root of him to the tip, sends him careening over the edge. Aemond gasps raggedly, a man broken apart. His cock jerks, nearly knocking him in the jaw. Thick ropes of creamy pearl stripe his chest and coat his throat.

His niece milks him, left hand rubbing up and down his shaft, feeling the veins jump and throb against her palm. And the right, fucks sake, the right squeezes around the flared part of him and the tremors jolt right down to his sack.

“Mmmm, good boy, Aemond.”

A final burst of cum bubbles up and over the tip of him, and he tries not to shout. Sweet relief blankets the scald from his peak, and the Prince can breathe with a newfound ease.

Ysilla spreads her fingers apart, and his spend webs between them in a milky film. Aemond can’t be sure what she’s thinking, how she’s feeling. But what he certainly doesn’t expect is for her to bring up her fingers to brush at her mouth, plush lips spreading to peek out her tongue. He catches her wrist before she can commit the act, and if he bruises her with his grip, she deserves it for her lustfulness.

“Don’t.”

Ysilla studies his face, weighing if she can push her luck some more tonight. She concedes, peppering a butterfly kiss across his knuckles, wiping her soiled hand on the fur under her knees. Aemond’s chest tightens and he can’t understand why her simple kiss sends him blushing more than her fist around his cock.

“Next time, then.”

Hunger nips at him harshly, all the ways they can come together, and cum together, flashing through his mind.

“There will be no next time-”

“Mmmm, I don’t know if he agrees with that.” She presses her puckered lips just shy of his wet slit, and his hips buck from the sensitivity. Her giggle is demented and a dark part of the silver prince wants to push something down her throat to shut her up.

“Don’t you have something better to waste your time with? Aren’t you supposed to be looking for a husband?” Aemond rumbles, slouched in his seat. All tension drained from him, his legs weak and wobbling from the force of his climax. He feels as if he is up in the clouds, no dragon necessary.

Ysilla sniffs, tossing her hair over her shoulder with a twist. “I will marry whomever I tell my mother I have accepted. And if no one has caught my eye, we will try again next year.”

She maneuvers him back into his breeches, and if Aemond were a lesser man, he’d whine at the loss of her smooth touch. The leather suffocates him immediately and it feels so wrong.

“Who better to guide me in the art of pleasing my husband,” Ysilla looks deep into his eye as she speaks the title, and the Prince feels caught, “whomever that may be, than you? No mere man will ever compare to you, in this aspect.” Ysilla finishes his laces off with a bow, hands tucking behind her innocently as she sits back on her toes.

“In any aspect.” Aemond thinks he means to snarl in a self-righteous manner, but it’s clear to his own ears what he intends. The thought of Ysilla being on her knees for another, warm and wanting and welcoming for someone that is not him, blazes him with envy.

Ysilla beams, and Aemond feels like a trout swallowing the worm- hooked, reeled, and gutted.

“I’m glad we have an agreement then.”

#hotd #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x oc #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond one eye #ysilla targaryen #hotd kink #hotd pwp

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callmelittlebuttercup · 5 months

Text

Peace Offerings Pt. 8

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Series Summary: Joel and Reader stumble upon an older couple's desolate cabin. Despite Joel's protests, the Reader accepts the woman's invitation inside for soup and warmth. Once the lady's husband comes home, he shares some information that send Joel and Reader spiraling, forcing them to hold onto each other for support.

Series Warnings: Slow burn, Age gap (reader is 34, Joel is 56), 18+ Minors DNI, Sexual Themes, Violence, Injuries (depictions of blood, bruising, broken bones), Cursing, Grumpy!Joel, Minimal depictions of reader's appearance (hair color/length.)

Chapter Warnings: Yelling, Dead animals/eating meat (rabbit/dear), Vomiting.

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Part Eight

Our boots crunched through the snow as we made our way through the thick woods. My cheeks stung from the bitter cold, my hands were still numb despite being buried into my pockets, and my stomach was practically eating itself. I thought about asking Joel to stop so I could eat something from our stash, but I kept ahead, dreading a conversation with him. I didn’t trust myself to not mention last night. Our kiss was implanted into my brain. No matter how badly I wanted to forget it, to purge the embarrassment that I’d felt afterwards out of my mind, I couldn’t. The desperation of his hands clenching my shirt, the way his beard stung as it rubbed against my face, the way he tasted. It was all painfully unforgettable, and I didn’t dare mention it. Afterall, it was a mistake.

About 20 quiet minutes down the path, we came across a lone cabin. I gawked at the smoke coming from the chimney, and the rabbits and deer hung up outside. Joel put a hand up for me to stop walking. “It’s occupied. Might have to keep moving.” He muttered. “But they have food… and warmth!” I argued a little too loudly, letting my immediate need for both of those things spill out of me. Joel glared as if saying “Shut the fuck up.” By the time we turned back to the cabin, an older woman was standing on the porch looking our way. Joel handed me his gun and walked towards her slowly with his hands raised above his head. “Ma’am, we’re not looking for trouble, just passing through.” Joel called out. She stared for a moment longer, her eyes meeting Joel’s, then mine. “You guys hungry?” She called out. We looked at each other. Joel shook his head, no. But I walked forward, my stomach making ungodly noises at the mention of food. “Starving.” I called out. Joel shot me a look. “I think she’s alone, Joel.” I whispered. “Or she could have someone waiting in the house to slaughter us.” he seethed back. “We’ll find out.” I said as I walked past him, hands raised. My name left Joel’s lips in an exasperated sigh, “Goddammnit.”

“Leave your guns at the door, my husband will be back soon.” She said bluntly as we timidly entered the house. Joel shot me another look as if saying “I told you so.” I ignored him and surveyed the area. There was wooden furniture arranged around a fireplace, and the walls were decorated with fur and animal bones. A fire warmed and incensed the small cabin. “Soup okay?” She asked as she moved to the small kitchen on the opposite wall of the same room. Joel and I nodded, watching closely as she ladled the already warmed soup into wooden bowls. She slowly made her way over to us, her age dwindling her speed. One of the reasons I wasn’t afraid of her. She handed me a bowl first. I whispered, “Thank you.” and immediately tipped the contents into my mouth. “Slow down.” Joel grunted as he accepted his own bowl. I ignored him and gulped down the so-called soup. It was broth with either rabbit or deer meat. Either way, I was ecstatic to have food in my stomach.

“There’s a bed in the loft,” the woman spoke over the rhythmic creak of her rocking chair, then nodded towards me, “your girl looks tired.” Joel’s eyes reluctantly shifted towards me but I did my best to avoid eye-contact. A place to rest my aching self sounded like heaven. I began to stand up, but Joel grabbed my wrist before saying, “She’s not- She’s fine.” I pulled away and shot him an annoyed look. I knew he didn’t want to split up, but the last thing I wanted to do was sit next to him on a tiny wooden bench. It was hard enough to fight the urge to lean against him. And in addition to that, my side was throbbing and it was a chore to keep my back straight while sitting on the hard surface. “I would love to lay down ma’am. Thank you.” I said politely before climbing up the stairs to the loft.

In the corner of the room was a small mattress with what looked like handmade quilts. I

sighed and gently laid down onto the plush material. I was just starting to give in to the heaviness of my eyelids when I heard the door open and the unzipping of a jacket. There was a moment of eerie quiet before a man’s voice blurted “Who the hell are you?” Joel’s voice calmly answered, “Just someone passing through. Take the gun out, two fingers only and put it out of reach.” The gun clattered onto a table. “Why didn’t you shoot him?” the man asked. I assumed he was addressing the woman. “The gun was all the way over there.” Another moment of silence passed and then she spoke again, “He didn’t hurt me by the way.” The man groaned, “Yeah I see that… You made him soup?” His voice hurled towards annoyance. “Yeah…I did. It’s cold out.” the woman answered in a tone that made it seem like it was the obvious thing to do. I almost giggled at the casualness of the couple. Any other people would have Joel and I at gunpoint or even dead by now, but here they were worrying about soup.

I moved silently to peek down at them between the rungs of the railing. The man had plopped into a chair, seemingly unbothered by Joel holding him at gunpoint. He was still layered in multiple sweaters, and as he took off his hat, short, white hair was revealed. “I’m looking for my brother.” Joel said, trying to get the interaction on track. “Well I ain’t seen ‘im.” The man responded. “I haven’t told you what he looks like.” Joel replied, a hint of sass in his tone. “He look anything like you?” The man asked. “A bit.” I tried to imagine what the man would look like, whether he was younger or older, all questions I could never ask. “Then I ain’t seen him.” The man grunted. The woman spoke again, “He’s got a woman with him.” My stomach dropped and I moved to hide behind an animal skin that had been draped over the bannister. “Uh..No.” Joel said panickedly. “He does! Just saw her.” The man exclaimed. “Dammit.” Joel cursed under his breath as I stood up, keeping my hands visible to them to show I wasn’t a threat. “Who’s this beauty?” The man asked, his eyes following my form as I descended the stairs. I clenched my jaw nervously and went to stand next to Joel. “Nevermind her.” He said while moving his body in front of mine. I stepped out from behind him, annoyed with the fact that he’d pushed me away but still insisted on bossing me around. I felt the woman’s eyes on me. A soft smile was spread across her round face. I responded with a smile of my own, and then focused back onto the men’s tense conversation.

