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roostersmustache · 11 months ago

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Songs of Silence, One

Pairing: Loki x Original Female Character

Author's Note: Hello guys! This is totally different, as most of you are used to my Rooster fics! But, I've gotta be honest. I've been a Loki fan far longer than I've been a Bradley Bradshaw fan, and with season two of Loki out and about (I've watched it three times), I'm hyper fixating on the God of Mischief right now! So, I hope you guys enjoy, and I hope I can reach some more Loki fans out there!

Synopsis: Ingrid was born the goddess of song. Her voice was unmatched in talent. When using her voice one evening, her voice suddenly leaves her, leaving her completely mute. Seeking out help in finding her voice, she's led to a fortune teller, who offers her more than she initially bargained for.

Warnings: None of this is accurate, Swearing, adult themes, angst, possible MCU spoilers, possible Loki spoilers.

Word Count: 5.4k

Masterlist

Being born a goddess in Asgard came with lots of fabulous parties, countless gowns and jewels, and lots of mingling with the other Gods and Goddesses Asgard housed. Ingrid had been born the goddess of song, her musicality bringing peace and prosperity to Asgardians. She could heal broken hearts with her songs, put one to sleep with her songs, and compel those to her will with her songs.

She was a kind and beautiful goddess, her name even meaning "beautiful woman." Because of her kindness, she never used her compelling voice to lure those to their deaths, or have them do as she pleased. She only used her voice for good, and it brought so much harmony to Asgard.

Her talent was unmatched on every level, and Asgardians were willing to pay her thousands to teach their offspring even a sliver of what it meant to sing like her.

But she never shared the secrets of her voice.

There weren't any secrets to be shared. She was born with her gift, and never had to work to make it better. It was the epitome of a perfect voice.

So perfect that many wanted it for themselves.

Ingrid had to be cautious of who she trusted enough to get close to her. The wrong person with the right spell could take her voice from her. While no such spell was easy, magic was a well practiced craft in Asgard, and someone highly skilled in magic could, with the right research, take her voice from her.

Her talent was mystical, and she most often used it for healing purposes. For example, when a family member passed away, people would come to her and ask for a song to ease their pain. She had a way of letting the spirits sing through her, and her songs were able to make grief easier.

Ingrid was the youngest of the Gods. She was only nineteen in Midgardian years, the sons of Odin beating her by a miniscule two years.

Ingrid lived in the castle, and she saw the royals as her second family. When she was a young girl, her parents, also Gods, were killed by the Dark Elves, so she was left orphaned. Odin and Frigga took her in, and she grew up alongside Thor and Loki.

She grew up knowing her and Thor were to be married once she reached the age of twenty. Her and Thor had grew up close, but she knew, deep down, she'd never be able to love him like she was supposed to. They say everyone has their person, and she knew Thor wasn't hers. She did love him, just in a friendly way. But she knew she'd have to bear his children, so she tried to be attracted to him, but it never worked the way it was supposed to.

"You look beautiful today, my darling," Thor said as Ingrid grabbed his arm.

They were headed to a feast to celebrate their marriage, as the wedding was set to be a month away.

"Thank you, Thor," she replied, smiling at him.

When the couple entered the grand dining room, they were greeted by cheers from all the Asgardian people in attendance. Ingrid smiled, waving at her friends, and following Thor before the two took a seat at the head of the table.

"Thank you, to all my lovely people," Thor boomed, the room going quiet. "And thank you," he started, gazing over to his fiance. "To my beautiful bride-to-be for everything. I'm the luckiest man in the nine realms to get to marry you."

Everyone at the table swooned, Ingrid looking over and giving Thor a smile. He raised his glass and everyone followed suit, a toast in order.

"To love!" Thor cheered.

"To love!" Everyone else cheered.

Ingrid just raised her glass, she didn't say anything else. A part of her mourned the fact that she'd never be able to find her true love. She only hoped that one day her heart would come to love Thor the way that a lover should.

She took leisurely sips of her wine, laughing at someones joke every once and awhile. She loved the people of Asgard, and she knew it was the highest honor to become their queen, but her heart longed to love. It longed to be loved by an all consuming love, one that challenged her and thrilled her, excited her in ways she never even knew possible.

But she'd never get the chance to find it.

"What about a song from the lady?" A man said, standing up and motioning his glass towards Ingrid.

"Oh," she stuttered, caught off guard by the request.

"Yes," another man piped up. "A song from the goddess to bless her marriage!"

"I mean," she blushed. "I don't have anything prepared."

"What could the goddess of song not have prepared? Sing us something!" Another man boomed.

"I don't know, I mean, I don't really think I have it in me to sing right now," she sheepishly replied.

"Oh come on, darling," Thor smiled. "Sing us something."

"I don't really want to," she said to Thor, giving him a tight smile.

Ingrid never liked to be put on the spot, and Thor knew that. But she also couldn't deal with disappointing people, so saying no wasn't something she was good at. Thor also knew this.

"Aw how come?" Thor boomed, obviously a bit drunk, as he smiled down at her. "Bless us and our marriage with a song!"

"I don't- Thor, I didn't prepare to sing anything," she said, silently pleading with him to let it go.

"You're the goddess of song," he emphasized. "You don't need to prepare anything," he smiled.

Ingrid often had anxiety around being put on the spot, as she liked to have a sort of mental preparation. Ingrid suffered from a severe case of PTSD, which contributed to her severe anxiety.

When she lost her parents, she was ten years old. She watched as the dark elves stormed into her home and brutally murdered both of her parents in front of her. They only missed her because she hid in her parents closet.

The images of her parents being killed stayed with her, haunting her.

It's safe to say her anxiety was prominent in her life.

"Thor," she started whispering. "Everyone is looking at me, I don't think I should sing right now."

"C'mon darling, everyone loves your voice! I mean look at them," Thor said, gesturing to the group of people in the dining room, looking excitedly at their goddess of song.

"I don't want to," she said.

"Ingrid, you're the goddess of song, I don't understand-"

"The lady said she didn't want to sing, therefore she won't," a voice said from the back of the dining hall.

The voice in question came from none other than Thor's brother, Loki. Ingrid and Loki had always gotten along. He understood her traumas, since he had found out he was adopted a couple years back.

Her and Loki had grown up never too close, but never distant either. They would often just sit with each other and read in the library. He always kept to himself, but he always tried to be out of his brothers shadow as well. Ingrid had always found Loki fascinating, his magic so strong yet himself so quiet. But when he did have something to say, it was always well worded and intelligent.

When Loki spoke up, the entire dining hall went silent, and all eyes gazed to him. He was dressed in his more casual Asgardian leather, yet nevertheless eye catching. His hair was slicked back as it always was, his black curls resting on his shoulders.

"Ah, brother!" Thor announced. "How wonderful of you to join us!"

"How could I ever miss such an occasion?" He sarcastically remarked, his hand landing over his heart.

As he walked to the table to take a seat, he made eye contact with Ingrid, who mouthed a 'thank you' to him. He just nodded and smiled back at her.

The rest of the party went on as they all do; they ate, Thor and his friends had too many beers to count, and the others mingled together. Ingrid felt overwhelmed by the noise and commotion in the room, so she wandered out to the garden. The gardens were her favorite place in the castle, the flowers and plants always having a way of soothing her. Freyr always did wonders for the gardens.

Her favorite was the Dreamshade plant, an Asgard specialty. It was beautiful when it bloomed. Next to the Dreamshade plot of the garden was a beautiful wooden, white swing next to it, hung by a tree. Ingrid would often find herself out there reading.

She sat down on the swing and started to rock back and forth. She sipped on the wine she had carried with her, the liquid making her warm with each sip she took. The breeze encapsulated her, sending a chill down her spine.

She heard the boom of Thor's laughter from inside and took another swig of her wine. She was supposed to be Asgard's blushing bride, they're grateful queen to be. But instead, she's sitting in the garden, away from her own party for her own marriage, fighting back tears. She was orphaned at ten, and months after she had been taken in by the king and queen, she was betrothed to Thor. Her future had been written for her before she was old enough to fully harness the concept of true love and marriage.

And she did, she did love Thor. They had grown up together. Just as she loved Loki. But Thor never made her feel the way her friends' partners made them feel. They'd all talk about butterflies, feeling giddy. All she felt was a longing for something she didn't have.

She wished her voice could cure her own sadness.

"Ingrid?" Came the voice of Loki. He had found his way out to her at the gardens, slowly walking up to her as to not wake her.

"Loki," she gasped, breaking out of her trance. She then noticed the tears that had fallen down her face, quickly wiping them away.

"Why are you crying?" He asked, coming to sit next to her.

"I don't know," she said. "I didn't even realize I was."

"Is everything alright?"

"Nothings alright," she whispered. "I just, I feel hopeless and, I don't know. I'm sorry, I've had too much wine," she hiccuped.

"It's okay, we've all had too much wine," he grinned.

"It's good wine."

"It is indeed."

Her and Loki sat in silence. They let the breeze wash over them, and they let the smell of the flowers consume them. Ingrid was drunk, and she knew this because she felt like she could go up to Thor and tell him she didn't want to get married to him. At the end of the day, she'd never do such a thing, but the fact that it was even a thought she had confirmed the wine had done it's job.

The wine was also making her think things she shouldn't be thinking at all.

Looking over to Loki, she let her eyes wander over his smooth features, and the sharp curve of his jaw. He was sculpted perfectly, and on Midgard, they liked to say handsome men looked like "Greek Gods." Loki wasn't a Greek God, but he was a God.

Ingrid had always had a crush on Loki. He was charismatic yet smart. Funny yet serious, and mischievous at the same time. He always excited her, made her stomach knot when he teased her. He made a blush arise to her cheeks that never appeared for anyone else.

But she never let this crush get the best of her or distract her from what she was supposed to be focused on.

The wine allowed these thoughts to push through, though.

"I don't think," she started. "I don't think I wish to marry Thor."

"What?" Loki asked, his head snapping to her.

"I don't love him like that."

"I don't understand," Loki said, his brow furrowing. "You two have always been in love."

"It's been fake," she said, taking another gulp of her wine. "For me, at least."

"Ingrid-"

"No, I'm sorry. I shouldn't be telling you all of this. I should," she hiccups. "I should get to bed."

As she tries to stand, Ingrid's wine glass falls out of her hands, smashing on the ground. Her legs start to wobble, and before she knows it, she too is falling to the ground. Loki is at her side in an instant, catching her before her head hits the grass.

"Ingrid, darling," he gasped at her. "You've got to be more careful."

"I'm sleepy," is all that she mumbles, her eyes rolling shut.

"Okay," Loki says, hoisting her into his arms. "Lets get you to bed then."

Loki proceeded to carry her out of the garden and around the side of the castle to a side entrance, wanting to keep people from seeing them in this state together to prevent gossip. Through the corridors and up the stairs leading to her room, Ingrid was giggling at random things that she saw.

Once Loki got upstairs to her room, he carried her inside and gently placed her on the bed. She sighed contentedly when she felt her plush covers beneath her, melting into her mattress. She slowly blinked her eyes open, grinning when she noticed Loki looking down at her.

"Comfortable?" He asked.

"Yes," she sighed. "Thank you for bringing me up here."

"Of course."

"Loki?" She piped up, sitting up on her elbows. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Of course," he replied, taking a seat on her bed.

"Will everyone despise me if I don't say yes to Thor at the altar?"

She watched as Loki's expression softened, his head tilting to the side. She didn't want to cause a fuss, but she couldn't see herself living a long and prosperous life with Thor.

"Ingrid," he started. "Where is this coming from? Everyone thinks the two of you are in love."

"I've never gotten to explore any romantic interests of any kind because i've always been promised to him. But I don't love him like that. I've tried, Loki. He's not the one for me."

"I don't know if you have much of a choice, darling," Loki says, his lips flattening into a disappointed straight line. "What Odin wants, Odin gets."

"He's not the one that I want," she whispered, staring at Loki intently.

His brows furrowed and then relaxed again. Ingrid knew that her remark was suggestive, and would definitely be something she regretted saying the following afternoon. But as per the wine, it felt very appropriate to say.

"I suppose if your suitor of choice is as high of rank as a God to be king, Odin might not have as many complaints."

"He's something like that," she sighed.

Loki began to respond to her, but he was stopped by two sharp knocks on her door. She gave Loki a puzzled look, and he gave her a puzzled look back, neither one of them knowing who could be at the door.

Loki stood and went to the door to open it, and when he did, it was revealed to be Thor on the other side. Loki moved aside to let his brother in, and Thor's eyes immediately went to Ingrid.

"There you are, darling. Are you alright?"

"Yes, just sleepy," she replied, her eyes blinking slowly.

"Why did you escort my lady to her bed chambers without letting me know?" Thor asked, turning to his brother who stood silently in the corner.

"Because she was passing out in the gardens and I didn't want anyone seeing her in such a vulnerable state," Loki replied.

"Passing out in the gardens?" Thor said, whipping around to look at his bride lying on the bed, still in her evening gown.

"I've had a bit too much wine," she said, pinching her fingers in the air as an example of how much wine she's had.

"Why did you even leave to the gardens in the first place?" Thor asks.

"It was loud," she sighs.

"I'm sorry, darling. I know me and my friends can be loud at times."

"Very loud," she annunciated.

Ingrid pushed herself up off of her bed and stumbled into her closet and grabbed one of her silk nightgowns, walking back out and throwing it down on her bed. She started undoing the pins in her hair, feeling immediate relief at the release of tension in her head. The two brothers stood there watching her, and she stopped her motions to give them both a quizzical look.

"What?" She asked. "Have neither of you seen a lady get ready for bed?"

They both stuttered out sorries as they started to exit the room. Thor crossed over to Ingrid and kissed her cheek, whispering a goodnight to her. She caught Loki's eye by her door, and she gave him a small smile. He nodded back to her. The two brothers exited her room, and once she heard the door click she brushed her dress off of her shoulders.

Once she was ready, Ingrid slipped under her covers. She could still feel the alcohol coursing through her veins.

Before her parents passed away, her mother would sing her a song before bed every night. It stuck with her, and sometimes the goddess would sing it to herself before bed, just to imagine her mother there with her. Tonight was one of those nights.

Ingrid felt helpless, her marriage to Thor was rapidly approaching, and there was nothing she could do about it.

She needed her mothers advice more than anything. So Ingrid sang her song.

