#my handsome mountain man of my dreams

[thewanderer-000]

My Big Daddy Jake Cakes

Uh he's ☺😳😍❤❤❤❤

[biting-miguel-ohara]

Alpha - Logan Howlett x ftm!reader

A/N: Hi! Um, this is my first work within the fandom! This was written with X-Men Logan in mind. Fic is unedited with no use of Y/N. This is so self-indulgent, so please be nice

Please make sure to read the tags carefully! They’re there for a reason

CW: Reader is a wolf mutant; Logan and Reader get off to a tense start; Reader is implied to be pre-op ftm, via the use of sports bras; implied wet dreams; use of the words slick and wet to describe Reader’s arousal; a/b/o dynamics? maybe?; misunderstandings; rough sex; pet play? (Reader is called pup); Reader is referred to as handsome; grinding; fingering; use of the word dick to describe Reader’s parts; overstimulation; no use of safe word; unprotected piv; multiple orgasms; implied aftercare

2493 words

The first thing you notice about Logan is his scent.

Not that you know it belongs to him. But it’s all you can smell as you talk to Jean. Thick and heady and strong. Musky like an animal and cloying like smoke.

Jean, of course, can tell you’re distracted. Instead of calling you out on it, she simply calls him in. Him and Scott enter at the same time, with an air of tension between them. Not that you care for long.

You’re too busy ogling the man in front of you. Rugged and handsome, more like a mountain man than a teacher.

Yet, that’s how Jean introduces him. Logan Howlett. History teacher.

You smile politely. You hold out your hand and try to not get too offended when he doesn’t shake it. You can tell he’s wary of you. Not that you could blame him.

You must be giving off a scent of your own, though you can’t smell it. But you can hear his inhale, feel the way his eyes watch you. You know he knows.

Especially when he straightens up. Lifting his chin and widening his stance. Establishing his dominance in a more subtle way than most other males. Perhaps he’s just that assured in his position.

Either way, you can feel your instincts itching at the back of your mind. The desire to submit. To recognize his authority. It pricks at you like a needle, but you brush it away. You’ve had enough of submitting to men like him. If he wants it, he’ll have to earn it.

Jean rests a hand on Logan’s arm, softly scolding him, probably for what he’s thinking. “Hey, be nice. They’re a wolf mutant.”

“A wolf mutant?” He looks unimpressed.

You stand your ground. Your nerves are starting to buzz from the force of his gaze. You hate stare downs, but you can’t lose this one.

“Yeah.” You answer him yourself. “That’s me.”

He scoffs and looks you up and down. “Yeah, whatever, bub. You ever even see a real wolf?”

You know what he’s doing and you hate it. But at least he’s not mistaking you for a girl and being all overly nice. You’d rather get his blunt side than his fake side.

“No. I’m a wolf mutant, not a real wolf.” You at least try to keep some of the sarcasm from your voice. Trying’s worth something, right?

Logan doesn’t look impressed. He crosses his arms, which prompts Scott to finally step in. “Welcome to Xavier’s Home for—“

“Thanks.” You interrupt him with a smile, but your gaze never leaves Logan’s.

Scott seems caught off guard. “Why… don’t I show you around…?”

Something in you relaxes at the thought of being away from such an intimidating man like Logan. You nod and accept his offer.

On your tour, your thoughts keep drifting back to Logan. Even away from him, your body sets on edge at the thought of him. He’s going to be trouble for you, you’re sure of it.

Most of the mutants at Xavier’s are surprisingly accepting of you. The adults, you mean. You don’t tell the kids.

Maybe it’s because you have Jean and Scott on your side, but most of the adults don’t bother you after learning your secret. Most of them find out when you come to training wearing a sports bra and baggy pants.

A few have questions. Most just leave you alone.

You’ve never been more grateful that Logan wasn’t around than during that particular training session.

The tension between the two of you has only gotten worse. You’re sticking by your defiance to his posturing, even at the expense of your pride. Your nerves hate it as well, practically screaming at you whenever Logan gets too close.

Part of you can’t figure it out. You’ve been around men like him before, but never with this reaction. The other part of you doesn’t care enough.

And yet, you care enough to be relieved that he doesn’t directly know your secret. It’s not a huge deal; you’re pretty sure Jean would’ve told him by now. But it’s still nice that he doesn’t know from you.

Until he does.

The whole day starts with you feeling off. You have one of those good dreams, and wake up in a puddle of your own slick. Definitely a damper to your morning.

Then they run out of your favorite breakfast food, some of your students are late to class, and it goes on and on.

By evening you are pissed. Not just at life but at yourself. Because the one thing you cannot get out of your mind is your dream.

You can remember strong arms. Growls of your name. A thick cock bullying its way between your legs. Delicious pleasure.

But you cannot remember the face. It eludes you all day. Stuck there at the back of your mind. On the tip of your tongue.

It’s not until Logan walks into your classroom after your last class that it hits you. With horrifying, picture perfect clarity.

Logan. It was Logan. You had a fucking wet dream about Logan.

Even worse? You’re not as opposed to the idea as you thought you’d be.

For a moment, you’re just staring at Logan. He raises an eyebrow. “You okay, bub?”

“Uh, yeah.” You hastily gather up your things, hoping beyond hope that he can’t smell the slight arousal you feel.

You know it’s too late when you brush by him and he stiffens. You know he can smell you. It doesn’t help the problem.

“What—“

You make your exit. Very fast. Very undignifying. But he doesn’t follow, so you count it as a win.

Two things change. The first is that you start avoiding Logan as much as possible. The second…

Well, the second is that he features in every single one of your dirty fantasies. Every wet dream. Every random horny thought. All Logan.

And it is infuriating.

Logically, you know why. He’s the protector of the house. The ‘alpha’ of the pack, so to speak. Sooner or later your body would react to his presence. He’s strong, handsome, and gruff. Literally your type.

You still blame it on your biology and pretend you don’t think of him when you get off.

It works for a week. One week, that’s how long you get before Logan corners you in the Training Room.

The moment you smell his musky scent, you know you’re fucked. He smells like anger. And something more that you try really hard to not think about.

But this moment was to come eventually, so you gear yourself up and face him head on.

You know you’re a sight. Sweaty and out of breath, wearing a sports bra and pants. If he didn’t know before, he sure does now.

Logan stops a few feet away from you. He eyes you up and down, frowning slightly. For a moment, there’s nothing but silence between you.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he says gruffly.

You cross your arms and wait for him to continue. Slivers of anxiety spiking through your body.

“Why? Why are you avoiding me?” Logan looks frustrated and it makes you want to cower. Shrink down and beg for his forgiveness.

You hated it. How dare he make you feel this way? All because you’re stuck with a fucking wolf mutation that makes you want to hide like a little puppy from him.

So you push against your instincts. Straighten yourself up. Meet his gaze full on. “What does it matter why?”

Logan blinks. As if he hadn’t been expecting your defiance. Then he rumbles out a growl. “You missed the team training session yesterday. How are we supposed to make sure you’re ready for missions if you don’t show up?”

It’s your turn to blink. To stare. To be confused. “What?”

He crosses his arms, unintentionally making his forearms stand out so perfectly. Not that you’re noticing, of course. Just another pesky side effect of his presence.

“You’re one of the most capable mutants here,” Logan says firmly. “So if you have an issue, let’s talk about it now.”

“Wait, you’re here about missions?”

He nods. Then frowns. “What else would I be here for?”

Suddenly you feel stupid. Absolutely stupid. “So… you’re not here about…” You gesture to your body.

His frown deepens. “What?”

“You know,” your anxiety feels like fire ants in your stomach. “The fact that my body is—“

“I could care less, bub,” he says bluntly. “It’s your body.”

You want to cry. You want to laugh. This whole time you’ve been stressing about Logan, and he hasn’t given a single fuck.

You relax. Your anxiety dissipating so fast it makes your head feel funny. That’s one of your problems solved.

And the other?

Well, it only gets worse.

It all comes to a head on a random Tuesday.

Scott, Jean, and Ororo are off on a mission. The students have all been dismissed from their classes. You’re in the Training Room, working out yet another filthy dream about Logan.

Your fantasies about him have gotten more intense now that you know he doesn’t care about the way your body is. It’s a major, major problem. You’ve started getting dehydrated from the amounts of slick you’re creating.

Which is why you’re in the Training Room instead of getting off. You’re lucky Jean and the Professor haven’t said anything yet, but sooner or later they’re gonna know.

You’re working through your third round of training dummies when a scent catches your attention. Musk and thick smoke. You stop immediately.

“Don’t mind me,” Logan says, a hint of amusement in his gruff tone. “I’m just here to train as well.”

Your hopes for training might as well be ashes in the wind. There is no way you are going to be able to focus on anything other than him.

“Wanna spar?” You ask, false cockiness in your voice.

Instantly your instincts are screaming at you. Challenging the alpha to a fight? You might as well give up your position in the school now. No one challenges an alpha to a fight without a cause behind them.

Excessive horniness apparently didn’t count to your wolf brain. But it did to you.

Logan eyes you. He seems tense; can he smell your light arousal in the air?

“Sure.” You find yourself both relaxing and tensing at his agreement.

You clear the floor and get into your positions. Your instincts start to settle, helping you focus. You take a breath, and move.

The sparring is brutal. Fun and exhilarating, but brutal.

One thing leads to another, and the next thing you know you’re flat on your back. Logan pinning you down. One hand keeping your hands above your head, the other keeping your waist against the floor. His knee nudged between your legs.

You get wet ridiculously fast. You’re panting, gasping for breath, and you can smell your own arousal. You can feel the slick coating your thighs, soaking through your boxers.

You meet Logan’s gaze. Your wolf instincts are mostly quiet for once. Probably because he already has you pinned down. The only thought in your head?

Submit to him.

Logan’s pupils are blown. He’s panting too, and you know he can smell you.

“You into this sort of shit?” He asks, voice hoarse.

You can’t do much against the instincts of your brain. You let your head rest against the floor. “Into you, maybe.”

There’s a moment of silence.

Logan’s voice is rougher than you’ve ever heard it. The sound goes straight to your core.

“Tell me you don’t want this,” he growls, “and it’ll never have happened.”

“I want this,” you say, a hint of a whimper in your voice. “Logan, I need—“

His mouth smashes against yours. It’s not pretty, it’s not delicate. He kisses you like he’s starving, ravaging your mouth. Nipping at your lips until the tang of blood fills your mouth.

It’s not pretty, but it makes you oh so wet.

You moan into his mouth, struggling against his hold on you. You want to rake your fingers through his hair, buck up against him, really just anything more than what he’s giving you now.

“Settle down, pup,” he growls.

Your body responds embarrassingly fast. You still, panting into his mouth.

“Please,” you beg, “please, Logan, I need you.”

He smirks. Nudges his knee against your crotch. Even the slight amount of friction feels like heaven and you chase it with a moan.

“Dumb little slut,” he mutters. “Bet you’re already soaked for me, huh, handsome?”

You just whine, too busy grinding against his knee to answer. You need more. You need more. Why isn’t he giving you more?

“Logan,” your voice breaks, “Please!”

“Please what?” His fingers ghost along the waistband of your pants. “Use your words.”

“Please touch me,” you whimper.

He smirks, his words dripping with condescension. “Good boy.”

You almost cum just from his words alone. And when his fingers dip under your waistband, sliding into your boxers to circle your dick?

Your vision blurs with pleasure, your body squirming underneath him. He doesn’t let up, just keeps rubbing his fingers against you. It’s torture, pure delicious torture.

“Logan!” You sob. “Too much!”

“Too much?” He mocks. “I can fucking smell you, pup. I can smell the amount of slick pouring out of you. It’s not ‘too much’ till I’ve drained every last drop of cum from your dick.”

As if to make his point, he stuffs two fingers inside you, stretching you out and making you sob. When you start to squirm, he shifts, letting go of your hands in favor of pinning down your waist. Keeping you firmly against the floor.

You burrow your fingers into his hair, gripping tightly to keep from screaming as he curls his fingers against that one spot inside you.

It’s exquisite, mind-numbing, perfect.

He bullies his cock inside you after your third orgasm, stretching you out and making you babble mindlessly. You’re a mess on the floor; fucked out, sweaty, and coated in your own slick.

The sounds are obscene, and you hope to god no one outside the room can hear you.

You can barely feel your legs, lost to everything except the pleasure and the feeling of his hands gripping your thighs as he pounds into you. Over and over and over.

He cums once, and fucks it all back into you. It’s not until you’re literally drooling on the floor that he finally lets up, cumming inside you for the second time.

You whine softly as he pulls out, blearily cracking open your eyes.

“Hush, pup,” he soothes. “Let’s go get you cleaned up.”

He lifts you into his arms and you nuzzle into his chest. Uncaring about how messy you are, or about the puddle of cum and slick left on the floor.

It’s just Logan for now, and you’re content with that.

[wildemaven]

dream with me…

You’ve been with Joel for a few years— not in that sense. You met him somewhere between outbreak day and Boston. Smugglers together under the guidance of Tess.

You were both hardened by the same thing— tormented by the fact that you both lost everything that meant the most to you.

The only difference between you both, you harbored feelings for a man who would never have the same for you.

It was on a failed smuggling operation that your life moving forward would change forever. You fumbled the job horribly, nearly getting yourself killed by a group of runners.

Joel had to save your ass. Wasted energy and time, Joel told you, costing you both to forfeit the rest of the job and head back empty handed.

You knew you fucked up and the tension that simmered upon arriving back was obvious. You attempted to smooth things over, apologize for your fuck up and promising to make up for the loss in any way possible.

‘I don’t care what you do, you almost got us killed. I’d be fine if we never spoke again’ was all Joel said to you before icing you out completely.

Tess tried to convince you to stay. Let everything blow over like it usually does. But you couldn’t bear to stay any longer, feeling like a walking hazard to the group. It was only time before you got hurt or worse— someone else would.

Tommy offered you to join him, as he was leaving in the morning to meet up with a group of fireflies heading west. You agreed, asking him to not tell anyone that you were leaving with him.

You took one last look at what had been home for you since arriving in Boston. Glancing at Joel’s closed door briefly, then slipping out undetected, before the sun even had a chance to shine over the QZ.

‘Tommy!!’

The whole town was stunned by the commotion. Tommy and a newcomer’s reunion on display for everyone to witness. Only to you this wasn’t a stranger.

You watched from behind a wall of people, happy to see the two brothers together again. It’s the first time you’d ever seen Joel smile in all the time you had known him.

Silently, you retreat from the crowd and excitement, hoping to remain undetected for the time being.

Unbeknownst to you, Joel was made aware of your presence immediately. Tommy giving him and the young girl that arrived with him a tour of the fenced in grounds, making sure to point out the home you had been residing in since joining the community.

It’s only a matter of time before your paths cross, but you kept your distance, quick steps and redirection, avoiding any and all interactions with Joel Miller.

One evening you’re making your way home from dinner with friends, knowing you had plenty of time before Joel would be joining Tommy and Maria in the same spot. The air cool and crisp as the sun descended behind the Jackson mountains.

Your name being called out by a familiar voice stops you in your tracks. Your heart nearly beats out of your chest listening to the crunch of gravel beneath his boots as he walks closer.

‘Jus’ wanted to come say hi ‘n see how you’ve been. Seen you around here ‘n there. Seems like you’ve been avoidin’ me though.’

You turn to face him fully. He’s a much older version of himself. Greyed and still the most handsome man you’ve ever seen.

‘I’m fine, Joel. Just makin’ sure I keep up my end of the bargain— with never speakin’ again and all.’

That’s all you manage to get out before you turn and head up the path to your home and closing the door behind you.

Anywho. This was a dream I had last night and it’s been bouncing around my noggin most of the day. Of course it would end on a cliffhanger like that too.

[yunniestars]

"maybe this time, love won't end."

. . . ACT III. "In My Dreams." ʚɞ pairing: kinich x gn!reader ʚɞ cw: mentions of bleeding, masters of the night-wind clan mentioned (but likely ooc because it hasn't been released yet), this is really short sorry, y/n has parents issues

"fuck, fuck, fuck!"

the panicked boy cradled you in his arms, caressing your lifeless eyes. he feels his heart quicken and drop, all he can hope is that everything happening right now is a fever dream -- but it wasn't.

"baby, love, please, say anything... i'm begging. don't play pranks with me right now." the tears start to well up in his eyes, and your body could only keep on bleeding while your dead eyes just stared at kinich's pained ones.

"love please this isn't funny. love? y/n?"

he wakes up in cold sweat as the memories of your death haunted him once again. it's been a while since it happened, but it's still an unpleasant nightmare to wake up from.

he looks at the sky and realizes that today was the day he was going to meet your parents, once more.

୨୧

"thanks for picking me up," you smile as you walk side-by-side alongside kinich, gazing at the towering mountains that the both of you pass by.

kinich shakes his head. "it's nothing. besides, you're the one taking me to your parents. i want to at least make a good impression."

"you sound like a boyfriend sometimes," you chuckle while he just falls silent. "but, it's not a bad thing. you're really just a gentleman, huh?"

"yeah, i guess," he responds because, well, you aren't really wrong. he checks around the surroundings, in case anything happens. the act catches your attention, and your eyes soften into a tender gaze.

"anyone would be lucky to have you, kinich." you mumble while his head turns to you, not hearing what you said well.

"what?" "...nothing," you laugh and just continue walking alongside him, who just hummed in response, not paying much mind to whatever it is that you whispered to yourself.

୨୧

"we're here!" you stretch and sigh as the two of you had finally reached your destination. your family lived further from the scions of the canopy, residing in the masters of the night wind tribe. "so, what do you think?"

he looked around the place, it hasn't changed much from what he remembers. the same, homey feeling is still strong, even when he's just in front of the door. "it's a pretty house. i can tell why you love plants now."

you smile and knock on the door. "ma, pa! i'm here!"

the moment you say those words, the quickening of footsteps grew louder until the door opens, and your younger siblings spring outside and pounce at you. "y/n!"

they engulf you in a big hug, while you scold at them for being reckless. kinich just watches the scene trying not to laugh, thinking how amusing it that how your siblings still act like little kids each time they get to see you.

"where's mom and dad?" you ask your younger sister, who gestures to the living room.

"they've been anticipating for you and your boyfri- ow ow ow!" you pinch her cheeks, knowing what your younger sister was about to say.

"anyway, this is kinich, my friend. say hi to them," you point at kinich who just nods at them, and they do the same in the return.

"wow~ you have such a really handsome friend!" your younger sister fawns over him and he just chuckles while patting their heads, while your younger brother looks at him with a skeptical look.

"oh, you two are finally here."

from the living room came your mother, who kinich recognized immediately.

୨୧

"it's a pleasure to meet you, mr and mrs. l/n," kinich says, pouring juice in their cups while you were outside playing with your younger siblings.

"so coa was right. it was you, huh..." kinich hears your mother speak, and he continues to pour the juice while also plating them servings. "how have you been?"

"i've been... fine," he responds curtly.

"still a man of few words, huh?" your father chuckles as kinich just nods, feeling a bit nervous.

"we sent y/n and her siblings outside, for two reasons; coa and lili had been anticipating them the moment they said they'd visit today, and because we want to talk to you." kinich gulped as your mother continued speaking. "tell us, how much do you know?"

"none, ma'am." he responds swiftly, to be fair -- he really didn't know majority of it. "all i know, based on observation, is they lost memory and got revived... but how?"

"to put it simple, we revived y/n." ah, so his speculation was right. "the process is not meant to be disclosed to outsiders like you ━ however, the cost of revival was y/n's memories."

kinich nods, understanding the truth of it. "okay. i do have a question, though. why did you revive y/n? i mean, i'm not complaining ━ but was there any particular reason as to why so?"

"as mages, we cannot guarantee the accuracy of our incantations if there are no test subjects. we did not expect y/n to come back to life ━ however, as you can see, the results proved otherwise. needless to say, the experiment was a success."

kinich's blood runs cold the moment she finished her explanation. "what do you mean by experiment?"

your mother raises a brow. "oh, well an experiment is when for example, you have a new formula to test, however-"

"no, i know what an experiment is," he places his fork down. "what do you mean y/n was like some kind of test subject to you?"

"kinich, dear. please listen-" your mother tries to explain herself, however kinich shakes his head.

"i've heard enough. i already have the answers to the questions i wanted to know... we should stop talking," he gets up and moves his chair back on the table. "i apologize, but it's getting late as well."

kinich starts walking away, until your mother grabbed his arm. "dear, we promise we love them dearly. it's just that, the opportunity was right there. we couldn't have missed it."

the boy shakes his hand away and sighs. "look. there's a lot on my mind, and i honestly don't know how to react to everything you just said. it's... a lot to take in," he looks back at your parents. "did you revive them because you loved them deeply, or for the sake of seeing the results?"

your parents don't utter a word, which cues him to just head to the front door. until your father reached out to him as well, causing him to grunt out of annoyance. "what now?"

"at least promise us you'll be able to provide the love that they deserve ━ the love we never managed to give to them."

the black-haired boy scoffs, while looking at them with the same neutral expression he has, but his words speak of oath. "that, i can compromise at least."

୨୧

"i can't believe the day is almost over... i feel like we were there for just an hour!" you frown while kinich listens to you intently. "so, what do you think of my parents? you seemed to talked a long time there," you chuckle while gazing at the stars that surround the both of you.

the boy doesn't flinch. he doesn't want you to know the main purpose of why you were revived -- it was childish, sure, but seeing the entire picture makes him think you'd be disappointed at how shallow it was.

in the end, he responds with "well, they're fine."

you roll your eyes at his short response. "that's it? ugh, to be fair you're like them, boring adults."

he raises a brow at their words. "you're an adult too, you know."

"well... i'm an adult with a heart of a child!" you retort back while he just snorts.

"yeah, a mind like one, too."

at that moment, you just start to (weakly) punch him as he just blocks your so-painful attacks by creating a barrier ━ his own hands.

time passes by as quick as the wind, and with just one blink, the two of you were in front of your residence.

your expression morphs into a solemn one, while kinich can't help but sigh at the sight in front of him. he hates saying goodbye when you two are having a good time, but then again, good things come to an end.

"well... i guess this is where we say goodbye?"

you hesitantly nod, tugging the hem of your shirt. "mayhaps. see you tomorrow?"

he nods and hugs you, a bit tightly as if he didn't want to let go of you. after some time, he lets go of you while waving a small goodbye, to which you nod at. the moment he leaves, you feel your heart wanting to pull him away and let him be with you for much longer ━ the time given wasn't enough.

"please don't leave," your impulsive thoughts yell at you, telling you to listen to your heart and call for him to return.

okay, maybe for once, you'll let them win.

just as his figure starts to slowly disappear as he walks heading home, you suddenly run up to him and headlock him which caused him to start choking.

"wht re yu doinf-"

you let go of him, and he starts catching for his breath. "what the hell was that for?" he asks with a hint of annoyance while you just look at him, a pleading expression plastered on your face.

"can you stay for the night?"

୨୧ act ii | act iv ୨୧ masterlist

♡ tags: @lvvcian @sunsethw4 @wutap @gasoline-eater @ellieloverrr @romyoia @lunavixia @hipsdofangirl @3lectraheart @keiiqq @fantasyhopperhea

a/n: thank you for reading this chapter! i almost gave up on writing because i felt a bit lost huhu, but thankfully i managed to find my footing again. i really appreciate everyone's notes reblogs and comments, seeing how you guys react to the story makes me really happy hehe. i think this is where the angst part ends (for now), so we're heading for a more fluff approach atm i guess :) i hope u can continue to enjoy this story!

[prythianpages]

Wanna Be Yours | Rhysand x Reader

Rhysand x Reader | When the Night Court and Dawn Court strike a deal, healers in exchange for Illyrian training, you rush at the opportunity to leave your home. You plan to keep a low profile but upon meeting the High Lord of night, your efforts are futile. He takes an instant liking to you and is set on being yours.

warnings: angst, mentions of blood and injury

a/n: This can be read as a stand alone imagine :) but there will be a part two. once again, we have another mini series inspired by a song: I wanna be yours by the Arctic Monkeys. I love when the guy falls in love with the girl first and I feel like it suits Rhys. This takes place before the events of ACOTAR.