Joel finally got the man to plant a finger to show where we were on the map. He sighed frustratedly and paced, “Well you found a great place to hide I guess.” The man chuckled, “Look, I came out here before you were born, sonny.” The woman turned to Joel and I and said, “I didn’t want to.” I furrowed my eyebrows in empathy, but my attention was brought back to the man as he continued to speak. “And I didn’t mean to upset you about your brother, but if you’ve come this far then you know what’s out there. You seen Cody?” He asked. I sat up and joined into the conversation, “Yeah we’ve been close enough. It’s crawling with infected.” He nodded, “Laramie, Wind River Reservation… Anywhere people used to be, you can’t go there no more.” Joel finally sat down and rang his hands nervously, “So you haven’t heard the name Tommy?” The inflection of his voice had changed slightly. I sounded more anxious than usual. “Or Matthew?” I asked hopefully. “There’s two men you’re looking for?” The man asked exasperatedly. “Our brothers are supposed to have been in the same state. They left together with a group of fireflies.” I explained. “Like the bugs?” The woman questioned, her face twisted in confusion. “Not the bugs, the people.” I said again, trying to stay patient. “There are firefly people?” She asked again. The couple burst out laughing and I bit my lip, desperately trying not to join in. Joel was not having it, “You got any advice on the best way west?” The man leaned forward, “Yeah. Go East.” He pointed to a depiction of a river on the map, “Never go past the river here. Ever.” I looked up from the map, “What’s past the river?” I asked reluctantly. “Death. We’ve never seen who’s out there, but we see the bodies they leave behind. Some infected, some not. If your brothers are west of the river, they’re gone.”

The woman’s words felt like a punch to the gut. The thought that I’d done all of this- gone through all of this only to find that my brother was dead made bile rise up into my throat. My pulse thumped in my ears as I stood up. “Need some fresh air.” I breathed as I stumbled towards the door, almost tripping over the rug made out of bear fur. I squinted from the blinding sun as I opened the door and walked back out into the freezing weather. I leaned against the side of the house as I sucked in the cold air, trying to keep myself in reality. I needed to hold onto the hope that Matthew would still be alive. Those people were clueless. They had no idea what was going on in the world besides the cordyceps. There’s no way I was letting them convince me my brother was dead. The “what ifs” were still enough to make me lean over the railing and spew the soup all over the white snow.

The door opened behind me and I heard Joel’s heavy boots step onto the landing. My name fell softly from his lips, and I felt his hand on my back. I leaned up off of the railing and shoved away from him. “Don’t touch me, Joel.” I sobbed. His hand retracted from me and he stepped back. His face was heavy with a mixture of grief, anxiety, anger and everything in between. “I’ve been thinking about this.” I said shakily as I wiped my face and turned to him. He looked at me through the side of his eyes, refusing to face me. “I’ve been thinking… what if they’re not there. What if this dream I’ve been having is real-“ He cut me off and growled, “No. DON’T FUCKING SAY THAT.” The volume of his voice caused me to shriek and recoil back. My body shrunk into the corner of the landing, and I stared at him wide-eyed. He dug his hands into his hair and pulled his head downwards onto the railing opposite to me. “We can’t believe that.” He whispered, his voice cracking under the immense weight of the situation.

He was losing it. No longer able to keep up the cold, emotionless, strong man act. The thought of losing his brother broke something in him. He stood at the railing and heaved. He wasn’t crying, he was panicking. Fighting the same thoughts I had been for the past few weeks.

I decided that this time, I would be the one to put my hand on his back. I pushed up off of the side of the house and slowly moved towards him. I raised a shaky hand to the brown leather of his coat, and pressed it in between his broad shoulders. His head raised up from between his hands and he caught sight of me in the corner of his eye. “I’m sorry.” He breathed. I shook my head, “Don’t be.” He slowly straightened from his crouched position and stood facing me. “Joel.” I said while maintaining eye contact, “I’m going to hug you now. Not because I want to, but because I need to. And you’re going to let me, because no matter how strong or manly you are, I know damn well you need it too.” He stared down at me, neither accepting or rejecting my declaration. I slowly raised my arms to his torso and my hands connected with the warmth of him. As I brought my body closer and closer, I waited for him to push me away or yell at me, but he didn’t. He stood still as our bodies connected. I pressed my head against his chest while wrapping my arms tightly around him. He didn’t hug me back. I didn’t expect him to. But the absence of his refusal was a sign that I was right- he did need it. Not wanting to push my luck, I began to pull away. It was only then that he wrapped his arms around my shoulders, pulled our bodies back together, and rested his chin against my head. I closed my eyes and breathed in a full breath for the first time in years. My heavy heart felt lighter.

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oceanlipgloss · 8 months

Text

FINGERTIPS

ANDREALPHUS.

+ warnings: erotic themes, light angst.

+ female mc, feminine pronouns.

Fingertips and soft white skin, fingertips and ridged black bone.

Not just warm. They could feel electric too. Especially when she touched him like she always did—those silky fingers ghosting over his promising lips, his quivering lashes, his curling horns.

Slow. She liked to start out slow. Gentle and sweet. He had been through so much already; a man all alone, with a fractured heart and weeping soul. Bloody hands, dark nothings, cruel world. He had had nothing else for so long—vengeance and sadness for company—and habits of solitude's creation take time to melt.

She never wanted to startle him. He, on the other hand, sensed her whenever she was around. It was somewhat similar to being able to feel pictures moving across a TV screen from far away inside the house, even if they're unseen. It was like catching the glimmer of alcohol in a dark bottle. Who was most responsible for that? Her heart, her presence, her scent?

Whenever she leaned towards him, things became more apparent. She smelled very pleasant—not of cosmetics or perfume, but of her. And they felt quite ticklish against his face, her warm breaths. So then, he kind of found himself smiling despite himself.

Why was she on her tiptoes—this careful—when their bodies were so close? He knew that all he had to do was extend his fingers a little to brush her softness. He couldn't ignore his heart, though, swollen as it was at the sentiment.

The answer to his musing was nearby, and so he shall understand; for in the next moment, resting on the base of his horn would be her hand. A touch lighter than air, warmer than summer—a sunkissed feather. Yet, how he trembled!

Something irrestible always seemed to spark out of her fingertips when they stroked his horns. Tender caress, electric finish. So hard to silently deal with.

Her indulgent touches, his quiet moans. Heavy-headed with desire, dazed with passion. A woman's lazy fingers moving up and down, high and low, beginning to glisten.

But that wasn't enough, was it?

Still, take it slow, follow through with a press of her hot tongue; underneath its wet flesh, hard ripples felt ever so symmetrical, ever so perfect.

Time to take things up a notch.

To lick the curves she let her body shift and rise. Again and again, over and over.

Was it an illusion, how she felt as though his heaving chest were chained to her own? Wouldn't it be stupid to think that that was the hardness of her knee between his legs, and not heat becoming solid, statuesque?

Hand and tongue, moving together. Fingers and their syrupy tips, gliding along the spiral. Lips and their wetness, tasting bright arousal. Kisses all over dark bone, butterflies fluttering their wings of fire.

She saw white paint the jagged spaces in between and thought that it was like melting pearls—just as lovely, just as precious—as it dripped off his head and onto the floor. She wished she could hold out her palms to treasure them all. How pretty, how sweetly fragrant they were.

One last kiss to the pearly tip before taking it between her teeth. Bone tastes of blandness and salt, but desire's flavour was just right in times like these.

Souls and bodies need to fall apart sometimes—it can feel sinfully nice—so fall apart he did.

Soon the ruining hands would rest moist palms on his flushed cheeks, the defiant lips would meet his, and he would savour how the hours of night would be sugar-sweet, electric.

+note: I love him. I love him so, so much. MC better love the fuck out of him during his H-scene, or else I'm putting her soul in a blender and pouring it into a sippy cup for baby devils to drink.

+ MASTERLIST

+ AO3 POST

©𝙤𝙘𝙚𝙖𝙣𝙡𝙞𝙥𝙜𝙡𝙤𝙨𝙨

#whb #what in “hell” is bad #what in hell is bad #whb andrealphus #what in hell is bad andrealphus #the story factory

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rummigumi · 4 months

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Excerpt from Vanitas Part 4 draft (Yes I'm writing it out before Part 3, I don't control my brain):

Jason stared at the old god, hands clenched as he fought down the repulsion curling in his stomach.

“You wanted to talk?” The voice echoed around Jason. He swallowed down his fear as he replied, “I…what did you do to me?”

The god's head cocked to the side. “I brought you back to life, as the deal required.”

Jason had read enough ancient myths and stories around deals with gods to know it was never that simple. They'd exploit every loophole, use half truths to trick the mortals involved - anything to remind everyone who was in charge. To put those seen as beneath them in their place. The anger he was growing used to was quickly replacing the fear in his chest.

“So you screwed me over, huh? The deal was to bring me back, but you thought it'd be funny to mess me up first? Make sure I came back wrong?”