Nuku, nuku nurmilintu, Väsy, väsy, västäräkki Nuku nurmelle hyvälle Vaivu maalle valkialle. Lintu tuopi liinahapaijan Haapana hyvän hamehen Kaskeloinen korvatyynyn Pääskynen peäalusen Nuku, nuku nurmilintu Väsy, väsy, västäräkki Nuku nurmelle hyvälle Vaivu maalle valkialle.

Ingrid sang her song louder than she's ever sang it before. Usually she would sing it as a whisper, only to keep for herself. But she felt (probably because of the wine) that everyone needed to hear it. And everyone did hear it. Everyone in Asgard heard their goddesses song, and they heard the pain and longing in her voice as she sang. It was vulnerable, and it was beautiful.

And it lulled her and the entire kingdom to sleep.

Ingrid woke the next morning to being shook by her shoulders.

As she opened her eyes, she saw Thor, Frigga, Loki, and a few castle healers surrounding her on her bed. Thor was shaking her awake, concern written all over his face. Everyone looked worried, and Ingrid looked quizzically back at them.

"What?" She asked, worried as to why everyone was so concerned about her.

"Ingrid," Thor said. "Ingrid, are you alright? We've been trying to wake you for an hour. It's one in the afternoon."

Ingrid shot up at that, looking to her clock to confirm the time. She had never slept that long. Wine wouldn't do that to her either, as she's had her fair share of drunken nights far worse than the one she had last night.

"I'm sorry, I'm not sure why I did that," she said, but the people surrounding her just looked more confused.

"Ingrid, darling, what are you saying?" Frigga asked, taking a step closer to her."

"I'm asking-," She started, but she realized that not a single sound was coming out. "Can you not hear me?"

"Darling, we can't hear you," Thor said. "You're just moving your mouth."

All of the blood drained from Ingrid's face as it hit her all at once.

Her song.

She sang her lullaby last night in a very drunk and vulnerable state, making her an easy target. And she was loud. Everyone in the kingdom heard her sing. And someone had done the one thing she had feared.

They had taken her voice.

As soon as it clicked in her mind, her eyes locked to Loki's, and she could tell that he had made the same observation.

"Someone took her voice," he stated, his eyes never leaving hers.

"That's impossible," Thor said, standing up.

"Oh no, it's quite possible, brother," Loki stated, his hands clasped behind his back. "A strong sorcerer heard her song last night, and the vulnerability behind it, and used the right spell. Her voice is gone."

"That cannot be!" Thor boomed, pacing around the room. "Who dare strip my bride of her Godly power?"

"Thor," Frigga said, walking over and comforting her son. "Whoever did this to dear Ingrid will be punished. We will find them."

"What are we supposed to do, mother? She's a goddess, and she's lost her ability. People need her," Thor said.

"She is more than just her gift, my son. She will help her people in incredible ways without her voice."

"Mother, she is the goddess of song. Not the goddess of kindness. She is not a goddess without her voice," Thor stated, blankly.

To hear Thor say this about her, in her bedroom, made her mouth run dry. It was as if she wasn't in the room to him. It was hurtful, and she had never heard Thor speak of her in this way.

"Thor," Frigga scolded. "You know better than that."

"She is not worthy of Asgard's throne if she cannot serve her people like she so promised!" He yelled.

The room fell silent, and Ingrid drew her knees up to her chest to hug them, tears freely falling from her eyes. The only thing that could be heard throughout the room were Ingrid's quiet sniffles, and everyones eyes turned to her when they started.

Thor's eyes immediately softened when he met her teary ones, guilt racing across his face.

"Ingrid, my darling," he started, walking up to her. "I didn't mean it, I'm so sorry-"

But he was cut off by Ingrid's hand shooting up to stop him. He bounced back, hurt flashing across his eyes.

"Ingrid," he pleaded.

She shook her head in response, as no sound would leave her vocals.

"You should go," Frigga said.

"Mother," he said, looking over to Frigga.

"No, Thor. You've done enough damage, it's best for you to go."

With a sigh, and one last regretful look at Ingrid, Thor walked out of her room. Once he left, Ingrid's shoulders started to heave, sobs wracking through her body. She had just woken up, and it was so much to process. She hadn't even gotten the chance to full realize her voice had been stolen from her before the man she considered one of her best friends and was supposed to marry started hurling insults about her in her own bedroom.

Frigga sat down on her bed and pulled her into her. She combed through her hair and whispered sweet words to her to calm her down. Frigga was the closest thing Ingrid had to a mother, and she made her feel better when she needed a mom.

"We will overcome this, my darling," Frigga said. "We'll find whoever took your voice from you. You are no less of a goddess this morning than you were last night. I'm truly sorry for my sons words."

"It's okay," Ingrid said, or tried to say. She felt a blush rise to her cheeks, and just nodded back at Frigga instead.

"Loki," Frigga said, motioning for her other son. "Why don't you entertain our girl with some of your magic? Or perhaps a card game? You two used to love to play together."

Loki gave his mother a small smile and nodded his head at her.

"Of course, mother," he replied.

"Thank you, my boy. She is in need of a friend."

Frigga exited the room, along with the healers, leaving Ingrid alone with Loki. She sighed before looking at him, his eyes swiftly meeting hers. The silence was uncomfortable. There were so many things she wanted to say to him. She wanted to apologize for her actions and words last night, she wanted to confide in him about her tumultuous love life, and she wanted to tell him he was the one that she wanted. But everything would have to be left unsaid.

When they were children, Loki would often put on 'magic shows' for Ingrid. Once, Odin asked for one, and Loki told his father that they were 'only for Ingrid.' His magic entertained her, and he knew this, so each time he'd put on a show for her, he made sure he was showing his favorite tricks.

"So," Loki started, carefully taking a seat next to her on the bed. "I've been working on a new trick."

Ingrid sat up a bit at that, her interest showing. Loki took this as her go ahead.

He raised his hand in the air, palm face up, and mini fireworks started coming out of thin air in the palm of his hand. Ingrid let a smile grace her features, a laugh wanting to escape her so badly.

"It's nothing huge," the God said. "But it's pretty."

Ingrid nodded her head at him, her smile widening. He let out an airy laugh, smiling back at her. He closed his hand, making the fireworks disappear. Ingrid let her smile settle, and his did too. She felt his hand creep to hers, grabbing it in his large hand and giving it a squeeze. Loki's hands were soft. Silky smooth. Just like his voice. Ingrid looked down at their hands, and then looked back to him, her gaze questioning.

"I'm sorry for what my brother said," he started, his gaze soft upon her. "And I'm sorry for the predicament you're in."

Her gaze hardened, a blush forming on her cheeks. She had hoped she had dreamt about telling Loki about her true desires regarding her marriage, but it was evident she had confided in him.

"I've not forgotten our little talk last night," he confirmed, making the girl look away from him. "And I want to help you. I know how it feels to be burdened with something you don't want."

"How can you help?" Ingrid so badly wanted to ask. She wasn't used to not having her voice, and she didn't like it.

"And I'm sorry that you lost your voice," he continued. "You're still a goddess, Ingrid. You always will be. No one can strip you of that."

She gave him a faint smile in return, squeezing his hand back. His hands were ice cold, yet she didn't shiver away from his touch. In fact, she wanted more of his touch. Loki had always brought her comfort, but her hand in his gave her a sense of being grounded no touch had ever given her before.

Everyone knew Loki and Ingrid had a connection deeper than they understood. Loki had never been one to open up, but he had always told Ingrid everything. She too, told him her deepest secrets. They had both seen each other in their most vulnerable states, therefore creating a bond no one could understand.

She had always had feelings for the prince, but she felt naughty when she thought of acting on them. After all, she was engaged to his brother, the future king. She should be fawning over Thor, the future king of Asgard. But instead, Ingrid often found herself lusting over Loki in the shadows.

"Ingrid," Loki's voice said, but this time in her head, his silky voice sending chills down her spine. She gave him a startled look, his telepathic abilities something she wasn't used to. "You can speak back," he continued.

"This is oddly frightening," she said back, not really sure if he could hear her say that or not.

"But now you have someone to speak to," Loki's voice said, confirming he had heard her.

"I can't believe that worked," she said, looking at him wide eyed. They had never communicated telepathically to one another. She knew that he could, but she couldn't. He had obviously made it to where she could communicate back with him. She hoped he couldn't read her mind.

"I can," he said. When she looked at him, mortified, he had a small smirk playing on his lips. "I can hear everything you're thinking."

"Loki stop," she threatened. "I'm more than happy to speak with you because I need it, but I can't have you reading my mind."

"Why? Something naughty you don't want me to know?" He smirked.

Her face heated up, and at the mention of naughty thoughts, images of Loki popped into her head. She quickly willed those thoughts away, her face turning bright red out of fear he saw her thoughts of him.

"I'll take that as a yes," he said, grinning at her.

"Loki, get out of my head," she warned.

"But I'm curious as to why you think of me so much," he replied.

If her face wasn't red before, it was cherry red now. She looked at him mortified, and put her head in her hands, shaking it. She was hoping that her actions were enough to get the God out of her head. His laughter rumbled throughout the room as he watched the girl in front of him, clearly in distress.

He moved to sit closer to her on the bed, and her breath hitched. She peeked an eye at him, and she saw him smirking down at her. She was feeling hot, her hands clammy and her forehead sweaty. Loki being this close to her in this state was making her feel fuzzy, and she couldn't tell if she wanted away from him or if she wanted closer to him.

"Who do you desire, my dear?" His voice still in her head, making goosebumps break out all over her body. "Who were you speaking of last night when you said you wanted someone other than Thor?"

"Loki," she said sternly, a warning. If he kept on, she didn't know how long she'd be able to hold her resolve.

"Tell me," he growled, his hand finding purchase on her thigh.

She lightly jumped at the contact, her mouth parting, the air leaving her lungs. She didn't think he felt the same about her, and the realization that he did was both thrilling and terrifying. It excited her because she had always had feelings for him, and it terrified her because of Thor.

"Of course I feel the same, Ingrid," he said, and she took in a sharp breath of air. "How could I not?"

"Because I'm marrying Thor," she said.

"I don't care. You clearly don't want to marry him."

She was at a loss for words, literally and figuratively. Loki was her greatest friend, and she worried what this would do to their relationship. She didn't know how they would go forward. She was to be married in a month and that terrified her.

"This is not how I expected my day to go," she said to him.

"Mine either," Loki chuckled, this time out loud. "I should let you rest, dear. I'm going to assist Odin in finding who stole your voice."

She just nodded at him as he stood up off the bed. She bent back down, however, caging Ingrid in between his arms, causing her to lean back onto her elbows. Her heart was thumping in her chest, and he smirked back at her. One of his hands came up and settled under her jaw, cupping her cheek. She instinctively leaned into his touch, her cheeks bright red again. He leaned forward and took his thumb across her lips, huffing out a laugh as her lips parted.

"Don't think I'll forget this talk," he drawled, his voice deep and smooth like chocolate.

She nodded back at him, swallowing the lump in her throat. He pulled her forward by the neck, and she stopped breathing as she expected his lips upon hers, her eyes fluttering shut. But instead of his lips finding hers, she felt them firmly press on her forehead.

"See you later, darling," he smirked, pulling away from her and laughing as she sat on the bed dazed and wide eyed.

She watched as he sauntered out of her room, and she let out the breath she had been holding. Her hand found her chest, and she placed it there as she slowed her rapid heartbeat. She flopped back on her bed, a small smile forming on her lips.

Maybe this month wouldn't be so bad after all.

A/N: Yaaas! It's done! Lemme know what you think! Definitely more parts to come! As always, likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated! Let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist for this series!

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thefandomdirtymind · 11 months ago

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Christmas traditions

Disclaim : It's a Alternative Universe version of Taz who never decided to actually became an actor and just decided to write play. It had been inspired by that adorable video and a post I saw saying that we should put Taz in a Rom-Com so well I did loll I hope you will like it and a merry Holiday season !

Taz AU

Sanji / OPLA Masterlist and Coming Soon

* English is not my first language, I tried really hard to correct myself but, I hope you will excuse me if some mistakes are still there.

---

The holidays, like every year, were illuminating with his colorful light and magical decorations the streets of London. From the shopping district of Carnaby street to the Buckingham palace itself, the capital was ready to celebrate.

In a more modest corner of the city, where the cold wind of december was also making known his presence. Taz was burying his hands in the pocket of his jacket, his destination, a small theater stuck in a sandwich between an indie coffee shop and a vinyl seller, already in his field of view.

Waiting in line for the opening of the door, many adults and childrens were braving the winter weather, a small paper cup of hot beverage in most hands. When two teenagers, dressed up in red and green velvet costumes were entertaining the kids.

For months now, Taz had helped his friend Thomas plan this event. Trying to give a wonderful and magical Christmas moment to the less fortunate family, working with charities and organizations to give and share with those childrens a memory they would cherish for the years to come.

Writing a play about a Christmas fairy tale wasn’t usually his cup of tea. But, after much encouragement from his friend and research about christmas folklore, he had finally finished the script, hoping it would put a smile on their small faces.

Pushing the door of the artist entry, the recomforting noise of last minute check up greeting him, Taz smiled. Of course, seeing his play being performed on stage was alway magical, but, the behind the scene and the conception of the magic was also one of his favorite parts.

“ Taz ! You’re just in time, where about to start. Did you see all those families outside ! “ His friend exclaimed, his toddler daughter in his arms, juggling to keep the child comfortable and his clipboard away from any scribbling incident.

“ Yeah, it's amazing man ! It has brought so many people, will you have enough stuff for the kids ? He asked, waving gently to the little girl “ Hello princess Emma “

“ Uncle Z !!” Emma exclaimed, waving his little hand, joy radiating off his little two year old body.

“ I hope so, for the moment everything is under control ” Tom said, turning his head to the side before sighing in relief. “Thank god Y/n had been able to pass the security “

“ Wait Tom. She’s here, why is Y/N here ? “ Taz asked, another type of knock suddenly invading his stomach.

“ She had offered her help to babysit Emma when I was busy on stage, why ? “ Tom replied, watching now his friend with an amused smile on his lips “ Is that about your little crush ? “

“ Dude, I don’t have a crush, I’m not twelve “ He replied, rolling his eyes. “ I just didn’t have much chance to talk to her that all “

“ Well you will tonight, because she and Emma will be seated with you “ The man mischiefly said before agitating his clipboard above his head, signaling their position to the woman. “ Y/N Here ! “

Watching you approach, admiring the simple but cute look you had chosen to wear for the evening, the multiple tones of light of the room accentuating your natural beauty as a small straw of your hair caressed your cheeks. Taz felt his heart miss a beat.