The world awakens to a gentle warmth–a tender kiss from dawn. The stars are like a fading dream, bidding their silent farewell and the first tendrils of sunlight emerge, painting the sky in hues of soft pinks and purples. The world seems to hold its breath and so do you.

It’s so beautiful. The way night surrenders to day. The way that no matter how dark it gets, the sun will rise again. It makes you miss home but you don’t miss what waits for you there.

“You don’t belong here.”

You startle and the world tilts beneath your feet. The edge of the terrace offers a daunting view of the Court of Nightmares–a harsh landscape of rocky mountains that seems to promise a swift but unforgiving descent. A hand grasps your arm, pulling you back from the brink, the force spinning you around until you find sanctuary in a pair of strong arms.

As you lift your head, the world regains its focus, but your breath hitches at the sight before you.

 A man, heartbreakingly handsome, captures your gaze. He has sun-kissed skin and short dark hair, reminiscent of a raven’s feather, that frames features that seem almost too perfect to be real. Yet, it’s his eyes that draw you in–a shade of blue so deep it borders on violet. Flecks of silver dance within those celestial irises, mirroring the stars that had bid their farewell earlier. His gaze is intense, sparkling with an allure that feels both familiar and bewitching.

“Breathe, darling.”

His voice, a velvet symphony, wraps around you like the answer to a question you hadn’t even fathomed to think of yet–a revelation that ignites a feeling you can’t quite discern but it stirs the deepest recesses of your heart. 

Suddenly, you’re pushing away from the male with a deep exhale as a delicate pink that reflects the sky above you flushes your cheeks.

“y/n!”

Your eyes widen at the sound of your name being called.

“y/n.” The male in front of you repeats to himself and you never thought your name would sound so beautiful as it does in this very moment. His lips curl into a knowing smirk.

Alette, your guide, comes into your view. She bends over slightly as her chest heaves and she catches up with her breath. She turns to the male, bowing her head in acknowledgment. “My High Lord.”

All blood drains from your face and your heart skips a beat. High Lord. You just met the High Lord of the Night Court and embarrassingly so. You contemplate whether it’s too late to bow your head or not but the thought of Alette scolding you for not doing it sooner stops you.

“I see you’ve met one of our new healers.” Alette inclines her head toward your sorry state. “I do apologize for her entering your palace without prior clearance.”

Cauldron boil you. You caught a glimpse of him pressing his lips together, as if suppressing something. Perhaps a scowl, frown or smile–you don’t know– because you're swiftly averting your gaze. You’re too scared to move, not wanting to draw more attention to yourself than you already have.

“Forgive me,” you’re saying as you drop to your knees and bow your head. “I didn't mean to trespass. I felt a little suffocated down there and I had no idea this was your home.”

“Where are you from?”

Panic steals your voice and it’s Alette who answers for you.

“She’s one of the few healers that came from Dawn, my High Lord.”

You sense the weight of his gaze upon you, an intensity that envelops you with an almost overwhelming power. Your throat tightens.

“And what of her skill?”

“The best of this year’s cohort.” Alette replies with no hesitation. There’s a subtle fondness in her voice that makes your heart swell with pride. Your efforts have not gone unnoticed.

“You may rise.” It takes a while for you to register that the High Lord is addressing you until Alette is awkwardly clearing her throat. You blink and rise to your feet but keep your gaze low. 

“You’re coming with me.”

You lift your gaze, gaping at his back. Does he—No, there’s no way he can know. The High Lord pauses. 

He turns his head over his shoulder and looks at you in an expectant manner. You look at Alette, who nods her head at you, so hesitantly, you follow after him. Your heart races as you hear him tell Alette to pack your things because you won’t be staying in the Court of Nightmares anymore.

**

Velaris, the city of Starlight, is a breathtaking haven nestled within the Night Court. It’s often referred to as the Court of Dreams. It’s a place of ethereal beauty and enchantment. The stark contrast it presents in comparison to the haunting Court of Nightmares leaves you in awe. 

But what strikes you the most is the High Lord of the Night Court–the master of duality. In Hewn City, where the air is always thick with tension, he wears a cold, stoic mask and every calculated step he takes echoes the weight of his stern authority and great power. This is the High Lord you’ve heard of. So when he told you, you’d be joining him in the city of his private residence, you were terrified.

It was a short lived fear because the High Lord you’ve heard of is not the High Lord you’ve come to know over the past couple of weeks. In Velaris, he sheds the shroud of shadows and reveals a different side to him. A softer side. A leader built from genuine warmth and kindness. 

You’ve come to understand he has a complex role as High Lord of the Night Court. He is a blend that is both harsh and dangerous, yet undeniably beautiful and remarkable, constantly navigating through the delicate balance of power and compassion. 

There is one unchanging thread that weaves through both cities. A thread of charismatic arrogance. He carries it effortlessly, employing it in a charming grace. One that he directs skillfully, particularly, when he turns the full force of his charm on you. You’d be lying if you said you were immune to it.

Upon your arrival, the High Lord–or Rhysand as he prefers you to call him– introduced you to the city’s healer. Madja. Though you’ve undergone extensive training in your home court, it felt little compared to the years of experience Madja carried with her, leading her to take you under her wing as her apprentice. You were a fast learner and given the nature of Azriel’s–Rhysand’s spymaster– and Cassian’s –Rhysand’s general commander– jobs, you had a lot of practice and challenges to hone your skills.

A tired yawn escapes from you as you navigate the halls of the infirmary to Madja’s study with the intention of wishing her a goodnight before retiring to your room. Your stops falter when your ears pick up on the distinct voices of Cassian and Azriel and suddenly you’re wide awake.

“–was ambushed by dark forces–”

“–never seen so much blood–”

“–I should make haste then–”

“–he only wants y/n–”

Shadows slink out from the corners, momentarily dimming the faelight in your hand in a silent greeting. The voices, once animated, hush and then cease altogether. Madja is the first to emerge from the study, with Azriel and Cassian trailing behind.

"The High Lord requests your presence.”

**

Not much can unsettle you, given your role as a healer. You’ve tended to a variety of injuries, seen tremendous amounts of spilled blood and have had to navigate through the sorrow of heartbreaking losses. But this. This feels different. This isn’t just anyone. It’s Rhysand. The male, who despite his shameless flirting, has consistently shown nothing but kindness to you. Though the nature of your relationship is uncertain, the mere thought of him being harmed sends a sharp pang through your chest, an ache that transcends the usual clinical detachment you maintain in your profession.

There’s an urgency in your steps as you approach Rhysand’s weak form on the infirmary bed. His body is extremely pale and shivering. A thick layer of sweat clings to his skin. There’s blood everywhere. On the floor, on the bed. It continues to seep out of the wound at his abdomen.

His lids are heavy, laden with exhaustion but he still manages a weary smile when he spots you. “You’re here,” he breathes in surprise, his words carrying a blend of relief and vulnerability.

“I’m here,” you confirm with a reassuring smile as you brush back the dark tendrils of his hair from his face. Though your touch is gentle, the lines on his face seem to deepen.

The air around you begins to shimmer with a soft, golden light. You cast a keen eye over his abdomen, the golden light dancing around you as you assess the full extent of his injury. The wound is deep and not healing as it should and your nose crinkles as the pungent smell of poison drifts up at you.

Rhysand winces as your healing touch meets his wound. Despite his blood staining your hands, you move with practiced grace, drawing upon the healing energies within you. Each movement is deliberate, an intricate crossing between magic and skill as you strive to counteract the effects of the poison.

Rhysand sucks in a sharp breath. He feels like he is dying but he won’t admit that to you. He doesn’t want to scare you. “It hurts.”

“I know,” you respond, your brows furrowing in concentration. The quicker you work, the less pain he’ll have to endure altogether. “It’s the poison.”

His eyes squeeze shut and his face contorts with agony as you press further into the wound. A strangled whimper escapes from his lips.

“I’m sorry,” you frown, halting your movements. You turn your head toward the double doors, where you know Madja waited in her study despite the late hour, in case you required assistance. “Should I go get Madja instead?”

“No,” his hands weakly grasps yours to keep them from leaving him. “I–I’m okay. I only need you.”

You nod and take a deep breath, urging your powers to continue surging through your bones and veins. Charged with vitality, they embody a tender current, eager to breathe life into every fiber of the recipient’s being. You sense the poison recoiling at your touch, prompting another cry from Rhysand. Though you know the poison will put up a painful fight, there’s a sense of relief as you realize it is one you can win.

“It’s going to feel worse before it gets better,” you say, your eyes darting to your makeshift table. “I don’t have anything for you to bite down onto. I’m sorry.”

 “Tell me a story,” he pleads, his voice desperate and raspy. “Anything. Please.”

“Anything?” You say in contemplation, falling into a thoughtful pause as you search your mind for a story to tell.

“When I was a little girl and my parents were separating, my uncle would take me to the countryside,” you begin to share, your voice softening with the weight of the fond memory and in the intimate space between you and Rhysand, a subtle shift occurs. 

“It was my favorite place in all of Dawn. The flowers were always in bloom and the grass was tall and green. We would wake up early to watch the sunrise together. Those were the moments where the world felt so still yet so gentle.”

“One night, as the moon gracefully surrendered its space to the emerging sun, I cried. The realization of the sun and moon being eternal strangers gripped my little heart. The sun, in its golden glory, would never know the tender glow of the moon, and the moon, adorned in silver brilliance, would remain untouched by the sun's warm embrace. It made me sad.”

“My uncle, at first, laughed. He teased me, which made me cry harder. He realized the genuine depth of my sorrow and that’s when he shared something with me,” you continue, a nostalgic smile plays on your lips as you recall the moment. 

Unbeknownst to you, Rhysand’s gaze warms in the gentle embrace of the shared memory. He’s momentarily distracted from the stabbing pain.

"He told me that the moon's glow is but a reflection of the sun's radiance," you explain, the magic of your tale intertwining with the magic of your healing touch. "How beautiful, he said. That the love of the sun for the moon is so pure that he sets down so that people can admire the beauty of her.”

"I was still sad, holding onto that stubborn desire to witness the sun and moon together. That's when my uncle introduced me to the magic of an eclipse—a rare celestial dance where the sun and moon finally come face to face. When the next one arrived, my uncle whisked me back to the countryside to witness it, and for the first time, I felt such overwhelming joy. Tears welled in my eyes but they were tears of happiness. I didn’t know one could cry tears of joy until that moment.”

Still aglow, your hands continue their delicate work. You observe a subtle relaxation manifesting in the features of Rhysand but there’s a weariness that settles over you. You know all traces of the poison are gone because its toxic essence was absorbed by you in your haste to protect him. It takes its toll on you, wearing you down and leaving you feeling slightly unsteady, but all you care about is him.

The gaping wound on his abdomen gradually yields to your skillful touch, and a peaceful serenity settles over his face. His eyes flutter shut, and in the hushed atmosphere, Rhysand's words pierce through, lingering like a delicate whisper in the air.

"I think I might be in love with you." 

The confession tugs at the strings of your heart, urging it to soar, but you swiftly quell the rising emotions. You attribute Rhysand's words to the delirium induced by his pain, knowing he’d forget all about it. You wouldn’t be surprised if he forgot your story as well. You swiftly clean him up and use your magic to replace the bloody sheets with clean ones before taking your leave. Exhaustion tears at your bones and you can only muster a meek smile to Azriel and Cassian, who waited anxiously outside the infirmary doors for an update. You head straight to your room after and collapse onto your bed.

The following night, as you retire to your room from another day of endless work and studying, you find a carefully wrapped gift at your door. There’s no name on it but as you read the note attached, you have an intuitive inkling as to who the thoughtful gifter was. 

To the Sun, in your golden glory, may you always feel such overwhelming joy.

A beautiful embellished trinket box lays beneath the wrapping engraved with two cosmic entities–the sun and the moon. As you open the small keepsake, you're greeted by a soft, ethereal glow that radiates from within. It casts a warm and gentle light and you watch as a projection of the moon and sun dance around you before finally converging into a mesmerizing eclipse. 

**

Rhysand's POV

Like clockwork, Rhysand wakes at the break of dawn with the tendrils of a persistent dream lingering in his mind. A dream that has possessed his nights for weeks. As sleep releases its grasp on his eyes, he reluctantly rises from the bed and decides to get ready for the day, knowing that if he tried, he would not be able to fall back asleep.

He navigates through the familiar halls of the Moonstone palace, mindlessly making his way toward one of the terraces. His steps falter.

There, amidst the soft hues of the awakening city below, stands a feminine silhouette–a vision bathed in the tender light of dawn. You. A sense of cautious curiosity courses through him, eclipsing the remnants of his restless dreams. His gaze lingers on you. There's a nuance in your presence, a fine radiance that hints that you are not from here and though he should be concerned over an unannounced visitor in his home, he can’t bring himself to do so.

 A subtle flutter dances in his chest. He’s speaking before he could even properly think.

“You don’t belong here.”

You startle and lose your footing. You’re about to fall but before gravity claims its toll, he moves with swift determination. He reaches forward and grasps your arm, pulling you from the dangers of the edge of the terrace and into the safety of his arms instead. You lift your head and a gasp escapes your lips. Your eyes widen as they look up into his.

“Breathe, darling.”

His mind is searching yours with a quiet desperation but all you are thinking about is how devastatingly handsome he is. He doesn’t perceive you as a threat. Yet, there’s something hauntingly familiar about you.

He hears a name being called. Yours. And then it hits him like a sudden gust of wind. You’re the girl from his dreams. The one he’s dreamt of nearly every day this week and as he repeats the name, his lips curve up into a smirk.

He found you and realization dawns upon him like the morning sun. You don’t belong here but not because you’re from a different court. It’s because you belong with him.

a/n: this part came out a lot softer than I thought it would. The quote I used about the sun loving the moon so much came from something I saw on pinterest. I am a sucker for the sun and moon and stars lol

[passivenovember]

Being a dad is something he's always wanted. Call it a cliche, right, the all-American, golden boy who's caught up in the idea of four to six snot-nosed brats looking up to him as they try to make sense of all the big and small things because they have no other choice. You only get one dad, right?

He images them, crawling and then walking and then sprinting through the same ancient, brand-new stages of life. Six months, learning the kitchen-magic of how their fingers and toes bend on command. A year, stumbling Jello-legged down a hallway. Fifteen, slamming their bedroom door only to rush, crying, into Steve's arms when he works up the courage to rap his knuckles on the wood like the dad from Full House.

Maybe. It's all Steve's ever wanted. More than that signed Nicks basketball his own dad sent for him when he was twelve. More than Nancy Wheeler. More than his need for mountains, and oceans, and something else.

But then he meets Billy, and it's like all that other shit goes away for a while. None of it disappears, really, but he's got something to focus on, now. Something to work toward, with someone, and that makes it worse, in a way.

Billy finally lets him fuck, and Steve lays in bed that night with an irritatingly awful douchebag drooling a spot onto his chest, and Steve thinks. Knows--

Look, he won't admit it on the first fuck, but this is it for him. He wants to buy this dude house, and he wants wedding rings around the fat and bone of both their fingers, and. He wants babies, with Billy.

Aches Billy to love him.

He wants a life with this asshole. The whole nine. Steve runs his hand through Billy's hair and falls asleep imagining family Christmases, and vacations, and the fragile, shining hope that Billy will wake up tomorrow and swear that he's in love. That Steve is who he's waited 19 years for. That to each other, they'll always belong.

Obviously, that doesn't happen. Maybe.

If it does Steve wouldn't know, because Billy's not a lunatic. He's gone before the sky's fully blue. Leaves his phone number scrawled on the corner of Steve's mirror in Sharpie.

Steve's in love.

So. Immediately, he wants the impossible, but mostly, he just wants Billy. And by some giant, invisible, choking miracle he gets Billy. His body first, and then his thoughts. His laugh, genuine and biting and whole. Billy shares his memories, like pieces of bread dropped in water for hungry birds, for Steve. Achingly slow, he tells his hopes, his dreams, and.

Eventually, one night with his head on Steve's chest he says, "You terrify me. I never want it to end."

So. It's basically love.

Steve's a loose canon when it comes to this feeling. Pedal to the medal, he shoots through walls with bright red booming firepower until everything is cracked and bleeding and open around them. Until there's room enough to say, "I love you, move in with me."

So, Billy does. Impossible.

Wonderful and joking, even though it's not a joke when Steve's parents meet him on move in day and Steve's dad is thrilled that Billy knows shit about cars, and Steve's mom likes that Billy has a weathered recipe book that was, "passed down from my grandma, back in California," for her to find a place for in their tiny, warm kitchen while she unpacks.

"He's very nice," Steve's mother says, "Respectful. Handsome." In that same wistful, sleepy tone that she used when she first called Nancy wheeler sweet. Beautiful.

"He's a fine young man, son," Steve's dad tells him. "Try not to run him off."

Steve watches them reverse from the ratty, rocky, untamed driveway, with his heart in his throat. Imagines the day he and Billy will leave their kids, supported and loved fiercely, to make that wobbly step toward the brush-fire shore of their lives.

--

Steve's plan for the future lives and breathes in a small, tucked-away corner in his mind for months. He nearly chokes to death on it, several times a day, watching Billy relax into his routine.

Billy cooks dinner every night. They eat on the couch in their boxers, dishes left on the coffee table until Billy kisses him awake in the blue light of the television, "Let's go to bed, baby," he says. Steve always notices that the plates and cups are cleared away, the living room tidy for the dawn.

Billy buys a shovel and digs two holes in their patchy backyard. Steve watches him from the kitchen window, wondering what the cavities will grow with the start of spring.

Billy plants a clothesline. "My mom used to dry our clothes this way," He says, when Steve raises an eyebrow. He tacks sheets and sweaters to sway in the sunlight. Talks about laying a patio out there, so they can grill for people when it's warm.

Steve gets hard from the image of himself, in an apron, grilling hot dogs and hamburgers for their friends, first, and kids. Someday. A total dad.

--

Billy makes use of his library card and checks out every book about homesteading he can find. He learns about gardening, and bricklaying, and how to buff gashes out of hardwood floors. For his birthday, Billy hints at a Better Homes and Gardens subscription.

When Steve forks out the cash and the May issue arrives in the mail two months later, Billy presses a hasty kiss to his forehead and disappears onto the porch. He spends his Sunday afternoons with sticky notes and an overused ballpoint pen from that moment on, circling things that have no rhyme or reason, to Steve.

--

They've been living in their house for six months when Billy says, suddenly, "We should see if we can buy it." Like he's been planning his own version of their future.

It's Sunday, and he's just come up for air from Better Homes and Gardens. There's a cheese plate in his hands. He's parked by the front door, on his way out, looking startled as if the words escaped from a caged area buried deep inside of him.

"Huh?" Steve's more of the lay-around-and-rot-in-his-underwear-on-Sunday's type. He's eating ice cream out of the container, distracted by something Barney Fife says. He laughs.

"We should buy the place," Billy tells him.

Steve blinks, "The house?"

"It's our house," Billy says delicately, with all the weight of the world resting on him.

Steve looks up from the television set, shocked that Billy's hair is wet in some places and drying in others. As if he was being groomed by some large, impatient cat. He peers around Billy, out the screen door. "Is it raining?"

"Sprinkling," Billy says, "I have an umbrella."

"Your magazine's gonna get wet."

"I'm reading The Grapes of Wrath," Billy tells him, pulling a weathered copy out from under his cheese plate.

"Sure, but if the rain picks up, your book--"

"--The characters could use a little water," Billy says, "They're trapped in the dust bowl."

"I'm in love with you," Steve says. Like it's the first time he's ever admitted something like this out loud. So it's a surprise. "I like that you read. I like that you talk about everything like it's real."

Billy pads over to the couch and knocks Steve's legs apart. He settles on the arm of the thing, cold, wet toes pressing into Steve's thigh. Steve winces, sputtering when Billy feeds him a slice of American cheese wrapped in bologna.

He chews. Swallows. "I need to make more money, baby."

"Why," Billy asks, feeding himself.

"Because," Steve chokes on the next round Billy feeds him, heart soaring when Billy smiles, "Because if we're gonna lay a patio and grill for our friends I want to make sure you have decent ingredients."

"I don't mind the cheap stuff."

"You deserve better," Than what I can provide, Steve doesn't say.

Billy shrugs, feeding him another round of cheese and meat. "Well, if we're following through with the patio and the grill--"

"--And a porch awning," Steve says, feeding Billy a slice of cheese, "I'm adding that to the list. You can’t read your book and eat snacks while holding a fucking umbrella over your head."

Billy stares at him, swallowing and red cheeked. "I think any sort of permanent installment has to be cleared through the landlord."

Steve thinks about it, humming low when Billy slips off the armrest and settles, heavily, into his lap. "So, we buy the place."

"I need a better job, too."

"We'll look when the paper comes tomorrow."

They lapse into silence, eating cheese and bologna until it's gone, then they move to the ice cream Steve was working his way through, chuckling at The Andy Grifith Show.

It starts pouring rain, little hammers falling on the roof until the power flickers. "I want to make this house nice for you," Billy says.

Steve looks at him. "It's already nice."

"It could be better," Billy says, fiddling with the hair on Steve's chest. "We could have a garden. And I think the beige walls are boring as shit, we need to get some wallpaper. Or paint, or something."

"What else should we do?"

Billy shrugs, "The kitchen needs a rug. I saw this book at the library about how old men in Russia and China and shit learn to weave rugs on giant wooden looms. Some of them have seaters, and others hang them from the ceiling. Your car needs a new power steering pump--"

"--Sounds like you need a shed."

"Yeah, I guess so," Billy says. He grins, and then his brows furrow. "But. Steve, I want to build us a life, here. I want to start my life with you, I don't want to wait until we move to something we own, because I like this house, and I feel like when we start to grow our family, we can--"

Steve's heart stops beating.

His vision tunnels, all his focus collapsing on the words Billy says. Phrases that sound wonderful and impossible, all knitting together to equal nurseries built from two-by-four.

Billy stares at him cheeks red. "Sorry, I know we haven't talked about any of this. I get excited."

"I'm in love with you," Steve tells him, breathless.

"I know, dumbass, I'm in love with you."

Steve kisses him. Pulls away. "You really wanna buy a house?"

"Yeah. Not a house, this house."

"You wanna have my babies?"

Billy tugs on his chest hair, grinning when Steve yelps. "Maybe you wanna have my babies, instead."

"Sure," Steve tells him immediately, "Yeah, anything you want."

"I'm going back onto the porch," Billy says, "We'll start with the job listings in the paper."

Steve watches him go. Thinks he could be alright at this, being a husband and a father. Someday.

Right now, he's alright at being Billy's.

[dashitsxx]

i might just be in lo-lo-love | hawks x fem!reader

summary. Bumping into him one time was an accident then the second time, until it gradually turns to coincidences. Yet, you've never realized to have your heads over heels for this man.

genre. fluff. sfw.

word count. 600+

warnings. none. just pure fluff <3

notes. inspired by so american by olivia rodrigo <3 it was initially supposed to be long but it was slowly diverting to angst for no reason 😭 anw! enjoy this short one shot! <3

A burst of enormous laughter leaves between both of you. The atmosphere dances in the joy of your relationship as grins plaster on your faces. The music on the radio blasts its harmony as you and him sing forth, enacting gestures and movements.

The speed of the car reaches for the wind as it refreshes the both of you.

Keigo looks at you, a charming smile forms on his pretty lips. You were in a joyful mood, bopping your head. To keep up with your energy, he does the same thing you do.

"You look pretty in my clothes," he smirks as he places his warm hand on your thigh. You feel your face burn as your cheeks are soon painted red, and you clear your throat to focus on driving.

"Stop teasing me," you blush. Keigo only chuckled as he squeezed a squish of your fleshy area. You giggle at the his response. Then, hum with the song.