“You didn't come back wrong.” The god said it so matter-of-fact it threw Jason off. Of course he came back wrong, why else would he feel the way he did? Why else would he feel so wrong? Like a piece had been ripped out and replaced with something that wasn't him?

“No…no I did. I…I wasn't like…like this before.”

“Like what?”

“So…so…,” angry, “emotional.”

The god was silent for a moment.

“Souls that have died often feel emotions more intensely than those that haven't.”

Stronger emotions didn't explain the burning pit that had made itself at home in Jason's stomach. They didn't explain why all he wanted to do was scream and fight and pound his fists against things until his knuckles bled and his bones creaked. They didn't explain why he'd look at Bruce and feel like he was dying all over again. Stronger emotions didn't explain that.

“But why…why do I feel this way? Why is it that all I can feel is hatred and rage?” He begged the god to explain why he was feeling what he was, because he needed someone to tell him. (He needed the god to tell him what he was feeling was reasonable, that he wasn't going insane.)

And the god just stared at him with its creepy unblinking eyes and dark expressionless face. When it finally spoke, its voice was soft in a way that only occurs when one is explaining death to a child. “You're angry because you are mourning, and in pain. You have lost who you were and the life you had before you died, and it's hurting you.”

That didn't sound right. Jason hadn’t lost anything; his life hadn't changed between pre- and post-death. He'd woken up, and aside from the worried glances and even more awkward hovering from Bruce, it had been easy to forget he had even died. How could he have lost anything when everything was exactly the same as before he died?

(Before he was killed.)

But Jason had changed. While living with Bruce he had grown soft, forgot what the world was really like, forgot that just because he wore a cape and believed in justice and doing the right thing and helping others it didn’t mean shit when push came to shove. He had forgotten what he had learned long ago while watching his mother spiral deeper and deeper into her addiction and he had to do anything to survive. Awful things happened, and the world kept on turning and the universe kept expanding and it didn't matter how good you were or if you did everything right, unless you won the karmic lottery you were screwed.

But dying had removed the naive beliefs that he had allowed to fill his head, had removed the rose-colored glasses Bruce had put over his eyes. Dying had changed him, but he hadn't lost who he was. If anything, it made him more of who he was before Bruce.

(Before stability and peace and enjoying being alive and allowing himself to be a kid-)

“No,” Jason's voice was choked and harsh, “you're wrong.”

And the god didn't smite him for daring to imply he knew better than it. It didn't even scold him. It simply asked, “Then what is causing your pain?”

#dpxdc #let me know if formatting is funky im on mobile #i dont know how much of this will remain by the time its officially published but eh #vanitas series

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runningthrough-if · 5 days

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What are the ROs love languages?

Hiding under 'Keep Reading' to shorten post (because I truly cannot shut the fuck up). For reference, these are the ROs' romantic love languages; their platonic may vary.

Thank you for the question!

Silas

Giving: Acts of Service - Silas is big on 'don't tell me, show me'. Even in the early stages of a relationship, MC would find little, but thoughtful things done for them. Ex: drawing them a bath after a long day, cleaning up their space when work is hectic, or bringing them their favorite beverage before a date. Receiving: Quality Time - It's no secret to Silas that people don't really want to spend time around him and honestly, he doesn't blame them. He knows he's got flaws. So when MC constantly shows up to see him, even just for a few moments, his heart swells.

Nell

Giving: Gifts - Nell normally doesn't even realize that she's giving gifts to her partners. Sometimes she just sees a flower, a bone, a gemstone, etc. that reminds her of them and feels that they must have said thing. MC's living space would quickly be decorated with knick-knacks from her. Receiving: Acts of Service - Nell is fairly used to receiving praise, or compliments, from those around her. Of course, they're special, but she's grown so used to them that they don't hold a ton of romantic value. MC going out of their way to pick up her living space, do the dishes, or hang her clothes up would mean the world to her.

Giving: Quality Time - E is charismatic, but personally, closed off. Once they leave the bar/party/event, they don't want to talk to anyone. When the adrenaline from a social event wears off, they become a completely different person; closed off, quiet, and thoughtful. When MC notices E is going out of their way to give away some of their alone time, it's a good sign. They're trying, in their own way, to let them know that they are an important aspect of their life. Receiving: Gifts (Thoughtfully) - E is so used to people wanting something from them - free drinks, sex, political connections - that most of people's attempts to 'suck up' roll off their back. MC giving E a gift that is relevant to them (something they mentioned once, a joke the two share, etc.) would send E spiraling in the best way.

Orson

Giving: Quality Time - When Orson is in a romantic relationship, he becomes enamored with that other person, quickly. He wants to be around them as often as he can - which can be hard while running Able & Poe. It's his love language, but also his biggest insecurity. He never wants his partner to feel overwhelmed or suffocated. Receiving: Physical Touch - Orson struggles...in many regards. He's also hyper-aware that people can say whatever they want to get whatever they want. When MC gives him subtle touches of encouragement or is physically excited (kisses and hugs) to see him, he can be comforted in knowing they're in a good place.

Giving: Acts of Service - V enjoys seeing the smile on their partners' faces when they realize that they've done something for them. It's almost a high in knowing they put that emotion there. With V, MC would truly never need to lift a finger. Of course, they absolutely could, but not without V pouting. "Let me do that for you, please." Receiving: Words of Affirmation - The critiques and praises they receive daily on their photographs has changed the way V accepts any and all words. They're aware of how words can change a person's perception of not only their art, but themselves. Hearing or reading genuine words of love from MC is their favorite thing. (Letters and cards. They LOVE them. It's words of affirmation that they can keep forever.)

Giving & Receiving: Physical Touch - It's hard to go into detail about this without giving away too many spoilers, but C loves physical touch; for positive and negative reasons. There's a sensual feeling to every touch they give and receive.

#inbox #character: silas barclay #character: nell valez #character: e van de ber #character: orson barclay #character: v hart #character: c landry

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rosieartsie · 18 days

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little chunk of New Faith I wrote last night; I'm gearing up for my writing group for Not Nanowrimo cuz I'm gonna write this fucking book finally. TW: death, gore, suicide, demon possession stuff

The Dowager home has become a beacon, a hive of activity with all of Mercutio and Vincente’s neighbors turned into mindless worker bees that are swarming in the yard and on the doorstep. Vincente’s stopped the car down the street to watch but even at this distance Mercutio can feel that whatever is wearing Vanessa’s skin is amplifying, expanding outward with a base pulse of pure fucking evil that drums to the anxious beat of his heart. He’s not ready to die. He hasn’t even said out loud how much he loves Vincente, hasn’t tried to kiss him to be dramatically pushed away in rejection, hasn’t fallen in love with someone second best. There’s tons of drugs he hasn’t tried, he’s never been to a theme park, he’s always wanted to visit the city where his parents are from in India, and so much more– there’s so much to live for that he’s fighting the urge to tumble out of the car and run like he’s on fire because they are going to die. The thing in that house is not Vanessa, and if they go in now, God knows what will happen, if He’s even paying attention or gives a shit. What if they’re already eating her, like that girl in Alaska? What if they’re eating her husband, or each other? Cannibalism seems to be part of the sick, corrupt transformation of this new and horrific form of possession, so the people that are steadily wandering down the street towards the Dowager’s, the people in the yard, the people inside– it’s likely that by the end of the night they’ll be dead, chunks torn out of them, blood in their teeth and on their hands and Vanessa will be a pile of parts.

He can’t stop thinking about it– it’s easier to avoid the spiral of detail when it’s some stranger up north, or a town that he never would have known existed if it wasn’t in the newspaper. With Vanessa, who Vincente loves like she is his sister, his own flesh and blood, Mercutio’s imagination is run rampant. Will they break her bones and suck the marrow out? Will they tear at her intestines like taffy? Will they pop her eyes between their canines and suck down the fluid inside? Will they know, somewhere deep down, that they’re eating someone they used to do bake sales with, that smiled and waved when they walked down the street? Or are all the people caught in this trance just… gone? Ms.Dorothy made it difficult to understand. She was gone, maybe, but there, in some ways. Identity adopted, stolen and transformed and made ugly and foreign. But there… he’d felt her, and it, together like a russian doll, one folded into the other, kept inside the other, wearing the same face. He looks over to Vincente, because he isn’t entirely sure why Vincente has stopped. It could be that he’s wanting to observe at a distance, to try and glean some understanding even if Mercutio has already told him none of this makes sense in the ways they know demons. It’s possible he’s preparing himself, Mercutio wouldn’t be surprised at all if he lowered his head and began some long, excruciating prayer calling on all the saints and disciples and Jesus and anyone else important to aid in this insane act of religious martyrdom. Mercutio for his part is praying to all of those useless, ancient figures that Vincente is hesitating because he’s also realized there are things to live for, and going through with this is as good as putting a gun to his head and pulling the trigger, but with a huge helping of irreversible emotional trauma right before hand. A bitter, overwhelming taste of how fucked they are in the form of Vanessa with her stomach cut wide open and her husband made into a thanksgiving turkey followed by a bullet to the dome chaser. Mercutio knows better though. Even as he is half heartedly praying for Vincente to find some shred of self preservation he knows it’s useless. It’s not even because he doesn’t believe so deeply in the ethereal presence of saints or gods, it’s because he knows Vincente better than he knows anyone, and this man will not turn back, now that they’re so close, now that they’re right here and he only needs to park and take those last, fatal steps towards the Dowager household to seal the deal. Whatever he decides to do after that will be grandstanding, a fruitless show of love and devotion that will only end in tragedy.