Being shy wasn’t in his usual nature. Yet, when it came to you he often had trouble understanding himself. Since the first time he saw you placing those books, perched in the ladders at Thomas bookstore, he hadn’t been able to forget you. Neither that summons enough courage to tell you more than two words he instantly judged stupid.

“ Hi! i’m sorry to be late, I had some late customers “ You apologize, taking the little girl in your arms “ Hello miss Emma, is that a new dress ? “

Happy of the attention, the little girl nodded proudly, kicking his feet in an attempt of showing her, as well, new little mary-sue shoes.

“ Adorable” You commented, adjusting the child on your arms before meeting the gaze of Taz. “ Hello Taz” You said, a soft smile spreading in your lips.

When Thomas had introduced you, a few months earlier, you weren't sure what to think exactly of his gorgeous friend. You had heard so many stories of crazy adventures they had, before the bookkeeper decided to settle down after he adopted Emma. That you aren’t sure how to react when, to steal the words of your boss, a walking beam of sunshine, was preferring to isolate himself in the small office, that talks to you. Of course he had been polite and you knew perfectly that the man had a job to do, so you had tried to help him as much as you could, bringing him books on winter folklore and often little snacks when you noticed he was still in the office after many hours. But, after a while of two word discussions and half-smile, you had simply deduced that sunshine Taz disliked you.

Until one night, as you were preparing to close the store, your manager asked you the strangest question.

“ Y/N, did Taz talk to you today ? “ He asked, putting the day's money in the bank envelope.

“Other than asking for a book, no, why ? “ You replied. Placing the last book of your pile at his place.

“ Nothing, it’s just kinda funny and refreshing to see him out of words for once” Thomas laugh “ I hope he put them all in that play “

But, by the time you realized the meaning of his words, Taz had finished the script and was passing less time at the bookstore than before.

“ Hi Y/N” The man simply replied, fidgeting like most of the time with one of his rings.

“ Everybody in place, it’s time to open the door ! “ You heard as the gaze of Taz was still lingering in you.

Wishing Thomas to break his leg, you slowly make your way to your seat, trying to focus our attention on the little girl and not your flustered cheeks.

As Taz was trying to focus on the play, his winter fairies and other magical creature taking life before is eyes, he couldn’t entirely stay still, trying to catch of the corner of his eyes the manies expression of joy and magnificence as he could, even if right now, your was by far his favorite.

A smile plastered on your lips,the little girl clapping his hands on your laps, you seem to enjoy as much, if not more, the ferric world in front of you than many of the kids.

When Santa Claus came on stage,to the joy of the kids but signaling the end of the performance and the debut of the other activities, he left out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

As everybody left their seat, taking the direction of the festivity room, he simply followed you, taking one of Emma's little hands as you were holding the others.

“ Congratulations Taz, it was amazing “ You told him, as the little girl in his arms was dancing to the christmas music in the room, putting a tender and amused smile on his lips.

“ Thanks, the book you gave me had helped a lot “ He replied as the child was now contortion herself to be put down.

“ Olin !! Uncle Z down, down !! “ She screamed, surprising Taz as you let out a little laugh.

Putting down Emma, Taz confused, looked her ran to a little boy not much older that three.

“ Ahem, I guess I will have to break the terrible news to you. Our little Emma here is kinda in a terrible scandal you see, she had kissed little Colin on the cheeks at the yesterday reading event. But, last week it had been the little Anthony over there, when he saw it he had claimed on the spot he will marry her, even if rumor said that he had promised the same thing to his own mother. “ You softly laugh, looking at the small childrens dancing all together.

“ I’m truly heart broken” Taz laughed, the usual tension he was feeling around you dissipating slowly under your radiating smile. Of course you had smiled on many occasions before. Yet,maybe it was the situation,or the way you had told the fun little child gossip, but he suddenly felt more relaxed around you. “ It was actually a great story, we should maybe do a play about it ”.

“ Absolutely” You nodded, laughing at your turn. “ I will close the store tomorrow, maybe you can come and we will see what could happen…in that play ?” You softly suggest, hoping that you didn’t misunderstood Thomas.

“ Yes that..that could be great “ Taz replied, clearly surprised before offering you a joyful smile.

“ ncle Z, ncle Z ! “ Emma exclaimed, jumping to attract his attention,trying to catch his hand.” Want to see Santa !”

As the event ended,the two of you weren't able to talk much, between taking care of Emma and helping Thomas with the details. However, as you were putting on your coat, you heard him call for you, the little girl fondly asleep against his shoulder.

“ See you tomorrow then ? “ He asked, that damn pretty smile on his lips.

“ See you tomorrow” You confirmed, smiling as well.

—

The next day, with your flow of customers trying to be ready for Christmas, didn’t give you much time to be nervous about your evening meeting.

However, as you were turning the little Close sign, wishing your last customers a Merry Christmas, the little excitement caught you and gave your smile a little extra spark.

As Taz was stepping in the close little bookstore, you were patiently waiting for him, a winter folklore book in front of you.

“ Hey” He greeted you, smiling, closing the door.

“Hey “ You replied, smiling as well, leaving your seat to meet him at the door. “ I was thinking of all those tradition and folklore you had put in your play and I realize that Thomas was right, you had miss a really important one”

“ Oh ?” Taz asked, watching your smile take that adorable turn he had so often saw when you were joking with Thomas.

“ The mistletoe “ You answer, pointing at the little branch newly installed above the door. “ Of course it's an old and outdated tradition but…”

But, you never finish your thought as the lips of Taz meet yours, his cold hand seizing your waist.

“ I think I should definitely learn more about this one” He softly laugh against your lips

Laughing, you came back for another kiss, ignoring the little snow starting to fall on London, creating your own mini Christmas fairy tale.

#Taz Skylar #Taz Skylar Au #Christmas

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pascaloverx · 1 year ago

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As It Was (S2)

Chapter Ten

previous season next chapter

Summary: Lots of news in this new season, which will be full of several twists and discussions. And of course, lots of James Buchanan Barnes.

Author's note: Dear readers, I will be writing this fanfic again. This second season will have shorter chapters and it will probably take me a little longer to update the fanfic but I hope you like it!

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT WITH THIS STORY, there may be adult content and verbal and physical violence.

Waking up in a hospital bed is much more uncomfortable than it seems. In fact, at first I thought I was dead. But it was when I tried to move and felt a pang in my stomach that I realized I was alive. I don't know how happy or sad this makes me. Someone I believed was good cheated on me, someone I loved died and I have no idea where the hell my ex husband is.

"Thank God you finally woke up, I'm going to call the doctor but try to stay conscious for the next few minutes at least." Dave speaks happily as if he's been yearning for me to wake up.

A few moments later I was so confused that I didn't even notice a team of doctors and nurses entering my room, it was almost as if I were a rare specimen. They are analyzing my every mole, asking standard questions like do I see this or that, do I remember my name, and checking my moles as soon as they enter what appears to be my hospital room.

"Doctor, what happened to me?" I ask, fearing that they are analyzing me because something terrible is about to happen.

"You may be a little confused in the next few days, the shot you took hit your spleen, which resulted in complications in his surgery. You got on induced coma for a while so that we could guarantee a recovery. The exact time you were in a coma was six months. The good news is that your body has fully recovered, without any apparent signs of trauma. For any additional information, you can ask the doctor on duty or the nurse who will be responsible for the care of this ward." The doctor speak so seriously, I feel a little confused with so much information.

"Will I be released soon or will I have to stay here for a long time?" It's the only question I long for the answer.

"We have to keep you here for at least another day for further observations but probably tomorrow, you will be released and you can go home." He speaks subtly with precision. It's a relief knowing that I will soon be able to leave here if everything is okay with me.

Dave enters the hospital room a few seconds after the doctors leave, looking extremely relieved. I really want to hug him but you're afraid to make sudden movements.

"You look like you got hit by a truck but I'm so glad you woke up. Sam and the girls were just as worried as I was, wondering when you would wake up." Dave says sitting in the companion's chair next to my hospital bed.

"How is Bucky?" It's all you can think about, wondering how my ex-husband was, who risked his life because of me.

"You won’t like to know. I think for your recovery, it’s better if you know this later.” Dave says while holding my hand softly.

"I need to know how he's doing Dave. If you consider yourself my best friend, start talking." My authoritative tone must be more powerful now because Dave seems to want to obey me.

"Barnes is working..." Dave sounds so uncertain saying this like he's afraid of my reaction.

"What do you mean, working?" Something inside me says I'm going to get stressed in the next few minutes.

"His father figured that Killian and Rogers would betray him and made a dossier and secretly handed it in before he died. The FBI and national security had no doubts about Barnes' innocence so as soon as he recovered from his injuries, he returned to work. I think he even got promoted." Because this information doesn't surprise you, it reminds you why I ended up ending my relationship with Barnes.

"What a son of a bitch, how can he come back after everything we've been through...what about Rogers and Killian?" This I really hope that one of them is at least arrested.

"Both are on the run from the police, but they disappeared. Which is kind of good news." Dave talks trying to sound optimistic.

"They both have reasons to kill me. Which makes it even worse." Stress slowly eats away at me as I imagine how unbearable my life will be.

"We will be with you and Barnes will also take care of you. Rumor has it that you're going to have cops watching." Dave tries to calm me down, which somehow works.

"I think I'm going to need some time to adapt to this information but I'm glad I'm back." I say, holding Dave's hand tightly as I lie to his face. I'm not happy, I'm desperate. My father died, my ex husband is still the same idiot and there are two cruel men wanting my head. I couldn't be more fucked up.

#bucky barnes x oc #spotify #marvel fanfiction #bucky barnes angst #reader insert #steve rogers x original female character #bucky barnes fanfiction #james buchanan barnes #winter soldier series #sam wilson #wanda maximoff #yelena belova #fanfic steve rogers #steve rogers angst

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twilightmalachite · 11 months ago

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2×2 - Grown-Up Situation 10

Author: Akira

Characters: Yuuta, Hinata, Nagisa, Shinobu

Translator: Mika Enstars

"Tyrant! Yuuta-kun’s tyranny is rapidly accelerating…!"

[Read on my blog for the best viewing experience with Oi~ssu ♪]

Season: Winter

Location: Downtown

An hour later. At the Living on the Streets starting point for Team Aniki (Hinata & Nagisa)…

Nagisa: Fuhahahahaha!

Now, let us begin, Hinata! Let us build our paradise here!

Hinata: … …

Nagisa: Where is your reply?! Are you mocking me, Hinataaaa?!

Hinata: Don’t wanna~, I don’t like this domineering Ran-senpai~… I want him to go back to being the kind senior he always is~…

But well, Ran-senpai feels more comfortable this way. I adapt better than he does, so in the end it’s better this way.

So that’ll be that. I’ll think about what to do next, not about Ran-senpai’s complete behavior turn-around!

Nagisa: Mm! Great to hear!

Tell me the specifics of what to do. Though it’s really true I only have my clothes, with even my phone and wallet confiscated before starting.

What does one do with nothing to his name? If we continue to do nothing, we will either starve or freeze to death.

Hinata: It is still the cold season, isn’t it? It’s March.

Perhaps… The reason that the producer in charge of this episode, Anzu-san, threw us out into the cold weather was because she wanted us to get sick.

If we catch a cold and can’t continue on, then 2×2 will stop broadcasting.

Making Anzu-san, who is currently with the most viewership ratings, automatically be the winner of the producer showdown!

Nagisa: I do not think Anzu would pull off something so underhanded, like Ibara would.

No, even Ibara wouldn’t pull off such a thing. Having the program be canceled mid-way through would be a massive loss.

Hinata: That’s true~… And well, this is a TV program, so if things get out of hand I bet they’ll just rescue us.

Of course, it’d be a shame to just give up on the first day, so I’d like to make it through living on the streets if possible… Thank you for your cooperation, Ran-senpai.

Nagisa: Mm! Just leave it to me! For I am God!

Hinata: Somehow this seems hopeless… Reminds me of Sakuma-senpai when he’s in poor shape, totally unreliable…

Well, it’s fine. First things first, securing a bed before the sun sets is our top priority.

Like I mentioned earlier, it’s the cold season, so if we don’t have a warm place to sleep, we won’t be able to get through the night.

At worst, we freeze to death. Or catch a cold or something and it’s game over.

Nagisa: That is quite true. Now, what do I do?

Will we be building houses out of cardboard and such, like those I see on the streets from time to time?

Hinata: Cardboard is surprisingly effective at keeping in warmth! I suppose that’s an option, but I think building our own house ourselves seems like it’d be interesting, but…

We’ve filmed the opening sequence for the show and traveled already today, so we don’t have much time before the sun goes down.

We might run out of time while collecting materials for a house or something.

So… I don’t think this is strictly off-limits, but—I have another, slightly more crafty idea in mind.

Nagisa: What’s this crafty method?

Hinata: If anything, it might just be the straightforward approach. How do you think we got through the cold nights, back when we had no strength of our own back then?

The answer is simple. —We were helped by a generous adult.

Location: Back Alley in Downtown

Shinobu: I’ve gathered some cardboard~! ♪

Yuuta: Ooh, as expected of a ninja! Efficient!

Shinobu: Fufufu… Since I’ve been robbed of my ninja identity through my gozaru’s, I must at least show my ninja-ness through my actions!

Yuuta: Just so you know. It’s actually against the law to pick up cardboard and the like from trash piles or to build and inhabit a house on the street without authorization.

Looks like ES has spoken to the town hall and such about that to ensure there isn’t any problem regarding that, though. ‘Course, if they didn’t, we wouldn’t even be able to do this “experience”.

Shinobu: Good children watching this program, don’t do this at home!

Yuuta: You too, grown-ups!

Anyways, the sun will be going down soon, so let’s hurry up and build our cardboard house. It’ll be our bed for the time being.

Shinobu: Right. So what tools did you have, Yuuta-kun?

Yuuta: Hm? W-What do you mean?

Shinobu: I mean, we need tools in order to make things. This isn’t Gunpla or Legos meant for kids; we need tools if we are to assemble any materials.

More specifically, something like a utility knife, or duct tape. We’ll need more substantial tools if we are to build say a wooden structure, but well, we’re just building a house out of cardboard—

Yuuta: Right! We do need tools.

Go collect some, Shinobu-kun. I’ll watch over our cardboard here.

Shinobu: Tyrant! Yuuta-kun’s tyranny is rapidly accelerating…!

Yuuta: Do you have any complaints?