Soon, you arrived at your destination and the both of you got out of the car. You breathed in the fresh air as you smiled widely and your eyes beamed at the scenery before you.

Being on top of the mountain gave you shivers but from exhilaration. The sun is falling slowly to sleep as it emits a glow of golden light. The trees swayed with the wind with its fluff of colourful variants of leaves. After the fence, the city comes into view.

You sprint with giggles towards the fence before grabbing a hold of it, in awe of the city under you.

"Keigo, this is so beautiful! Come, look at this!"

He watches you run forward as he lets out a grin then follows in pursuit, standing beside you. You had your mouth agape as you carefully studied the cityscape.

As a foreigner in an unfamiliar place, you will never forget how you met him initially, he showed you directions to the restaurant you've been dying to dine at. It took a few bumps of coincidence for you to have the courage, and ask him for dinner. Surprisingly, you and Keigo vibed with each other. Thus, the second date is followed by the third, the fourth, the fifth, and so on.

After all the shitty break-ups and worthless exes you've dated, Keigo was the only man who made you feel like you were a dream to him—it sounds absurd but it's true. However, being in this dream, you fear that sooner or later, you'll wake up to a nightmare... and you don't want that to happen.

"Isn't a heavenly scene? Kei, look there—hey, stop looking at me." You tapped his shoulder rapidly as your gaze lingered on the city.

"I am already looking," you shift your attention to your right side, only to find his eyes on you. You felt a rush of red flowering your cheeks instead you pushed his face backwards.

"Stop it."

"Okay, okay, I will," he chortled as he faced forward.

You place your elbows on the fence as you palmed both of your cheeks, trying to calm the butterflies that emerged in your stomach. Your eyes glance at him on your right side. You spot the corner of his lips tilted upwards subtly as a soft gaze crosses his face. The light of the sun adorned him as it gleamed on his golden-brown eyes. His blonde hair was brushed against the wind and his chin held a bit of a goatee, giving him a suave, chill look. Especially with that casual attire; a clean grey shirt and brown cargo pants matched with numerous accessories.

Oh, why is he so damn handsome?

You feel another rush of butterflies swirling in your abdomen as you abruptly look away.

Oh god, it's just not fair of him to make you feel this much. He is so unfair. Finally, a realization hits your mind that explains your wonders as you let out a silent giggle, enjoying the feels of nature.

You might just be in love with him.

all dividers are from @/cafekitsune, thank you <33

[humanpurposes]

De Facto

She can't afford to fantasize over Aemond Targaryen, he's her boss and the Prime Minister... but stopping is easier said than done- this fic now has a part two :)

Main Masterlist

PM!Aemond x unnamed female character

Warnings: 18+, smut, mentions of SA, questionable power dynamics, politics (putting my degree to good use), unnecessary world building

Words: 7700

A/n: Thanks for the inspo @ewanmitchellcrumbs, sorry it's not Dishy Rishi tho :(

Throughout the whole train journey into Central King’s Landing, she’s sure she’s dreaming. Her body feels strangely light, her hands are restless and her heart is beating steadily in her chest. 

She flows effortlessly with the stream of commuters, along the platform, through the station’s glass atrium, then left towards Conquest Street. She knows her way around this part of the city already, and though she’s never been inside, she’s walked past Hightower House countless times.

This time is different. Now she walks up to the iron gates, pressing her thumbnail into her index finger, because the armed guards are making her nervous. 

She tells them her name and one of them mutters into a radio.

Her eyes run along the gold crest that marks the gate, a shield divided into seven, a sun for Dorne, a rose for The Reach, a stag for The Stormlands, a Trout for The Riverlands, a Falcon for The Vale, a Kraken for The Iron Islands, a wolf for The North, and at its heart is the symbol that unites them, the three headed dragon (although strictly speaking, Westeros abolished its monarchy centuries ago).

Suddenly one of the guards catches her attention. He opens the gate for her, and says she’ll be given a security pass and instructions to use the staff entrance following her official induction.

Hightower House stands proudly before her, an ornate facade of balustrades and columns, order and symmetry, an obvious juxtaposition of the medieval majesty of the Red Keep, just down the road.

It all feels very daunting, but the last five years have led her to this moment, the entirety of her adult life. She keeps telling herself that she deserves to be here, after all, she was the one who made it through the first round of applications, who made it to the shortlist and the final interviews, and she was the only one of hundreds of applicants who received the phone call, offering her a position as a personal advisor to the Prime Minister.

The contract only lasts two years, but it is the most effective stepping stone into a career in politics that she could ever ask for.

The entire morning is spent working out formalities. First she meets the deputy chief of staff, a handsome man named Criston Cole, who she’ll directly report to. He shows her through mountains of paperwork and gives her a brief overview of her role. Essentially, she is to assist the Prime Minister on whatever he deems necessary, policy aims, speeches, media coverage, political rhetoric, public image. 

“You’re a glorified assistant,” Cole says as she reads and signs page after page of her employment contract, “but with a salary to reflect it, so don’t feel discouraged. There will be some admin work which can get tedious, but you’ve been selected for your expertise and your passion for the party.”

That’s the crucial part of the job. Everything she does will be to benefit Mr Targayren as head of the Green Party, still running off the high of their victory at the last general election, just under a year ago. 

She signs her last signature triumphantly, despite the ache in her wrist, and hands the pen back to Cole with a smile. “All done?” she asks hopefully.

Cole grimaces sympathetically. “Not quite.”

There are four people to meet before she’s officially in. She takes a deep breath to soothe herself. It’s all just more formalities, which she can understand, given the weight of this job.

The first is the Prime Minister's private secretary, a glamorous woman with black hair and piercing green eyes, named Alys Rivers. She greets her warmly, having already spoken over the phone with her several times. She also knows her CV off by heart. It’s a little strange having someone know almost everything about her education and employment history when her face is unfamiliar.

The next is a young woman named Maris, the other of Mr Targaryen’s personal advisors. She has dark hair and a look of determination in her grey eyes. She explains that there are always two personal advisors, but hired on alternating years. She was hired at the start of Mr Targaryen’s premiership, and has a year left of her contract.

There are a thousand questions she wants to ask Maris, but before she can even scratch the surface, Cole’s checking his watch and dragging her off to another office.

Otto Hightower is the chief of staff. He’s thin and wiry, but incredibly intimidating. He has tired, sunken eyes that seem to glare right through her, and a passive but severe expression on his face, as though he’s scrutinising, having already decided she’s a waste of his time.

It’s not a great feeling, being looked at like that by a man she’s idolised for years. She knows his career timeline by heart. He earned his bachelors in Politics and Economics from Oldtown, before doing a masters in International Relations at King’s Landing, where he met and befriended Viserys Targaryen. He worked his way to becoming an MP and soon into Viserys’ cabinet when be became Prime Minister.

But things changed when Otto’s daughter married Viserys. No one really knows the whole truth, but Otto resigned from the Black Party, and took over from his own brother as leader of the opposition.

Now he works in the background, the mastermind behind his grandson’s remarkable successes.

Cole explains that Mr Hightower had the final say in the shortlist and determining which applicant would be given the final job offer.

“You had an impressive application,” he says, briefly looking up from a document. “I’m sure you’ll do well with us.”

“Thank you, Mr Hightower,” she says through the slight tremble in her jaw.

Other than that, the interaction is brief, and soon Cole is ushering her out of the room, back to Alys’ office, as richly decorated as the rest of the building. Maris is sitting at another desk, typing away furiously on a laptop.

“Tea? Coffee? Water?” Cole offers her, gesturing for her to take a seat on a green leather sofa.

“Water would be lovely,” she says.

“Maris,” he calls.

She glares up from her laptop. “That’s not my job.”

“No, but it’s courtesy,” he says.

Alys’ slight smirk doesn’t escape her attention.

Maris purses her lips, but she closes her laptop, pointedly slams her hands against the arms of her chair, and marches out of the room, her shiny black heels clicking against the dark wood floor.

“She’s nice really,” Cole says, “just a bit… direct at times.”

“Direct,” Alys groans to herself. 

She feels her brow flicker into a frown but stops herself.

“She’s good at her job,” Criston says like he might say something else, but he doesn’t.

When Maris returns, she seems a little less on edge.

She takes the glass of water with a cautious hand, Maris’ eyes lingering on her maroon painted nails. 

“I like your top,” Maris says.

She glances down. It’s nothing special, black and long-sleeved, to go with her long blue and green patterned skirt.

“Thank you,” she says.

Maris hums to herself before she goes back to her desk.

“Do you often work in here?” she asks.

Maris shrugs. “It depends.” She doesn’t care to explain further.

Alys is smirking again.

“Mr Targaryen was in a meeting with the cabinet this morning,” Cole says, then checks his watch. “He has a few phone calls to make, but he should be ready to see you at about 4pm. Maris?”

“Yes?” 

“Will you show her in around then?”

“Yeah,” she says, flatly, “of course.”

Cole shakes her hand before he leaves. “Alys will show you out when you leave. I’ll see you on Monday morning.”

She continues to wait on the sofa, restless in the silence that follows once the door has shut. Alys and Maris are both typing, their nails clicking against their keyboards. She starts to bounce her leg and stops herself.

Her mind is racing. The day seems to have gone well so far, but what if she meets Mr Targaryen and it all falls apart? What if he decides he doesn’t like her and sends her packing? 

She’s too lost in her own head to notice the flash of Alys’ emerald green dress as she stands in front of her. That is, until she’s leaning down and waving a bar of chocolate in front of her. “Get a bit of sugar in you,” she says, “and breathe slowly.”

She smiles as she takes the bar and places a single cube on her tongue. She lets it melt, savouring the sweetness and the slight bitterness of its taste.

You can do this, she thinks to herself with every inhale. And then she exhales. You are here for a reason.

The phone on Alys’ desk rings. She checks her own phone. It’s exactly 3:59.

“Yes, sir, Maris will show her in now.”

Aemond Targaryen is on the other end of the line. Her heart drops at the thought.

As the second son of Viserys, it seems like he was always destined for the family business. He differs from his father and grandfather in that he did Politics and Philosophy at Sunspear, before going on to do his masters in History at Oldtown, and then another masters in International Relations at King’s Landing. By all accounts, he is fiercely intelligent, mature beyond his years, with the right balance of intimidating and charismatic to command the support he needed to get in as MP for Rosby, then as party leader.

In fact, it had been his first campaign that inspired her to apply for a degree in politics in the first place. She loved how he spoke, how he managed to strike a balance between grace and passion, and how deeply he cared for his policies. He was poised and perfect, but driven by a genuine want for improvement.

He perfected his craft within a matter of years. With the mess Rhaenyra Targaryen had made of the country, it was all too easy for him to win a majority with a few winning speeches, a hand running through his silver hair, that lazy half-smirk and the intense look in his eyes that just made you want to fall at his feet. And people do. The press adore him, his party worships him, foreign dignitaries often remark on his charm but also his capabilities as a negotiator and a leader.

Maris leads her out of the office, along a quiet corridor. She stops outside a door with gold lettering: Office of A. Targaryen, Prime Minister

Seeing it in front of her, strangely, seems to subdue her nerves. Her chest flutters, but the anxiety is more manageable than before.

Maris taps her knuckles against the door three times.

From the other side of the door she hears a gentle but chilling voice. “Enter.”

She follows Maris inside.

He’s perched against his desk, his long, silver hair falling around his shoulders as he looks over a few pieces of paper. He wears a white shirt, rolled up at the sleeves, black slacks and brown leather shoes.

He looks up slowly, the light of the early Autumn evening beaming through the windows, over the sharp features of his face, his cheeks, his nose, his jaw, his neck.

His eyes find hers, unashamed and curious.

Suddenly she can feel her heart in her throat.

Maris introduces her. “I’m sure Alys already debriefed you, but she’s here for her induction. Cole said you wanted to meet her as a formality and–”

It feels awfully like she’s talking for the sake of it.

“That will be all, Maris,” Mr Targaryen says softly. She can’t help but watch the way his lips move when he speaks.

“Oh, are you sure, sir?” she asks. Her face is twisted into a slight frown but her eyes are wide. “I just thought, for her sake, it might be useful if I’m here to explain everything.”

“I’m sure, thank you.”

She stands with her hands clasped in front of her skirt as she listens to Maris’ footsteps move towards the door. It opens and closes, and now all she can hear are her own breaths, gently flowing through her nose.

She doesn’t know where to look. At the patterned carpet on the floor? No, it would be rude of her to hang her head. At the portraits that line the wall? At the bookshelves? At the desk? No, that all seems too intrusive. Out the window? No, that might seem like she’s not paying attention.

So her eyes settle on him.

He hasn’t moved from his position, but he’s placed the paper on the desk behind him, leaning with his palms at the edge. His eyes glance over her once, up and down.

Fuck, he’s so much better looking in person.

Then he stands to his full height, and picks up a clipboard from the desk. He flicks through a few of the pages and hums softly to himself.

“You had an impressive application,” he says.

She swallows through the slightly dry feeling in her throat. “Thank you, sir.”

“And an excellently written cover letter.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“You did your masters in Comparative Politics at Sunspear. Oberyen Martell is still head of faculty there, isn’t he?”

“Yes, sir. He taught one of my modules, Security Studies.”

“He’s an interesting character,” he muses, smiling to himself. “He was my supervisor for my undergrad dissertation.”

She already knew that. Dr Martell loved to go on about his star student. She would too if she taught the future Prime Minister.

He flicks to another page. She watches as his eyes skim over the words in front of him. “And you came with glowing reviews from Tyland Lannister.”

She’s not sure how she’s supposed to respond to that– it makes her sound more like a product than a person– so she just smiles, as delicately as she can, making sure not to squint her eyes too much. 

She had spent the last year as Mr Lannister’s Parliamentary Assistant, at his office in the Red Keep, starting just as he had been appointed as Foreign Secretary. 

“How was he as a boss?” Mr Targayren asks.

Straightforward, she thinks. He took his job seriously and was decidedly not a fan of smalltalk. His office often worked in silence, and even when he was stressed he was efficient.

“No complaints,” she says.

“I’m sure you were all kept busy, cleaning up Corlys Velaryon’s mess after the Stepstones.”

A minor military excursion to defend a few key trading routes, or at least that’s how it had started. Within a matter of months the Stepstones had spiralled beyond control, costing Corlys Velaryon his seat and the Blacks their majority in Parliament.

“If I remember right, it was Daemon Targaryen pushing that particular policy,” she says.

The corner of his mouth curls upward. It could be a smile but she’s not entirely sure. 

“Sir,” she adds, hoping to soften the blow of her unintentional insult; what idiot tries to correct the Prime Minister on their first day on the job? She does, clearly.

He doesn’t seem irritated or angry, more amused. A cryptic “hmm” sounds in his throat as he flicks back to the first document. “And before that you were a campaign manager for the party, yes?”

“Yes,” she says brightly, grateful for the change of subject. “I was working in the Stormlands in the lead up to the general election.” The region was formerly a Black stronghold, but turned Green thanks in part to her efforts.

“Excellent work,” he says.

The smooth, seductive tone of his voice seems to come so naturally to him. She bites her tongue at the image it prompts in her head, of his lips brushing over her ear, his hands resting on her waist, she can almost feel it–

No. That’s wrong. So wrong.

Fantasising about the Prime Minister of Westeros is not a habit she can afford to keep up, not when she’s supposed to be working with him in such close proximity.

But that’s easier said than done.

Cole enters his office, bright and early on Monday morning, before the rest of Hightower House is awake.

Aemond’s routine is the same every day. Up at 5am, run a few laps of the expansive gardens or spend an hour going through his meticulously planned gym routine. He showers, shaves, applies his skincare and haircare products, dabs some perfume on his wrists, dresses, and takes breakfast and a black coffee in his office. By 7:30am he’s ready to work.

He needs the routines and the outlets. They help keep him sane.

He’d seen how this position twisted his father into a tired, irritable and irrational man, how it got to Rhaenyra’s head until she became a liability to herself. He won’t be like them. He has a reputation to uphold, a legacy to claim.

Cole places a folder on his desk. “The background check you ordered, sir.”

He thanks him, quietly and sincerely, and waits until he’s left the room to open the folder.

His new personal advisor intrigues him. He’d made the request for the background check as soon as their meeting had ended on Friday. 

She has no criminal record, which is unsurprising, that definitely would have come up sooner if she had one.

He browses through her education history, a star student at Storm’s End Grammar School, a bachelor’s in history from Rainwood, a masters from Suspear, where she was head of Debate Soc and Amnesty International, while working various internships and retail jobs in between.

The next page is full of articles from student publications, The Importance of Integrity in Politics for the Rainwood Student Journal, Sovereignty in the Stepstones for Red Sun Rising. He reads through them both. Her writing is immaculate, concise and convincing.

The final page is more personal, social media profiles. It’s nothing scandalous, but she clearly has a certain image she wants to project. Her Instagram is full of art and history museums, coffee shops and preppy outfits. She has a few pictures on her LinkedIn of her at the Green Party conference last year, pictured with a group of girls her age and a caption that talks about the importance of representation in politics, with links to various charities and initiatives. In the photo she’s wearing a white silk shirt, open just enough to show off a dainty gold necklace and a hint of the swell of her chest.

She seems perfect. Too perfect for his own good.

The first months go smoothly enough. 

Maris is a practical person. She’s good with numbers, good for bouncing off ideas for economic policies and analysing data for him, even if she is a little overbearing at times.

But she fills the gaps perfectly. He secretly looks forward to their meetings and debriefings, when he asks her to write or edit speeches for him, or run through questions with him before a press conference. Politics is never easy, but she has a remarkable talent for keeping a level head. He likes that she’s always calm and composed. He likes her soft, reassuring smiles and the sharp look in her eyes. 

They just click. She’s always switched on, always knows the right things to say and do, always knows what he needs.

Every moment they are alone feels monumental; the settled quiet of his office when she first walks in and takes a seat on the other side of his desk; when they make an exchange, debriefing papers for an empty coffee cup, and their fingers will brush over each other; when he stands over her shoulder to read the document she’s working on, close enough to smell her perfume and feel a heat simmering under his skin. It’s starting to become unbearable, and yet he craves that feeling.

And then, one morning, he gets a phone call from the Crownlands Messenger. They’re about to publish a story. His brother has been accused of inappropriate conduct by no less than three women.

Fucking Aegon.

The entire country is in an uproar. How can anyone trust their Parliamentary representatives when they do shit like this? Is Aegon an outlier or is this just scratching the surface? What will his punishment be? What else are the Greens hiding? 

There are hundreds of emergency meetings with his grandfather, tense phone calls, bearating headlines, and onslaughts of outrage online. There’s no question about it, Aegon has to resign as an MP, but the damage is done. The polls are turning Black instead of Green. People don’t trust the ruling party, or its leader.

It’s late. Aemond paces his office while a headache pulses in his head. He’s long ditched the coffee for whisky, swirling it about in his glass. He sent Maris home hours ago. He doesn’t have the patience for anyone at the moment. Except for the woman leaning against his desk, flicking through news articles and the pages of notes she’s prepared for him.

Tomorrow is PMQs. No doubt there’s only one topic the Blacks will be asking about. He can already see Rhaenyra and Daemon’s smug faces, the delight they’ll take in watching him fall apart. There’s just no way he’s getting out of this easily.

He feels so restless. His hands are trembling and his lips won’t seem to stop moving, so he places himself against the wall, mindlessly tapping his fingers against his glass as he takes another generous sip.

From the desk he hears a heavy sigh that hums slightly in her throat. “Is there anything else you want to go over, sir?” she asks.

“No, I think we’ve exhausted the hypotheticals,” he says, running his free hand through his hair. He resists the urge to pull at the roots, to take his frustration out on something. “It’s just– fuck’s sake, I’ve been saying Aegon’s a liability for years. But no, Otto always wanted to keep pushing for him. Said it was good for the family’s image.”

She places her phone and the document behind her, and takes a few steps towards him.

He glances down at her, at the way the low light of the lamps and the fireplace glows against her skin, the contented sort of look in her eyes. 

Her eyes flicker down at his now empty glass. “Refill, sir?” Her lips stay slightly parted once she stops speaking.

Then he realises he’s staring.

“No, thank you,” he mutters, tapping his finger against the glass. “I should probably stop now.”

She takes the glass from him with her middle finger and thumb, avoiding touching his hand before she takes it away. Maybe it’s the alcohol getting to his head but his heart sinks at the lack of contact.

What is he doing? It must be after 9pm now and he’s still keeping her here without a real reason. 

She’s standing by the drinks cabinet, carefully placing the crystal bottle of whisky away and setting the empty glass out for housekeeping to clean up in the morning.

Instead of thinking about her, the way her hair looks, the way her skirt hugs her waist and the curve of her backside and thighs, he tries to think about how much he hates Aegon. This only makes him more agitated.

He closes his eyes and throws his head against the wall. His heart is racing and there’s a hollow feeling in his chest. He’s craving something, not another drink, not a smoke (he quit once he was first elected as an MP). He wants something else, something dangerous and damning. 

The heels of her shoes tap softly against the floor, until she’s standing in front of him.

He opens his eyes.

She frowns slightly before lifting her hand and delicately placing it on his shoulder. “You need to relax, sir,” she says.

He lets out a low “hmm,” as he weighs out his options. This seems like a bad idea. A really, really bad idea.

“That’s not going to happen with you here,” he says.

Her calm, somewhat smug expression falls. She looks so innocent now, so sweet. “What does that mean?” she says.

He leans in closer to her, until the tip of his nose barely brushes against hers. “I think you know what it means, darling.”

She hesitates, before her mouth spreads into an eager smile that shows off her teeth.

Her hands find his, ensnaring him under a soft but commanding grip. She leads him away from the wall, to the sofa by the fireplace. 

He settles on it, leaning against the arm as she comes to her knees before him, spreading his legs apart to make room for herself.

She palms her hand over the hardness that’s been straining painfully against his trousers for hours now. She feels along his clothed cock, pressing her cheek against it and gazing up at him with a look of teasing innocence.

Aemond knows he is done for, jaw slack, chest rising and falling as he breathes. He would have never presumed he would find himself in this kind of position, not after all the work’s he’s had to do cleaning up the mess of Aegon’s fuck ups, not after working this hard to get where he is, and least of all because he believes himself to be a decent man. 

But he doesn’t stop her as her fingers undo the button and the zip on his trousers, and he doesn’t make any kind of protest as she takes his freed cock in her hand and teasingly strokes along it. 

He keeps his hands firmly on the sofa, digging his fingertips and his nails into the leather, as if he hasn’t been dreaming of having her like this for weeks, as if he hasn’t fucked his own hand countless times pretending it was her.

He doesn’t have to pretend anymore. He looks down, his jaw slack, barely containing his strained breaths, and there she is, doe-eyed and eager as she places a delicate kiss to his flushed tip. Her lips barely brush against him before she pulls away, keeping a hold at the base.

His arousal stains her mouth and she fucking grins.

“Enjoying yourself?” he says through gritted teeth.

“Yes, sir,” she says, sweetly, earnestly.

He runs his hand against her hair, gently, as if trying to soothe her. It seems to take her by surprise which only serves to excite him further.

She leans into his touch, lips parting, her eyes half-lidded and dreamy.

Until he grips his fist and pulls. He tilts her head up. It shouldn’t hurt, but it’s enough to bring her attention back to him.

He decides he won’t tell her what to do, not directly, but she’s a smart girl, she knows what he wants. 

With her eyes wide again, she opens her mouth and inches his cock past her lips. The tightness in his gut starts to burn as she works up and down his length, slowly– excruciatingly slowly. It’s not in anyway relaxing, he thinks, but it’s a nice kind of torture.

He loses himself to the warmth and the wetness of her mouth, her tongue running over the underside of his cock, her lips teasing over the tip before she moves back down, using her hands where her mouth can’t reach.

He chokes out a throaty “fuck,” knowing there’s a security guard outside the door, and probably a few of the staff still lingering about. 