Mercutio hates this, hates that it will end like this, but he’s here and he won’t let Vincente die all by himself. They’ve been together too long. Best to go out together, with all the potential ahead of them wasted and good intentions to report to whatever waits on the other side. Hell, probably, after all, the road to that particular place is paved with good intentions.

#new faith #it's about to get so bad for these gay exorcists lol #writeblr #original story

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tokkias · 1 year

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arbitrary anniversary ship: natsu dragneel x lucy heartfilia summary: Lucy really, truly wishes that when Natsu had offered to plan their date, that she could simply relax and not worry about it. Unfortunately, there's that little itch in the back of her brain that's telling her that there's something that she's missing about this. ao3

Nalu Week 2023 Day 1: Anniversary @allaboutnalu @thenaluarchive

It was a rarity for Natsu to plan their dates, and even rarer that he had insisted on doing so. In the eight or so months they had been together, it was mostly Lucy who had put together their date nights. It wasn’t something she minded; Natsu had always been passive in her planning, willing to go along with whatever would make her happy.

He wasn’t a traditional romantic, not fond of candlelit dinners or bouquets of roses, and while maybe that was the type of guy she had always dreamed of as a little girl, she couldn’t imagine herself spending her life with anyone else.

That was why it came as a surprise when he wanted to plan their next date night.

She was all for it; it was less work on her plate, and she trusted Natsu truly and fully, but he had been going to strange lengths to ensure he kept everything about it under wraps, and it was almost... unnerving.

They didn’t keep anything from each other. Secrets did not exist between them, but Natsu had insisted this wasn’t a secret; it was a surprise, putting particular emphasis on the difference between them and justifying his vagueness with any details.

At first, Lucy found it cute and endearing, but as the days passed by and he continued to be giddy about his plans but vague about the details, Lucy began to worry that she had blanked out on a very important date in their relationship.

"I think it’s cute," Levy reassured as Lucy recounted her woes to her, tucked away in a corner table of the guild. "It’s Natsu, he gets excited about things."

"I know," Lucy sighed, nails anxiously tapping the glass of her drink as she spoke. "But he’s almost too excited. He keeps saying that he has big plans but won’t tell me what they are, and I feel like I’ve forgotten something."

"Like what?" Levy prompted.

"Birthday? Anniversary? Other significant date?" She listed off in reply.

Her birthday had already passed, and Natsu’s wouldn’t be for another few months. They were still a few months away from their anniversary, as far as she was aware. She had spent the past few days wracking her brain to try and figure out what other significant dates Natsu might put this much weight on, but continued to come up short.

"Maybe he’s just being romantic," Levy lightly suggested, offering her friend a reassuring smile to try and bring her down from her spiral.

"It’s Natsu," Lucy replied. "He doesn’t have a romantic bone in his body."

"The same Natsu that dug up the cherry blossom and sent it down the river just for you?" Levy teased, a light smirk creeping up on her face. "That Natsu?"

"It’s different," she sputtered back, her face heating up at the memory. "Natsu’s the reckless, spur-of-the moment kind of romantic. He only ever plans things out when it’s really important to him."

"You’re important to him."

Lucy pursed her lips slightly, having no rebuttal for her statement. That didn’t stop the nervous energy that coursed through her veins.

"Why are you so worried, Lulu? It’s just a date."

"Because if I’m forgetting something important, then it makes me a bad girlfriend," she sighed.

Natsu may not have been the dream boyfriend her mind had conjured up as a girl, but he really was the most incredible boyfriend she could have asked for. What he lacked in romance, he more than made up for in other areas.

He was surprisingly attentive. Natsu had a reputation for being careless and forgetful, but when it came to the things that were important to him, he never let the small details slip by. Every important date was burned into the back of his mind, with no need for reminders; her birthday, the day she first joined the guild, the dates both her parents passed, even down to the day her book first got published.

He remembered little details she mentioned in passing: her favourite flowers, the one particular flavour of gummies she liked, the way she prefered oat over soy milk but always got soy because the best coffee shop in town didn’t stock it. It was always things that she thought he would never think twice about, but he remembered, and whenever she asked why, he would simply hit her back with, because it’s you.

He was so good to her, and if he was putting all of this effort into a special celebration of something she couldn’t even recall, then did she even really deserve him?

"I don’t think that Natsu will be upset," Levy justified, and to be completely honest, she was right.

Natsu could barely hold a grudge against anyone, let alone her. If he did get upset, it wouldn’t last the night.

That didn’t stop the guilt from gnawing away at her insides.

"You’re right," Lucy conceded, realising her venting would get her nowhere.

She flashed a half-hearted smile to her friend, who returned it with a sympathy-ridden look.

She couldn’t continue to wallow in her own guilt and worry for much longer, or she just might explode.

If there was some sort of motivation behind Natsu’s strange behaviour, she would just have to find it herself.

"You’re right," Lucy repeated, with more conviction this time, her words more addressed to her inner dialogue than her friend’s statement. "I’ve gotta go," she declared, standing up with newfound resolve.

Levy raised her eyebrows in confusion as she watched Lucy’s behaviour change dramatically in little more than the blink of an eye.

"I’ll see you later, Levy!" She called out, already out the door, before Levy even had a chance to figure out what was going on.

It wasn’t often that Lucy found herself at Natsu’s place, but she had the path there memorised for emergencies, and this, she thought, definitely counted as one.

Natsu and Happy had gone out for an overnight job the day before, leaving her ample opportunity to do her fair share of snooping. Just to be sure, she did a light rap on the front door, only to be met with silence.

Perfect.

She reached for the door handle and found they had left it unlocked again. Any other time she would have scolded the pair for being so careless, but right now she was thanking all the stars that they had left her the perfect setup for some snooping.

That feeling of relief left her quickly the moment she stepped inside, and she soon became overwhelmed, not knowing where on earth she would start.

A calendar would be her best bet, or some sort of notebook where he had maybe written these important dates down, but the place was predictably an absolute pigsty, and she had no idea where she would even start. There was no rhyme or reason for where Natsu put things, and as well as she knew him, she could never quite get into his head when it came to figuring out where he might have left something.

Stepping over a pile of… something, he had left on the floor, Lucy scanned the room looking for any place to start but ultimately came up short. With a sigh, she contemplated the only real option that was presenting itself.

She was going to have to clean his damn house again, wasn’t she?

In all fairness, the cleaning very much went hand-in-hand with the snooping. In doing so, she found a small journal, perfectly cat-sized and decorated with little fishies, multiple letters (rightfully) accusing Natsu of destruction of property, and several pairs of panties that she had thought she had lost long ago.

Partway through her mission, she spotted a pile of recent job requests sitting atop his coffee table, and in her effort to clear it up, she picked the leaflets up with the intention of pinning them to his board, only to promptly drop them when she saw a calendar sitting beneath it.

She had been beginning to lose hope because her brain was beginning to ask why on earth Natsu would own a calendar, but it seemed all her worries had been for nothing.

Reinvigorated by her find, Lucy flipped it open to the date of their date, only to find it and the rest of the page blank. Upon further inspection, she found that the thing was three years out of date.

With a huff, she slammed the thing back down on the table in frustration.

Stupid Natsu and his stupid hoarding tendencies

"Whatcha doin’?" A voice came from the doorway, and Lucy immediately whipped her head over to find that she had been caught red-handed.

Natsu seemed unphased by her intrusion as he tossed his overnight pack carelessly to the side, letting it flop down onto the floor as he walked in.

"Nothing!" She replied, a little more defensive than she intended, causing Natsu to give her a surprised look. "I was just waiting for you, is all."

"Lucy’s been snooping!" Happy butted in, noting the way things had been moved from their original spot.

"I have not!" Lucy spat out in a blatant lie. "I’ve been cleaning," she justified, which she supposed was a half-truth.

It wasn’t like she was here to reveal her true intentions just because she had been caught.

The both of them glanced around the room to find that she had done a rather… unconventional job of it, with certain areas looking spotless while others looked like they had been ransacked, which, to be fair, wasn’t too far off how it had looked before she had arrived.

He shot her a sceptical look, to which she stuck out a pout in response.

"Hmph, maybe I just want to find out something about our date," she huffed, arms crossed over her chest as she carefully danced around the specifics.

Natsu simply chortled in response.

"You’re still on about that?" He teased, clearly feeling at least a little pleased that his surprise plans were getting under her skin. "Can’t you just accept a surprise as a surprise?"

"Wow, Lucy’s so desperate she’s resorted to breaking and entering," Happy sniggered, clearly just in it to get a rise out of her.

"Oh butt out Happy! You two do it all the time!" She snapped back, giving him exactly what he was looking for.

Before any more venom could be spat between them, Lucy felt Natsu’s hands rest on her arms, drawing her attention back to him.