Shinobu: Uu. I-I’ll go and look for something tool-like, then. Though I feel this will be much harder to find than cardboard…

Yuuta: Ah, right, I’ll go with you too, then. I doubt our cardboard boxes will get stolen even if we don’t keep an eye on them.

I don’t want to exploit you too much and have you hate me, Shinobu-kun. Right? Truth is, I lived in this downtown area for a while, so—

I know quite a bit about what’s down where.

Shinobu: T-Then, it would’ve been better if you had come with me to collect materials from the very start!

Yuuta: I had stuff to do, myself. YamadaP had been on-site, so I went to ask him about some things I was concerned about.

Among those involved in 2×2, he’s the one I’m closest to.

Shinobu: Concerned? What, like about how Anzu-dono’s doing?

Yuuta: I am, but… Well, I’ll let you know about it once I organize my thoughts.

But right now, it’s nothing but a suspicion. Or rather, I know once I start suspecting, then everything looks suspicious to me.

Shinobu: …?

[ ☆ ]

← prev | story directory | next →

#2×2 #2x2 #yuuta aoi #hinata aoi #shinobu sengoku #nagisa ran #event #translation

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aeoki · 5 months ago

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Blackjack - Miracles Don't Exist: Chapter 9

Location: Yumenosaki Hallway Characters: Mayoi, Arashi & Gatekeeper Season: Winter

ㅤㅤㅤ< A few more hours later. Yumenosaki Academy Hallway (no entry during “Star Fest”). >

Mayoi: (*Sigh…* I–I can finally move around freely.)

(It may be difficult to get things delivered to the underground but sending something out is easy.)

(If you give your package to the delivery man, then he’ll transfer it to the person outside through an official delivery company or the post office.)

(In reality, that’s how Chief and Anzu-san, who came to hang ou– I mean, check on us, returned to the surface – They’d be packed into a box again and transported to the outside.)

(But it seems the Leaders are keeping an eye on me, perhaps due to my doing whatever I like outside…)

(They conducted a thorough investigation into the situation after noticing there were far too many suspicious packages.)

(Thanks to that, it’s taking me a lot more time to get outside… It seems the Leaders are oddly on edge.)

(It was like an airport on the lookout for terrorism… It was rather restrictive before, but not to this extent.)

(I think it’s because of what Hitsugi-kyun mentioned about “Priest’s” subordinates searching around for him.)

(The alert levels have increased because of that… Well, that’s also why it would be impossible for NEGI-san to perform in “Star Fest”.)

(Even if she tried to find a way to escape, she’ll probably be found halfway and stopped.)

(It’s sad to think that she won’t be able to make it out, but they also mentioned that if “Priest’s” followers were to find them, they’d be killed. This would be much better than that.)

(But that child cannot continue living like that. Will they have to do so until their arch-enemy, “Priest”, is gone from the surface…?)

(But that enemy is the great ruler of the idol industry. Make one wrong move and that child may never be able to return to the surface.)

(If that’s the case, then they’ll be able to live and they’ll be safe but it’ll be far too pitiful.)

(I even feel guilty about me being the only one who gets to live freely outside.)

“Gatekeeper”: Oi.

Mayoi: ………!?

W–Why are you here!?

“Gatekeeper”: You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.

Well, in reality, I’m a suspicious individual who has snuck into the school at the dead of night. I have nothing to do with this place, so I guess your attitude is to be expected.

Mayoi: …………

“Gatekeeper”: Haha. I see you’re on high-alert. Well, I guess this sort of attitude is far more natural compared to that Sakasaki brat, who tries to gain the favour of the villain that’s threatening and exploiting him, with a smile on his face.

He’s a cute kid. A sharp one – and similar to that Ibara boy.

Adults out there in the world seek good children. All the brats misunderstand but there are also bad adults who like bad children too.

In fact, that’s probably the majority.

Why? Well, that’s because bad people have all the good luck in life – majority of the people controlling our current society are bad adults who were once bad children.

Be a good child and Santa will come bearing a gift?

You lot have known for a long time now that that’s just a lie, right?

Bad adults will preach hypocritical wild takes to foolish children and they’ll buy the children’s smiles and interest with money behind the scenes.

They’ll stand in line and spend a fortune to buy toys.

Then, they’ll be engrossed in gloomy gratification as they watch the brats exclaim, “Santa came!”, on Christmas.

Santa won’t come. Gifts won’t arrive. Miracles don’t exist.

Both Santa and God haven't even a slither of interest in “you lot”.

A “peaceful and happy Christmas” is an illusion the bad adults created in order to turn the bratty children into easy-to-control livestock.

Mysteries or miracles don’t exist there. What does exist is the adults' self-interests and the foolishness of the brats.

You lot have already realised that a long time ago, right?

Mayoi: Umm, what are you talking about…? W–We “ALKALOID” followed your “orders” and “secret order” during the “SS” Qualifying Rounds.

I–I don’t think there is a reason for you to criticise us or to do bad things to us.

“Gatekeeper”: Were you even listening to me? Who said I’m going to do terrible things to you lot?

I’m that bloody Santa’s substitute – indeed, I am.

Mayoi: ………?

“Gatekeeper”: No, I’m the evil Santa for the bad children. I had this thought before but I think Santa’s awful for only giving good children a gift.

There are bad kids who have no choice but to do bad things in order to survive. Is he going to let them die without helping them?

Mayoi: Err–

“Gatekeeper”: Oi, show me where that stupid kid is. You took him in, right?

Mayoi: Um, oh, which kid of yours is that…?

“Gatekeeper”: He ain’t mine. I’m a eunuch. I won’t have a family for the rest of my life.

I’m only looking after him to use him. But well, even if he’s a kid from another family, he’s still staying under my roof…

I shouldn’t be punished for giving him a gift on Christmas Eve, right?

In fact, I’m doing this in place of an unfair god who only bestows happiness onto good children, so I should be applauded instead.

Mayoi: ………? ………?

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ← Previous Chapter ᠂ ⚘ ˚⊹˚ ⚘ ᠂ Next Chapter →

#blackjack

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bengiyo · 2 years ago

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Make it Right Rewatch Ep 1 Stray Thoughts

I have to do it, y'all. I've watched this like four or five times, but thinking so hard about My Only 12% and New's feelings about Love of Siam has me thinking about Make It Right and how that fits in. This project is fun because Cheewin is also involved. Yuan also ended up working on What the Duck.

It's really something how long teens have been uploading constant streams of their lives to the internet now.

Thailand has always done a good job with sibling dynamics.

Oh it's the lesbian friend. She ends up so disappointed in this show. I think it's interesting how there were nods to gay girls early in Thai BL before it all vanished.

The intro song for Season 1 is still in my top 3 for Thai BL. This song absolutely fucking SLAPS!

I'm feeling a happy sense of nostalgia watching this. I'm a whole adult now with a mortgage and a fancy TV. Thankful to the fans who saved this in 1080p. It still looks good.

Ah, yes, the beauty product placement.

I was definitely drawn to the casual physical intimacy between friends when I first watched this from jump when Fuse sits on Lukmo at school.

Young Ohm. We called it even then that he was a massive talent. Glad he was able to make something out of acting. Feels like most of this cast fell off.

Oh my god the whole scene of getting Fuse out of school to help Jean is still so surreal. New really understands masculine friendship. Helping your boys and risking getting into trouble to save the girl really does feel like this.

Casual reminder that we had more femmes in early Thai BL.

Yes, play the intro over the handshake with Lukmo. I will associate this with maximum friendship for the rest of my life.

It translates very well that Jean and her friends play the field (no shame), and also that Fuse is clearly younger than the older guys maybe more appropriate for her. Covering Fuse in debris also shows how messy and unready he is.

When I first saw this, I thought we were going to see Lukmo present a crush on Fuse when he suggested Fuse date a boy.

Boys chasing each other around snd threatening to fight is also very much high school.

Baby Plan!

Proximity Alert #1 in the first Rodtang scene. I do think we should get more BLs where a boy has feelings for one of the leads, gets disappointed, and ends up with one of their friends.

New teasing about the regimented existence in school and the ways it creates so many gay situations. This CPR class that requires the boys to take off their shirts?

I was always sad about Nine being recast in season 2. Something similar happened in Lovesick.

Where did Frame even get a bra from to put Nine in?

Hey, proximity alert #2. First teasing of Frame and Book.

It still bothers me that these boys are like 15 and getting wasted.

Oh shit, young Mean! I always forget he has a bit role in this show.

Finally, Tee is here. Oh, Boom, how I hoped to see so much more of you.

Ah, I forgot about the coin as the first sign for Tee that he maybe meant something to Fuse.

Oh the drunk acting isn't great, but I'm riding out the drama of, "Oh no. I don't know where be lives. I guess I'll take him home and watch him."

Tee really fireman carried Fuse to bed.

The Death of Junk Food shirt is sending me.

Tee definitely knew what he was doing when he undressed.

"Have you ever had sex with a guy?" immediately followed by the opening melodies of About Last Night. I have never gotten over this song and how effectively it gets used in this show. "Do you want to?" as the music builds and then pauses. "Yes," into the chorus. So good. They don't do it like this anymore.

Welcome back to Make It Right with me! I think instead of making unique posts for this, I'll just continue this as a thread to refer back to later. Much of this really holds up. It's about as good or better than a lot of the pulps of the last year.

#make it right #make it right the series #your local make it right apologist is still not over those boys #thai bl #bl series #Ben watches

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tsukishumai · 3 years ago

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pairing: Bokuto Kotaro x gn!reader

summary: whoever said being adult was fun obviously never had bills to pay. so when Akaashi offers up a way to earn cash fast, you jump at the opportunity. except, you never thought you’d find yourself modeling in your underwear... least of all with Bokuto Kotaro

wc; 3k+

tags; fluff, humor, college au, mentions of very slight nudity

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

If anyone else other than Akaashi offered you this position, you would probably punch them right in the face.

Maybe he considers this payback for all the times he’s had to listen to you whine about your problems during your shared shifts at the cafe, or maybe this truly was his own sadistic way of attempting to provide support.

“Okay, so I know a way you can make easy money,” he started, and already those words should have sent alarm bells ringing in your head, but this was Akaashi. You’ve only really known him for a short time, but already you knew he wouldn’t lead you astray.

But really, the electronic shop five blocks from campus told you it would cost 55000 yen to repair your laptop monitor, so you weren’t exactly in a position to be picky.

You had also been complaining to him for the past forty minutes -- about the broken laptop, the leaking faucet in your apartment, the textbook that cost you more than your groceries for the past month, the two hours of sleep you got last night, and your paychecks that were all but depleted once the bills were paid. He remained tightlipped throughout your whole tirade, so you suppose the least you could do was hear him out.

“You’re not trying to sell my kidneys, right…” You mumble sarcastically, but you tilt your head to him anyway to show you were listening.

“No, sadly, it’s not quite the season for kidneys yet,” Akaashi delivers in a flat tone, “So you’re just going to have to deal with modeling.”

“Modeling?” Your reaction was harsh and loud, and you flinched away from the piercing glares of cafe regulars trying to study in peace.

Akaashi smirks as he wipes down the steamer before replying, “Don’t worry, it’s not the kind of modeling you’re thinking.”

Your mouth dropped, and you raised an eyebrow as you crossed your arms, scoffing at Akaashi incredulously.

“Are you trying to send me to a nudie shoot?!” you whisper in almost-mock offense, but now a part of you was a little worried that your favorite coworker was a secret pervert.

To your utter relief, Akaashi just laughs. “God, no. Well, I guess, kind of?”

At this point, your head was beginning to spin. “What do you mean kind of? Just spit it out already, Akaashi.”

Akaashi finally finishes cleaning off the coffee machine just as you finished replenishing the pastry displays, and in an unusual lull in customers, he’s able to lean against the bar and give you his undivided attention.

“My art professor pays the models for her figure drawing class a pretty decent amount of money, I think,” Akaashi tells you, and your eyes begin to sparkle. “She mentioned a couple of slots being open.”

“Really?” your interest was immediately piqued, “How much money?”

Akaashi shrugs. “Enough to strike at least one problem off your list, probably.”

That was all you needed to hear. Akaashi had given you his professor’s contact information, and you sent her an email the second you had clocked out of your shift.

Professor Nobuta was a kind woman who emailed you back with such haste, you could feel her desperation matching yours. She was candid during the entirety of your exchange, saying that her usual model had dropped out last minute and there was a spot in her class tomorrow that she needed to fill as soon as possible. Lucky for both of you, you were actually available, and details were exchanged swiftly.

As you read over the requirements, your eyes roved over two words in a section of the email that made your eyes bulge out of your head.

Semi Nude.

You blinked once. Then twice.

You had already formulated a kind rejection in your mind, ready to type your response when another section caught your eye. You inwardly groaned, dropping your head into your hands.

She was offering you almost as much as two shifts at the cafe.

That, alone, was enough to convince you, but the look of relief on Professor Nobuta’s face when you walked through the doors of her classroom was confirmation you made the right decision.

The seats around the classroom were nearly all filled, some students preparing their materials across their desks, and others sitting back and scrolling through their phones. The whirring of the A/C had filled the room with white noise, and you take notice of the two empty stools in the middle of the room.

“Thank you so much for signing up, L/N-san,” Professor Nobuta bowed profusely, and she gestured to a table for you to leave your things. “We’re still waiting on the other model, so take your time, and have a seat on the stool when you’re ready.”

You nodded in acknowledgement, and Professor Nobuta makes her way back to her desk. You briefly wonder if she was going to point you in the direction of a changing room, but realized the redundancy when everyone in the room was meant to stare at your half naked body anyway.

You begrudgingly peeled off your clothes, folding them neatly before placing them in a pile on the table. Your footsteps made hardly any noise as you walked across the room, desperately trying hard to act nonchalant.

Just as you took a seat in one of the empty stools, you heard someone pull the door open and loudly clamber inside.

“Ahh, welcome back, Bokuto-san!”

Your eyes widened at the name the professer had just yelled across the room. You brace yourself as you quickly whip your head around, and standing by the door sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck was Bokuto Kotaro.

Student Athlete, Volleyball Star, Most Wanted Bachelor Bokuto Kotaro smiled brightly as he skipped to the table your items were placed, apologizing profusely for being late. All eyes followed him like moths, and Bokuto was the bright flame. Everyone knew him, and you often saw him walking across the quad, always greeting at least twenty people on the way.

You could hardly hear what Professor Nobuta was saying to him, and you were now unabashedly staring as Bokuto began to strip out of his clothes.