But she looks so beautiful like this, her brow furrowed in determination as she tries to take him deeper and deeper, desperate to please him, happy to make him suffer for it. And the little noises she makes, the gags and the moans. He imagines that she likes this, that she’s been wanting this for as long as he has, and if he pulled her onto his lap and slid his fingers under her skirt, he’d find her drenched.

She starts to up the pace until he brings his hand to the side of her face again, his hand large enough that he can rest his palm against her cheek and tease his fingers through her hair. Her eyes dart up to his, wide and teary. 

“Good girl,” he whispers, “nice and slow, just like that.”

She whimpers around him, breathing desperately through her nose.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he coos, “you started this, didn’t you? Wanted to taste me? Wanted to feel my cock in your mouth?”

She hums in agreement.

“Just fucking take it then,” he says with a clenched jaw, gripping her hair to bob her head up and down, keeping that torturous pace.

The pleasure builds slowly, running hotly through his body, but he fights the urge to clamp both hands around her head and buck his hips up to fuck her throat.

He comes harder than he thinks he ever has before, keeping himself sheathed within her as he paints the inside of her mouth, and pulls her head away to see the last few drops spill against her lips.

She gazes up at him with dazed and glassy eyes. She’s panting, trying to catch her breath. Her forehead glistens with sweat, mascara runs down her face and his spend drips over her chin.

He wipes some of the mess away with his thumbs, cradling her face in his hands. “Swallow,” he orders.

Her mouth closes and her throat bobs. He can already feel the tension in his gut tightening again.

If only he could keep her like this forever.

She makes it to Hightower House at the usual time of 8am, despite leaving work so late last night. Despite the hours she spent consumed by thoughts of Aemond Targaryen as she rode the train and dragged herself into her bed. Despite the aching arousal that went unfulfilled. Despite the marks on her knees and the stiffness in her jaw.

When she walks into Alys’ office to sign in, she’s already there, perfectly poised and typing away on her laptop. 

“Morning,” she says brightly.

Alys looks up from the screen. The white light shining from below makes her face look a little eerie. “Morning,” she says with a smug look on her face.

She ignores it, scrawling down the time and her signature beside her name.

“You were working rather late last night,” Alys says.

“Yeah, I was,” she mutters, placing the pen down and straightening her spine.

Alys is staring at her. Her eyes are unnervingly bright. “He never asks Maris to work late.”

Her heart drops.

It’s like she can feel the weight of him in her mouth, the taste of him on her tongue.

“I bet he’s just realised I’m more of a people pleaser,” she says.

Alys hums and smiles. “Yeah?”

She doesn’t have time for this. She hangs up her coat and her bag, and picks up two black coffees from the coffee machine in the kitchenette down the hall.

Aemond is in his office, leaning back in his chair with his mobile pressed to his ear. He doesn’t react much when he sees her, he just watches her as she sets one of the cups in front of him. He raises his eyebrows in thanks and brings it to his lips.

She imagines the person on the other end of the call is starting to bore him.

“Yeah… yeah… I know… well there’s not much to be done now but get it over with.”

She takes a few sips from her own cup, wiping the corners of her mouth. Aemond follows her fingers as she does.

“I’ll speak to you after. Yes, thank you, grandfather.” He hangs up the phone and tosses it onto a stack of papers on the desk. “Seven fucking Hells.”

“How did that go?” she asks.

Aemond rolls his eyes and huffs a tired laugh. “He wants to talk through candidates for the by-election in Duskendale. I said I’ll think about it if I survive PMQs.”

She sets her coffee cup down. “What are you most worried about? You’ve prepared for this. What’s worrying you?”

Aemond taps his fingers against the desk. She tries not to ignore the thrill it sends through her belly.

“I’ve never had to deal with something like this. I’ve never been this worried about the party’s image, but that’s usually because I do everything right.”

The whole Aegon situation is beyond his control, and yet he’ll be getting the scrutiny for it.

“People need to be able to trust you,” she says.

Aemond looks up at her expectantly.

“Is Aegon still a party member?” she asks.

Aemond’s expression darkens. “That was discussed. Otto wants him to remain an official member.”

“You’re the Prime Minister. Put your foot down.”

“I can’t,” he says, standing and fixing the rolled up sleeves and undone buttons on his shirt before he reaches for his tie.

“You can’t afford not to. If you go easy on Aegon, Rhaenyra’s going to play to some kind of ‘the Greens are anti woman card.’ Your voters need to know you’re taking this seriously.”

“And throw my own brother under the bus?” he says, sternly.

But she can tell he’s still nervous. His hands are shaking as he ties the tie around his neck.

She pauses, wondering where the line is here. Aegon Targaryen will be fine. He’ll be put under investigation and keep getting bad press for a while, but he can live off daddy’s money in the meantime, and in a few years the whole scandal will be forgotten.

She takes a few steps towards him and comes close enough to smell the dark, boozy smell of his perfume, and shoos his hands away.

“What would be better for the country,” she asks, tilting her head and keeping her eyes focused as she fastens his tie, “presenting yourself as a leader who is committed to integrity and respect, or leaving yourself open to further criticism?”

She pushes the knot up tightly against his collar for emphasis.

Aemond just smirks. “You’re very persuasive,” he says.

“That’s my job, sir.”

She gasps as his hand grabs her hip and pulls her against him. His breath runs hotly over her face as he tilts her chin up to look at him. His throat hums as he breathes.

She could fall apart then and there.

Until a knock on the door has her practically shoving him away.

Aemond chuckles and shrugs on his suit jacket. “Enter,” he calls.

She turns her back to the door to hide the flustered look on her face, pretending to look through a bookshelf that she’s never really looked at properly before.

“Car for you, sir,” Alys says from the doorway.

Aemond calls for her by her surname. Fuck– she was supposed to pack his briefcase before he left. She takes a breath and goes about collecting all the pages of notes and briefings he’ll need. 

She brings it to him, and notices Maris standing in the hallway behind Alys. Maris usually goes with him to the Red Keep for PMQs, but today he requests that she accompany him. She supposes it makes sense, she’s been the one helping him prepare after all.

Maris’ face is a storm. Alys looks down at her feet and tries to stifle a giggle.

The next few hours are a blur. She trails after Aemond through the ornate corridors, keeping her eyes on his silver hair, flowing down the back of his black suit jacket. Somewhere along the way, Cole and the head of security, a man Aemond greets as “Mr Westerling”, joins them.

They leave through the front entrance, into the sharp September air and into a black car. The hum of the engine and the smell of leather makes her nauseous, but they’re only in the car for a matter of minutes before the door swings open and she’s been ushered towards the Red Keep.

Once a seat of Kings, now the red stone castle seems a little out of place with the rest of the city. This is where Parliament gathers.

As they walk through its halls, Aemond tells her to throw a few questions at him. She has them all memorised in her head, able to recite a few without really thinking about it. Aemond mutters the answers they’ve rehearsed under his breath, smiling politely and waving as they pass by civil servants, MPs, Green and Black party members alike. They even pass Cregan Stark, leader of the Northern Independence party. He whispers all of their names in her ear.

There’s a small room where Aemond waits in before he enters the Great Hall. She can hear the noise and the chatter on the other side of the double doors, engraved with the same crest that marks the gates to Hightower House.

He won’t stop moving, adjusting his tie and his cuffs, tutting and pursing his lips.

She makes sure Cole and Westerling are muttering to each other before she leans into Aemond, putting her hand on his shoulder. “You’ll be fine,” she whispers, “don’t see it as a chance for them to criticise you, see it as an opportunity for you to reassure everyone else of how brilliant you are.”

Aemond turns his head towards her. He’s not touching her but she feels the proximity.

“That’s an interesting way to look at it,” he says.

She smiles. “It’s all perspective.”

Before Aemond is called into the hall, Cole directs her to the gallery, above the benches where the MPs sit.

She and Aemond meet eyes before she leaves. She stops herself from reaching for him, not wanting to leave his side.

“Good luck,” she says.

As if he needs it. She watches everything unfold from the gallery, the MPs sat below her like she’s watching a play in a theatre.

Aemond starts off with an amazing opening speech which, at her recommendation, doesn’t shy away from the issue of the whole Aegon scandal. He affirms his commitment to ensuring that central government is a safe and inclusive working environment, which is when he announces Aegon’s resignation as an MP, as well as his removal from the Green Party.

The chamber in an uproar. A few members of the Green Party make a bit of a fuss, but mostly Aemond’s announcement is applauded, even by a good number of Black Party members.

Rhaenyra, Aemond’s sister and predecessor, is at a loss for words, as is her deputy, Daemon.

Aemond seems to get a boost of confidence from this and takes every question in his stride, using elements from the answers she had rehearsed with him and even throwing in a few one liners which has half the room cheering him.

And he’s fucking hot when he’s cocky.

While he speaks all she can think of is how he sounded while she was between his legs. “Good girl… just fucking take it…” she has to clench her fists and her jaw at the wave of arousal that rises within her.

Afterwards she walks with him to the car. A whole host of Green Party members crowd him as they walk through the hallways, praising him, commending him. He smiles graciously, looking over his shoulder every so often to look at her, to make sure she’s not fallen behind.

The silence of the car is unbearable with Cole and Westerling in the front, and Aemond beside her, drumming his fingers against his thigh and running his other hand through his hair.

She presses her thighs at the obvious arousal pooling at her centre.

Seven hells, she’s acting like she’s in heat.

She follows Aemond back through Hightower House, past Alys’ office, to his own office. When he closes the door behind them, he locks it.

She leans against the desk, keeping her hands on the wood behind her.

Aemond turns back to her with a ravenous look in his pale blue eyes. He reaches into his pocket, effortlessly pulling his hair into a low bun, as he usually does in informal company.

She can’t take her eye off him as he tosses his jacket over the sofa, and begins to roll up the sleeves of his shirt. Then he stalks towards her, his chin tilted down and his lips in a tight line, until he’s close enough to paw at her waist. 

“I suppose I should thank you for your help,” he says, eyes fixed on his hands as they tease over the fabric of the red mini skirt she had picked out this morning, the way she squirms underneath him.

“Oh,” she breathes. One of his hands trails up, untucking her blouse from her skirt and brushing his fingertips against the bare skin underneath. “Just… doing my job, sir.”

He hums to himself as his hand works its way round to her backside, squeezing gently. “Do you like calling me ‘sir’?”

She can’t help but nod, dazed at the feeling of his hands tracing the shape of her body.

“Yeah, I think you do,” he says, leaning in to press a slow, firm kiss to her neck.

Her resolve is shattered. She throws her hands around his neck, pulling herself into him, desperate to feel him against her, to stay close to him.

She almost whines when he moves away, much to his amusement, feeling her mouth fall into a pout.

“Don’t tell me I’ve got a brat,” he says, taking her chin in his hand. “Are you going to be good for me, pet?”

“Yes, sir,” she utters.

“See? You don’t even need to be told,” he says with a smile. “You’re going to turn around and lean over the desk.”

She follows his instructions without missing a beat, bracing herself on her forearms, against the surface. She feels her skirt being pushed up over her hips, her tights and panties pulled down in one go, fingertips trailing over her thighs. Then she feels his breath against the wetness of her bare pussy. 

She can’t help but let out a quiet moan, pressing her nails into the wood in anticipation.

“Haven’t even fucking touched you yet, are you that desperate for me?”

“Yes, sir,” she whimpers, trying to look over her shoulder.

Aemond’s hand finds its way against her head, pressing her down. And he doesn’t let go.

His fingers drag through her folds, teasing her entrance and her clit before he slides in a single digit. It feels so different from her own, longer and thicker, pressing into her at an unfamiliar angle. She feels utterly weightless, the obscene sound of him moving in and out of her only adding to her arousal.

Aemond’s voice is dark and husky, as it was last night. “Good girl,” he coos, “that feels good, doesn’t it?”

When she doesn’t reply, he withdraws and lands a stinging slap against her cheek, before he pushes into her again. “Answer me,” he says, clearly and firmly.

“Yes, sir,” she says, frantically trying to nod against his hold of her head. “Feels so fucking good.”

He increases his speed, pumping in and out of her until her climax washes over her. It happens gradually, building and building before a pleasant numbness washes through her, to every corner of her body. 

While she comes down from her high, her attention is caught by the sound of a belt buckle and rustling fabric.

The tip of his cock presses into her without warning. He inches further and further in until he bottoms out, the material of his trousers pressing against her skin– the cunt hasn’t even bothered to take off his clothes.

He finally relents his hold of her head, grabbing at her waist as he ruts into her. It’s fast and primal, adrenaline pumping through her blood, Aemond’s fingers digging into her flesh, her breath coming out in moans, his belt buckle hitting the desk with every harsh thrust.

“Knew you were a little slut,” he grits out, grabbing at her cheeks and spreading them out to watch his cock moving in and out of her. “Fuck, you’re so tight.”

She covers her mouth with her hand to hold back the wanton noises threatening to slip past her lips. 

Suddenly a hand comes to her shoulder, pulling her up against his chest. One hand kneads at her breasts through her blouse and her bra, while the other slips between her legs, tracing quick circles over her clit.

“I wanna feel you come,” he rasps into her ear, “wanna feel my good girl clench around my cock.”

She doesn’t know what to do with herself. She clings to his arms and digs her teeth into her bottom lip. She can feel herself hurtling towards her climax, if only he would move his fingers a little faster.

“Please,” she whispers.

“What was that, pet?” Aemond asks, brushing his lips over her cheek. “Tell me what you want.”

“I want to come!” she whines. “Fuck– please… please, I just want to come, sir.”

She feels him smiling against her as his fingers rub faster over her clit. She can feel how deep he is inside her, how his cock bullies against that sensitive spot, over and over again, until her orgasm tears through her.

She tries to keep her mouth shut but she can’t help the pleading groan that hums in her throat. Aemond holds her as she falls apart, fucking her thoroughly through it all.

Until finally, he reaches his end, hissing through his teeth and pulling out to spill himself onto her pussy. She feels the warmth, how it drips through her folds, for now uncaring of the mess they’ve surely made.

Aemond keeps holding her against his chest. His forehead falls against the back of her head and his hot breath echoes over her neck. “I really appreciate the work you’ve done for me,” he says breathlessly. “I think you and I make quite a pair, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Yes, sir,” she mewls, letting her head fall against his arm.

Aemond hums a laugh to himself, it rumbles in his chest and against her back. “So pretty and polite,” he coos, “how did I ever manage without you until now, pet?”

General taglist: @randomdragonfires @jamespotterismydaddy @theoneeyedprince @tsujifreya @dreamsofoldvalyria @targaryenrealnessdarling

A/n: I might do a part 2 to this so let me know if you would liked to be tagged :)

[the-marshals-wife]

Cinnamon Sugar (Colt Seavers x Reader)

─ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ⋅☆⋅ 𝐀𝐎𝟑 ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─

A/N: A spontaneous Colt fic because I saw The Fall Guy again and I'm hopelessly in love. Someone needs to get this man his coffee, and it might as well be you. ♥

Description: Colt Seavers x Fem!Reader, flirty fluff | Warnings: nada, just Colt being the supportive sunshine he is | Setting: before Jody (or AU without) | Word count: 2,129 | Gif credit: user tay-swifts

Imagine being Colt's old flame and reuniting under unexpectedly sweet circumstances

As it turns out, production assistant was just a fancy name for errand girl. At least that seemed to be the case for you in the nearly two years you'd held the title. Yet after everything you'd been through to get here, you couldn't lose this job. Nearly an hour after you were supposed to, you haphazardly assembled the daily morning coffees for the sound crew on Stage B, and were now rushing like mad across set to make the first of many apologetic appearances for the day.

"Excuse me, sorry," you repeat nervously as you duck around people.

You'd overslept your alarm after staying up nearly all night printing a mountain of forms for the design director. Having never even eaten breakfast, you calculated if you also skipped lunch, you might be able to catch up to your usual routine. You weave between the tents as fast as your legs will carry you, trying not to bump into anyone and lose your cargo of caffeine.

As you cut the corner around a camera truck, you're fixated on the tray of beverages in your hands, and you don't see the person right in front of you. You collide at full speed.

The tray flies back into your chest. You gasp as the lids of two of the cups pop off and pour coffee all down the front of you and the poor soul you collided with. You recoil and frantically try to catch the other two cups, but you're unsteady from the impact. A strong hand grasps your arm and keeps you from tumbling completely to the ground as you attempt to regain your balance and find purchase in the loose gravel. Despite your efforts to recover, the tray and all its contents falls at your feet. You're left drenched and clinging to the arm that's gripping yours.

You gape down at the mess, frozen in horror.

"I am SO sorry," you begin shakily, "Oh my gosh, I'm so so sorry! I'm such a-"

The second you look up, it feels like time stops, along with your pounding heart. You would know those baby blues anywhere, even through the narrow visor of a helmet. He removes his headgear, and you stare in complete disbelief at the rugged, all-too-familiar face before you.

"Colt?"

"Y/N?"

He sounds equally stunned, his eyes filled with recognition.

"It's you," you breathe.

"It's you," he says, flashing a bewildered smile, "Are you alright? Did you get burned?"

"I'm fine. It was lukewarm anyway" you reply, embarrassed, "Are you okay?"

"Perfect," he nods distantly, "Long time."

"Yeah. Furious Seven set, right?"

"Close. Fate of the Furious," he recalls, "Summer 2016. Havana, and Atlanta."

"That's right. I can never keep the order straight."

"No one can," he laughs, lips twisting into a grin, "You look great."

"So do you," you smile.

Somehow, he'd gotten more handsome than the last time you met. Memories come flooding to the front of your dizzied mind. Many of hot summer nights spent by the pool, and even more of sneaking off together to the hotel rooftops to be alone. Even now, you could still feel the warmth of his strong arms wrapped around you while you talked for hours beneath the stars, sharing your dreams and imagining the future. You'd hoped desperately that he would be in both. And here he was, crashing back into your life and looking at you as if he'd never left.

Knowing you were already slipping back under the spell of his lovesome stare, the coffee dripping off your cheek and down your neck brings you back to reality.

"Oh, look at your suit," you despair at the splatters, attempting to wipe them away with your shirt sleeve, "I'm so sorry, Colt. You know me, always the klutz."

"Don't worry about it. It looks like it's water and coffee resistant," he dismisses, gesturing to the helmet in his hand, "I'm the idiot walking around with this thing on. Just trying to slip away for five minutes without someone yelling at me. Director's got a stick up so far up his backside today, I think it's stabbing his brain, if you know what I mean."

"Oh I definitely do," you grin, followed with a sigh, "I think the whole art department has it out for me at this point."

As you swipe away the last of the obvious drops, your hand lingers on his chest. Blinking, you remember yourself and quickly step back.

"Unfortunately, I don't think my getup is as resistant as yours. Probably should swing by costuming next," you laugh, looking down at your soiled, previously white blouse.

"What am I doing?" Colt admonishes himself before shouting over his shoulder, "Uh, can we get a towel over here, please? Or two? Thank you."

Much to your gratitude, another assistant walking by hands you each a towel a moment later, the studio logo emblazoned on the corner. You hurriedly rub the black linen over your face and turn your focus to your ruined clothes.

"Great service around here," he remarks.

"Coffee delivery notwithstanding," you add.

As he brushes the remaining droplets off his shoulders, his expression turns hesitant. "Oh, you uh, missed a spot. May I?"

You pause wiping at your sleeves and nod to him. He delicately brushes away your hair to dab your temple with his towel, and his touch is almost as soft as his gaze upon you.

"There. Good as new," he declares.

"Thank you," you say, proceeding to wipe at your java-stained jeans in an effort hide your flushed cheeks. "I had no idea they brought you on."

"I've only been here about a week," he explains, clearing his throat, "The last guy's wife just had a baby. I'm just filling in 'til he gets back."

Your stomach sinks at the news, and you try to conceal your disappointment as he continues.

"But yeah, we started the shoot for the big chase scene today. Just wrapped up the opening shots."

"Wow, that's great. I can't believe I haven't seen you around before now. Then again, I don't see the set much while the cameras are rolling. I'm mostly behind the scenes, running all over creation bringing this and that. Speaking of which..." You toss the towel around your neck and squat down to clean up your accident. "I know some people on Stage B who are probably wondering where their drinks are right about now."

Colt takes a knee and retrieves the tray for you, and you begin to stack the empty cups and sticky lids.

"You're not going to get in trouble, are you?" he asks, worry in this voice.

You flinch at the thought, "Not much if I hurry up and remake these."

"Let me help you then."

"You don't have to do that, Colt. I'm sure you're busy."

"I'm on break, and you only dropped them because of me," he insists, "Even if I wasn't, what are they gonna do? Start without me?"

You smile to yourself. There was no arguing with him. He was just as charming as you remembered, and twice as stubborn.

"Alright, you win, Mr. Bigtime Stuntman," you tease.

He holds up the last cup and he raises his eyebrow suspiciously at the letters scribbled in marker on the side.

"What does the 'C.S.' stand for? Colt Seavers?"

"Cinnamon sugar, actually," you chuckle, "Vanilla latte with exactly six shakes of cinnamon sugar on top. Executive producer's favorite. He orders it every single day, no joke."

"That sounds good. I might have to try that myself," he smirks, "Is there like a coffee list I need to put my name on? Or do I just...swing by your trailer?"

"Like they give trailers to production assistants," you scoff, standing up.

Before you can pick up the loaded tray, he snatches it off the ground and jumps to his feet. You know better than to try to take it back from him.

Tucking his helmet under his arm, he gives a little bow. "Lead on, milady."

"The machine's in the catering tent," you giggle, walking in that direction.

"Why are you running around getting coffee for people anyway?" Colt asks, following alongside you, "I thought you were writing the greatest paranormal, pseudo-thriller mystery romance movie of all time? 'Lovers of Lives Past.' What happened with that?"

"You remembered," you say, blushing.

"Of course I remember! I love that story! Did you finish it?"

You frown, reminiscing on the hand that fate had dealt you since you were last together. "My mom had a bad fall, and I took off a year to take care of her. She's better now, but when I got back, I couldn't find any work. The studio wouldn't take me back in my old role. Said they 'downsized the crew.' That included the writer's room. I couldn't even get a spot as a proofreader. When this position finally opened up, I had to take it. It was that or quit the filmmaking world altogether," you sigh, crossing your arms, "I don't know, after being away so long, working on the script didn't seem to matter anymore."

"It does matter. If it means something to even just one person, it matters," he states emphatically, "It matters to you, and it matters to me, so that's already two people right there. Look at you go, Miss Bigtime Hollywood Screenwriter."

His words get a snicker out of you. You'd missed that unbridled enthusiasm of his so very much.

"Oh Colt," you say, shaking your head, "I don't think I have it in me to write a real movie. Besides, you know how quick the landscape changes in this business. No one wants the stupidly optimistic, cheesy stuff I write. They all want gritty, dark scripts or things they can make ten-year franchises out of."

He stops in his tracks and immediately faces you. "Now that's where you're wrong. People want the cheesy. They want the hope, even if they don't know they want it. They need it," he insists, "I know you can do it. I believe in you. But that doesn't matter unless you believe in you."

You stare at him thoughtfully, heart swelling. He was wasting no time reminding you of all the reasons you fell for him in the first place. As if you could ever forget.

"You're sweet," you say.

Sweet. Warm. Inviting. Comforting. Your cinnamon sugar.

He smirks. "It's the vanilla latte."

You start walking once again. The catering tent was close up ahead, and the butterflies in your chest were building up with every step.

"So um, where are you heading next? When the other guy gets back, I mean," you stammer.

"I'm not sure. My schedule is actually pretty open after this," he answers, giving you a coy look, "Why?"

"Just wondering," you say, biting your lip.

"I was thinking of maybe hanging around here a bit. Slow down, take in the scenery, see the sights," he suggests, "You know anyone who could show me around town?"

"I might." You fight to suppress your excitement as you sense his meaning.

"Colt!" someone calls out from behind you, "Pyro wants to talk to you about the ramp launch! They're worried about the impact of explosion on the car with you in it!"

Colt comes to a halt and groans, bowing his head.

"This is why I had the helmet on," he says under his breath.