"C’mon, just trust me here, Lucy," he grinned down at her, clearly not upset by her scepticism but not wanting her to worry about it nonetheless. "It’s gonna be great; you ‘n’ me can celebrate together. It’ll be fun."

He was doing his best to reassure her, but his downfall was that he had no idea what he was actually trying to reassure her about. Instead, he had struck fear into her heart with just one word.

There was no longer any benefit of the doubt; he was planning this to celebrate something, and she was still none the wiser as to what exactly they were meant to be celebrating.

She tried to play it cool, to hide her worries from him, but instead her voice got stuck in her throat, and all she could do was flash him a weak smile and hope that he didn’t notice when it didn’t reach her eyes.

Their date was in approximately three hours, and Lucy was no closer to figuring out what the hell they were supposed to be celebrating with it. That was not for lack of trying, of course. She had tried to worm any information out of Natsu, but he would simply shut her down every time with that stupid, cute grin of his that made it hard for her to be upset with him about it, no matter how frustrated she was getting.

He had left her no clues or hints as to what it was that this date was for—he’d hardly even given her a dress code. She was well and truly at her wits end trying to figure out this stupid date.

He had gone to all this effort to plan what he had promised her would be the perfect date, and yet she couldn’t even figure out what the occasion was.

Was she supposed to get him a gift? Would he be mad at her that she didn’t? Would she be able to play it off like she knew what was happening, or would the guilt simply eat her whole?

Perhaps most importantly, did all of this make her a bad girlfriend?

Natsu asked for so little in their relationship compared to what he gave her. If she was forgetting something that was apparently so important to him that he needed to plan a whole date around it.

Lucy wasn’t an insecure person, but sometimes Natsu was so good to her that she felt undeserving of it.

It wasn’t until she got to the final hanger in her closet that she realised she hadn’t been paying any attention as she flicked through her options. Not knowing anything about what they were doing or where they were going had made it difficult to pick out what she was supposed to wear.

She didn’t want to show up underdressed, but she didn’t want to be overdressed either, lest she find out that Natsu had planned on taking her on a spontaneous hike or something like that. It was early afternoon, and it would still be light out when he had told her he would be by, which did her no favours in figuring out where the hell they were going or what the hell they were doing.

Hangers and dresses began to pile up on her bed as she sorted through what she had, feeling as though nothing would be adequate. She tried to concentrate on picking an outfit, but in the back of her mind, all she could do was worry.

It was so stupid. She knew Natsu better than to worry that he would be upset with her, but he had sounded so excited when he talked about this date that she worried that she would hurt his feelings because, in her ignorance, she couldn’t share his enthusiasm.

If she didn’t know what they were supposed to be celebrating, she supposed she would just have to pretend.

She was still putting in her earrings when she heard a knock at the door—a rarity from Natsu but appreciated nonetheless.

"Coming!" She called out as she put in the backing and gave herself a final look over in the mirror.

She had settled on a light blue sundress that hit just above the knees and was decorated with pink and gold flowers that accented the gold stars dangling from her ears.

Grabbing her purse, Lucy finally made her way to the front door, where she came to meet her boyfriend, beaming back at her.

She was relieved to find that, at the very least, she had dressed appropriately for the occasion, finding Natsu donned in a red button up and dark jeans, of course accented with his scarf hanging around his neck.

"Hi," she greeted, her voice soft as her legs practically turned to jelly in his presence—a response that had never really gone away in all their months of dating.

"Hey!" He replied, with that big Natsu smile of his plastered across his face.

He held his hand out for her, which she took in her own, letting their fingers intertwine as she stepped closer to him, basking in the comfort of the familiar heat emanating from his body.

"So, are you going to tell me where we’re going?" She asked, ready to cut to the chase now that the day that had been plaguing her with anxious thoughts had finally arrived.

"Nope!" He simply replied, his smile not wavering even as she huffed in response.

"Please?" She tried, trying to give him her cutest pleading face, but she should have known that Natsu scarcely gave into her charms.

Instead, he leant closer to her, and she was almost certain that he was simply going to cut her off with a kiss before he stopped when their noses bumped together.

"What part of surprise don’t you get?"

When Lucy only replied with another pout, he moved backwards, stepping away and leading her out of her apartment doorway.

"You’ll find out when we get there," he reassured with a smile.

Lucy had expected the when they get there, to come much sooner than it actually did. Instead, she was met with a walk through Magnolia that had gone on much longer than she had expected.

As they were walking down the stairs of her building, she noticed his daypack tossed over his shoulder, which was her first indicator that they weren’t going on a traditional candlelit dinner night. Not that she expected it from him in the first place, but considering she had zero clue what his plans were for the night, being able to rule anything out was a win in her book.

As they strolled through town, hand in hand, they made idle conversation, Natsu not once mentioning what the occasion was. It instilled a certain sense of relief in her, thinking that maybe he would simply not bring it up and she could let herself enjoy the date.

With that little voice of anxiety gone, Lucy could finally let herself relax and enjoy Natsu’s presence, laughing along to his stories from his latest solo job while she shared her own and proceeded to laugh at the silly pout on Natsu’s face upon mentioning receiving the whole reward with no costs for destruction of property.

She didn’t even realise where they were headed until they reached the very outskirts of Magnolia, and her suspicions were piqued again. She shot Natsu a confused look, hoping he might elaborate, but he only looked back at her with that grin that had accompanied every I’m not telling up until now.

It only took a few minutes before she recognised the familiar path they were taking out of town and through the woods lying just on the outskirts. Her suspicions were confirmed when they arrived at a little spot that had become increasingly familiar to her over the years.

The little river, not too far from Natsu and Happy’s house, was a picturesque location, something that Lucy had repeatedly mentioned each time she was dragged here, but her comments were quickly brushed off in favour of what they considered to be the biggest appeal of the place: the vast amount of fish swimming through it.

She just hoped that wasn’t what they were here for today.

Leading her over to one of the trees that stood several feet away from the bank, Natsu dropped his pack on the floor and began to rummage through it before pulling out a well-worn picnic blanket and spreading it out across the grass.

Her expression softened when he looked over, and she realised what he had planned for her.

He may not be the traditional romantic, but he was sweet and thoughtful with everything he did for her, and moments like these made her so grateful that he was hers.

As he was unpacking their dinner from his bag, she caught him off guard with a gentle kiss to his cheek. His eyes widened in surprise, and his cheeks grew a rosy hue as he looked at her, and she had to hold back a giggle at the sight.

She made herself comfortable on the blanket as she watched him set out sandwiches, cheeses and deli meats, and little chocolate-covered strawberries, which he neatly arranged on a little plate for them. Her heart swelled with affection as she watched the little wrinkle of concentration form in his brow as he made sure everything looked perfect for her.

When he was satisfied with its presentation, he shuffled over to join her, a satisfied look on his face as he looked over his work. Looking back over at her, he smiled when he noticed the look of adoration painted across her features.

"Did you make all of this?" She asked, looking down at all of the options he had laid out for them.

He nodded in response, a proud look evident on his face.

"Mira helped me make it," he explained. "Well, she made most of it, but I helped," he corrected, his voice barely more than a mumble as he tried to conceal and exaggerate the part he played in it.

"Thank you," she breathed. "It’s perfect."

"It’s no biggie," he shrugged, though the pleased look on his face not leaving for a second.

Before he had the chance to say much more, Lucy’s hands were resting gently on his face, and she pressed her lips against his in a soft, thankful kiss. She could feel his smile against her lips; he was clearly proud of how it turned out, and rightly so.

She was fully prepared to take back every time she had said that he wasn’t romantic, because this was everything she could have asked for and more.

They were both panting for breath when she finally pulled away, only barely sated by the taste of his lips, but her plans to kiss him more were stifled by the way her lungs cried out for air.

He grinned at her, cheeks flushed and lips swollen, before he finally spoke up.

"Soooo… can we eat now?"

Lucy rolled her eyes at his very predictably Natsu statement but nodded nonetheless, just as eager to dig into their picnic dinner.

She sat comfortably in his lap as they ate together, enjoying each other’s company and the delectable food Natsu had brought along.

She laughed when he moved his head suddenly as she tried to feed him a chocolate strawberry, resulting in a brown smear of chocolate across his cheek, which he, of course, promptly wiped off with his hand and then licked clean, not about to let any of their food go to waste.

A content hum passed through her lips as she rested her head in his lap, enjoying the peaceful sounds of nature surrounding them; the rush of the river, the songs of the birds, and the rustle of the leaves as a soft breeze passed them by.

All her worries had been for nothing. This was perfect.

Perfect.

He ran a hand through her hair, the gentle scratch of his nails against her scalp calming her body before he began to coax her off of his lap. She sat up and opened her eyes, letting Natsu lean over to his pack as he reached inside.

"I got us one more thing," he told her as he carefully brought out a pristine, white dessert box from his bag.

Once he placed it down on the blanket in front of them, he opened the lid to reveal a cake decorated with blue icing and gold rosettes piped around the border of it. Across the top were letters sloppily scrawled across it, which, after a moment, Lucy surmised said Happy Anniversary, and her heart dropped.

Up until now, she had thought that it would never be brought up and that, in her bout of overthinking, she had misheard him when he said they were going to celebrate.