Bokuto was built like a marble statue -- hard lines that traveled across his chest and traced his abs must have been painstakingly carved with the utmost care by a masterful artist, and every movement he made created new shapes along his muscled body. You found yourself instantly wishing you had even an ounce of artistic talent, because it was no doubt that Bokuto was every figure artists’ dream.

All at once, your vision was filled with gold and a sweet smile, and too late did you realize you had just been caught staring. Bokuto’s eyes don’t leave yours as he stands up straight, and struts over to you in nothing but a pair of nude briefs.

“Alright, everyone, your timed session is about to begin,” Professor Nobuta’s voice had startled you nearly out of your seat, and you turn your head back to face the class, cringing inwardly when you noticed some were smirking at you, “Feel free to request poses from the models, as this will be a graded assignment. We only have an hour and a half, so make the most out of your time.”

You feel your body stiffen as Bokuto takes the empty seat next to you, staying silent when you feel his eyes staring at you. You might have been able to ignore this in another setting, but at the moment, about fifty students were watching him watching you -- eyes flitting up the stage down to their sketchbook as they try to decide where to begin.

Envy coursed through you as the room began to fill with the sounds of graphite scratching against paper, wishing you could switch positions with literally anybody else in the room. You tried to relax your body against the stool, awkwardly attempting to find a natural position for your arms when you were interrupted by a throat clearing.

Your head turns to the side, heat rushing to your face when you see Bokuto smiling at you.

“Hi,” he greets, his voice a direct contrast against the silent concentration filling the room, “I’m Bokuto!”

His knees were bent as he settled his feet on the first ring of the stool. He rests an elbow on his thigh so he can place his chin on the palm of his hand, giving you an expectant look as he waits for your response. You try to avoid the way his chest seemed to bulge even more in this position, but the furious sound of sketching says you weren’t the only one to notice.

“Bokuto Kotaro,” you say his name back, and he pulls his lips back into an even wider smile, “I know.”

You bite your lip when a student from the back requested for you to cross your legs, resting your hand against your thighs. You’re not sure if you’re supposed to be talking, but Professor Nobuta didn't seem to be paying either of you any mind.

He hadn’t said anything to you after that, but the grin remained on his lips as requests begin coming in from students across the class.

They were all fairly simple -- please position your hand like so, could you extend your leg this way, or turn your head that way. The first twenty minutes had been spent doing individual tasks and repositioning, and soon you felt yourself relaxing into your role. Your previous jitters had all but dissolved, and you figured if the rest of the session were to go on like this, then you’d be golden.

Your eyes shift over to Bokuto, who was leaning back with such easy grace, balancing himself with his foot against the footrest. The way his body created such naturally eloquent lines made it seem as if he was born to be a sculpture, to be admired and gazed at, to invoke inspiration and creation. You weren’t sure anyone in this room was even looking at you anymore, with Bokuto acting as if he was the lighthouse in a storm, beckoning all of you to come home.

He turns his head a second too quickly, winking when his eyes meet yours, and for the second time in less than an hour, you realize you’ve just been caught checking him out.

Your dignity was slipping through your fingers like sand, and you clear your throat before turning your attention to a poster on the wall.

From the corner of your eye, you see Professor Nobuta stand from her desk and making her way to a student in the corner. The two whisper among each other, and you watched as the professor consults with other students before nodding her head and turning to the both of you.

“I received a sort of direction from a few students,” she began, beckoning for the both of you to stand, “They were hoping you could do some more intimate poses.”

You balked, nearly choking on the air in our lungs. “I-intimate?”

Professor Nobuto nodded her head enthusiastically, and you exchanged a look with Bokuto.

“Whatever you’re comfortable with — an embrace, hand holding, hands on each other’s face — get creative with it!”

And with that, the professor sits back down on her desk and begins flipping through her phone, and the two of you are left to brace the expectant looks of the art students staring up at you.

“This your first time?” Bokuto asks you gently, a sort of sympathetic look on his face as his eyes study your stiff posture.

“Yeah,” you admit, and he coaxes you towards him with an outstretched hand. You hesitantly place your fingers in his palm, and for a moment, he just stood there. It took a minute for the sounds of rapid sketching to register in your brain, and you realize he’s allowing the class to take note of this pose.

He’s standing directly across from you now, and you can feel his gaze burning trails across your body as he regards you from head to toe. You feel like an ant burning under the beam of a microscope, and you nearly burst into flames when he chuckles.

“Nice peach,” Bokuto comments, and you nearly recoil back in surprise. The last thing you had expected from Bokuto was a comment like that, but then you notice his eyes flick back down to your underwear.

The professor’s email hadn’t included too many rules or requirements. She only included the most important details, such as time, place, pay, dress code, and such. Stated in the dress code, you were allowed to wear undergarments of any neutral color. Today, you had chosen a simple pair of black underwear and figured it was the safest choice.

You hadn’t, however, noticed the large cartoon peach that had gracefully adorned the back of it, complete with a cartoon face that winked sparkles. Now that you were forced to stand, and the entire class got a good view for themselves.

“Thanks,” you deadpan through gritted teeth, “It’s pretty juicy if you asked me.”

Bokuto fails miserably to hide a smirk, but his eyes sparkled with amusement as he looked down at you.

A few minutes (or eternity) later, his hand closes around yours, pulling it up to place against his cheek. He pulls you in by the other wrist, wrapping your arm around his waist as he cups the side of your neck. His other arm wraps almost completely around your middle, and he pulls you flush against his chest.

His body was hard against yours, and you had no doubts he could feel your heart’s hundreds of beats per second. He tilts his head to the side ever so slightly, and you hope he doesn’t notice the sheen of sweat beginning to collect on your upper lip.

A fire was bound to be started with how quickly everyone around began to move their pencils, and you heart races when Bokuto absentmindedly draws circles on your skin with his thumb.

He holds you in this embrace for much longer than you anticipated, and the butterflies in your stomach were making you nauseous. His eyes are trained on your face now, the intensity of his stare making you want to shrink back, but you hold your place and return his gaze.

His eyes narrow and squint, eyebrows wiggling as his face scrunches up in thought.

“Do I know you?” Bokuto asks, and it was in this moment where you felt your stomach flip flop into the abyss. It was the one question you had hoped he wouldn’t think to ask you.

Because you did know Bokuto Kotaro, but not in the way everyone else on campus knew him.

You remember clearly the slow, dreary Wednesday morning when Akaashi Keiji asks you the same thing.

“Uh, yeah? Of course, you know me, we’re coworkers,” you replied sarcastically, and Akaashi insists it was more than that.

“You’re hiding something from me,” he simply states, and you inwardly thanked the customer that had walked and interrupted that moment.

But you should have known that Akaashi was not one to let things go, and after being berated the entire shift about how secrets don’t keep friends, you finally confessed.

You were a student at Fukurodani.

Akaashi didn’t believe you. There was no way, how was that possible? He would have recognized you. But you were the year above him, and had actively avoided school sports. Because as much as you would have liked to watch your school’s Nationally Ranked Volleyball Club play and compete with super hot athletes from across the country, there was one glaring reason why you couldn’t.

You had confessed to Bokuto Kotaro in your first year.

And you were soundly, and absolutely rejected.

He had every right to, of course. You were just his classmate, you didn’t even know each other that well, and he needed to focus all his attention on volleyball. It made sense.You know that now.

But to your young heart, it was world ending, soul crushing even, and it took you two years to get over your ridiculous one-sided crush.

Now here you were, standing in front of a group of people in nothing but your underwear, with Bokuto staring at you like a fly caught in a trap.

“No, I don’t think so,” you respond, and Bokuto scoffs.

“You’re a bad liar,” he whispers, and you find yourself grinning.

“How would you know?” You whisper back, “You just met me.”

“No, I definitely know you —“

“Alright, everyone,” Professor Nobuto announces with a smack on her desk, “That about does it for today’s session. Give some thanks to your models!”

You jump back from Bokuto as the class offers a light round of applause. The two of you bow back, and you rush over to the table as the professor approaches Bokuto.

You leave the two of them to chat as you hurriedly put your clothes back on, hoisting your bag up on your shoulder, and nearly falling over putting your shoes on.

“Thank you for today,” Professor Nobuto sneaks up from behind, a smile on her face as she hands you a blank white envelope, “I hope I see your name on the sign up sheet again.”

You offer her a grin as you accept the envelope. “Thank you for the opportunity!”

And with that, you rush out of the stuffy room and make a bee line towards the door.

“Hey, Peaches!” Bokuto’s voice makes you freeze from across the room, and you turn around to see him adorned only his pants. “You never told me your name?”

With a smirk, you put your hand on the handle, walking out the door as you yelled over your shoulder.

“I thought you said you knew me!”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

“That was a trap, wasn’t it,” you accuse Akaashi as soon as you see him again, walking into your shift at the café just as he was about to clock out.

His smile was almost evil, punching out as he gathers his jacket.

“Whatever could you possibly mean, dear coworker,” he replies, and you smack him on the shoulder.

“You had to have known Bokuto was doing that,” you seethe, glaring at Akaashi, “And you knew about… about… you’re dangerous, Akaashi Keiji.”

He laughs, waving you off, “You said you needed help, so I offered help.”

“Oh, you conniving little —“

“Akaashi, you ready?” A familiar voice cuts you, making your head twist towards the door.

A set of white and black streaked hair, a devilish grin, bright twinkling eyes — your nightmare in human form walking in.

His eyes widen as they meet yours from across the room, and he waves a hand in the air as if you could have possibly missed the six foot three volleyball player barely fitting through the door frame.

“Hey, Peaches!” He greets cheerfully, walking and leaning against the counter, “Fancy running into you here.”

“Peaches?” Akaashi asks, and your eyes shoot him a nasty glare.

“I work here,” you reply, and Bokuto’s eyes widen.

“Akaashi, why wouldn’t you tell me you have such a cutie for a coworker?!” He demands of his best friend, who simply rolls his eyes and heads out the door.

“Let’s go, Bokuto-san!”

“Akaashi! Hey, wait,” Bokuto runs one step to the door but stops and turns back, “If I come back tomorrow, you gonna tell me your name then?”

You laugh. “I don’t work tomorrow.”

“I’ll ask Akaashi for your schedule then!” He screams as he runs out the door.

The smile on your face stayed on for the rest of your shift.

#bokuto #bokuto x reader #bokuto x you #bokuto x y/n #bokuto kotaro x reader #bokuto kotaro x you #bokuto kotaro x y/n #bokuto fluff #bokuto kotaro headcanon #bokuto koutaro scenarios #bokuto imagines #haikyuu!! x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!! x y/n #haikyuu!! fic

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queenshelby · 3 years ago

Text

My Friend’s Father (Part Five)

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Reader

Warning: Age Gap, Mild Sexual References

Words: 1,848

Notes:

I have decided to make this into a series.

Alright, no judgment. This was a dream of mine and I felt like I had to write it down. Everyone in this Fic is over the age of 18 and this Fic is in no way based on Cillian’s real family life. It’s pure filth.

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

YOUR POV

Two weeks had passed since you visited your friend Denise in Dublin and it was time for the annual Galway Arts Festival.

Denise had been working on a photography project for the past year and had been nominated for a student award in Galway as part of which ten of her photographs were being displayed during the Arts Festival.

Whilst, as you had expected, Cillian didn’t contact you, you knew that he would be there to support his daughter. Being an artist himself, he was very proud of her and her work and he supported her projects not only mentally but also financially with the caveat that she would finish her degree at Trinity College.

Unlike him, he didn’t want her to drop out of university even though she hated it and you certainly understood his reasoning.

Contrary to Denise, you had no creative bone in your body. You enjoyed art and theatre, but weren’t an artist or performer yourself. Instead, you were an A Grade Law Student who had become rather bored in Galway and had recently applied for a scholarship to Oxford University.

Reading was your passion and you had always been known as a geek. In school, you were the girl that no one liked, nerdy, not interested in fashion or social media and wearing braces, which, luckily, had been removed three years ago.

You were shy and it was only for Denise that you came out of your shell. She was popular in school, mostly due to her name, but also because she was generally confident and, over the years, she helped you gain confidence especially after you had left high school.

But, today, you knew you would be questioning your gained confidence once again since, first of all, you would be seeing Cillian again and the truth was that you couldn’t stop thinking about him in an intimate way and, secondly, you were featured completely naked on some of Denise’s photographs.

Whilst the photographs were artistic and not sexual in any way and your most intimate part wasn’t visible on them, it bothered you knowing that people you disliked would see you so vulnerable and you couldn’t remember why you had agreed to being photographed like that.

The other woman who Denise chose to photograph was Amalie. She was 23 and had been Denise’s friend for a while as well but, unlike you, she began modelling professionally when she was just 16. You all went to the same private school together and, clearly, her lifestyle had been largely financed by her parents. She always wore expensive clothes and had no interest in pursuing a career other than modelling, which barely sustained her lifestyle considering the few small jobs she got.

***

Just as you served your last cup of coffee to an elderly lady sitting in the corner of the café you were working at, you saw Denise, Amalie and two other friends of Denise walk in.

‘Hey guys, take a seat. I will be right with you. I am just about to finish my shift’ you said as you hung up your apron.

‘Please tell me you will get changed before the Gallery opening tonight?’ Amalie asked somewhat weirdly and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes as you sat down at the table with her, Denise and the others before ordering some coffees for yourselves.

‘No, I thought I would go like this’ you said sarcastically, looking down at your coffee-stained clothes.

‘I bought a dress for tonight’ you then said, after Amalie didn’t seem to sense your sarcasm.

‘Right’ she then said as she flicked through Instagram and you simply looked at Denise who shrug her shoulders.

‘What are you looking for?’ you asked curiously as her eyes seemed to be glued to her phone.

‘She is looking to find more photos of my dad and Laura Jennings’ Denise said, rolling her eyes.

‘Laura Jennings, as in the actress?’ you asked, causing Amalie to nod.

‘Yes, apparently they have been dating’ Amalie then confirmed, causing you to swallow harshly. You knew that you shouldn’t care but you couldn’t help it. Knowing that Cillian was seeing someone made you feel ill.

‘And you care about that why?’ you then asked Amalie after an uncomfortable shiver ran down your spine.

‘Apparently, just like you, Amalie thinks my dad is a DILF’ Denise huffed out before telling you how disgusting you all were.