You look over your shoulder and see that the voice belongs to the stunt coordinator. He had been friendly the few times you'd spoken to him while handing out donuts to the crew, but at present, he looked less-than-thrilled to be delivering that message.

"I see you, man! I know you can hear me!"

He finally turns on his heel to shout back. "Alright, just gimme a minute!"

"Chief wants to see you now. They're almost done prepping the next shot!"

Colt pivots back to you, wincing. "I'm sorry. He always gets intense over fire stuff."

You laugh and take the tray from his hands. "You better go. Wouldn't want you to get in trouble either."

"I'll be back for that coffee. Cinnamon sugar, six shakes exactly," he says with a wink as he steps in the other direction.

You give him a thumbs up. "I'll keep the machine running."

Mere seconds after you turn your back, he calls your name, and you're spinning around again.

"Hey, Y/N?"

"Yes, Colt?"

"Promise me you won't give up on your story?"

"Okay," you agree.

"Say you promise," he points a finger at you, walking backwards, "Say the words."

"I promise I won't give up," you concede, grinning, "Promise me you won't blow up?"

"Cross my heart."

[the-californicationist]

Welcome to the Masterlist!

Challenge details here.

Remember to check out these amazing fics and leave a comment with your character guesses! You can also show these authors some love with a cheeky reblog. 🩷

Mud Bath by @staytrueblue — As your recruits play a game of football in the mud, you get tackled by an unknown soldier who turns out to be an old friend...

The Perfect Soldier by @eternallyelvish — You’re working as a casting director, scouring gyms for talent, until you find the most perfect soldier for the leading role…

Linen and Lace by @indigosunsetao3 — A little sexy dinner, a little dirty talk; who is this mystery hunk?!

Spare Smoke by @fallenneziah — After a little taunting from your handsome companion about your smoking habit, things heat up inside your cabin...

Crossing Lines by @ebodebo — You're in a secret relationship with your brother's best friend...

Details by @going-to-ikea-for-the-fries — The recruits are underestimating your mystery man, but they really shouldn't...

Sunset, Sunrise by @agentmarvel — There are many things in his life that he regrets, but he rues none so much as the day he ended things with you.

Behind Velvet by @arthursleftarmpit — A handsome stranger flirts with you at the ball in this Regency AU. Who could it be?

Sandalwood and Smoke by @live-love-be-unique — Your man blindfolds you and proceeds to tease you within an inch of your life, just how you like it.

Ensnared by @bzurk — After stumbling into a jungle trap, your fellow soldier helps you down... but not after having a laugh at your expense!

Failsafe by @deadbranch — You wake up after a night at the bar tangled in the sheets with a captivating stranger...

Tartan Negroni by @ilragnotessitore — You share delicious drinks with a handsome stranger, then you share a little more...

Blindsided by @villainofmyownstory — You can't get over the breakup and the fact that you were left alone. You keep coming to the place where you last saw him. To, perhaps, finally get some kind of answer. Some solace.

Good Night, Little Soldier by @cerise-on-top — Your mystery man is kidnapped and things have taken an unchangeable turn, but he dreams of you in his final moments.

Homecoming by @indigosunsetao3 — When your man gets home from work, he greets you in the most delightful way possible…

Under the Stars by @kyletogaz — Just a late night talk with the love of your life.

Hospital Food by @sageyxbabey — Your ex-husband (the biological father of your daughter) shows up when said daughter is admitted to hospital. Your current partner (and your daughter) put him in his place.

Foster Fail by @dozeydaisy — You try to convince your man to let you adopt a new furry friend.

By Midnight by @vilixxr — His Royal Highness sneaks into your bed at night for some fiery affection in this medieval AU...

Cloudless Sky by @cadotoast — Your crush confesses his love to you as you lay dying in his arms. If only it wasn't too late... [TW: Angsty!]

Valentines by @xxshadowbabexx — You get the best Valentine’s Day gift from your man…

Blend In by @lisenberry — You're going undercover with the 141, but which one is it?

Wake Up by @guy-writes — Your man is missing you, but as he cuddles you in bed, he realizes something's gone wrong. [TW: Angsty]

Red Card by @glitterypirateduck — You and the hot ref go at it at your nephew's soccer game.

Smuggle and Secure by @crashtestbunny — You're a smuggler, a courier for hire, that works on moving many questionable items into even more questionable hands. Except the current package seems to have attracted the attention of international security.

Welcome Mountain by @jeffersonismywintersoldier — You run into a gorgeous man at the gym, and he comments on your recent transition in the most flirtatious way.

Déjame cuidar de ti, amor by @pricesugarwife — You come home from work drained, but your lover knows just how to fill you back up. [Escribe en Español]

My Neighbor by @lovifie — You bump into your neighbor in the elevator, and then you spend all of your time together until suddenly, he disappears...

A Quiet (K)night by @random-thot-generator — You have a mysterious protector on your evening commute.

A Helping Hand by @stellewriites — In class, you get stumped by a word puzzle, but the handsome man behind you helps you out.

put your ear to my heart by @last-starry-sky — A monster lives in these woods, good thing you’ve got him to protect you…

Thanks so much to everyone who is participating! I'm glad you could feel inspired.

Much love!! -- Cali ✌️🩷

[sashi-ya]

𝑻𝑶 𝑺𝑻𝑬𝑨𝑳 𝑨 𝑯𝑬𝑨𝑹𝑻. Trafalgar Law x F! Reader

🌨 a/n: so I recently been to Austria, a country I often visit since it's literally like a dream. (plus, my mom knew she was pregnant with me there, so I was used to come back to Innsbruck as much as I could with her). But in any case I got inspired there to write this little fic, that might -or not- be a multi chapter one if you all like it. The place exists and the scam part, happened to me -kinda, the airbnb existed, but not as it was listed :P- but in any case, please enjoy and don't forget to leave some feedback if you want more~ ❄ tw: a very sfw story, that might evolve into something else if you want me to keep writing about their trip 😏 ☃ wc: 2.6k

Hijacking for the first time, what could go wrong? Maybe everything, maybe nothing.

A two-month long trip all around Europe has found you on a little village of Austria. Your boots are cold, but luckily they are snow proof ones. Your skin all bumpy, your cheeks irritated. It’s been snowing all night, and despite the sun rising for now, some clouds in the sky menace with more white blessing to fall upon your shoulders very soon.

Those little mountain streets around the Alps are wonderful, they surround mountains going up and down and in a spiral way. But those are wonderful, as long as you can drive a car with heating. And you don’t have one right now.

The crunchy sound of the snow beneath your boots mix with the melody of a glacial river running in between the mountain and the road. It is certainly beautiful, the little rocks and stones being bathed by such pure and cold water, the rests of dry leaves and some moss growing on an everlasting shadow casted by tall, enormous peaks.  Everything is worth taking a picture, but you should prioritize your battery life this time around. The GPS is sometimes wonky, being that high can affect the service.

Many cars have passed by, but none of them have stopped. Little lorries carrying logs pass, cars completely drenched in dirty snow and that mix of salt that roads have during winters.

However, just when your hopes for finding someone to at least give you a ride to the next village were about to run out, the yellow shine of an old VW ban flashes before your eyes.

There, behind a curve -a very dangerous one if you ever went to the mountains- something smells like smoke and a tall man of white furry hat swears up to the skies.

You walk towards him, carefully. Who knows what is happening? Who knows who that man is capable of? There is one thing you are sure, however, and it is that this man is absolutely mad at his old van.

When peaking behind a dark wooden tree that’s now covered in spots of white snow, you discover the annoyed man is a young -handsome- one.

His van, a little rusty but still cute, seems to be having problems to keep going and the smoke coming from it shows it very well.

“Sir? Sir! Your van is catching fire!” you announce, realizing the smoke is indeed a very serious issue.

The guy of chocolate skin and tattooed hands turns around to look immediately at you and then to the back of the van. Those 70’s vehicles had actually their engines right in the back instead of the front.

And Indeed, you were right. Apparently the climb had been too tough for the poor old VW and its engine couldn’t take it any longer.

He quickly opens the back door, maybe searching for a fire extinguisher while you grab fistfuls of snow in an attempt to put down the incipient flames. Quickly enough, and with not many damages to count, the fire stops, and the only thing left is a big black spot on the back of the caravan.

“Thank you” he says, as dry as hopefully your socks. “No problem. What happened? Did the engine over heat?” you ask, curious despite his “I don’t want friends” face. “Yes; these hills are no joke. This never happened to my Polar, but there is always a first time…” he sighs, assessing the damage with a sad expression.

Apparently his van has a name; “Polar”. That’s very cute, and his eyes too. A golden shine in them looks even beautiful with the pristine white around. His tattoos do as well. You wonder about his name, and what is he doing on the road, but you are not sure if it’s proper to ask. However, he asks first.

“What are you doing here? do you have a car?” he mumbles, his voice is as attractive as he is. His eyes scan the place, but nothing catches his attention.

“No, I am actually hijacking. No one stopped so I started walking before the sun starts going down. I definitely got scammed; the Airbnb I was supposed to stay in didn’t, in fact, exist.

He grunts, almost silently. Apparently he is not happy with what happened to you but that’s it.

“Well, that’s so unsafe. I am sorry I can’t give you a ride right now. Apparently none of us have been blessed with good luck today” he says, walking around his vehicle with long legs covered in spotted jeans.

You nod. Your tongue is aching to ask about him, but you clearly catch the hint… he doesn’t want you there.

“Yep. Well, I wish you luck! I must keep going” “Same to you, be careful”

He doesn’t even look at you, something that makes you -somehow- very sad. In any case, you start walking away. There is no point in staying there… even if you have great mechanical skills that could help.

And as you do, you also have a very, very loud consciousness voice screaming at you on how could you leave him with no solution if you know it…

“Sir, you should check your water level…”  you shout, a few meters away from him. The sound of your voice echoes in the huge natural immensity of the Alps and his golden eyes finally fall upon you.

He stops moving for some seconds, lost in you. You, as well, wait for him to say something else. Something like “stay with me” or “don’t go”. A total stranger you want to hang up with. A total unknown woman he wants to protect.

“You know how to fix this?” “I do…”

Or so that was what you thought.  

No more than a couple of minutes took you to help him out. VW vans are noble machines; they are durable and easy to fix despite their particular design. And soon, as a part of your payment, the man that you learned is called Law and you drove away through intricate roads and huge snowflakes.

“Where are you going, (Name)-ya?” he asks, handing you an old cover from an old comic, Germa 66.

“I was supposed to stay for a couple of days in Bad Goisern, and then I thought of visiting Salzburg. I am on a long trip through Europe. What about you?”  you ask, cuddling with the blanket. A certain blessing for your freezing hands.

He nods, checking the breaks before going down the hill.

“I am too. I just graduated medical school and I thought of taking a little vacation before my residency starts. I’m going to be a surgeon. A cardiac surgeon” he tells, full of dreams he fails to cover up behind a tough guy expression.

You celebrate his success, and the next couple of hours become a ping pong of questions and answers. A smile on your face that leaves your cheeks hurting accompanies you until the sun hides and the little lights on the mountains start to scatter.

You didn’t want to go down in the first village, nor the second, nor the third. Law, didn’t want you to go down his van either. You named Salzburg, and he promised you to take you there.

But the night found both of you, and apparently your mechanical skills weren’t as good as you thought the would… Polar decided to stop, in the middle of nowhere during a dark, very dark winter night.

You close your eyes as the sound of rusty gears fail and Law’s annoyance grows stronger than ever. When Polar finally loses all of the power, Law manages to agonizingly park on the side of the road and a huge sighs escapes his lips.

You peak through your left eye; his DEATH tattooed fingers squeeze the wheel, and you know he will snap at any moment. But he doesn’t…

“I’m sorry. I thought- I-“ you try to give a plausible apologize, even though you had nothing to do with it.

“No. It is not your fault… it is mine- As we didn’t stop, I have completely forgotten to fuel Polar up” Law says, absolutely mortified for such stupid mistake. Apparently you were enough distraction to keep him from the basics of road tripping.

You breath alleviated and try to stop your upcoming laughter. Your grimacing did nothing to hide it, and a big burst of laughter took over the van and everything around.

Law looks at you pissed, but a soft smirk garnishes his lips. You can’t stop, perhaps it isn’t that funny… but you feel so happy right now. And you have no idea why, since you are literally stranded in a very dark wood with temperatures below 0C and snow pooling on top of that van.

“Welp, it’s ok. We should wait until tomorrow, then” you say, knowing the risks. “You- you prefer spending the night in here? aren’t you afraid of dying?” he asks, surprised.

“I am, in fact, scared of dying. That’s why I know very well I can’t walk during a snowstorm in the middle of the night in the Alps. Plus, you are too sweet to be considered a threat” you joke, searching for some chocolate inside your backpack.

Law narrows his eyes, deepening his frown. Apparently being called “sweet” and “not a threat” is not something he enjoys.

“I could cut you open and took all of your organs out during the night” he says, serious as hell. “Go for it. Don’t forget to steal my heart, doctor” you laugh, taking your jacket off.

Law is flabbergasted; he has never confronted someone like you before… but he is beginning to like it now.

A bar of chocolate that you had kept in your backpack for too long lays too close to his nose. You shake it, offering its sweetness to him.

He takes it but doesn’t eat it. Instead, his hand gets pressed against the window behind you. Law has pinned you against the door of your side. He is not a very muscular man, but he is indeed very tall and lean… if he wanted, he could do anything to you.

Your eyes widen, big as the moon. You swallow, thinking maybe walking through the forest might be a safer option.

“L-Law… I- didn’t mean to-“ you tremble, asking yourself where did you put the Victorinox blade you bought in Switzerland… it should be enough to defend yourself, right?

You notice his chest is also tattooed as his clothes open just a little. His arms, are too. His scent, despite the danger, smells deliciously tempting…

“Don’t trust strangers that easily, (Name)-ya” he whispers, a few centimetres from your lips. Letting you go after and biting the chocolate bar as if nothing has just happened.

You remain there, frozen up with your eyes widen and your lips softly trembling. He is, in fact, very right. Law is indeed a stranger, after all.

When oxygen finally begins to reach your lungs and brain again, you move and blink the dry eyes away. Silently you sit back, properly. You aren’t able to say anything, somehow you have run out of words.

You squeeze the blanket he gave you, covering you as much as you could, making yourself as tiny as possible on that old leather seat.

“Are you ok?” he asks, so nonchalantly.

“Ye-yes, I’m… ok” you mumble back, almost sticking yourself to the passenger door. “Is it ok if I go to sleep? I’m tired”

Law nods, confused. Maybe he was just joking around, but it did scare you big time. He goes down the van and opens the back doors. You look at him disappearing in the darkness until a very little glimpse of silver light coming from the moon filters through the doors.

But, soon after, fairy lights illuminate the back allowing you to discover a very cozy space behind the front seats.

“I am glad I installed this independently from the fuel tank. I have a little power generator for the back. It’s not a hotel bed, but it does the job” he says, showing you a precarious mattress covering the entire floor of the vehicle.

You smile softly, it looks cozy and pretty. The walls are full of random posters and maps, and there is even an old picture of a younger Law with three more guys wearing fancy hats with something written in the snow. You take a closer look at it, to discover it says, “Pirates of Heart” and you giggle. What a peculiar gang name.

“Law, this is really cute. You even have a lot of blankets and cushions!” you chime, easing a little bit.

“My best friend Bepo decorated it for me, I only helped him with the lights” he says, a little embarrassed.

You jump right back, leaving your backpack in the front seat and forgetting everything for the moment. What a reckless lover girl.

“I am going to sleep in the front seat, don’t worry. Use as many blankets as you need” he informs you, closing the back doors and leaving you there. You most probably were to say “no, stay here” but you simply couldn’t.

After all, this tattooed doctor is a gentleman. Right?

You let yourself rest for a bit on that improvised bed, with your sight blurring while looking at the fairy lights. The scent of the blankets and pillows is the same as him, something you secretly enjoy without even knowing. You catch a glimpse of the reflection of him sitting in the front through the back windows, at how he takes his hat off revealing a dark shade of onyx spiky hair.

For the next half an hour, or maybe less, you both become silent. The only sounds are the huge slaps of snow falling from the sky against the van and the subtle whistle of the wind filtering through the doors.

It is cold, but it’s probably colder in the front as Law is only using his Germa 66 blanket to cover up…

“Law? Are you awake?” you ask, shyly.

“Mh? Yes... why?” he asks back, with not much emotion but a soft tremble on his voice. He is probably cold, very cold.

“I feel bad for you; you must be freezing. There is plenty of room back here, you could sleep here. It’s ok with me” you say, taking advantage of not being in front of him.

Law takes a few minutes to move, but he ultimately does. He hops to where you are and sits there crossing his long legs. He is not wearing his black leather boots, so you can see Sora’s socks.

“Cool socks” you say, sitting right in front of him watching his cheeks go blushed. “Here, cover up. You are freezing, doc”

Both of you cover up with heavy blankets and fall into the mattress at the same time, facing each other.

Maybe, it is too strong to deny it. The attraction is natural, and you both can’t stop it… Exactly like the wind and cold reaching your skins.

“I am still cold” you mumble.

“I read in one of my books that the best way to keep the warmth of our bodies is to share it… skin to skin” he whispers, unable to take his eyes away from your lips.

“Is that so?” you breathe, coming closer to his embrace, allowing his arms to surround your frame and your hips to join with the other’s.

His forehead slowly touches yours, the bridge of your noses do as well. Your fingers, playfully but slowly, crawl to the crook of his neck. While his, squeeze your waist with delicate dominance. A leg that snake into the other’s, crossing, tangling…

Lips coming closer, so close. Breaths warming up, going faster and bumpy. Hearts that indeed had been stolen, the first kiss of two strangers, meeting for the very first time like two snowflakes join while falling from an endless sky

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤWill they continue their journey together? 🦢

[heartthrobin]

my bleeding dream, my shadow in the night

jake lockley x female!reader

wc: 9.5k

warnings: mutual pining, enemies to lovers (kinda?), angst, jake lockley is emotionally constipated, there is heavy steven / marc x reader but mostly jake centred, description of wounds and stitching them up, blood, a couple references to sex, there is a dog (i see him as a leonburger btw), jake still works for khonshu, post mk s1, heavy handed on the spanish fight me

an: hey loves !!! sorry it took so long, but here you go. obvs this is my interpretation of jake cause we don't see much of him in mk :// remember to comment and repost to support your fav writers

summary: you were convinced, no: you were sure, that Jake Lockley couldn't stand the sight of you. then why was he consistently banging at your door in the middle of the night, dripping in blood and begging to be stitched up?

Mouse was noisy.

You really wished he wouldn't be.

He was a big boy, the largest puppy you'd ever seen when you'd picked him up from the shelter. Tall enough now to sit straight up at your kitchen table and swipe leftovers off the middle shelf in the fridge when left unattended.

Despite his monstrous presence, Mouse yipped and whined like a teacup terrier.

It wasn't too bad most days. You were more than welcome to lug his eighty kilogram bum with you to the veterinary clinic where you worked, which you did, but it was the weekends that were tough on him.

When he'd be left alone in the flat.

Mouse would whimper at the door all the hours you were gone, whine until he heard you shuffling back up the corridor after a couple drinks with friends or between all the mostly horrible dates with monotonous men you subjected yourself to.

You couldn't call him a nuisance - he was your baby, you could never - but the guilt picked at you. You wondered most of all if he bothered your neighbours.

There was a sign up in the elevator: no pets allowed in the building! which you avoided eye contact with on a daily basis.

It wasn't all bad, Mouse's noisiness.

After all, it was his dramatics that brought Steven Grant to your door in the first place a Sunday night somewhere deep into April.

Steven had knocked so lightly, so politely on your door.

You'd opened it just slightly, enough to hide the furry mountain who was hovering curiously behind your figure. Who's there? Who's there?

He'd stumbled out a greeting, introduced himself as your neighbour. Two doors down.

You were long lost in the confusion of how you'd never realised that the most handsome man you'd ever laid eyes on was living less than a few feet from your front door, when he mentioned Mouse.

Not by name, exactly, but rather asked if "the dog" was alright. That he'd heard whining into the early hours of that morning.

That morning when you'd been in a bar two streets up from the apartment building listening to a man tell you about why Bitcoin was the "future of finance". God.

Dread had drained your face of colour, you remember how you'd tripped over your apologies, and begged him not to mention it to the landlord.

Steven's face reflected your panic. He assured you that everything was fine, he was just worried that something had happened. He apologised about as much as you had.

You invited him in that night, let Mouse sniff around the edges of his pants.

Mouse had sat with his bear-sized head in Steven's lap the rest of the afternoon when you'd poured them tea. Steven chuckled nervously: you figured that he hadn't anticipated the size of the dog when he'd come to make his welfare check.

From that day, things rumbled into a colourful blur of neighbourly dues to genial friendship to ... god, you didn't even know anymore.

Stops in the corridors became twenty minutes for tea which morphed into "I cooked too much pasta, care for a plate?" and then three hours over your kitchen table.

Steven, you found, was cheeky and endearing, and shy in all the right places.

He talked more than he listened and you would warm yourself happily with the sound of his voice for hours before he'd stutter out a "I'm so rude, I didn't even ask how was your--", and then you'd give a little too.

There were books he put you on, mostly about Ancient Egypt, but others were poetry or mysteries or biographies. He'd invite you for tea in his flat, poke and prod you on your thoughts on the book while Mouse sat quietly invested in watching Gus and Gil float up and down the tank for hours.

You met Marc eventually.

He was soft in different ways to Steven, eyes wearier than his counterpart's. Marc was hesitant, following slowly when Steven tugged him out into the light of your eyes.

You worked on him gently, steadily. Brought him baked goods when you'd made, walked out with him some mornings to work and offered to stop with him for a coffee.

More than that, none of the boys took to Mouse more than Marc.

It was something about the military in him, you thought, that brought Marc around to bury his hands into the spaces behind the dog's ears. Coo at him and fish pieces of jerky out his pocket just so long as Mouse sat draped over his lap the whole time.

It rolled into walks with you on the weekends, when you'd need to sneak Mouse out the building, and then dinner on the way home.

The ebb and flow of it was sweet, and slow, and you sunk into the boys' presence like a cat bathing in sunlight.

Jake came later. Later, in the early days of July when the tendrils of Summer had sunk themselves deep into the heart of London.

He wasn't like Marc, not skittish. Neither welcoming nor open to your meddling, he seemed distinctly above it. Above you.

There was an explicit distinction between him and the other boys, maybe just to you.

Jake avoided your eyes and your conversation. He kept up with his alters' wishes but entertained you no further.

You'd heard about him long before you'd met him. A rainy afternoon, chasing down the foyer of the building with a "hold the elevator!"

His eyes found yours and you beamed at catching Steven or Marc before heading up.

"Hey--" you watched his eyes turn you over.

Jake didn't slouch like Steven, nor was he taut and tense in the shoulders like Marc. He stood with an ease about him, his head tilted down under the flat cap that worked to shield his eyes.

He greeted curtly, a definite East coast twang to his speech.

"You must be Jake." You said plainly, finding no other way around it.

The man's brow tightened, "Sure."

There came a realisation to his expression, twisting up again. "You must be the doll from down the corridor."

The elevator dinged and the doors slid open. Neither of you moved.

"Uh ... I suppose so."

Jake nodded, moving without another word down towards his door. Your feet tripped over themselves to follow him.

Jingling keys broke the quiet of the corridor and his door creaked open.

"It was nice meeting--"

It closed with a thump.

"... you."

Your interactions with the third member of the system were spread out, bumps here and there. No more than a few words.

Steven worried about him, about Jake.

Him and Marc had told you about Khonshu, about the Moonknight, in the darkness of a Thursday night following a few glasses of whisky.

"But ..." the glass teetered over the wooden table where Marc was twirling it round. "He's gone now, right? I-I mean, you're done, aren't you?"

Marc's eyes flickered up just once.

"Yeah, yeah ..." he nodded, words blurred around the edges with alcohol. "Just some days ... I ... I don't know."

"You don't know?"

His eyes flickered.