Between then and now, she had checked her calendar again and again and again, but she was certain that today was not a significant milestone in their relationship, so what the hell was Natsu on about?

"Mira ran out of time, so I had to ice the words on, but I think it looks pretty good," he said, admiring his hard work before looking back over at Lucy, who could do nothing but gape at the cake, looking truly and deeply distressed. "Lucy? Is everything okay?" He asked at the first sign of her panic. "You don’t have to eat it if you don’t want to; I just thought it’d be nice."

If she were any quicker on her feet, she would have said something earlier and played it off like she knew what was going on, but the moment she saw the cake, it seemed that her brain had turned off altogether.

Her lack of response caused panic to arise within Natsu, who was desperately trying to find out what was wrong.

She wanted to say something to reassure him, to let him know that all of this had been perfect, and to gently explain that she had no idea what anniversary this was, but she still appreciated all of his effort, nonetheless. Maybe she could have if it weren’t for her brain running a million miles per minute, making it hard to pin down any words and form them into coherent sentences. All she could do was stare at the cake, completely taken aback, until she managed to babble out one sentence.

"I’m the worst girlfriend in the world."

"What? No, you’re not," he assured, worry sparking behind his eyes. "Lucy, what’s wrong? Do you not like the cake?"

"I feel so stupid," she sobbed, bringing her hands up to cover her face and hiding herself in shame. "I’m sorry."

"I don’t know what you’re apologisin’ for," he frowned, his hand resting on her knee in a bid to comfort her. Please, Lucy, ya gotta tell me what’s going on."

With a fair bit of coaxing, she finally managed to look Natsu in the eye, who was looking back at her with a concerned gaze. Her eyes flicked down to the blanket below them, not having the courage to look him in the eye when she finally spoke up again.

"I have no idea what anniversary we’re celebrating," she admitted.

Natsu was silent in response, and suddenly she was overcome with nerves and worry that she had upset him. She had tried convincing herself that he wouldn’t be upset with her, but now that it was happening in real time, she wasn’t too sure.

She glanced up at him quickly, trying to gauge what he was feeling, expecting an expression of anger or upset, but was instead met with a look of confusion on his face.

"You don’t know?" He asked, his voice soft as he spoke, and Lucy’s heart couldn’t take the guilt as she realised that she may have hurt him.

She shook her head.

"Our one-year anniversary isn’t for another four months," she tried to justify, scrambling to save his feelings.

"I know that," he replied, brows furrowed.

"Then… what are we celebrating?"

"Eight months ago, you and me had our first kiss, right here," he explained, which was met with a stunned silence from Lucy. "You don’t remember?" He asked, a twinge of hurt marking his voice.

"Of course I remember," she assured, bringing her hands up to cup his cheeks as she began to recall that moment. "You and Happy took me fishing for a date, but I complained the whole time about how unromantic it was, so you let me sit in your lap while you fished," she recounted. "And then when you finally hooked something, you got so excited that you kissed me for the first time."

Her heart fluttered as she thought of the memory. It wasn’t the perfectly romantic first kiss she had thought she wanted, but it was perfect for them, and that was all she could ask for.

"Yeah, and then you fell into the river," he added, not wanting that seemingly important detail to be missed.

"I didn’t fall. Happy pushed me," she sneered, unimpressed by his reminder.

"Maybe. But however you got in there, you looked real cute clingin’ onto me when I pulled you out."

His smile was so wide as he talked about that memory that every single woe she had instantly disappeared at the sight of it. She let out a breath of relief now that she knew that he wasn’t upset about her not remembering the exact date.

"I want to be so mad at you right now because you made me so nervous thinking that I had forgotten something important, but I can’t because it’s just so cute that you want to celebrate the eight-month anniversary of our first kiss."

"Is it not important to you?" He asked, cocking his head slightly to the side in confusion.

"No! It is important to me; it’s just…" She trailed off and paused for a moment as she tried to think of the right words. "Eight months is kind of a weird milestone to celebrate."

He blinked at her, his expression blank as he tried to process her words.

"Is it?" He replied, not quite understanding where she was coming from.

"Yes, you weirdo, it is."

He hit her with a sort of sheepish, almost embarrassed smile as he registered why she had been so confused.

Well, can we at least still eat the cake?" He asked, glancing over at the box with his celebratory dessert inside.

"Yes, we can still eat the cake," she smiled, which was met with an enthusiastic yell of delight from Natsu.

He had thought far ahead enough to bring them plates and cutlery to eat with, but that didn’t stop him from demolishing his first slice (and each subsequent one) with his hands and encouraging Lucy to do the same. It was only a small little thing, but the two layers made it difficult to fit the whole thing in her mouth when she tried, resulting in frosting being smeared across her lips.

"You got somethin’ on your face," he grinned before leaning in closer, and Lucy was almost certain he was about to lick it off, but instead she was caught off guard when she felt him gently press a kiss to her lips.

When he pulled away, he had not in fact cleared the icing off her face but had instead transferred it to his, and she let out a loud cackle at the sight of it.

"What?"

"You look silly," she laughed, before running her thumb across his lips to wipe the frosting off.

Wiping the icing off of her own face, she leant in to feel his lips against hers once more, barely pulling away after, their noses brushing against each other, their breaths grazing one another’s skin.

"So," she began, endeared by his idea of an anniversary. "What anniversary are we celebrating next?"

"Nine months?" He suggested, his smile wide and so endearing that she couldn’t do anything but laugh.

Nine months sounded good.

#fairy tail #nalu #nalu week #naluweek2023 #fan fiction #mya writes things #allaboutnalu

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abarbaricyalp · 9 months

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Wolf and Falcon

I had ten thousand fics started for Christmas and this is the only one I finished Did you know in "Baby, It's Cold Outside" the characters are called Wolf and Mouse? Just a fun little tidbit AO3 Link

It was among Bucky’s favorite things to tease Sam relentlessly when Sam complained about the winter weather of Louisiana. Despite having lived in DC for years and having spent a fair number of terrible winter days in New York with Steve, and a handful of other locales, Sam had not shaken the habit of complaining as soon as the temperatures dipped below 55 degrees.

He was doing it now, as he fiddled with his jacket, thrown over his arm instead of on his shoulders. It was just so damn cold outside and so damn warm in Bucky’s cozy little house. He’d bought it a little over a year ago, enough months after the Flagsmashers that it wasn’t so absurd he’d move to Sam’s hometown. He’d given it a trial run and decided he liked the place and moved down too. Nothing else to see there.

Now, Sam was staring at the decorative figurines that lined the mantle place of his fake chimney like he’d never seen the knick-knacks before, like most of them weren’t his or bought by him. Bucky had no sense of style or taste and he still had those old 30s sensibilities to buy things like they were rationed.

“Just stay,” Bucky offered after Sam had picked up a wise man and put it down three times. He took Sam’s coat and tossed it back over the couch.

“Nah, I can’t,” Sam insisted again. The back and forth had stretched into its first half hour, but the cold at the door gave it a good longevity. That…and the fact that Sam kind of did want to stay. “Sarah’s expecting me back.”

“Sarah knows you’re with me,” Bucky sighed. “She knows you’re fine. Come on.” He reached for Sam’s wrist, pulled him back from the wall and wrapped Sam in his arms loosely.

God, he was so warm. This was entirely unfair. Sam dropped his face down to Bucky’s shoulder and hugged Bucky back as Bucky picked up the easy slow dance they’d been sharing before Sam had said he should head out for the third or so time. He’d actually stepped away that time. Almost picked up his jacket.

And now they were back to dancing to Andy Williams or Dean Martin or Bing Crosby.

“Sarah knows I’m here,” Sam repeated. “She’ll get suspicious if I don’t come back. She’ll raise her eyebrows at me. Not even have to say a word.”

They hadn’t meant to hide it. Not really. Not at first. Was it even really hiding it if all they were doing wasn’t making a show of it? If you took out the white lies, they were being perfectly honest. It was just that, at first, it had happened really quickly. He and Bucky fell together like nothing had ever been more natural in the whole world. And Sam had dug his heels in in other places to try to fit some time in some other way.

Then, the longer Bucky stuck around, the wilder the rumors got around each of them and both of them. Sam couldn’t stand the thought of proving any right or wrong, so they still hadn’t told anyone anything. The whole thing had just spiraled over the last year and a half. Sometimes it was fun. Sometimes it was stupid. Usually it was some mix of the two.

Like when he couldn't just give in to temptation and stay with Bucky.

“It’s freezing out there,” Bucky pointed out, a far cry from his usual teasing about northern winters. Funny how that worked. When he wanted something, he had the moral consistency of hot fudge.

But so did Sam, when the reward was Bucky sweeping them around the room and warming Sam down to the bone with all that super soldier body heat.

“This was a great night, Buck,” he murmured. Reluctantly, he stepped away from Bucky’s hold, causing them to stutter-step to a halt.

“Yeah,” Bucky agreed. “Feel like we’ve hardly spent any time here together. Alone.”

“Yeah, ‘cause you’re always crashing at Sarah’s,” Sam pointed out. “Which is where I’ve gotta get back to.”