‘Well, he is though…he is super hot’ Amalie then joked before carrying on. ‘And I don’t understand how you don’t know about Laura Jennings and whether this is true or not. You need to find out’ Amalie then said but Denise simply shook her head.

‘My father doesn’t share this sort of stuff with me and I certainly don’t want to know about his sex life, thank you very much. In so far as I am concerned, he doesn’t have sex, ever…yuck! Also, I would appreciate if you could not talk about my dad anymore, please. It grosses me out’ Denise said and you knew that, all of this had become a common occurrence ever since the day the first episode of Peaky Blinders aired on BBC, a show which Denise refuses to watch herself because of the heavy sexual content and a show which you, only a week ago, had begun to binge watch.

Cillian’s POV

When Cillian walked into the basement after you had left, he immediately saw the small folded up note you had left him but, reading it, made him somewhat uncomfortable.

He was torn about what to do with it and certainly knew that he should ignore it. He couldn’t see you again even if he wanted to.

The fact that you were 23 years younger than him and that you were his daughter’s best friend made it all wrong and highly inappropriate and he didn’t know what had gotten into him in the first place when he gave into you.

He had never felt attracted towards you in any sort of way until that last visit which was the first time had seen you since you and your family had moved away.

You changed in many ways and he wasn’t sure what it was that he liked about you. But what he knew was that it was more than just sexual attraction, which was usually something he knew how to supress.

With that in mind, he placed your note into his wallet and decided to ignore it for now. But he couldn’t quite bring himself to throw it out.

***

With his bags packed it was time for him to return to Manchester and resume filming of the final season of Peaky Blinders.

The first week of filming went well and Cillian decided to spend the weekend with his friend, fellow actress Laura Jennings. Cillian and her had developed a friend with benefits sort of relationship. No strings attached and no feelings involved. After his divorce from Denise’s mother, he wasn’t ready for anything else and Laura would certainly not have been the type of woman he would have wanted a relationship with in the first place.

Unlike him, she wasn’t press shy and, whilst they kept their arrangement a secret as best as they could, she was otherwise quite active on social media.

Cillian, on the other hand, only maintained a private Instagram account with the sole purpose of being able to check on his children. Whilst they were adults, he was still worried about them, especially Denise who had recently gotten herself in a lot of trouble after distancing herself from this Jeremy boy.

***

‘Another wine?’ Laura asked as Cillian was relaxing on top of the doonas, wearing nothing but his black Calvin Klein briefs, after they had spent the last hour doing exactly what friends with benefits would do after not having seen each other for over two weeks due to busy filming schedules.

‘Yes please…thanks’ he responded as he reached for his phone after a notification had popped up.

It was his daughter Denise who had posted on Instagram and, since she hadn’t posted for a while, he decided to check it out, hoping that she wasn’t with Jeremy again.

To his surprise, three new pictures of Denise and her friends showed up when he opened the APP and, one of them, there was you.

In the picture, you were wearing accompanied by a man in his late twenties, wearing a suit while you were wearing a dark blue dress and he couldn’t help but wonder who the man by your side was.

You looked simply stunning, with your hair long and open and your shoulders exposed. You were wearing only a little bit of make up and showed your beautiful smile.

‘There you go Mr Murphy’ Laura then said as she returned to the bedroom with another glass of wine, pulling Cillian’s phone out of his hand and climbing on top of him.

‘Round Two?’ she then asked eagerly as she reached for another condom, but Cillian’s thoughts were elsewhere entirely.

‘Maybe tomorrow, I am tired. It has been a long week, sorry’ he explained, causing Laura to pout with disappointment.

But the second round never eventuated as Cillian left Laura’s house the following morning to drive back to Manchester to resume filming.

On his way back to Manchester, he called his daughter Denise to check on her and while he did, he enquired about your companion on the Instagram posts.

‘Why do you want to know?’ Denise asked somewhat confused but Cillian played it cool.

‘He looks familiar, that’s all. Didn’t he go to your school?’ he then asked, playing dumb.

‘Oh god no, he is 29. His name is Connor and he is an accountant. Y/N wouldn’t date anyone our age. You know she isn’t a normal 21-year-old’ Denise joked, referring to your nerdiness and intellect.

‘Apparently not’ Cillian chuckled before asking another question about the stranger on the picture. ‘So, they are dating?’ he asked.

‘I think they went on two or three dates or something. Why do you care?’ Denise asked.

‘No reason. I was just wondering’ Cillian confirmed before changing the topic.

Tag List:

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@peaky-cillian

@severewobblerlightdragon @ysmmsy

#cillian murphy smut #Cillian Murphy x Reader #cillian murphy #cillian murphy imagine #cillian murphy x y/n #cillian murphy x you

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reginarubie · 3 years ago

Text

Blood magic and Daenerys Targaryen choice and death

Did Daenerys merely enter the pyre because it called to her and the dragons were born because she deserved them or, like the Valyrian before her, she did a blood-rite, used blood-magic deliberately?

Up until I read the books I though a) Targaryens could be immune to fire and Daenerys was and b) Daenerys did not wake the dragons deliberately from the eggs, it had sort of happen like some twist of fate. Like she was granted them. It seemed similar to the Starks getting their direwolves (and it's not but I am going to delve into that in a bit).

But after I read the books and started to really delve into the asoiaf lore I realised that the Targaryens most surely well not immune to fire, but could be highly resistant to it and even GRRM has contested that her surviving the fire unscathed was uncommon even between Targaryens and valyrians.

Granny: Do Targaryens become immune to fire once they "bond" to their dragons?

George RR Martin: Granny, thanks for asking that. It gives me a chance to clear up a common misconception. TARGARYENS ARE NOT IMMUNE TO FIRE! The birth of Dany's dragons was unique, magical, wonderous, a miracle. She is called The Unburnt because she walked into the flames and lived. But her brother sure as hell wasn't immune to that molten gold.

Revanshe: So she won't be able to do it again?

George RR Martin: Probably not.

And, Daenerys waking the eggs from stone and calling the dragons from within is not exactly a miracle if we put it in perspective; it can be seen as some sort of miracle since the dragons have apparently gone extinct ages ago.

But, if one delves a bit into what we know of old Valyria and study a bit about who the valyrian were and what they did we understand that they were not mere dragonlords, but that they delved into blood-magic, created chimeras by genetically and biologically twisting the flesh of animals and people to make chimeras (Fire and Blood) and were generally used to use dark magic and blood magic as well.

And this is not some old custom left in the ruins of Old Valyria since Visenya Targaryen was rumoured to have dabbled in the dark sorceries (The World of Ice & Fire, the Reign of the dragons: the conquest) as well.

Now, let put that aside to return to later down, as a first time viewer of the show when Daenerys had gotten her dragons at the end of season 1 I had thought it was something similar to the Starks getting their direwolves back in episode 1. WRONG!

Why? Because the Starks do absolutely nothing but find the direwolf pups. They find them and save them. When the adults suggest they should mercy-kill the pups the Starklings advocate (Jon in particular which would beg for another meta of its own, but a matter for another time) against it and the only element of "magic" is when Jon finds Ghost as it is subtextual that with those colours of the albino (white fur and blood red eyes) Ghost has been a gift from the Gods to reward Jon for his selfness in advocating for his siblings to keep the pups even if it meant isolate himself further.

“Lord Stark,” Jon said. It was strange to hear him call Father that, so formal. Bran looked at him with desperate hope. “There are five pups,” he told Father. “Three male, two female.”

“What of it, Jon?”“You have five trueborn children,” Jon said.

“Three sons, two daughters. The direwolf is the sigil of your House. Your children were meant to have these pups, my lord.”

Bran saw his father’s face change, saw the other men exchange glances. He loved Jon with all his heart at that moment. Even at seven, Bran understood what his brother had done. The count had come right only because Jon had omitted himself. He had included the girls, included even Rickon, the baby, but not the bastard who bore the surname Snow, the name that custom decreed be given to all those in the north unlucky enough to be born with no name of their own.

Their father understood as well.

“You want no pup for yourself, Jon?” he asked softly.

“The direwolf graces the banners of House Stark,” Jon pointed out. “I am no Stark, Father.”

AGOT, Bran I

What Daenerys does it pretty different on numerous levels. In the show it is not shown as much, and it is not given much thought over, but if we see what the valerians did (dabble with blood magic and twisted the flesh of animals and men) that's exactly what Daenerys does; albeit in one case, imo, without having a clear conscience of what it may entail.

When Daenerys asks Mirri to heal Drogo she is told by the other Dothraki that the maegy will use sorcery, even Mirri herself tells her so.

"Make him another poultice," Dany begged. "This time I will make certain he wears it."

"The time for that is past, my lady," Mirri said. "All I can do now is ease the dark road before him, so he might ride painless to the night lands. He will be gone by morning."

In this aspect we are almost hinted to believe this is the same as the Starks, because she advocates to save Drogo's life like the Starklings advocate to save the pups. But, as always, the core difference is in the means used and the mindset used. The Starklings have positive acting, they will care and train the pups themselves and Ned tells them the pups may die anyway, yet they accept that anyway and are ready to care for the pups. Later we will return to it, but for now let's go on with Daenerys embracing the maegi and valyrian in her.

Her words were a knife through Dany's breast. What had she ever done to make the gods so cruel? She had finally found a safe place, had finally tasted love and hope. She was finally going home. And now to lose it all … "No," she pleaded. "Save him, and I will free you, I swear it. You must know a way … some magic, some …"

Mirri Maz Duur sat back on her heels and studied Daenerys through eyes as black as night. "There is a spell." Her voice was quiet, scarcely more than a whisper. "But it is hard, lady, and dark. Some would say that death is cleaner. I learned the way in Asshai, and paid dear for the lesson. My teacher was a bloodmage from the Shadow Lands."

[...]

"What do you mean to do?" Dany asked her.

"We need the blood," Mirri answered. "That is the way."

[...]

Jhogo edged back, his hand on his arakh. He was a youth of sixteen years, whip-thin, fearless, quick to laugh, with the faint shadow of his first mustachio on his upper lip. He fell to his knees before her. "Khaleesi," he pleaded, "you must not do this thing. Let me kill this maegi."

Braziers were lit. Mirri Maz Duur tossed a red powder onto the coals. It gave the smoke a spicy scent, a pleasant enough smell, yet Eroeh fled sobbing, and Dany was filled with fear. But she had gone too far to turn back now. She sent her handmaids away. "Go with them, Silver Lady," Mirri Maz Duur told her.

"I will stay," Dany said. "The man took me under the stars and gave life to the child inside me. I will not leave him."

[...]

"Monstrous," Mirri Maz Duur finished for him. The knight was a powerful man, yet Dany understood in that moment that the maegi was stronger, and crueler, and infinitely more dangerous. "Twisted. I drew him forth myself. He was scaled like a lizard, blind, with the stub of a tail and small leather wings like the wings of a bat. When I touched him, the flesh sloughed off the bone, and inside he was full of graveworms and the stink of corruption. He had been dead for years."

That, ladies and gents, as @sansaissteel gently pointed out to me when we were speaking of it, is all in all a chimera. We don't know how the valyrian created them only that they used blood-magic (Mirri was using blood-magic when Dany lost her child, blood magic she warned Daenerys from as well as she tried to keep her away from) and while Daenerys might have caused this unknowingly (even if she had been warned more times that one can count) that's exactly what happened, while Mirri used the blood magic to heal Drogo at Daenerys' behest it latched onto Rhaego (who probably was already genetically malformed to begin with, with all the inbreeding the Targaryens did during the centuries) and twisted its flesh and made him monstrous, a chimera.

And, it is heartbreaking and heart-wrenching, but that is the truth of it by the context we are given, even if cause unknowingly and heartbreaking for all involved as the death of her human child is a big stepping stone in Daenerys' journey toward her full embracing of her valyrian roots and beliefs.

"My son was alive and strong when Ser Jorah carried me into this tent," she said. "I could feel him kicking, fighting to be born."

"That may be as it may be," answered Mirri Maz Duur, "yet the creature that came forth from your womb was as I said. Death was in that tent, Khaleesi."

[...]

"You warned me that only death could pay for life. I thought you meant the horse."

"No," Mirri Maz Duur said. "That was a lie you told yourself. You knew the price."

Had she? Had she? If I look back I am lost. "The price was paid," Dany said. "The horse, my child, Quaro and Qotho, Haggo and Cohollo. The price was paid and paid and paid." She rose from her cushions. "Where is Khal Drogo? Show him to me, godswife, maegi, bloodmage, whatever you are. Show me Khal Drogo. Show me what I bought with my son's life."

It's that if I look back I am lost in reply to the terrible question of if she had actually known the price and had still chosen to pay it anyway (this is the price for the Iron throne - Daenerys VII, AGOT) that suggests to me that she is already well on her way to completely embrace the valyrian in her and accept that such a price is to be paid to get what she wants (and btw if that becomes her mindset doesn't it bode very ill for the price she's willing to pay to get her new end-goal, the Iron throne?)

"He seems to like the warmth, Princess," Ser Jorah said. "His eyes follow the sun, though he does not see it. He can walk after a fashion. He will go where you lead him, but no farther. He will eat if you put food in his mouth, drink if you dribble water on his lips."

Dany kissed her sun-and-stars gently on the brow, and stood to face Mirri Maz Duur. "Your spells are costly, maegi."

"He lives," said Mirri Maz Duur. "You asked for life. You paid for life."

[...]

"When will he be as he was?" Dany demanded.

Daenerys later kills Drogo because she thinks this is not life worthy of being lived, because it is not enough that her husband still lives and breaths and enjoys the warmth as well as follow the sun and eats and drinks when he is helped.

At this point we have to return to what the Starklings say to convince Ned to let them keep the pups. At first they comment on how they can nurse at the dog in the kennels and when the adults tell them that will not do, what do they do? They decide it is a mercy to kill the pups anyway because they'll have to care for them for an indefinite time?

Their lord father regarded Jon thoughtfully.

Robb rushed into the silence he left. “I will nurse him myself, Father,” he promised. “I will soak a towel with warm milk, and give him suck from that.”

“Me too!” Bran echoed.

The lord weighed his sons long and carefully with his eyes. “Easy to say, and harder to do. I will not have you wasting the servants’ time with this. If you want these pups, you will feed them yourselves. Is that understood?”

Bran nodded eagerly. The pup squirmed in his grasp, licked at his face with a warm tongue.

“You must train them as well,” their father said. “You must train them. The kennelmaster will have nothing to do with these monsters, I promise you that. And the gods help you if you neglect them, or brutalize them, or train them badly. These are not dogs to beg for treats and slink off at a kick. A direwolf will rip a man’s arm off his shoulder as easily as a dog will kill a rat. Are you sure you want this?”