"Yeah, love. We just worry about Jake some days, he comes home with bruises and stuff--" Steven.

His expression twisted again, this time almost painfully.

"Nothing to worry about." Marc had returned, clearly intent on shutting Steven up. He took a long slug of the brown remnants in his glass. "You still got any of that cake from yesterday?"

And so it passed that way, for weeks.

Jake was a ghost that haunted the corridors between awkward elevator interactions or sometimes when he'd pop into the middle of you and Steven's documentary movie nights.

It stayed that way for a long while, until the visits began.

The landlord arranged a check-in once a month, just to ensure that nothing was broken, that you were keeping the place clean, that you weren't hiding one of the hounds of Baskerville in your flat. Things of that sort.

Steven had graciously offered to let Mouse come stare at his fish tank for a few hours until the check-in was over.

You lingered at his door and knocked twice, eyes flickering nervously up and down the corridor for signs of any other tenants creeping out their own flats.

The door opened and with one glance over his figure, you knew it wasn't Steven.

"Jake?"

He squinted at you, clad in pajamas and looking you up and down affronted as if it wasn't already three o' clock in the afternoon. It was clear that he'd just woken up.

"Yeah?"

His hair was tousled in a way that was making your stomach churn. God, surely there were laws in place to stop men from looking this handsome in the middle of broad fucking daylight?

"Sorry to bother," your hand tightened around Mouse's leash where he was inching forward to lick at Jakes exposed ankles. "Steven said I could leave Mouse here for a couple hours while the landlord comes to check my place?"

Jake's eyes dropped to the dog, as if he was noticing him for the first time. He nodded, pulling the door further open for him to slip past.

You smiled softly, feeling the awkwardness crowd over your face and redden your cheeks. "Thanks, I-I really appreciate it."

He nodded again. "Yeah, no problem."

When you collected Mouse later that night, Marc opened the door with the dog merry under his palm and Jake was foggy memory.

That was the first night.

The street outside had already dimmed to a soft whir of taxis and buses when you'd slipped off into bed. Mouse was taking up most of the space, as he did most nights, and you'd passed out before the blinking light on your bedside clock had even hit midnight.

It was thunderous, the knock, when it came. It jostled you from sleep with the immediate panic that the door was being broken down.

Mouse was scratching at the base of the door before you'd even sat up, adrenaline pumping through your system. The clock flashed four thirty-seven.

"What the fuck ..." your bare legs kicked off the sheets, stumbling towards the door.

In hindsight, maybe checking the peephole would have been wise, but you threw open the door in oversight.

Leaning, head down and panting, against the wooden frame stood the figure of your neighbour.

"Jake?"

The jacket with the fur lining, the cap crumpled in his fist. It had to be him.

"What are you ..." Your eyes found the side of his waist, white shirt blossoming with a crimson stain.

Jake looked up with wide black eyes. Even in the darkness, they curled with remorse.

"Listen, I'm sorry, I just--"

"Get inside," your hand reached for his arm, helping him off the doorframe and guiding him to crash down into the nearest chair at your kitchen table.

He seethed, head leaning back over the seat. "Fuck ..."

Your knees found the wooden floor, hands creeping up his legs towards his shirt. "Can I?"

He nodded.

Cold hands crumpled up the edges of the once white t-shirt and you lifted it up against his chest. A deep gash was reaching from his armpit towards his hips.

You drew a shaky breath, "Jake, you need to go to the hospital--"

"No." His voice was stern. "No hospitals, I can't ... they can't know."

Realisation was dawning on your reeling mind.

"This has to do with Khonshu. Doesn't it?"

Jake's gaze burnt into yours, but he made no move to answer. It was the response you'd expected.

You sighed, running a hand back over your hair. "I ... I don't know what you want me to do?"

Mouse was sniffing curiously at Jake, sensing where the tension was building.

"You're a doc, aren't you?"

"For animals!"

He shrugged, "I'm as close as you're gonna get, muñeca."

Sucking in another deep breath, you glanced back at the wound. The dim light in the kitchen worked to hide where you were sure other cuts and bruises were forming over his torso.

The thought of Steven and Marc occurred to you. When they would wake up tomorrow morning in a hospital bed, panicked.

You nodded eventually.

"Fine." It was barely a whisper. "Give ... give me a second."

There was a small set-up in the cupboard beneath your sink, the basics you'd need to stitch him up.

He made no other comment in your movement to the bathroom and back. You placed the box onto the table noisily.

"You need to get up on the counter," you said, flipping the light on in the corner of the room. "I can't work kneeling down like this."

With a grunt that made your cheeks warm, Jake rose from the chair and hauled himself up onto your kitchen counter, knocking your toaster back against the wall loudly.

"Lose the shirt." You said it without meeting his eyes.

When his jacket and shirt had been tossed back against the table behind you, you neared him again: letting your fingers graze softly around the wound. You worked hard to ignore the sharp inhale he made at your touch, or the goosebumps that rose around your hand.

He was watching you with heavy eyes, you glanced up to meet them and if you didn't know better, might have said that they twinkled with a shine of endearment.

"I don't have any anaesthetic," you whispered, sure he could hear you at the close proximity you now found yourself with him. "You'll feel everything."

"He tenido peores."

I've had worse.

You considered him for a moment, before reaching behind his head for the knob on the cupboard: swinging it open.

Behind some coffee mugs was the last of a bottle of vodka you'd gotten for your birthday. Not a lot, but maybe enough.

You handed it to him and he took it without question, spinning off the lid. He took three big gulps, face twisting as he sat it down.

Picking it up before his hand had even left it, you took two similar sips to wash down the panic rising in your throat.

When you found his face again, a smile had curled into his lips. Like he was on the verge of a laugh.

"Oh no," you set it down, "Don't go starting to like me now right before I have you put your life in my hands."

The objects from your little medicine box clattered out onto the counter beside him, you pretended not to notice where his face curled up in confusion.

"What makes you think I didn't like you before?"

You huffed. "Jake, please."

It seemed he didn't have an answer. Silence grew stale between your figures as you sanitised the utensils and your hands.

You drenched a bandage in alcohol, giving Jake a sympathetic look before pressing it over the wound.

He seethed at the pain, but not enough that you worried. You wiped it down as gently as you could manage, resting your other hand on his shoulder.

When the dried blood had been cleared and only fresh blood was leaking out did you reach for the needle.

"You ready?" You whispered, voice trembling.

He shrugged, "Are you?"

Mouse nudged at your leg, whining lowly. You ignored him and nodded.

Your fingers pushed at the skin, nudging them together where you pierced the needle and Jake let out a jolt.

The needle wove in and out, your fingers stained in blood against where Jake was groaning. He'd reached for the bottle of vodka again, guzzling down sip after sip: the rim of the bottle working to quieten his moans of pain.

Your eyes flickered up between the wound and his face, his face twisted and his chest reeling with heavy pants.

"I'm sorry," your words wobbled, the vision of the wound growing blurry behind gathering tears. "I'm sorry, I'm so..."

A hand found your jaw, pulling you back up into Jake's line of sight. The grip was warm.

"Hey, hey ..." his other hand released the neck of the bottle, swiping a calloused thumb over your cheek where a tear had run down. "You've done this before, I'm just like a ... a big dog. Just not as hairy."

You nodded, ragged breaths escaping you. "Yeah. Yeah, okay."

His hand stayed over your face and you hoped it would linger for a little longer.

It moved, returning to the safety of the last swigs of vodka.

Your hand came to find the needle again, working it into his side to finish out the last few stitches. He was making more of an effort to stifle his groans, you could tell.

When you finished, you patted it with alcohol again before setting everything down against the counter. You wiped your hands, watching down as you stained the kitchen cloth with blood.

Jake investigated the wound site, hunched carefully over. "It looks good. You did a good job."

You handed him a roll of fresh bandages, ignoring his needless compliment. "It needs a fresh wrap every time you shower ... and put some antibiotic ointment on if you have. If you don't have, go buy."

He slipped gently off the edge of the counter, you took a seat at your kitchen table: sucking in hard breaths and avoiding his face.

The jacket and shirt slid off the table, he pressed them against his chest.

"Thank you."

You nodded, still not looking at him. "You need sleep, Jake."

But he lingered, made no move towards the door. The quiet stretched long enough to where your head came back up to find him.

His fist was curling and uncurling at his side, lips pursed.

"What is it?"

Jake's brow softened. "Please don't .... don't tell Steven or Marc that I was here."

You stared at him, affronted. "I think that's the least of your worries, Jake. If I were you, I'd worry about how you're gonna explain the twenty stitches in your side."

"You'd think." He shrugged, an air of charisma to his tone that you were realising was characteristic of him. "They'd freak those two, if they knew I woke you up in the middle of the night for this. For anything, actually."

"Meaning?"

He huffed, tugging the blood-wet shirt over his frame carefully. You avoided where your eyes were desperate to follow the trail of black hairs down over his stomach.

"You're a smart woman, princesa. Playing dumb doesn't suit you." Jake tightened the jacket to his side. "You've got those two wrapped around your pretty little finger."

The implication made your cheeks flush. Made you itch under your skin with his remarks, with how little care he tossed them at you.

"Right. So that's why you don't like me, is it? Cause I care about Marc and Steven?"

He shook his head in place of answering.

"I'm gonna go." Jake's feet shuffled backwards.

The door clicked behind him and Mouse whimpered at his absence.

-

In the weeks following that night, days dissolved into a technicolour blur of work and sleep.

Things had picked up at the clinic: you were tied down by late night surgeries and early morning consults.

You didn't see Jake once in that time.

Steven invited you around in the few moments you were home when you had them, with the pot boiling, offering a store-bought muffin warmed on a plate and good intentions.

Even Marc had stopped past your work, a coffee in hand and a smile lit between blushing cheeks. It was the one you liked from the place around the corner.

But Jake remained a foggy memory and as they days passed, you were growing more and more sure that his visit had only occurred in a dream.

That was until he came again.

Another knock, another confused shuffle through the darkness towards the door.

The light from the hallway framed a halo over his head, throwing a shadow over where you knew a cheeky grin was forming. "Princesa."

You drew the door back, rubbing the sleepy buzz from the corners of your eyes. Too tired to indulge him with argument, you motioned for him to pass into your flat.

He limped past your frame, hand kissing his bloody shoulder.

"On the counter, Lockley." You mumbled around the sleeve of your pajamas.

Jake lifted himself with his left arm, groaning where he slid onto the surface. He reached into the cupboard, bumping past mugs to where you'd stashed the bottle of vodka. There was hardly two sips left in it and he cleaned them out before you'd even returned.

Mouse was watching the action from a spot on the couch.

When you'd set the kit onto the space beside him, his shirt was already pulled to the side: revealing two stab wounds up his right shoulder.

You made no move to lift your arms from your sides, instead your eyes traced the wound where blood was leaking steadily out.

"I thought there was a suit? Steven says it used to heals wounds."

Jake's gaze hadn't left your face since he'd sat down. He shook his head.

"I don't wear it, the suit." He said simply.

You said nothing else, instead moving to wash your hands and wipe down the needle, attaching some thread to the end of it.

Silence rung in the space. You could tell by his fidgeting that it bothered Jake, but still, he made no move to talk.

Your hands, cool from the water, ran up over his arm and pressed gently into the skin surrounding the cuts. He sighed and you pretended that the sound didn't eat you up from the inside, pretend that you weren't thinking about how it would sound muffled against your own mouth.

The needle pierced his skin without warning and he jerked against your hand before apologising quietly.

Compared to his last visit, these cuts were deeper rather than wide: like the perpetrator only managed a nick before Jake threw himself back. It would only need five or six stitches and you sewed them in gently, but this time, insensitive to his twitching and squirming.

Annoyance flared beneath your skin. He doesn't show his face once in the time since he last appeared at your door, but here he was again: offering his wounds like a struck puppy.

"You know I could lose my license for this." You say it quietly, more of a comment than a question.

He observed you from under thick black lashes. "Why're you doing it then?"

There hung a pause where you grappled for answers. Different combinations of words fought to leave your mouth - all of them reaching out from your bruised heart.

"Because Marc and Steven are in there." You settle on. "And if I left it to you, all three of you would die of sepsis."

Something akin to hurt flashes across his face, but it's hard to tell through the darkness and easy to chalk up to the needle dipping in and out of his skin.

"Good to know you worry about me, too, muñeca."

You wipe the now stitched wound unceremoniously, not even admitting to the end of the procedure and definitely not addressing the fact that you do worry. That since his last visit, you worry about him every fucking night before you sleep. But he doesn't need to know that.

"Let me see your side." You motion over his shirt where you'd stitched him up less than a month before.

Jake lifted the shirt tentatively. You were met with the pink stretched scar down his abdomen.

"Who took out the stitches?"

His abdomen rippled where he shifted. "I'm sure you can guess."

The image of Steven poking around between dried stitches and gagging dramatically made a chuckle rise up in your throat. "Marc."

"Yeah."

"What did they say? About the scar?"

Jake's hand brushed along where your forearm rested at the counter, but - not for the first time - drenched your question in silence.

Irritation picked at you again. You pulled your arm out from under his touch. "Whatever, Jake. Keep your fucking secrets."

Before you'd even been allowed the chance to storm back to your room, he caught your arm: slinging you back against the counter.

Your breath caught on the back of your teeth when his forehead pressed against yours.

It was warm and sticky with sweat.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his nose pressing against the side of your own. "I'm sorry, don't be angry at me princesa. Please?"

His eyes were so intoxicating this close. You unstuck your face from his, far enough to wash him with your gaze but close enough to still feel the puffs of warm pants across your jaw.

You pressed some hair up out of his face, letting your fingers venture softly through its brambly depths.

"I'm ... I'm not." His forehead was salty where you pushed a kiss there. "Go to bed, Jake."

You'd already disappeared under the comfort of your duvet when your neighbour's footsteps faded out into the hallway.

-

Steven and Marc had taken to asking you about Jake. More than they ever had and far beyond what was necessary.

It peaked suspicion in you.

"No, I've barely seen him." You'd shrugged. Not completely untrue in your words, but not letting on what you knew you could. "Why's that?"

Steven would shake it off. "Nothing, just wondering."

Marc's responses were laced in a little more candour. "He's been asking about you. Talking about you."

"What's he say?" You pretend it's unimportant, like you're not burning to know.

Marc raised his shoulders. A part of you knew that Jake had to be imploring him, insisting he abandon it. Leave him alone, and you alone, and you and him alone.

It was a matter your mind twisted over: did they know? know about Jake and Khonshu and your medical handiwork? -- until it wasn't.

Steven asked you out on a Monday night outside your flat door.

He'd stuttered and stumbled through: "I'd like to take you to dinner."

"Sure, that sounds great Stevie--"

"No, like ... like a date. I'd like to take you to dinner. On a date, i-if you want to."

You'd paused, delight crawling up over your face and manifesting into two cherry red cheeks. "I'd love that."

That Friday after work, you sat across Steven at a tiny round table in a dress you'd not had opportunity to wear in ages.

It was at a pizza place up the road where a single candle lit the space between you, like it did in the movies, and a bouquet of white roses sat in the open chair with your purse. Steven had bought them for you.

You noticed his eyes flicker back in intervals when you spoke, but pretended you didn't.

He was attentive and funny, like he was most every time you saw him, but this time seemed more nervous at it. Your hands curled around his across the red tablecloth and he smiled over words when you brushed a forefinger over his own.

The night ended with a takeaway pizza box interrupting the space where you pushed against his chest, taking his jaw gently into your hand and kissing him sweeter than you'd offered a man before.

It was barely Monday morning when Jake came again. Hardly a week since his last visit.

He hung at your doorframe, fist hovering over the wood.

His head was throbbing something terrible and he could feel where blood was trickling between the tendrils of hair down past his left ear.

A part of him wished he could feel an ounce of shame for it, for creeping out into the night in search of a fight. In search of a reason to end up back at your door.

He didn't.

The knock scraped his knuckles and echoed down the hallway past the other flat.

Jake waited for it. The sniff of the dog at the door, then the sleepy shuffle of feet over wooden floorboards.

It played into the space like his favourite song. The door clicked open, spreading to reveal your figure against the light from the street beyond the window.

The image was burnt into his mind the first time he'd seen it, playing like a video on loop until the next moment that he was blessed with the sight again.

Your sleeping shorts rumpled up against the top of your thigh, sleeves reaching down to your fingertips and a stretch of stomach peeking up at him. So soft, so domestic - he wanted to squeeze you between his calloused palms and press you against him until your forms fuzed.

Instead he settled, like he's done before, with a "princesa" and a finger motioning to wherever he let a deadbeat land a punch or a swipe of a blade on his body.

Tonight, he was dripping all over your doormat. The sky lit up the flat behind you with a crack of lightning, followed with a rumbling that could just have easily grown from the back of your throat as it did from the sky.

Jake felt your eyes, felt it's warmth over his neck where the trail of blood was leading down like the Nile.

"Have you ever thought of coming to visit me when you're not fresh off the bad end of a beating?"

I never stop.

"You gonna patch me up or not, doc?"

He found his usual spot, up on the counter. You disappeared, like you did each time. The dog rested a friendly head on his lap and Jake offered him a pat.

You'd bought a new bottle of vodka, he found it behind the mugs just as he did the time before. He wondered for a moment if you'd gotten it specifically for him.

Cool hands found the base of his neck. This was always his favourite part, when he'd get a taste of your touch against his begging, desperate skin.

And as much as this was his immediate reason for coming, your skin lingered further in his mind: a memory that didn't belong to him. It had kept him up for days.

You were working quietly, like you'd done before and the time before that.

"So." He broke the crisp air that had settled around you two. "Steven asked you out?"

Your eyes flickered up from where you were patting an antiseptic drenched cotton ball at the bump on the side of his head between his hair. The smell was reminding him of the last time you'd pinned him against this counter.

Why're you doing it then?

Because Marc and Steven are in there.

They were words that punctured a new wound into his gut every time he thought on it.

"What's it to ya, Lockley?"

Your hands went back to work, unconcerned for his question.

He shrugged like he didn't care. Like he hadn't scratched violent tears into the sides of his shared brain for a fraction of a sight of you that night: in the prettiest green sundress he'd ever seen and looking like heaven on a plate.

Satisfied with just that, he'd slunk back into the shadows again.

Steven deserved the moment to himself. Deserved you to himself.

It didn't mean that Jake was any less jealous. Any less ripped apart by your place in their life, the place he could never make for you in his own.

"He took you to Lorenzo's, right?"

You hummed, not looking at him.

Jake shrugged noncommittally. "I mean ... everyone knows that the pizza at De Luca's is better. The wine too, but whatever, I guess."

A nail raked gently over a spot behind the cut and Jake tried - failed - not to shiver at it.

"Isn't that place run by the mafia?" Curiosity weaved through your tone.

Jake hummed, "That's what makes it the best."

You laughed softly at that, just barely under your breath, and it made the pit in the base of his stomach warm. He could grow drunk on the sound.

He noticed the red vase on your kitchen table, white roses peaking out the top and watching him merrily.

"And white roses?"

"I like them, Jake." you dug a finger into soft spot against the side of his neck, no doubt on purpose. He jerked against it. "Steven put in a lot of effort."

It struck a funny chord in him, listening to you defend his alter.

"You'd prefer carnations though, wouldn't you? You said they're your favourite."

"Not to you, I didn't."

Sure, you hadn't. You'd mentioned it to Marc one afternoon stroll past the new florist that had opened up around the corner, but that didn't mean he hadn't heard. Didn't remember.

He leaned closer to your face, watching how your eyes flew up from wiping the blood down his neck.

"You forget ..." He whispered, tapping a finger against his temple. "I'm always here, muñeca."

You stepped back and out of his space, tossing the bloody tissue into the bin.

"Well, if it bothers you so much ... you're welcome to take your complaints up with Steven when you see him. Alright?"

"You kissed him."

That made you stop. Made your hands freeze over the kitchen cloth you'd been using to wipe his blood from your fingertips. Another line of lightning cracked beyond the window loudly.

Your eyes moved slowly between resting on his knee and taking sips of his own gaze. There was a sliver of moonlight grazing over your cheek, Jake was sure it was Khonshu taunting him.

"Is that the only place you were bleeding?" You deflected his question with another.

Jake watched you with desperate eyes. He didn't know what he wanted, he just knew that he wanted all of it. All of you. It's heat dissolved when he looked down to his boots. Sticky drying blood smudged over the toe.

"Yeah. Tha's all."

He was surprised when a warm palm closed over his cheek. Droplets of water chased down from the edges of his hair over the back of your hand.

The hand was gone before he'd even a chance to acknowledge it.

"You could have a concussion, Jake." You perched yourself at the edge of your kitchen table across from him. "I think you should go shower and put on warm clothes and come back ... so I can watch you for a bit. Okay?"

As tempting as the offer was, and it did tempt him something terrible, he nudged himself off the counter shaking his head. "No. I should go."

"Jake." Your voice was stern. "Just ... please. I want to make sure that you're okay."

"That I'm okay, or that the others are okay?"

You swallowed. "That you're okay."

His chest inflated and deflated loudly against the hum of the rain at the window. Was it a crime to want more than just a few blood and pain filled moments under the solace of your hand?

"You have work in the morning."

A simple huff escaped you, akin to a chuckle. "Never stopped you before."

He flashed you an annoyed look that held absolutely no substance. His hands itched for yours.

"I'm not gonna go change."

"But you're wet."

"A little rain never killed anybody."

"Does someone pay you to be difficult, hm? A little something on the side?"

You grinned, proud of your little jab at him and he could melt under it's sticky sweetness.

"Shut up." He mumbled.

You sighed and he followed you without instruction towards the couch where you fell back against it. He sat more civilly down beside you - purposeful in the space he left between your thighs.

"You wanna watch something?" You ask quietly.

He shakes his head. No. You nod. Fine.

The fabric was growing damp under his wet jeans, Jake could feel the cold creeping up his legs. The dog was snoring loudly from a spot on the carpet.

"Where did you find this giant dog--?"

"Why do you only talk to me when something's wrong?"

Jake's eyes flew to you, but your gaze remained steadfast on a dark corner of the book shelf across the room.

"I found him at the shelter. Named him Mouse, thought it would be funny ... cause mice are small. And ... he's so big." Your voice was only barely more than a whisper, meandering between words like you didn't know where the sentence was going. "Your turn."

He ran a hand down the jean over his thigh, adjusting in his wet seat. Honesty choked him with the way it was clawing it's way up his throat. You make me nervous and I'm too scared of how much I care for you to face you in the light of day.

A hard swallow washed that confession back down from whence it came. You still weren't looking at him.

"I like it when it's just us." He mumbled instead. A half admission.

You sniffled like you might be crying. Jake was too scared to look.

"It could be just us during the day sometimes too, you know."

There was nowhere left to look for answer, so he didn't bother. Instead, he reached tentatively across the space where your hand was curling on itself at your side.

He pressed his palm against yours and it uncurled, fingers drawing around his like they knew all the curves and dips and callouses there. You shifted so your head pressed into the side of his arm, it stayed there.

Nothing else was said. Not for the rest of the night.

A long quiet hour had drifted past when Jake realised that you'd fallen asleep. Soft, predictable breaths were drawing in and out from your nose.

He shifted to look down at your face, a movement that jostled you off of him and he almost mourned the loss when you curled instead onto the plush of his lap: arms twisted up against your chest.

It took a long moment of convincing to lift his hand from his side: letting it brush along your hairline, tucking back pieces that fanned over your forehead.

His fingertips trailed down over your face, brushing along the bridge of your nose - he watched where it scrunched up and twisted, feeling his heart melt stickily over his ribs - and softly over puffy lips.

He thought again about how you'd kissed Steven.

Jake knew because Steven had told him, voice breathless and heart thumping against his chest just moments after he'd shut the door on you. Marc was proud, Jake was too - but it burnt where it lingered.

Marc would no doubt get there with you too, ask you on another date and have his moments with you. Have something to tend to, to grow, and he knew it because he saw how you looked at them.