Bucky’s hands fell to Sam’s. He brought them up to his mouth, kissing Sam’s knuckles slowly and melting Sam’s heart right down through his ribs and into the warm pit of his stomach. “Your hands are already like ice. Stay here a while longer.”

“I told the boys I’d…” Sam trailed off, not quite sure what it was he’d said he’d spend all evening doing. It seemed like a million miles away. The boys had certainly forgotten too. There was gossip at school he hadn’t heard about, a new level in a game they’d won, those thousand things that preoccupied little minds.

“Just a while more,” Bucky tempted.

“Another drink,” Sam gave in.

Bucky grinned a megawatt movie star smile and kissed the corner of Sam’s mouth. “I’ll pour something new. Put on another record. Fitzgerald.”

“It’s always Fitzgerald with you,” Sam teased. He crossed to Bucky’s ancient record player and swapped out the Crosby album for a Fitzgerald one. All of his holiday albums were lined up neatly on the top of the entertainment system, the paper and board sleeves flaking and warping with use. He was very particular about getting albums as close to the original pressings as possible. He wanted nothing to do with the modern fad. He hunted down albums that were practically kept in lead boxes with five plastic sleeves on them, and then he instantly began to use them, leaving them out in the open to show off and enjoy. More than one collector had blanched in horror to see Bucky instantly pull the album from its sleeve and touch it, spin it between his fingers, put it right up to his nose to examine all of the grooves.

Ella Fitzgerald’s voice picked up a few scratchy seconds after Sam put the needle down. It took him a few seconds to recognize her Jingle Bells. By the time he did, Bucky had swept him into a fast pace swing dance. Sam hadn’t known how to dance like this before he met Bucky, but he’d had no choice but to learn. Not if he wanted to maintain his status as the prime dancer between the two of them.

Really, this whole affair had started with a dance, if he was being honest. And everything since then had been one too.

Sam missed a step, tripped over his own feet and then Bucky’s, but Bucky was there to catch him, swing him low in a dip. “Now look at you,” he breathed, still grinning like an advertisement. “Those are some starlight eyes.”

Sam dropped his head back, closing his eyes so he could roll them without Bucky seeing. He’d still know. He always knew. But still. “I’ve gotta go home, no matter how sweet you get.”

Bucky pulled Sam back upright only to drop him on the couch, dropping himself next to Sam and pressing in closer, his arm around Sam’s shoulders, their bodies pressed together down their sides. Bucky was turned in towards Sam, like he always sat when he had the chance. It was practically impossible that no one had figured them out yet.

Bucky hooked a knuckle under Sam’s chin and tilted his head up to kiss him gently. Every movement was a spell Sam was incapable of getting out from under. Not that he really wanted to anyway.

“At least I can say that I tried,” he offered softly.

“What’s the sense in hurting my pride?”

Sam laughed and pushed Bucky back into the couch, shifting to straddle his thighs. He pushed his fingers through Bucky’s hair. He’d been growing it out again and trying out a whole bathroom sink worth of new products, but after a night of cooking and drinking and dancing, it was just a damp swoop around his face. Sam pushed it back, tilted his head back at the same time. Bucky looked up at him with those wide, adoring winter blue eyes.

“I’ve got to go,” Sam tried again.

Bucky reached to the side and brought back a glass of whiskey. “Get warm first at least.”

And Sam was plenty warm. He was warm from the drinks and he was warm from Bucky’s body heat and he was warm from pure joy. It felt like a full fire in his chest and stomach, one he couldn’t, and wouldn’t, put out.

“Every nosy auntie is already conspiring,” he warned.

Bucky’s hands trailed up Sam’s shirt, tracing along his spine softly. “It’s practically a blizzard,” he teased. It was not even windy. “You have to stay here. For your own safety. Imagine what they’d say if you got pneumonia and time.”

“That might be true,” Sam conceded. “How will you possibly survive all the old ladies talkin’ about something other than how handsome and sweet you are?”

“Think about how awful I’ll feel if I let you outta here into that and you die,” Bucky tried instead.

Sam shivered a little as Bucky’s fingers trailed over his shoulders, down his shoulder blades, his ribs, back to his hips.

“How awful would you feel?” Sam tempted. “Stroke my ego a little, Barnes.”

“Stay the night and I’ll stroke whatever you want, Wilson.”

“It is really cold,” Sam supposed, glancing to the window. The sun had set a while ago. The street lights were a warm glow, but only highlighted how cool the air must be, all the trees nothing more than naked reaching limbs.

“Your truck isn’t even gonna start,” Bucky agreed.

“It’s so much safer to just stay here.”

“I’m just thinking of your wellbeing.”

“And it’d be rude to leave this drink undrunk.”

“Always better to drink with friends.”

“Baby, it’s cold outside.” Sam grinned at Bucky and Bucky finally surged upwards to kiss him, pulling them both down onto the couch.

Outside, the weather was just frightful, but inside the fire was so delightful.

If you enjoyed this, feel free to leave a kudos or comment on AO3!

#sambucky #sam wilson #bucky barnes #captain america #sambucky fanfic #the falcon and the winter soldier #writing

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saltsicklover · 1 year

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Trouble - Fan Mail Pt. 6

Title: Trouble - Fan Mail Pt. 6

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2700

Rating: T

Warnings: Mentions of blades and straight razor, angst. Steve being an ass and Sam finding shit too funny. Overuse of names.

-- To be continued. I hope you enjoy! Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list :) --

Disclaimer: I do not own Bucky Barnes, or anything related to Marvel within this piece. Not Proof Read or BETA'd. All mistakes are my own.

I do not consent for my work to be edited, reposted, or translated.

You are responsible for your own media consumption. This is a work of fiction that may contain mature themes. If you are sensitive to those subjects, please do not read.

The tension hung between the super soldiers, sticky and all consuming as the hours turned to days after the fight. Bucky sent his letter, begging 201 to be real, to be the woman he is so desperately hoping she is on the other side of the postal route.

He walked the letter down to Miss Brown himself, making sure that Steve couldn't intercept it on it's way. The moment Miss Brown locked her eyes on Bucky, the letter clutched in his grip, she knew she was in for a treat, but Bucky just handed the letter over with a polite 'thank you' before continuing on his way, leaving no room for her to make a quip about it.

Bucky wasn't going to let anyone get in his way, not even Miss Brown and her kind smile. He couldn't afford to chance it. This letter was going to get to her, that he knew for a fact.

The next day, he ran into Steve and Sam in the kitchen, his gut twisting with anxiety as he locked eyes on them. Sam's chest rumbled with leftover laughter, a joke spoken that has disappeared into the air around them. Steve keeps his gaze down, finding the dark coffee in his mug the most interesting thing he has seen all week. Bucky tries not to let it bother him, instead opting to nod a hello towards Sam as he passed.

Steve's body was cocked away from Bucky, attempting to box him out. Bucky swore he could almost feel the cold radiating off of him- he hated it, but not as much as he hated their last encounter.

Bucky has to remind himself that he hasn't done anything wrong. There is nothing in any handbook that explicitly states that he cannot have a pen pal. And why would there be? He isn't spilling government secrets, he isn't endangering others, everything about his writing to her is normal. It's the most normal thing that he as found himself a part of in a long time. He wasn't going to feel bad, and he wasn't going to let Steve make him feel bad about it either. Absolutely not.

"What's with all the tension?" Sam questions, a shiver running up his spine. Goosebumps overtake his skin. He moves to run a warming hand over his skin, aiding them to disappear.

"Ask Rogers," Is all Bucky mumbles as he pours himself a cup of coffee. Steam spirals from the decanter, rippling upwards and spreading across his face. The hot liquid spills into his cup, sloshing as it's filled. Steve rolls his eyes and Bucky puts the decanter back into the machine with a little too much force, the glass clanging loudly against the walls of the machine. Sam raises a questioning brow at Steve, a tight expression covering the blonde's face.

"We got into it a couple'a days ago," Steve brings his own mug to his lips, the mug pressed firmly to his mouth keeping unwanted words from pilling off his tongue. Bucky clutches his mug, knuckles turning white as his skin stretches harshly over bone. There is so much not being said. Bile creeps up Bucky's throat, burning.

A noise escapes Bucky, a rough and ragged sound somewhere between a laugh and a groan. The sound earns looks from the other men, eyebrows raised with anticipation. Sam knows there has to be more than they are letting on, but he is hesitant to question. The friendship Steve and Buck share is older than time and more complicated than string theory and Sam knows better than to stick his nose into places it doesn't belong. The tension, however, makes him feel like he is stuck in a foxhole, communing with God, so he pushes.

"Sounds like there is more to it than that," Sam's tone is firm, his eyes shifting between the men. Bucky folds his arms over his chest defensively, looking through his downturned gaze straight at Steve. The blonde shifts awkwardly from leg to leg, beginning to cave under the stares of the other men.

"I'm just looking out for your safety, Buck," Steve mumbles, "Someone's gotta have your best interest in mind, especially when you don't," Sam watches as Steve's eyes make a full revolution as Bucky scoffs.