“Yes, Father,” Bran said.

“Yes,” Robb agreed.

“The pups may die anyway, despite all you do.”

“They won’t die,” Robb said. “We won’t let them die.”

Bran I, AGOT

A contrast indeed. The core values are completely different than Daenerys deciding to do blood-magic even when she is warned against it to save Drogo and then decides to mercy-kill him instead of feeding him of her own hand and "training" him in away, because she'll have to care for him as the Starklings would have with the pups when they are so little.

But let's return to Daenerys and Mirri.

"When the sun rises in the west and sets in the east," said Mirri Maz Duur. "When the seas go dry and mountains blow in the wind like leaves. When your womb quickens again, and you bear a living child. Then he will return, and not before."

aka, when you will stop embracing the valyrian in you?, possible but I am not sure.

Dany gestured at Ser Jorah and the others. "Leave us. I would speak with this maegi alone." Mormont and the Dothraki withdrew. "You knew," Dany said when they were gone. She ached, inside and out, but her fury gave her strength. "You knew what I was buying, and you knew the price, and yet you let me pay it."

[...]

"Look to your khal and see what life is worth, when all the rest is gone."

[...]

Mirri Maz Duur watched from the dust with disquiet in her black eyes. "It is not enough to kill a horse," she told Dany. "By itself, the blood is nothing. You do not have the words to make a spell, nor the wisdom to find them. Do you think bloodmagic is a game for children? You call me maegi as if it were a curse, but all it means is wise. You are a child, with a child's ignorance. Whatever you mean to do, it will not work. Loose me from these bonds and I will help you."

"I am tired of the maegi's braying," Dany told Jhogo. He took his whip to her, and after that the godswife kept silent.

As she climbed down off the pyre, she noticed Mirri Maz Duur watching her. "You are mad," the godswife said hoarsely.

"Is it so far from madness to wisdom?" Dany asked. "Ser Jorah, take this maegi and bind her to the pyre."

Just a moment ago Mirri has pointed out how Daenerys has used the word maegi as an insult as if it meant witch while, instead, it means only wise. And maegi dabble in the blood magic and dark sorceries and now Daenerys tells her she's only being wise. It's a game of words, this is the moment, the moment Daenerys deliberately chooses the embrace the valyrian in her, the maegi as she intends it.

Is it even a wonder that this chapter which closes the last circle of the blood-rite comes after Daenerys IX where she affirms that she is like Aegon the Conqueror, Maegor the Cruel and all of Valyria before them?, and that the men that are her enemies will die screaming?

The blood-rite Daenerys does take up from Daenerys IX to Daenerys X, and in one chapter (Daenerys IX) she points out she is a valyrian (remember what the valyrians did?) and in this one she actually acts on it.

It's like in the rite before (the one done by Mirri) she is but an unknowing (to which point it is unsure as she herself says) variant, a bit like a headless chicken running about without the cognition of what is happening; from Daenerys IX on she is aware and actively moves toward her goal.

So, later she has this conversation with Mirri, she mercy-kills Drogo and orders that she is bind to his funeral pyre and settles the eggs on his chest.

The godswife did not cry out as they dragged her to Khal Drogo's pyre and staked her down amidst his treasures. Dany poured the oil over the woman's head herself. "I thank you, Mirri Maz Duur," she said, "for the lessons you have taught me."

"You will not hear me scream," Mirri responded as the oil dripped from her hair and soaked her clothing.

"I will," Dany said, "but it is not your screams I want, only your life. I remember what you told me. Only death can pay for life." Mirri Maz Duur opened her mouth, but made no reply. As she stepped away, Dany saw that the contempt was gone from the maegi's flat black eyes; in its place was something that might have been fear. Then there was nothing to be done but watch the sun and look for the first star.

Why is Mirri suddenly afraid?, a moment ago she commented on how Daenerys was but a child and any sacrifice she may have wanted to make would have served nothing, but now she's scared?, can it be because Daenerys has actually hit the nail of the rite in the head?, that she has perfectly understood how to do it and have it stick?

Dany took the torch from Aggo's hand and thrust it between the logs. The oil took the fire at once, the brush and dried grass a heartbeat later. Tiny flames went darting up the wood like swift red mice, skating over the oil and leaping from bark to branch to leaf. A rising heat puffed at her face, soft and sudden as a lover's breath, but in seconds it had grown too hot to bear. Dany stepped backward. The wood crackled, louder and louder. Mirri Maz Duur began to sing in a shrill, ululating voice. The flames whirled and writhed, racing each other up the platform. The dusk shimmered as the air itself seemed to liquefy from the heat. Dany heard logs spit and crack. The fires swept over Mirri Maz Duur. Her song grew louder, shriller … then she gasped, again and again, and her song became a shuddering wail, thin and high and full of agony.

Daenerys is the one pouring the oil over both Drogo, his treasures and the maegi, she's the one lighting the flame of the pyre. She is the one doing the rite. Deliberately.

And now the flames reached her Drogo, and now they were all around him. His clothing took fire, and for an instant the khal was clad in wisps of floating orange silk and tendrils of curling smoke, grey and greasy. Dany's lips parted and she found herself holding her breath. Part of her wanted to go to him as Ser Jorah had feared, to rush into the flames to beg for his forgiveness and take him inside her one last time, the fire melting the flesh from their bones until they were as one, forever.

She wants to immolate herself as well. Give her life as well.

The heat beat at the air with great red wings, driving the Dothraki back, driving off even Mormont, but Dany stood her ground. She was the blood of the dragon, and the fire was in her.

She had sensed the truth of it long ago, Dany thought as she took a step closer to the conflagration, but the brazier had not been hot enough. The flames writhed before her like the women who had danced at her wedding, whirling and singing and spinning their yellow and orange and crimson veils, fearsome to behold, yet lovely, so lovely, alive with heat. Dany opened her arms to them, her skin flushed and glowing. This is a wedding, too, she thought. Mirri Maz Duur had fallen silent. The godswife thought her a child, but children grow, and children learn.

There you have it, the last step. Daenerys knows perfectly well what she is doing, she doesn't know exactly, or cannot put that into words correctly yet, what she's paying for; but she's doing this blood-rite deliberately. And what had Mirri told her?, that a stallion would not be enough - as Daenerys has already discovered - hold onto that we are returning to that later on.

Sweat ran down her thighs and between her breasts and in rivulets over her cheeks, where tears had once run. Ser Jorah was shouting behind her, but he did not matter anymore, only the fire mattered. The flames were so beautiful, the loveliest things she had ever seen, each one a sorcerer robed in yellow and orange and scarlet, swirling long smoky cloaks. She saw crimson firelions and great yellow serpents and unicorns made of pale blue flame; she saw fish and foxes and monsters, wolves and bright birds and flowering trees, each more beautiful than the last. She saw a horse, a great grey stallion limned in smoke, its flowing mane a nimbus of blue flame. Yes, my love, my sun-and-stars, yes, mount now, ride now.

Humans, Jorah is the man she cares more for now that her husband and brother and son are all dead, do not matter anymore the only things that matter is the dragon and the flames. Completely and deliberately embracing the valyrian and maegi in herself.

Now, she thought, now, and for an instant she glimpsed Khal Drogo before her, mounted on his smoky stallion, a flaming lash in his hand. He smiled, and the whip snaked down at the pyre, hissing.

She heard a crack, the sound of shattering stone.

Or shattering bone?, could be. When one breaks a bone it does crack after all. The words are even similar in the English version.

The platform of wood and brush and grass began to shift and collapse in upon itself. Bits of burning wood slid down at her, and Dany was showered with ash and cinders. And something else came crashing down, bouncing and rolling, to land at her feet; a chunk of curved rock, pale and veined with gold, broken and smoking.

I am not digressing over the fact that wood, brush and grass shift and collars and Daenerys remains showered in ash and cinders for all the foreshadowing it has for the endgame of the books, but damn if it is not very compelling... like dragons plant no trees.

The roaring filled the world, yet dimly through the firefall Dany heard women shriek and children cry out in wonder.

Only death can pay for life.

She is doing this blood-rite deliberately, following in the footsteps of the valyrians before her. Just like she stated the chapter before this one:

She lifted her head. "And I am Daenerys Stormborn, Daenerys of House Targaryen, of the blood of Aegon the Conqueror and Maegor the Cruel and old Valyria before them. I am the dragon's daughter, and I swear to you, these men will die screaming. Now bring me to Khal Drogo."

Daenerys IX, AGOT

She is choosing this path for herself knowing perfectly well what it entails. And while I am all for agency of choice and freedom of speech and act, this doesn't mean you can do what you want and get away with it, stepping all over others (which is what she will begin to do even worse than she already did, after this point).

And there came a second crack, loud and sharp as thunder, and the smoke stirred and whirled around her and the pyre shifted, the logs exploding as the fire touched their secret hearts. She heard the screams of frightened horses, and the voices of the Dothraki raised in shouts of fear and terror, and Ser Jorah calling her name and cursing. No, she wanted to shout to him, no, my good knight, do not fear for me. The fire is mine. I am Daenerys Stormborn, daughter of dragons, bride of dragons, mother of dragons, don’t you see? Don’t you SEE? With a belch of flame and smoke that reached thirty feet into the sky, the pyre collapsed and came down around her. Unafraid, Dany stepped forward into the firestorm, calling to her children.

The third crack was as loud and sharp as the breaking of the world.

That is the mindset of valyrians, who intermarried to keep the blood pure. They were sons/daughters of the dragons, they married other dragons (their siblings) and had with them children (other dragons). And that, so near with the mantra of only death can pay for life suggest that while she may not completely understands the length at which she is going, she knows exactly what she is doing and why to a degree, since she calls herself mother of dragons as well, still knowing she cannot bear living children as Mirri has told her.

She hears three cracks and three treasons she will know, three is the number of dragons roused from the stone-eggs and three are the cities she conquers before setting her eyesight west (will she conquer only three out of seven kingdoms are Jaime tells Cersei during s7?).

And the last crack is like the breaking of the world. Which is pretty ominous in my opinion and hints to death; her death after the last treason possibly and also her death in this very moment.

When the fire died at last and the ground became cool enough to walk upon, Ser Jorah Mormont found her amidst the ashes, surrounded by blackened logs and bits of glowing ember and the burnt bones of man and woman and stallion. She was naked, covered with soot, her clothes turned to ash, her beautiful hair all crisped away . . . yet she was unhurt.

When the fire died at last, why not using a synonymous?, like I don't know extinguished, snuffed out?, I am not a native speaker but I am sure many others can be found.

You remember I had told you about Mirri pointing out how a stallion would not had been enough?, that's why. She gets three lives out of this blood-rite; and we know that the stallion is not enough of sacrifice, so who was the third sacrifice?

As Daenerys Targaryen rose to her feet, her black hissed, pale smoke venting from its mouth and nostrils. The other two pulled away from her breasts and added their voices to the call, translucent wings unfolding and stirring the air, and for the first time in hundreds of years, the night came alive with the music of dragons.

Daenerys X, AGOT

This is the first time in this chapter that Daenerys is addressed as Daenerys Targaryen instead of Dany or Daenerys and it is telling.

It's a shift.

Like as if the girl who stepped into the fire has died and the one who got out of it is another person completely.

And with the author having used the term "fire died out" and then "night came alive" it sounds like Dany/Daenerys as she has been before now has died and now Daenerys Targaryen has come alive from the recess of her mind (her dreams about the dragon she decides to follow and be like).

In fact Daenerys after this is an hyped up version of the worst and best aspects of Daenerys before this moment. In the bad and in the good - she felt sorry for the slaves before, she decides to free them when it advantages her after - she thought the lives of the sheep people were the price to pay for the Iron throne, and she keeps taking and taking and taking to reach her goal. How much more she will take before this is done?

As it goes the rites go like this:

Daenerys sacrifices (unknowingly, to which point unclear) Rhaego ➡️ to save Drogo;

After she sacrifices (knowingly) Drogo (whom she kills), Mirri (whom she orders the death of and kills, by pouring the oil over her head and lighting the pyre to which she has had her strapped) and herself (she walks into the flames) ➡️ she gets the three dragons.

Guest star the stallion, the stallion sacrifice and her willing immolation may have ensured that she came back as well.

And this rebirth of sorts due blood-magic is also proved by another quote said about Daenerys in the very text:

[...] Daenerys is quite different." He popped a roasted lark into his mouth and crunched it noisily, bones and all. "The frightened child who sheltered in my manse died on the Dothraki sea, and was reborn in blood and fire. This dragon queen who wears her name is a true Targaryen. When I sent ships to bring her home, she turned toward Slaver's Bay. In a short span of days she conquered Astapor, made Yunkai bend the knee, and sacked Meereen. Mantarys will be next, if she marches west along the old Valyrian roads. If she comes by sea, well … her fleet must take on food and water at Volantis."

Tyrion II, ADWD

Strange they would point out how she's different than Viserys and mad king Aerys, but then comment on how she is a true Targaryen because she conquered Astapor, made Yunkai bend the knee and sacked Meereen to Tyrion of all people. Just to say, Aerys and Viserys were not the worst of the Targaryens and there is not just one way to be bad.

She herself has become a chimera of sorts:

Mother of dragons, Daenerys thought. Mother of monsters. What have I unleashed upon the world? A queen I am, but my throne is made of burned bones, and it rests on quicksand. Without dragons, how could she hope to hold Meereen, much less win back Westeros? I am the blood of the dragon, she thought. If they are monsters, so am I.

So, Daenerys was always ready, from book 1, to use unprecedented measures after the valyrian blowed up in the air when Valyria fell to get to her goal. And that sounds more like the origin story of a villain than that of a hero, and it is not a wonder that when another human gets risen from death using blood magic like Beric does with Lady Stoneheart she is a mother and is ready to do whatever it takes without remorse to avenge her children.

Let's sit tight and wait to see if indeed rising from death like I think Daenerys, Lady Stoneheart and Jon do means to hype up what are already their core values and traits. A mother in Lady Stoneheart, a defender of House Stark (he gets killed because he wants to ride south to save his sister fake Arya Stark) for Jon and a true Targaryen for Daenerys.

At that point would it be surprising if she really went all show on the book canon as well and burned KL in righteous fury?