That endearment that he knew he could have too if only he just--

He blinked the thought away.

There was danger in allowing himself to love you, far too much to consider it. A weakness that one of Khonshu's adversaries could surely exploit. 

Sure, Steven and Marc could bask in your warmth. Taste the sweet fruit of your intelligence and kindness, wrap themselves around your heart.

But not him.

It’s what kept him so far, you at arm's length. 

Only in the moments where pain and adrenaline blinded him to sense could he offer himself pathetically at your door in the dark of hot London nights. 

You twitched against him.

"I'll come for you one day, muñeca." He whispered for nobody but himself to hear. "Te lo prometo."

I promise.

-

Life fell into a sweet sway after that, it curled around the edges with the warmth of finding home in a person.

You drifted between work and the comfort Steven's presence.

It took three more dates and a shy kiss along a bridge over the Thames before he asked you to be his girlfriend and your heart swelled three sizes at the look on his face when you agreed.

Many weeks passed that way: Saturday mornings were warm despite the creeping winter where you found the morning light between the crack in Steven's arm over your waist.

Marc was around almost as much as Steven.

He'd asked you to the ice-rink in the days after Steven and you had become official. He wouldn't have asked if Steven hadn't thought it fine so you smiled and accepted his offer too.

You'd promised and delivered on the fact that you couldn't skate. Marc spent most of the time catching you moments before hitting the ice and your stomach cramped with laughter. He laughed too, loudly and with a shaking chest pressed against your own. It was the most you'd ever seen him smile.

He'd held you close under the gazebo where you'd bought him a coffee and yourself a tea, his nose brushed against yours almost as nervously as Steven's had. A different kind of nervousness though, more ... tentative. He shivered with it.

His hand slipped into yours, nose against yours but shifting no further than it. Quiet in his plea for permission.

"Steven?" You whispered against him.

Marc's eyes found the puddle below his feet, the hint of a smile teasing at his mouth.

"He's been begging me to ask you out for months, d'ya know that?" He chuckled softly, warm breath drifting over your lips. "Been holding out. Kind of forced him to do it first."

You laughed too, brushing your top lip over his. "You two are ridiculous."

He snorted. "Just wait till you get to know, Jake."

You kissed him.

Marc was confident, leading the kiss where Steven only followed. It was all-consuming, hand at the bend of your throat and sucking oxygen from your lungs until it's absence forced you apart.

You'd already made peace with the fact that maybe Jake was just a ghost. A figure that appeared to you in the night and you'd never see his shining beetle-black eyes in the light of any day.

But as you should have long since made out, Jake had a special talent for surprising you.

He appeared in the five minutes between making eggs and toast that you'd run to the bathroom. Nearing the kitchen: you found Steven leaning against the counter and biting down into a piece of buttered bread, wide back turned to you.

Your face found the centre of his back, nuzzling your cheek against his warmth. Cool from being freshly washed, your hands slipped under the flimsy layer of Steven's pajama shirt and chased up his hot stomach.

"Ay, mierda!" he flinched, but his voice stayed soft and even, "your hands are freezing."

It took a hard second, digesting his exclamation, before your hands withdrew from his chest as if scorched by a hot stove.

"Jake?" Disbelief laced your tone.

He glanced over his shoulder, clearly unconcerned when he nodded, "good toast, this."

That same wave of irritation was crawling over you, the one that found you late when the banging on your door deafened you, but it was numbed by the endearment. The fondness at hearing the lilt of his voice, seeing him so bright in the daylight.

"It wasn't supposed to be for you." You grumbled but the words held no malice.

Jake bumped his shoulder against yours, he shrugged: "Same stomach."

You rolled your eyes.

"But," he sighed, sipping on Steven's mug and making a face, "If you want your darling back so desperately, you could have just said."

"Jake, wait--"

His eyes rolled back and Steven returned, gripping the counter. "Was that Jake?"

He chuckled softly, reaching for the mug Jake had just abandoned. "Sneaky man."

You nodded, sighing quietly. "Yeah ..."

It wasn't the last time. Jake cropped up again and seemed determined to surface in the moments where things were most tender, the most private.

Late one night, your bare chest draped over Marc's. His fingertips drifted up and down your back, and you smiled while he talked.

"Why're you looking at me like that?"

He was grinning though like he already knew, fishing for affection.

You shrugged, pressing closer to him. "Like what?"

"Like that."

"What, like I'm lying against a very handsome man and enjoying his conversation but also thinking a little bit about how I wished he'd kiss me again?" Your nail outlined a little heart over his tanned chest. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

A warm hand moved up your side, finally resting up behind your neck and steering you in the direction of his face.

"What, like this--" His voice crackled out like a television losing signal and his eyes rolled back as they'd done time and time before.

Pupils straightening out again, you knew who it was immediately: that tight, thin line tugging between his brows giving it away.

"Jake, what the hell--!" Your hand grappled for the sheets, ripping it up over your chest to hide your body. You straightened up to sit on the bed.

His eyes widened, hands inching himself backwards. "I ... I didn't know-- perdóname. I'm sorry--"

He was gone again.

It carried on like that, Jake popping in for a few minutes at a time: once at lunch, once when you'd arrived from work, again when you'd fallen asleep against Marc on the couch - you'd awoken to find him there.

Sometimes, he lets you get a question in edgeways: "you gonna stick around, Jake? I'm about to put the pot on?"

"No, no. Just ..." he always looked around like he came for something but he'd forgotten what. "Never mind."

-

Christmas leered in the distance. Almost two months since Steven had asked you to be his, nearly one since Marc asked you to be theirs, and Jake remained the elusive man in the shadows.

There was ten days to New Years when Jake appeared for the fourth time.

You'd long dropped the habit of waiting up for him, having done that in the early times he visited. It was almost enough to put him out your mind, almost enough to pretend you didn't miss him miserably.

The door rumbled against the hinge as it had all the times before. You sat straight up, Mouse was already bounding noisily down the hallway.

Your hand ran up over your face, waiting for the knock to sound again. Maybe you'd dreamt of his return.

But it delivered, and the sound echoed through your flat.

With little concern of the sheets tangling around your ankles, you leapt from the bed and stumbled to where Mouse was scratching at the foot of the door.

The knob rattled under your hand where you threw it open and, as you'd hoped, there stood Jake: illuminated by the starchy yellow light of the building hallway.

"What's wrong?" Your eyes pressed over his figure for another bloody wound or ripped tendon. "Where are you--"

Your eyes could only find one smear of red. Barely more than a trickle edging down from the bridge of his nose. He pointed tiredly up at it.

Jake drank in your figure with his eyes. You'd abandoned the shorts that he loved so much, replaced by winter bottoms: the ends too long and trapped under your heel. A worn jumper hid your hips.

Like all the times before, you moved aside and Jake found himself up on the counter. He'd be surprised if the cut on his nose even bruised come morning, and he hadn't even gotten it in a fair fight. If you didn't consider hitting himself with the cupboard door while looking for a mug a fair fight, that is. But the pain had his eyes stinging with tears and the blood against his fingertips reminded him of you, again, and he'd crushed his tight fist through the cupboard door where it ripped clean off the hinge.

It's what lead him down the corridor, down the six steps separating your door from his.

You reappeared beside him, little first aid kit in hand and your side brushing his knee. When you dug through the box, your calf nudged at his hanging ankle.

The sharp smell of sanitiser made his nostrils itch but warmed his insides. Reminded him where he was, who he was with.

Your hand was gentle where it overtook the stubble of his cheeks. "This is gonna hurt a little, okay?"

Jake nodded, before realising that he still had yet to say a word since entering the flat. "Sí, amor. Está bien."

The cotton was ice cold against his nose and he groaned against it.

“Why are you here?” You wiped the drying blood down his cheek.

He watched you down the bridge of his nose. “Whad’ya mean? I’m all banged up here. Needed the doc to fix me up.”

He couldn’t tell if you appreciated his little sarcastic comment, but you didn’t answer him.

“Oh, you didn’t miss me?” He asked, digging and prodding in the hopes of hearing your teasing voice again.

“I missed you so much it made me sick, Jake.”

It was so quiet, a sentence said half into your chest and Jake thought he might have imagined it.

The words bubbled something inside his chest that was making it hard to breath. Hard to think.

But maybe that’s what made it so easy for his envy to creep up around the lump in his throat and jump out of his mouth.

“Didn't look like it.” His voice didn't come out as strong as he'd hoped it would have. "Got those other two keeping you plenty busy."

Your eyes flew up where to him. They were wide and wet.

"Like I didn't ask you to stay all those times you decided to pop in? Huh?" You pressed, tone crumbling around the edges. "You're the one who jumps in and out as he pleases."

"Not everything is about you, y'know that princesa--" It was a disgusting fat lie and Jake knew it too. Every breath he drew was in your honour, he'd long decided.

"Just answer me, Jake." Your hands trembled. "Just this once, can you give me something more than shrugs and silence. Can you answer me this once?"

He betrayed you with his silence.

"What do you want?" The wetness was collecting at your waterline, shivering like your frame.

Jake shook his head, the threat of your tears was making it hard to focus. "I can't ... I just can't."

"Can't? Can't what?"

"I can't have what I want."

You stepped closer again, hips pressing into his knees where he was still up on the counter. The gap of silence egged him to continue.

"Khonshu ... someone, they'll--" he sighed, hands curling into fists at his side. "I'd be putting you in danger."

Your head shook. "You think I didn't know that when Steven told me? That I'd be in danger?"

"It's not the same. thing"

"It is, Jake, it is!" your hands tightened against his thigh, "Do you forget that you're walking around with the same face? That I'm holding the same hand walking down the street?"

Mouse was peeking up at him from where he'd crammed himself under the kitchen table. He whined miserably.

"So what now?" He asked, not exactly sure what he wanted. "That solves everything?"

You retracted your hand and Jake desperately wished you hadn't.

"You still haven't answered my question." A whisper.

He shook his head, as if his thoughts would come tumbling out his ears at the motion. Frustration willed him off the counter, he huffed like a wild animal and pushed past your still figure towards the door.

His hand hadn't even collided with the doorknob when your voice rung out again.

"Don't come back, Jake."

Your tone was soft, apologetic, but the words hit him like a curled fist to his windpipe. He stopped.

"I ... I used to wait up nights for you. Hoping you'd come by. It's the waiting that'll kill me ... and I can't do it anymore."

Jake's forehead pressed against the wood of the door. He sighed deeply against it. Is this really how it ends?

"I want what they have."

He made out the sharp breath you sucked in. "What?"

His shoes squeaked against the wood where he turned. "I want what they have. I want what Steven and Marc-- I want you."

You seemed suddenly uncomfortable in your body, weight shifting between each leg and hands folding over themselves. "Oh."

It snapped a cord in him and his legs were moving before they'd been commanded, urging himself against you in three long strides.

"I also want to take you out," His voice was course, but pressing gentle words where he nudged his cheek against yours. "To De Luca's because Lorenzo's is shit--"

You giggled wetly under tear kissed lips and it made Jake's knees buckle. His hands found your jaw, face still hiding in your neck.

"-- and I'll bring you carnations or whatever the fuck you want. I want you to make me toast and coffee, too, and I want to come home to you. Let you patch me up like you do, but I want to stay. Want to fall asleep next to you afterwards and not ... not disappear like a coward anymore."

Your hands found his waist, scrunching his shirt into your fists. "Jake, I--"

His own hands slipped down from your face, caging your hips between his wide palms.

"And I wanna make you feel good." His thumbs dug welts into the soft skin there, he pressed a hot kiss against your neck and watched where the skin rose with goosebumps under his mouth. "Fuck, princesa, I could make you feel ... so good."

Hot pants were warming the shell of his left ear.

There was a long moment where nobody moved and nothing was said. Fear was starting to drain him of the courage that had so readily devoured him moments before.

When your hands nudged at his chest, he stepped resentfully back. Your face was twisted into an expression he couldn't place and you motioned him back toward the counter.

"Come on ... I haven't finished patching you up yet."

He slid himself back onto his usual seat. You rustled back in the little first aid box, your hand emerged with a little slip of paper.

"This is my last plaster." You flashed it at him, he made out the little pink poodles and sparkling hearts decorating the glittery little patch. "Is it fine?"

He sighed, pretending as if he cared even at all. "'s fine."

You smiled, the kind of smile that could stop traffic down the Lincoln Tunnel, and pressed the sticky end over the bridge of your nose.

"You not gonna say anything?" He asked quietly.

You chuckled softly, laughter bubbling like you'd been holding it in a while. "Oh, not so nice is it?"

"You're very annoying."

Shrugging, you pressed yourself into the space between his knees. "And yet, you seem pretty in love with me, Jakey."

His face ran hot all over at the allegation.

"Jakey?" he guffawed, his heart thrumming against his ribcage like a rabid dog. "Worse than annoying, I'm afraid, you're absolutely aggravating."

Your face drew closer against his own.

"And you are exhausting. You're worse than a child." But you grinned the whole time, "And you make me want to rip my hair out."

His nose prodded your own. "Well, you--"

"Jake, will you shut the fuck up and just kiss me."

It took all the willpower not to melt off the countertop when your lips met his. They were warm and soft and tasted sweeter than he could have imagined them to.

His hand pulled you all the way against his figure, desperate to swallow you whole. Your breath stuttered over the bow of his lip, parting for a fraction of a moment before pressing hot surging kisses against him again.

"I want that too," words huffed out between wet, red lips. "I want to take care of you, Jake. All the time, until you get desperately sick of me--"

Jake licked into your mouth, aghast at the accusation. "Not ever, mi princesa. Nunca."

Your hot tongue chased over his and he swore he was moments from floating off the counter. Your soft sighs were making his hands more desperate where they brushed over the warm skin of your back.

You pulled back abruptly, eyes wild and lips swollen. Guilt was twisting at your face. "We have to tell Steven and Marc."

Jake shrugged, his pulled you back against him by the sides of your pajama pants and kissed you again.

"Ugh, don't worry about 'em. They already know."

"What do you mean?"

He sighed, "Who do you think told me to come here in the first place?"

A silence divided you, words sinking in when you slapped his chest: plaguing him with a widening grin. "I was worried, you asshole."

"Claro, pero al menos ahora soy tu imbécil."

Sure, but at least now I'm your asshole.

-

comment and repost <3 mwah!

[e-dubbc11]

you said you could be persuaded to write about dean sooooooooo what about retired dilf dean? 🤔

My dear sweet Selene, it’s very hard for me to say no to you. 🤣 I came up with a little something for DILF Dean Winchester. I hope you like it, thank you for challenging me, my lovely friend ♥️♥️♥️

Carrying On

Photos are not mine. They are courtesy of Pinterest/Google.

Pairing: Dad Dean Winchester x F! Reader

Warnings: Couple of swear words, fluff, mentions of readers father’s death, smooches, a little hunter violence

Word Count: 1.7K-ish

Summary: You just bought a house in a new state, trying to see if you can move on after your father’s untimely death. Your neighbor introduces himself and already you’re feeling more at home

A/N: So this is my first time writing for Dean, dear god I hope it doesn’t suck. I wanted to write more for this but I still have asks in my inbox for my sleepover I need to get to(I’m trying my hardest to answer them all, I thank you all for your patience.) I’d even be willing to do another part for this because I had fun writing this one! I hope you like it! ♥️

As always, thank you for reading!  I appreciate it so much and comments, reblogs are welcome and encouraged. Don’t be shy to tell me your favorite part. 💕💕 💕

The house was at the end of a nice quiet street. Your suitcases were piled high in the back seat, almost too high to see out the rear window but it wouldn’t be for much longer. It will be nice to finally stretch your legs after being in the car for such a long drive.

When you pulled into the driveway, you noticed that the “For Sale” sign had been removed from the front lawn. This was your home now and you were determined to live your life as normal as possible from now on.

After your father passed away, you left the flat lands of Oklahoma for the mountains of Colorado. There was just something about that cool mountain air. But you didn’t want to live IN the mountains, you didn’t want to be alone so moving into a neighborhood NEAR the mountains was a good compromise.

A man and, what you assumed to be, his young son were playing catch in the front yard. The boy tossed the baseball to his father but the man wasn’t paying attention. He was too busy looking at your car which happened everywhere you went.

You and your father had rebuilt that car and restored it to its former glory. It was your dream car…a 1967 Pontiac GTO in midnight blue. The way the paint reflected the light, the car almost looked purple. It was a gorgeous car.

The car in your neighbor’s driveway was impressive also. It was a 1967 Chevy Impala, black.

“DAD!! You missed!” The boy shouted.

“Hold on, son. You see that car? She must be our new neighbor. Let’s go say hello.” The man said.

Reaching for the sky, you stretched until some of the tightness in your shoulders went away. You then saw your new neighbor.

“Fuck me.” You whispered under your breath.

He was very handsome with medium brown hair, a well-groomed beard, and green eyes. As he came closer, you saw a splash of freckles across his nose and his young son was a carbon copy of his father.

You smiled warmly as they came closer.

“Hi there! I’m your new neighbor. I’m y/f/n y/l/n.”You extended your hand to shake his.

After you introduced yourself, the man had a slightly confused look on his face that quickly disappeared.

He extended his hand for you to shake. “I’m Dean and this is my son Charlie.”

“It’s really nice to meet you.” You said.

Charlie interjected himself. “Dad missed the ball because he was staring at your car.”

“Charlie…” Said Dean through clenched teeth.

“Ah, well I do get that a lot. You wanna sit in it?” You asked.

Charlie’s eyes went wide. “Sure!”

You opened the car door so Charlie could sit on the driver’s side.

Dean pointed at the car. “That is a nice car. ’69?” He asked.

You bit down on your lower lip to keep from smiling. “It’s a ’67 actually, like your Impala.”

“Impressive…I don’t know a lot of women that would know that to look at it.” He said.

“Well, we do exist.” You said, a little sarcastically.

Dean smiled at you and said softly. “Yes, I guess you do.”

When he realized he was staring, he quickly snapped out of the trance he was in.

“Um, yeah so um, do you have furniture coming or anything? I’m happy to help.” He said.

“Oh the moving truck is coming tomorrow so I just have the bare essentials for tonight. Thank you for the offer, I may take you up on that.” You said.

“Well, we’ll let you get settled. Just knock when the truck comes…Charlie!! Come on, let’s let y/n settle in to her new house.” Said Dean.

As they walked away, you heard Charlie tell his dad, “Dad, you were staring at her.”

Dean narrowed his eyes and furrowed his brow. “No I wasn’t…get the ball.”

“Yes you were, Dad. I saw you.” Said Charlie.

You shook your head back and forth then smiled. They both seemed really sweet.

Three Months Later

You had settled nicely into your new home. The final box had been unpacked and you were adjusting to your new surroundings and your new neighbors. Although there was something that bothered you about Dean’s house.

Every so often, not a lot but every now and again, you noticed that the basement light would flicker. It wasn’t all the time but when it did, it was always at the same time, which you thought was strange.

Everything else seemed to be fine so you didn’t look too closely at it.

You really did like Dean and you adored Charlie. They were your friends, so you contemplated, at least telling Dean about your past, how your father really died, and why you left your home state.

One Saturday morning, all of the windows were open and you could hear music coming from their house. It sounded like…Asia – Heat of the Moment.

You giggled a little bit and thought to yourself, “Really Dean, Asia?”

Dean had a deep booming voice.

“Rise and shine, Charlie!!” He said, loudly but playfully.

After doing some housework, you heard a knock on your door. Walking down the hall from the bedroom into the kitchen, you saw Dean standing at the side door through the screen. He was leaning against the door frame.

“Hey there. What can I do for ya?” You asked, opening the screen door.

“Hey, I was wondering if you’d like to come over for dinner tonight? I thought maybe we could tell Charlie, um…well, about us.” He said, shyly.

Charlie didn’t know that about a month after you moved in, you and Dean started to hang out with each other after he went to sleep.

He’d come over for a drink, sometimes a movie, or a lot of the time, the two of you would just talk, and the relationship just sort of happened.

Charlie’s mom had passed away three years ago and it had just been the two of them since then. Obviously you weren’t trying to get in the way of their relationship and you DEFINITELY weren’t trying to replace his mom but you really did like the both of them and Charlie deserved to know the truth…they both did.

You snaked your arms around Dean’s neck, let your fingers run through his soft brown hair, and leaned in to kiss him. The bristles of his beard tickled your chin and you smiled in between his kisses. You really were smitten with him.

“I’d love to…I’ll bring you guys a special dessert.” You said.

A shy smile extended across Dean’s face. “Awesome…oh and I’m not much of a cook so I hope you’re ok with burgers. Alright? Ok, good talk.” He said, as he smacked you on the ass and turned around to walk back home.

You were going to come clean tonight.

Walking over to Dean’s, you remembered the first time you saw the last name on the mailbox…Winchester. Dean Winchester. All hunters knew that name, that family, his brother Sam, their father John, and their mother Mary.

They were famous in the world of hunting. Your family name stayed under the radar. Sure, you and your dad had some pretty big hunts and cases but nothing compared to the Winchesters.

Charlie answered when you knocked.

“Y/n!!!” He said, excitedly.

“Hey buddy!” You replied.

Charlie saw you holding the pie in your hands.

“Oh you brought Dad’s favorite.” He said.

“I did? Well I hope you guys like it, I made it from scratch.” You said.

“Dad’s always eating pie…he’s out back, come on!” He said, tugging on your t-shirt.

The three of you had a nice dinner together filled with a lot of laughs and you breathed a sigh of relief when Charlie said he was ok that you were his dad’s girlfriend.

The child like smile Dean had on his face as he was about to taste the pie made you smile. Before he could take his first bite, the lights flickered.

He looked up at the kitchen light as it continued to flicker. “Son of a bitch.” He boomed.

“Dad, language!” Shouted Charlie.

“Not now, Charlie.” He growled.

You stood up and backed away from the kitchen table. “Where’s the salt, Dean?” You asked.

“What? How do you--?” He started to say.

“The salt, Dean…NOW!!!” You shouted.

Dean got the bag of salt from underneath the kitchen sink and you had Charlie stand in an open area in the dining room, while his dad drew a salt circle around him. Then he pulled out two shotguns from underneath the couch in the living room filled with rock salt.

“Charlie…buddy, don’t move from this spot, do you understand?” You asked him, looking into his scared eyes.

He nodded.

Standing back to back, holding the shotguns, Dean asked, “Is there something you wanna tell me?”

As fast as you could, you explained yourself. “Ok, so I come from a family of hunters too, nothing like yours of course but I left Oklahoma after my father died saving me from a nest of vampires. It was just me and him, my whole life and when he died, I felt like I couldn’t hunt without him.” You said.

Low moans and hisses were emanating through the walls as the lights continued to turn on and off.

“I can’t believe you’re a hunter. That’s why when you introduced yourself, your name sounded familiar to me!” Shouted Dean.

Charlie stood petrified inside the salt circle. “Dad, what’s going on?”

“It’s alright, buddy. We’re gonna be alright.” Said Dean.

Two apparitions came through the wall and headed straight for you when you blasted them with rock salt.

“Are y-you m-mad?” You asked, while trying to catch your breath.

“Mad? I’m only mad that I didn’t get to eat my pie! As far as you being a hunter, well…I gotta say I’m a little turned on.” He said.

In the middle of a life or death situation, Dean managed to make you blush.

“What does that mean, Dad?” Asked Charlie.

In unison, you and Dean yelled, “Not now, Charlie!”

“When we’re done with this, we’re gonna have a talk.” Dean pointed his finger at you.

“But you’re not mad?” You asked with a slight smile.

Dean smiled at you, his bright green eyes looked like fresh blades of grass as he leaned in to kiss your forehead.

“Nah, I’m not mad sweetheart. Now let’s kill these things so I can eat my pie.”

Tagging: @munsonownsmyass @gijos

[epicbuddieficrecs]

Buddie Christmas 2023 fic rec!