They haven't had a fight like this in a long time. Before the war, they never fought over girls or where to spend their time. They often bickered, mostly Bucky to Steve, telling him that if he doesn't slow down he will have an asthma attack, a fit, Bucky would have to carry him home. Steve was always high off of someone's fist, pulling his face from the dirty pavement with blood flowing from his nose. Most of his shirts where stained down the front with blood from instances like that.

Bucky fought for him, on more than one occasion, when he couldn't convince Steve that it would have just been easier to run. Running isn't always cowardly- sometimes it's necessary for self preservation. Run- live to fight another day.

"Okay, hold up," Sam puts his hands up, one palm towards each man, attempting to deescalate the rising testosterone. "What got this whole thing started? What makes you think that Buck isn't looking after his own ass?" The whole situation seems to be becoming more ridiculous with each passing moment.

"Steve think's 201 is trouble," Bucky mumbles into his coffee. Steve turns bright crimson, a blush crawling to live beneath his skin. Bucky can feel the frustration bubble through his veins, palm going itchy, stomach folding over itself.

"I can't help it, Buck," Steve rubs at the back of his neck, moving to run over his bearded cheek. Bucky sends him a sort of angry shrug, his eyebrows furrowed tight. Bucky is truly finding it hard to care.

Sam watches the interaction, the pieces falling into place in his brain. 201, Buck's pen pal, Ace! The thought hits Sam like a bullet. It strikes him, a laugh erupting from deep within his chest. The sound is full and hearty, drowning the tension in the air with a swirl of joy. It catches his friends off guard, their expressions bewildered and offended.

"You think Ace is trouble?" Sam manages to cackle, his words falling out through laughter. "Ace? Oh you've gotta be kiddin' me!" Sam howls now, tears invading his vision as a cackle rips through him. "She couldn't hurt anyone if she tried! Hell, even with her straight razor she looked soft. There is nothing tough or menacing about her!"

Sam is doubled over from laughter, each giggle complete with an incoherent thought about Ace and her inability to be anything other than sweet and sincere. Steve and Bucky share a confused glance, their faces tangled up as they look at Sam, head tucked between his knees as tears stream down his face. The unbridled joy that pours out of him is infectious, causing the men to snicker a bit at him.

For the first time since the fight, the tension between Steve and Bucky seems to lesson, Sam's laughter washing over them and carrying the tension from their bones. After a moment, Steve is giggling a bit, too, leaving Bucky standing there a bit more confused than when it first stared.

"Are you going to just laugh to yourself you asshole or are you going to tell us what's up?" Steve giggles, hand coming up to press against his chest. They watch as Sam wipes his face with the heels of his hands. He takes a couple of deep breathes, steadying himself.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" Sam finally gets out, "I'm good, I'm totally good!" The air in the room shifts again as they the super soldiers are still waiting for Sam to clue them in.

"Steve, you might want to hold back Buck for this next part," Sam tells them, backing up a bit to put more distance between himself and Bucky. There is already the kitchen island between them, but Sam moves to put Steve between them as well, a cautious hand out in front of him. Neither of the other men move, their feet still planted firmly in place.

Steve is too curious and Bucky is too nervous, but neither of them show it. Steve urges Sam on with a couple revolutions of his wrist. Bucky just stares at him through his scrunched brows.

"A few weeks ago, I wrote to Ace-" Sam begins, only to get cut off by Steve.

"Ace?" The other men question in unison.

"Yeah, Ace, that's what I call her. I didn't know her name because metal man didn't want to share it, so I had to steal it from his mail with a little help from Miss Brown; but, that's not the point of this!" Sam begins, his face flushing raspberry hues, prickling to live up his neck as he swallows thickly.

Bucky's hands a clenched, tension grasped in the spaces between his fingers and palm.

Sam clears his throat, "I wrote her and I told her that we needed to meet, plain and simple. I'm with you on this one, Steve. Someone had to make sure that this whole situation came up legit," He shrugs a bit, a sly smirk painted over his lips.

Steve visibly relaxes at the news, the thoughts of him being 'crazy' or 'overbearing' or hell, even being 'paranoid' fly out the window. Sam voicing his concern for Buck really fills Steve with a sort of calm, knowing that his newest friend cares for his oldest. The thought warms his heart.

Bucky, on the other hand, is fuming. But, he's not sure if it's because his friends don't seem to trust him to make his own choices, or if it's because Sam got to meet her first. That thought leaves Bucky feeling physically aching. The jealously snaking around the inside of his chest cavity, pulsating with each breath. His knuckles are pure white, almost like his bone is going to bust through the skin while the slight whirring sound grates through the room as the plates of his hand push together with force.

He hunches his shoulders a little further, the jealousy making him want to shrink away into nothing as it takes over, bit by bit. The grip he has on his emotions is slipping, falling through his fingers like globs of wet sand. He aches.

"What was she like?" Steve questions, almost like he is asking more for Bucky than he is for himself. Bucky leans in a bit, waiting for Sam to answer, that sly smirk still adorning his face.

"At first she was guarded, closed off. Maybe protective?" Sam shrugs a bit, gesturing, "But she cornered me into her work station and insisted on giving me a shave. I have to admit, I was a bit nervous with that blade pressed up against my neck,"

Bucky chuckles at that, the low sound rumbling through his already smoldering chest. The thought of his pen pal with a blade pressed against Sam's skin while she put him in his place was just too good.

"She was kind, attentive to her work, firm with her words, and definitely good with a blade," Sam rubs a hand over the stubble that has come in, the movement involuntary at the thought of a razor pressed against his warm skin. The memory of the sound makes him shudder, goosebumps running down his spine.

Steve and Bucky both watch Sam intensely as he fidgets a bit, thinking about what else he wants to say about his encounter with Ace. He mulls over an idea, the boys can see the cogs turning in his mind through his eyes.

Sam bites his lip, mumbling, "She wasn't going to write you back,"

"What?" Bucky questions, "I didn't hear you,"

"She wasn't going to write you back," Sam says a little louder this time, wincing as the words leave his lips.

Bucky's heart drops into the depths of his stomach, the jealousy coating his insides slides away as the nausea takes over. He goes cold, then hot, then cold again, sweat slicking over his skin. Bile creeps up the back of his throat.

She wasn't going to write him back. The thought turns Bucky's stomach. He almost lost her and he didn't even know it. She almost got away from him, slipped through his fingers, ended up as a passing thought, a fleeting fancy. Almost. He didn't even know it. Fuck, how could he not have known?

But, she did write it back, the letter is currently tucked in his pocket with the others, sitting firmly against his chest- against his heart. She did write back, and he repeats that thought over and over to himself as he wipes his the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve.

"But, she did write back," Bucky speaks after a few moments of silence, the thickness of the air surrounding them seems to quell at his words. His voice is small, and he looks a bit like a kicked puppy when he speaks, but that doesn't change the words that come out of his mouth. It doesn't change the reality that she did write him back.

Sam and Steve acknowledge his words with a nod a small smile.

"Is that all, Sam?" Steve asks, turning his attention back.

"She asked me to look after tin man," He smiles, gesturing over to Bucky, who's face has turned scarlet at his words. He can feel the blush running deep beneath his skin. Both Steve and Sam break into large smiles, their faces glowing with the knowledge.

Now that everything is out, the tension around the men completely falls away. All of the anger and the resentment that hung between the soldiers for the last couple of weeks is gone. They can breathe, each drawing a deep breath into their lungs and letting the oxygen spill into their veins.

"Are we good, man?" Sam turns back to Bucky, his eyebrows raised in question. Bucky just nods, a small bit of jealousy still stinging. Bucky can't believe he knows what she looks like before he does.

"Yeah, Sam, we're good," Bucky offers, and with that, Sam turns to leave.

"Wait!" Bucky calls after him, catching his attention before he rounds the corner. Sam meets his eyes with a questioning look. All Bucky can do is stand there and wring his hands together, unsure of how to broach his question without sounding insensitive. The words are stuck on his tongue.

"Buck?" Steve prompts a bit, encouraging his friend.

"What's- uhh, what's she like?" Bucky starts off, emphasizing words to try and get a different meaning across. Both Steve and Sam look at Bucky, brandishing their best smirks. Sam just crosses his arms over his chest, leaning his body against the wall.

"What's she like, huh?" Sam teases, earning him a grumpy stare from Bucky and a light laugh from Steve.

"She's..." Sam starts, "She's beyond beautiful, Buck." Sam bites his lip a bit, watching the wonder and frustration bloom over his face in equal measure. "She glows, like light reflecting from broken crystal. She's honest and maybe a little broken- it's that look in her eye that got me though," he chuckles a bit, "When she asked me to look after you, her eyes were so big, like you could see through them and right into her soul,"

Those are the last words, Sam leaves him with before disappearing, leaving Bucky to over analyze each one. Steve leaves him a moment later, a small smile bidding him goodbye.

And so, Bucky stands in the kitchen alone, feeling lighter than he has in days, brain stuck on the idea of her soulful eyes. He brings his hand up to his chest, pressing the letters closer to his heart. He can feel the faint beat through the letters, and suddenly a thought hits him-- This won't be letters forever, at some point, there will be a women standing in front of him and he will have to look at her, right in the eyes. His reflection will stare back and maybe her soul will too.

This will not stay on paper forever, it just can't, and Bucky panics.

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