Merry (late) Christmas everyone! I thought I'd gather all the Christmas-themed fics I've read this year into one rec for you guys :)

Completed

Here Where We Should Be (Kiss Me, It’s Christmas) by allisonRW96/ @homerforsure (Christmas, Getting Together | 5K | General): It’s Christmas and Eddie decides he can’t possibly wait any longer to start kissing Buck.

Keep My Heart Warm In Yours by callmenewbie/ @callmenewbie (Christmas, Post-S6, Getting Together | 18K | Mature): Christopher decides that he wants to go skiing, Buck makes it happen and the cabin at the foot of the mountains turns out to be quite the romantic backdrop for their little getaway.

Hiding the Christmas Present (of You and Me) by Princessfbi/ @princessfbi (Christmas | 7K | General): Buck thought he was going to spend Christmas alone. His family decides to correct that assumption.

give it to someone special by rainbow_nerds/ @rainbow-nerdss (Canon Divergent - Different First Meeting, Christmas | 12K | Mature): Buck and Eddie meet at the airport after their respective girlfriends live their Hallmark movie dreams and dump them right before Christmas.

Christmas Lights by ZainClaw/ @zainclaw (Established Buddie, Christmas | 1K | Teen): “What are we looking at?” Eddie asks, his voice slightly muffled from where his cheek is resting against the top of Buck’s head. “The lights.” “Okay,” Eddie hums. “And what do we think about the lights?”

Pining. Get it? Like the Tree? by littlechivalry/ @jonlybonlyfromboldlygo (Christmas, First Kiss | 2K | General): Buck likes Christmas. Well, he likes the idea of Christmas.  Loved ones getting together. Generosity. The magic of the season. It's wonderful. The reality however, or at least the reality he's experienced? Not so much.

all I want for christmas by smilingbuckley/ @smilingbuckley (Christmas, Getting Together | 7K | Teen): Eddie has to work Christmas Eve and asks Buck to take him to the Buckley-Han Christmas dinner. Buck is happy to spend Christmas with Christopher, but being with his parents dampens the mood. It makes it worse when his mother questions his place in Christopher’s life. Luckily, Christopher knows Buck enough to see him hurting and has a plan to make him feel better. To show him who his real family are.

baby, you never lookеd better than you do in that ugly Christmas sweatеr by wikiangela/ @wikiangela (Christmas, Getting Together | 7K | General): Buck mentions he always wanted his family to wear matching Christmas sweaters, but never got it - Eddie takes matters into his own hands.

and i feel just like i want to kiss you underneath my mistletoe by oklahoma/ @malewifediaz (Christmas | 9K | Teen): 5 times the team tries to get Eddie and Buck to kiss under the mistletoe and the 1 time they do. Kinda.

You and Me Here (underneath the mistletoe) by Bob_loblaws_lawblog/ @buddierights (Christmas, Getting Together | 6K | Teen): It’s fine. It’s just a kiss under the mistletoe. It’s a Christmas tradition, and in this case, just a joke. Not a big deal. He can play along – his only other choice is being weird about it, which sounds too much like revealing his feelings.

Home is Just Another Word for You by Bob_loblaws_lawblog/ @buddierights (Christmas, Different First Meeting AU | 10K | General): Eddie misses his flight home to his son on Christmas Eve, and just so happens to get stuck with the handsome man who sprinted across the airport with him.

Packing Light by devirnis/ @devirnis (Last Holiday AU, Christmas | 32K | Teen): The discovery that he has a terminal illness prompts Buck, who has been stagnating as a sales associate at Kelly’s Department Store, to withdraw his life savings and jet off to Europe. There, he lives like a millionaire at the luxury hotel where his sister works. The only one missing from his new life is his coworker and longtime crush, Eddie Diaz.

The Diaz Christmas Experience (series) by smilingbuckley/ @smilingbuckley (Christmas, Getting Together | 4 works | 26K | Complete): Or: a fluffy Christmas story where Buck gets to experience The Diaz Christmas spectacle

merle said mama tried, but the prison still won by oklahoma/ @malewifediaz (Christmas, Getting Together | 3K | Teen): Eddie goes to (mall) jail.

Of Love, Hospital Jitters And Christmas Lights by callmenewbie/ @callmenewbie (Established Buddie, Hurt Chris | 6K | Teen): Eddie and Buck end up in the hospital waiting room a few days before Christmas

all i want for christmas by lemonzestywrites/ @lemonzestywrites (Christmas, Proposal | 3K | Teen): Eddie decides to finally pop the question to Buck, but his proposal doesn’t go quite as he planned.

'tis the damn season by spaceprincessem / @spaceprincessem (Post-S5, Christmas, Getting Together | 7K | Teen): Eddie asks Buck to the Holiday Fireman's Ball. It goes so much better than he could ever imagine

there you are, sweetheart by oklahoma / @malewifediaz (Christmas, Getting Together | 3K | Teen): Over Christmas hot chocolate and silly banter in the kitchen, Eddie tells Buck he loves him.

You Ring, I Drool by callmenewbie/ @callmenewbie (Christmas, Getting Together | 8K | Explicit): 5+1 times Buck reminds Eddie of a dog // alternatively; the one in which Eddie accidentally conditions Buck to beg for treats

i love you best when you're just yourself by oklahoma/ @forthewolves (Established Buddie, Christmas | 2K | Teen): Buck’s having trouble picking out the perfect tree for his first Christmas with Eddie and Christopher as Eddie’s boyfriend. Eddie puts those worries to rest quickly.

If This Is What The Season Is Bringing by callmenewbie/ @callmenewbie (Post-S6, Christmas | 2K | General): Buck and Eddie made a promise after Eddie decided to leave the 118 and they finally make good on it this Christmas.

🔥 Goodwill is Sent in Snapshots (You Only Get the Full Picture on Return) by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels/ @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels (The Holiday AU | 14K | Mature): When both Evan Buckley and Chimney Han are dumped at the start of December, they decide to swap houses - with each other. A nice two weeks in a different location will be a great unconventional Christmas. Certainly not anything life changing. Then Buck meets Chim's next-door-neighbor, and Chim meets Buck's apartment-crashing sister.

you’re everything that I want, but I didn’t think I’d find by Daffi_990_ao3/ @daffi-990 (Post-S6, Proposal | 2K | Not Rated): Eddie is so in love and proposes to Buck on Christmas Eve. (sequel to come close, let me be home)

i just want you for my own (more than you could ever know) by lecornergirl/ @clusterbuck (Christmas, Getting Together | 1K | General): Eddie bites down on the urge to say I remember everything you say, because that’s not the kind of thing you tell someone in the middle of a Christmas party at your captain’s house. He’s a little concerned it makes him seem like some kind of unhinged stalker. He’s not. He’s just desperately in love with his best friend. Which is where the regrets come in, because Eddie is very very sure that mistletoe and unrequited love is not a combination that’s worked out well for anyone, ever.

may these memories break our fall by heartbeatdiaz/ @loserdiaz (Canon Divergent, Married Buddie, Amnesia | 6K | Teen): or: eddie is a soldier coming home for christmas, he wants to surprise his husband and son for the holiday but things don't go as planned.

WIP

They don’t know (your name is already mine) by thewolvesof1998/ @thewolvesof1998 (Post-S6, Secret Relationship, Hurt Buck | 3/4 | 7K | General): Buck gets in a car accident on Christmas Eve Eve and the only ID he has on him is Eddie's dog tags. A case of mistaken Identity, a trip to the hospital and a Christmas Surprise.

[photogirl894]

🪻 Fives

Wildflower 🪻

My third and final submission to the Clones Flower Fic Event! I had some fun with Fives and I hope you all like this one 🥰🥰 This was such a fun event to be a part of!!

Fic masterlist here!

Fives always loved it when he was able to get some down time from the war. Namely, because he didn’t seem to get it often enough because there was just so much fighting going on throughout the galaxy, so whenever any kind of down time was offered to him, he accepted it gladly. He enjoyed it a lot more when he got to go with his brothers from the 501st. As an ARC Trooper, he wasn’t always assigned on missions with them, but he jumped at every chance he’d get to get to serve more with them. 

This particular shore leave after a recent mission, he and his brothers chose to go to the nearby planet of Batuu, a primarily terrestrial planet comprised of a lot of forests and mountains. After landing on the planet, they all hit up a cantina close to the spaceport for some drinks. Tup had never gone out drinking before, so naturally, a lot of the guys were teasing him about being a first-time drinker. Fives just kinda hung back and let Jesse and Hardcase give Tup a hard time while also listening to Dogma chide them about making sure to not drink too much since it would be “against regulations”. 

After a little bit, Fives decided he wanted to go outside for some fresh air, leaving his brothers to their own devices as they started getting a little more tipsy with their drinks. He enjoyed a good drink, but he didn’t want to get fully drunk. Somebody needed to help keep the rest of his brothers in line that wasn’t Dogma. They’d be fine on their own, for now. 

He wandered into the nearby forest, breathing in the crisp, cool air of the trees. For as many times as he’d fought battles out in the wild before, he’d never really taken the time to stop and enjoy the outdoors very much. His life was constantly on the move. There didn’t seem to be time to really appreciate anything. 

He continued on through the forest until he spotted a clearing close by and he could see little flashes of purple up ahead in the clearing. It looked like it was possibly a field of flowers blowing in the light breeze. Though, then he saw a flash of white in the trees that made him curious. He moved closer to the clearing and once it all came into view, he froze up. 

Standing in the clearing was you.

Dressed in a long, flowy white dress, you knelt in the middle of a field of purple wildflowers, taking in their sweet aroma and feeling the softness of their petals underneath your fingertips. Though, you heard approaching footsteps and found yourself locking eyes with the handsome Clone soldier. You had spotted him going into the cantina earlier as you were heading into the forest. He was standing in place, staring at you, and slowly stood up, letting your hair fall down your back and shoulders.

Fives was dumbstruck at your ethereal beauty. In the sunlight that peeked through the treetops into the clearing, you looked almost angelic. Surely, someone this beautiful couldn’t be a real human or alien. No…you had to be something more supernatural or mythical. 

“Surely, I’m dreaming,” he commented out loud.

You tilted your head and furrowed your eyebrows at him, puzzled.

“You’ve got to be a forest nymph,” he said.

Now, your eyebrows shot up. Was he being serious?

“I’ve heard that they’re described as being beautiful beyond measure and you…you’re the most beautiful being I’ve ever seen. That has to be the only explanation,” he went on.

You wanted to be flattered and laugh all at once. He was saying you were beautiful, which was so sweet, but he seemed to genuinely believe that you were a forest nymph, which was laughable to you. You didn’t consider yourself that beautiful. This man was already very charming and he’d only said a few words to you. That made you decide to play along with him, just to see what would happen.

“You have a very keen eye, sir,” you said, adding a bit of a lilt to your voice as you played with your skirt a bit. “What can I do for you?”

His eyes went wide, startled. “No, no, no, I wouldn’t want you to do anything!” he exclaimed, waving his hands around. “I wouldn’t dare ask such a lovely creature to do anything for me. I should be asking you that, my lady.”

“My lady?” Wow, this man was really playing it up! As endearing as you found him, you couldn’t help but really want to lean into the act even more.

Then he gave a bow and asked, “Is there anything I can do for you?”

“What’s your name?” you inquired.

“My name is Fives,” he answered.

You responded, “Well then, Fives…I am looking for the most perfect flower in this clearing. Find me one you think would satisfy me.”

“Not a problem, my lady,” he complied.

He started stepping around carefully through the flowers, looking carefully for one you requested. You were trying so hard not to laugh at just how precise he was being, even though you were only doing it as a joke. You were curious to see if he would actually find a flower he thought would be perfect and you waited in silence.

A few seconds later, he spotted one he thought would work and reached down to pull it up from the ground. However, he was unaware of how tough the roots to the flower were and, when he gave it a tug, he ended up pulling the flower out with all of its roots still attached and clods of dirt and soil mixed in, as well. It wasn’t the most attractive thing and you could tell he was a bit embarrassed at that. Finally, you couldn’t hold back and you burst with boisterous laughter, clutching at your stomach and nearly doubling over.

Rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly, Fives stated, “Well…I thought I had found the perfect flower.”

Through your laughs, you spouted out, “Oh Fives…you’re far too sweet!” As you started to calm down with heavy breathing, you went on, “I appreciate you doing that, but you don’t need to worry. I’m not actually a forest nymph.”

“You’re not?” he asked.

You laughed again. “No, I’m just a regular person. I thought what you said about me was just too charming to pass up and wanted to play along. I’m sorry. You can go ahead and put the flower down.”

The sound of your laugh was like music to his ears; a sound he felt he would never forget. He grinned in amusement and lowered the flower back down to the ground. Your laughter subsided, but you kept a sweet smile on your face as you gave Fives your name. It was a lovely name and he repeated it to savor the feel of it coming off his tongue. 

“What are you doing here on Batuu?” you asked him.

Pointing over his shoulder with his thumb, he replied, “My brothers and I are taking a little shore leave here for a few days. They’re back at the cantina. I should probably get back to them.”

“How come you’re out here instead of with them?” 

“I just wanted some fresh air, was all. I’m glad I came out here, though, because I might not have met you.”

Timidly, you turned your eyes away. “You don’t even know me.”

“No, I don’t…but I’d like to get to know you a little better, if that’s all right,” he said back. When you turned back to look at him, he added, “Like I said, I’ll be here for a few days. I’d like to see you again while I’m here, if you’ll allow me.”

Honestly, where was the harm in letting Fives see you again? He was undoubtedly handsome and he seemed genuinely kind and sweet. You hadn’t had a man give you as much polite attention like this in a long time and you couldn’t help but want to see him again. You then crouched down, picked up the flower he’d pulled up from the ground, separated the flower from its roots and then stood back up. With another smile, you held it out to him.

“Something to remember me by until I see you again, soldier,” you said to answer his question. 

Gingerly, he took the flower from you, eager happiness bright in his eyes.

Then you did something bold and gave him a farewell kiss on the cheek. “Goodbye, Fives,” you said with a small wave. Then you turned on your heel and ran off into the trees, the skirt of your white dress flowing behind you.

Fives, still awestruck at everything that had transpired, looked down at the purple wildflower in his hands, turning it between his fingers and smiling. He didn’t imagine that just stepping outside for air would lead to something truly amazing and unexpected. Now, he had something even greater to look forward to during his stay on Batuu.

He sure was going to have one heck of a story to tell his brothers when he got back.

[rookthorne]

⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ 𝐀 𝐒𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐋𝐮𝐜𝐤

Luck and fate often went hand in hand — it was no different on that very first day that you met Bucky. The moment he walked into your haven was the moment that everything changed. You gained a best friend, and something much, much more.

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 ☘︎ Lumberjack!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 ☘︎ 1.7k

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 ☘︎ Tooth rotting fluff, meet cute

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆 ☘︎ I literally cried while writing the end of this fic, I am not shitting you. This is so close to my heart and I just can't.

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒔 ☘︎ Ecstasy by Crooked Still ☘︎ Shrike by Hozier

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒕 ☘︎ @buckybarnesevents Hot Bucky Summer ჻჻჻ Week 8 — "How did you meet?" — Masterlist

𝐒𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐝𝐲 𝐑𝐨𝐨𝐭𝐬, 𝐒𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Slow days were a favourite of yours, especially when Bucky was in town and free to laze about – just as the mountain of a man was doing currently, laying back on his favourite couch in the reading nook, while Koda and Sarge slept soundly at his feet.

The frown of concentration on his lips was adorable, and you couldn’t help but sneak glances between cleaning and preparing orders. Pages rustled as he turned them, and you could hear little hums of surprise or grumbles of annoyance between. It was endearing.

Suddenly, a loud chime sounded from the entry of your store, and you glanced up to the doorway to see an elderly couple slowly making their way into the warmth of your haven. Bucky put down his book hastily and got to his feet, startling Koda and Sarge who huffed and growled their annoyance. 

“Down,” Bucky scolded, and he looked up to the elderly couple. “Hello,” he greeted, “I’ll take your coats.”

“Thank you, young man,” the woman replied, her smile bright. 

You couldn’t help the way your heart swelled at the sight of Bucky gently taking the couple’s coats and hanging them up on the hook. 

“Welcome,” you said, and the couple looked towards you. “It’s good to see you. What can I get for you today?”

Their order was a simple one, and you set to work as Bucky helped them to a booth. “It’s such a lovely place,” the woman said, “the folk are real kind, and you, young man, are handsome.”

Bucky baulked and chuckled awkwardly. 

“I know,” you called, and you looked up from the coffee machine to see Bucky staring at you, eyes slightly wide. “That’s why I snapped him up.”

“Good for you, sweetie,” the man spoke up, winking. “He’s a charmer. How did you two meet?”

For a second, you held your gaze on Bucky’s face, watching his blush grow with a smug sense of pride. “See, he was a bit of an asshole to begin with…”

It was opening day. The day that you had longed for ever since moving into the adorable small town that would now be your home, and your haven – a small store that you had big dreams for. 

Coffee, books, and baking had been your life line, and for all you had worked for to scrounge and save for years, your hard work had paid off in the form of a bricked and ivory shopfront. The inside was perfect with warm tones, bookshelves and display cases had already been installed – ready to be filled to the brim with your treats and library of books. 

“You ready?” a voice said from beside you, and you grinned. It was Wanda – a friend you had grown close to in the small amount of time you’d spent exploring the town, and since you had found her flower boutique, it had been nothing but soft words of encouragement and love that kept you going.

“Absolutely.” Wanda’s arm extended out to you, an offering of comfort, and you looped your own through it. “Let’s get those doors open.”

The inside was all stocked and ready to go – tables and chairs and booths all set up from the work you had put in yesterday, all that was needed? The smell of a fresh brew to entice the townsfolk to step in and venture into new territory. 

“It’s beautiful, babe,” Wanda gasped, her hand automatically going to feel the soft touch of cotton on the comfortable chairs. “You did amazing.”

“Thank you,” you replied, grinning. “Would you like the honours of the first cup ‘a joe?”

“Damn right I would.”

Steam filled the air and you hummed as you worked the machine. Wanda had wandered through the shop and taken a seat in a booth facing the window, her eyes bright with wonder and curiosity. “Oh, babe, you’re about to have your first customer!” she gushed. 

You looked up from the cup just in time to see the door swing open to reveal two men. Both of which towered in height and filled the doorway with their size – they looked like mountains. Very attractive mountains.

“Steve!” Wanda gasped. “Bucky, it’s so good to see you back.”

The blond, of which you guessed was Steve, smiled at Wanda and wandered into your shop, his gaze roving over the decorations. “Hey, Wands,” Steve greeted, his voice deep and raspy. “It’s good to be back–found this new addition to the lot, and we couldn’t help but stop in. Could use a cup.”

“She makes the best, I swear,” Wanda praised.

You smiled as you tidied your station, cup in hand. “On it,” you piped up, “Wands, it’s ready.”

Rounding the counter, you came right next to Steve and the dark-haired man behind him – which you assumed was Bucky – and it was all you could do to keep your gasp inaudible and your knees from buckling, they were in fact huge, and they smelled of fresh pine and smoked cedar. Keep it together, you scolded yourself. 

“So,” you began, placing Wanda’s cup in front of her and then turning to face the two men. “What can I get you?”

Steve recited what seemed to be his usual order, and then Bucky piped up, “Just black for me, doll. Thanks.”

Oh, boy, you thought.

The machine hissed and whirred as you prepared the two coffees, and you had a moment to take in the two of them. “Are you both–?”

“They’re lumberjacks, and brilliant ones at that,” Wanda cut in, eyeing you over the rim of her cup with a suspicious glint in her eyes. “And they both have the most adorable babies.”

“Babies?” you questioned, raising a brow.

“Fur babies,” Steve insisted, staring at Wanda. “And they’re in the truck.”

“Oh my god,” you rushed, “you have dogs?”

Bucky snorted behind Steve and shook his head. “Yeah,” Bucky rumbled, “and they’re a fuckin’ handful.”

“This shop is dog friendly, please,” you pleaded, and Wanda chuckled into her cup. “I’d love to meet them!”

Steve sighed. “Alright, I’ll go get ‘em. It isn’t our fault if they bowl you over.” The door swung closed behind him, and then Bucky came up to the counter, his gaze piercing.

You stared back at him, expression carefully passive, when he suddenly smirked. “I’m Bucky. It’s good to finally have some good coffee in this town–that is, if you know what you’re doin’.”

“I will have you know that I am a pro, mister,” you retorted, scowling at him. “Keep that up and I will purposefully make your coffee awful just to spite you.”

Bucky laughed heartily, his nose scrunching and eyes squinting. “God, you are a hell of a woman. Wands, you picked a good one.”

“I know,” Wanda replied, nodding. 

A clatter came from the door and you whipped your head around, only to find three giant balls of fluff powering into the walkway, tongues lolling, noses twitching, and tails wagging. “Oh my god! Look at them!”

Your shoes squeaked on the floor as you ran around the counter, one mission in mind: to hug those dogs to within an inch of your life. 

Wanda was laughing while Bucky and Steve shook their heads as you fell to your knees, arms wide to embrace all three dogs. “They’re so cute!” you gushed, scratching a black one’s ear and a white and black one’s chin. A white and brown one started to whine and licked your cheek. 

“That is Cap,” Steve spoke up, pointing at the white and black one, whose tongue was lolling while he panted and his ears twitched. “He’s my boy, and he’s one hell of a soldier.”

“And those two idiots,” Bucky said, pointing at the black one, and the brown and white one. “Are mine. Koda is a Newfoundland, and Sarge is a Saint Bernard. They fuckin’ love the snow.”

“I love them!” you cried, laughing and falling backwards onto the floor – all three dogs following you. “I am never moving. They are my babies now, sorry boys.”

Steve snorted and Bucky sighed. “At least it’ll be quieter without ‘em,” he offered.

They stayed for an hour longer, just milling about and letting you fawn over their dogs with fond smiles on their lips. Customers came and went, all of them wishing you luck and good fortune with your grand opening, and promising to return to browse another day – which made you beam at them. Never had you felt so welcome. 

“We best get goin’,” Bucky said eventually from his perch on the couch in the reading nook. “Stevie, we’ve gotta get on site or the bastard will have our fuckin’ heads.”

“You’re right,” Steve replied, rubbing his beard. He looked at you, a gentle smile pulling at his lips. “It was amazing meeting you, love, and we will for sure be comin’ back. You make a fantastic coffee.”

The praise made pride swell in your chest, having impressed them. “Thanks–I’ll hold you to that. And you better bring my babies with you next time.”

“‘Course,” Steve assured, standing. “Cap, c’mon, boy–let’s go.” Cap yipped and stood, stopping to shake the mountainous fur before trotting after his human. 

“It was good meetin’ you, doll.” Bucky came up to the counter, a smirk on his lips. “Next time I’ll test your skills, huh? Might order somethin’ different.”

You tilted your chin up in an act to seem unperturbed. “Do it. I dare you.”

“You are somethin’ else…” There was a glint in his bright eyes, a spark of fondness and something else you couldn’t place, but it made butterflies flutter in your stomach regardless. “Anyway, I’ll catch you later–I’ll bring your babies with me.”

“See to it that you do, Bucky,” you said, an amused smile creeping your lips up in the corners. In the short amount of time that you had known Bucky, and Steve, you’d already grown attached – close in the way you’d never been before, especially with the brunet. He exuded a sense of safety that you couldn’t bear to resist. “Be safe out there, okay?”

“Always. After all,” Bucky said, turning away and patting his thigh. Koda and Sarge ran off after him. Just as he reached the door, Bucky turned back to face you, and you watched as he pulled out a small clover from the breast pocket of his jacket – it was a four leaf clover. “I found this, this mornin’, and I think it was a sign.”

Unbidden, your eyes welled with tears. 

Bucky smiled, and placed the clover back into his pocket. “I’ll see you later, Clover, alright? Keep warm ‘n keep safe.”

With that, Bucky walked out of your haven, and damn it all, he took your heart with him.

⠈⠂⠄ 𝐢𝐧𝐛𝐨𝐱 | 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 | 𝐚𝐨𝟑 ⠄⠂⠁

⠈⠂⠄ 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 ⠄⠂⠁