Asks pertaining this post (in chronological order)

One

Two

Three

#daenerys stormborn #dark daenerys targaryen #meta #blood magic and choice #daenerys Targaryen critical

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matthew-gray-gubler-lover · 1 year ago

Text

Sex With Spencer Reid All Seasons (season 13)

If you are under the age of 18, please do not read this story. Thank you.

This will cover what I believe sex would be like with Spencer Reid from season 1 to 15. Warning contains adult situations, Sex. Dirty talk, Orgasms, Crying, Spoilers for all seasons and Spencer Reid being a sex God.

Also includes fingering and oral sex. (Female receiving only.)

These are a little bit longer than I anticipated them to be because I wanted to give a back story as to why the sex is the way that it is for each season. To give it in depth feeling of why Spencer was the way that he was in bed that season. So I will be posting them by each season rather than all at once. I hope this gives you something to look forward to, and please leave comments, I will be leaving links to the next season below.

You are a new agent at the BAU and Spencer Reid's girlfriend, the one who takes his virginity and has sex with him for all 15 seasons and beyond.

Spencer Reid knew the first time he saw you walk through the doors of the BAU that you were the one that he was going to love forever. The first time you smiled, he knew it was the only smile that he ever wanted to wake up to. The first time he touched your hand, he knew yours was the only hand he ever wanted to hold. The first time he kissed you, he knew your lips were the only ones that he ever wanted to have pressed against his own. and the first time he made love to you, he knew you were the only one he ever wanted to do this with, and he also knew he would never be the same you or his life now, his love and his only desire.

Season 13

Spoilers for season 13

Once Spencer is finally released from prison and Cat Adams is done playing her game with him, Diana is found safe and Emily is found and Mr. Scratch is finally gone. you're back at home And are both exhausted from the really rough few days that you've had, let alone the past three months.

You drag yourself into yours and Spencer's apartment and flop on the couch. Spencer is right behind you after he shuts and locks the front door.

"I'm so glad to have you back home Spencer. I missed you so much." You told him as you just stared at him. You couldn't keep your eyes off of him. You're just so happy that he's back home, trying to forget how horrible it was the whole time he was in prison.

"I'm so tired too. You must be so tired as well. You couldn't possibly have gotten much sleep in prison. How about we just take a shower and go to bed? Or we can just go to bed if you'd rather. I understand if you don't want to be touched. It must have been awful in there. I'll keep my distance if you want me to." you offered.

The whole time you've been talking, Spencer's just been standing there at the door, staring at you. You're not sure what's wrong. Did you do something wrong? Say something wrong? He seemed like the sweet Spencer that he was before he went into prison, But maybe he's different now.

"Spence?"

Before you knew it was happening, he was rushing towards the couch, putting his hands on both side of your face and kissing your lips with passion.

"I missed you so much. You're all I thought about in there. I didn't think I was ever going to be able to kiss you again. Every time you came to visit me, all I wanted to do was just hold you in my arms and kiss you. Please don't keep your distance. I don't want you to stay away from me. I want to hold you. I want to Make Love to you. I want to kiss you. I want to take showers together. Bubble baths together. I had so many dreams in there about doing all of these things. And then I woke up and you weren't there, I wasn't in our apartment. I wasn't even in a hotel room with you on a case. I was in that horrible, horrible cell. I just want to spend as much time with you as I can. Please don't go away." he asked you almost begging.

"OK baby, don't worry. I'm not going to leave. I'm not going anywhere. I want all the same things that you want. I missed you so much. I worried about you every single minute of the day."

You both gave in to desire as Spencer kissed you and scooped you up off of the couch, carrying you bridal style into your shared bedroom. Everything was just as he remembered, as he laid you down on the Forest Green comforter. The lights were the same, the window shades were the same. Everything looked exactly the way that he remembered it.

Spencer kissed you, and the comforter felt so nice against his arms as he laid on top of you, kissing you, both of you still fully clothed.

Spencer pulled his lips away from yours. You noticed that There were tears in his eyes. You lifted up your hands and wiped them away with your thumbs before whispering. "You don't have to cry. I'm here. This isn't a dream."

Spencer sniffled and kissed your left hand, noticing your wedding ring sparkling in the moonlight That was seeping through the window.

"Promise?... Promise? This isn't just a dream. I'm not going to wake up back in there?" he asked.

"i promise."

Spencer stood up off the bed and started to remove his tie before unbuttoning his shirt. As he did so, you notice little bruises and scratches, a few cuts here and there, not even being able to allow yourself to wonder what happened to him in there.

All you wanted right now was to enjoy how beautiful Spencer is standing there before you shirtless. As he starts removing his pants, all you want is your husband. That's all you wanted for the past three months.

You were so caught up in staring at him that you didn't even notice the tears that was running down your face. But Spencer did, leaning down to wipe away the tears the same as you did with him before kissing you on the lips and saying, "it's not a dream remember?"

He then began removing your clothes, starting with your burgundy sweater. While his burgundy sweater really You wore his sweaters a lot so that you could feel close to him while he was away.

Once you are completely bare, he looked at you, lit up by only the moonlight.

"are you ok?" you asked him.

"yes, i...i missed you so much, but you said you are tired are you sure you want this?" he asked with such sadness in his voice.

"Yes of course I do. I missed you so much. But if you're tired, and I know you must be, we don't have to do this. We can just go to sleep and....."

Spencer cut you off with a passionate kiss to the lips. That was the start of a beautiful evening.

He kissed a trail from your lips, neck all the way down to your center. He opened your legs and asked, "Are you sure you want this?"

"yes please i need it so badly."

Spencer then put his head down and began licking you. Something that you missed so very much. You missed the touch, the smell, everything of Spencer Reid. He was all that you wanted, all that you needed.

After two orgasms from oral, Spencer kissed his way back up and asked. "You sure you want more? I can wait until tomorrow."

"If we wait until tomorrow, we both might explode. Please. Please. I need you Spencer. I need you so badly. I needed you then. I need you now. I'll need you always."

And with that Spencer slowly slid inside of you and interlace your fingers together, Both of you moaning with the extreme pleasure. Not being with each other for so long made everything so sensitive, even though you just had two orgasms from oral. Spencer's movements were slow. His kisses were filled with love and appreciation for you. It's as though Spencer never wanted this moment to end. And truly, you didn't either.

You were so happy to be back together, and you're both very thankful for the six weeks' worth of vacation time that you were given.

Once Spencer was reinstated, he was very happy to be back on the team, but disappointed to learn that it wasn't A full reinstatement. He would have to take time off and it was mandatory but was thrilled to hear that he was going to be able to be a professor thanks to Prentiss.

You thought the Spencer looked so cute as a professor. Of course you always thought that he was hot. And that's what sparked the idea in your head. One day you didn't have a case in Spencer was working at the school, so you decided to go and bring him a surprise lunch.

You Tippy toed into the room as Spencer was still teaching. There was still 5 minutes' worth of teaching time before Class was lit out for lunch.

You couldn't help but notice how all the girls in the class were flipping their hair and staring at your husband as he walked back and forth describing criminology.

You even heard a couple of them say he's so hot as they walked out of the room to go to lunch. Something that made you angry but also very proud because you're his wife and those girls will never have him.

Spencer was erasing the chalkboard when he heard a familiar voice.

"Hey there Professor Sexy"

He turned around to see you walking towards him, holding a little bag in your hand containing his lunch.

"Y/N" he said loudly.

"yep it's me, and i can't Begin to tell you how sexy you are when you teach. I didn't think that you could get any sexier, but lo and behold, you did." You told him as you placed the plastic bag on his desk.

"what's this?" he asked after kissing you.

"It's your lunch. A Turkey sub on wheat with a side of potato chips."

"Thank you honey, this is so sweet. What inspired this? He asked as he took the sub out of the bag."

"Just missed you."

"i missed you too, and you know i am Hungry, but I think that I'm going to save this sub for later because there's something else that I really want to eat right now.

"oh, i'm sorry i thought...." Spencer cut you off with a kiss before whispering in your ear. "Don't you want to know what I'm hungry for?"

"yes"

"you" he whispered in your ear.

"How do you feel about having sex on my desk?" he asked you.

You couldn't believe what he was suggesting doing, and if you weren't so turned on, you might have thought differently than you were right now. But all you could think about was how sexy he was and how much you wanted him.

"yes, yes i want to" you answered.

That was all he needed to hear. He picked up the sub and put it back in the bag and placing the bag on his chair before lifting you up and putting you up on the desk.

Making things all the better for him was the fact that you were wearing a skirt Today he lifted that up, removing your black underwear and licking right up your center.

"Mmm so good, and Exactly what I wanted." he moaned.

You moaned as you put your head back on the desk and ran your fingers through his curly hair.

"Are you close baby?" He asked you.

"yes" you moaned out.

Just then, he pulled his mouth away from you before quickly removing his belt and dropping his pants along with his underwear. Didn't even give you time to fully process what was happening. You didn't even really realize that his mouth had left you before he was pushing inside of you.

"Oh honey I'll never get tired of this feeling. You always feel so good around me. I want you to finish with me inside of you OK?"

"ok"

If someone would have told you when you first met Spencer that one day he would be a professor and you'd be having sex on his desk, you would have told them they were completely insane, that this man would never have sex with you on his desk. but here you are.

You were even more surprised to how much time he was taking with you, given that class is going to resume after lunch.

"Did you ever fantasize about this honey? About having sex with your professor husband on his desk?" Spencer asked you.

"yes i have" you answered.

"you know i think some of the girls in my class think about it to, but you are the only one who can have me like this," he whispered in your ear.

Spencer chuckled before asking. "Ready?"

"YES!" you tell out. right before spencer came inside of you.

Both of you moaning together in unison.

It's a good thing that you're both done, because as soon as he got done moaning your name and your ear, the bell rang, lunch was officially over, and Professor Sexy had to go back to teaching those girls who wanted your husband but would never have him.

Spencer kissed you and said "thank you for lunch"

As you walk to the door, you can see the girls ogling at your husband again, but you walked out knowing that you were the only one who could ever have sex with him on his desk, or anywhere for that matter.

That night when Spencer came home and was grading papers, you couldn't keep your eyes off of him still wearing his outfit from being a professor. Not really that much different than the clothes that he wears normally at the BAU. but still there was something about him.

You made dinner and then spencer took a shower. Spencer still has some papers to grade.

So you decided to take your shower while you were waiting for him to get done grading. You were still so turned on by him as he sat Wearing his Gray bathrobe in his comfy green chair, located in front of the window right next to the bookshelf with a light and a little table. As he graded the papers. Just looking so beautiful, so sexy. So gorgeous.

When you are done with your shower, you came back out of the bathroom wearing your pink bathrobe.

You could see that there wasn't many papers left in front of Spencer, so you walked over to him and stood next to the chair.

spencer looked up at you and said "hey baby what's up?"

"Just watching my sexy professor husband wondering how much longer it's going to be before I can take care of him."

"i just finished the last paper."

"well that's good Because I couldn't wait for you anymore, you told him as you begin kissing his neck, standing next to the chair, making your way onto his lap.

As you did so, you could see something starting to peek up through the opening of Spencer's bathrobe, and you couldn't be happier to see it. You on tied his bathrobe and sunk down onto his perfect penis. You were so greedy for him, you just swallowed him right on up, causing Spencer to moan.

"are we going to have sex right here?" spencer asked.

"yep" you answered.

Your movements were slow and your kisses were full of love. You just wanted to feel your husband inside of you again, something that you missed so much the three months that he was away. And truth be told, he couldn't get enough of you either.

But the slow movements became too much for Spencer. He ended up holding onto your hips and thrusting up into you, causing you to throw your head back and moan out his name.

Spencer then picked you up, wrapping your legs around his waist, never pulling out and carrying you into your bedroom, laying you softly on the bed and making love to you.

You were both so glad that Spencer was back home. The love of your life was back with you in your bed, holding you tight, listening to the sound of his heartbeat, feeling his fingertips run up and down your back, telling you, loving things. And you were never going to lose him again.

Of course, you really didn't like the fact that the new recruits for the BAU kept ogling at your man. but Again you knew that you were truly Spencer Reid's. One and only love.

Everything was going so wonderfully for you and Spencer. That was until the day that he got kidnapped again.

Masterlist for these stories

#doctor spencer reid #spencer reid #dr spencer reid #criminal minds #dr reid #mgg #reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid criminal minds #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid self insert #spencer reid x fem!reader

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pleasantanathema · 4 years ago

Text

Santa Daddy | Jean Kirstein x Reader

Pairing: Jean Kirstein x Reader

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Daddy kink, dirty talk, thigh riding, mutual pining, friends to lovers (or, rather, idiots to lovers), lots of holiday fluff

Word Count: 6k

A/N: This is my Secret Santa gift to @whats-her-quirk 🎄💕 June, thank you so much for being a wonderful friend; I was truly lucky and privileged to get you as my Elf for Secret Santa! I hope this fluffy (and dirty) little fic with our best boi Jean brings you some holiday cheer!

There were only a few things in the world that made you happier than watching Jean Kirstein smile. Like most of your friends, you’d met him through work, but there was always something so special, almost magical, about seeing his darling smile and hearing his boisterous laugh. And you rarely passed up on a chance to see delight spread across his handsome face, which is why you couldn’t say no when he asked you to join him on a get-a-away with your friends for the holidays.

The inquiry came after you mentioned how you wouldn’t be able to make it home for the holidays due to a winter storm blowing in. It would be the second season in a row that the weather kept you from visiting home.

You could still hear his voice in your head, “alone? For Christmas?”

He’d then insisted you join him and his friends at Sasha’s family cabin. It was tradition for them, a gathering of misfits finding communion together out in the wilderness for a few days before the new year. You had taken trips with your friends before to amusement parks, festivals, even to the beach at Armin’s request, but something about being invited to an intimate setting to celebrate holiday traditions had you anxious.

So, there you were, swaddled in blankets, listening to Eren bicker with Mikasa while Sasha and Connie bustled in the kitchen to make eggnog and treats. Armin had declined to join, citing that he’d seen too many horror movies about young adults alone in cabins to feel comfortable making the trip.

And, true to form, Jean was running late. He was always late, his mind constantly moving a mile a minute unless he consigned himself to much needed rest and relaxation. Though, this time, you felt a little lonely while waiting for him on the couch, like there was a small part of you missing as you watched the snow fall outside.

“So, none of you guys go home for the holidays?” You looked over toward the modest, plastic tree that Sasha had thrown down from her attic to bring a little holiday cheer to the living room, a few poorly wrapped presents and bags nestled under the branches.

“Well,” Eren cleared his throat, “we are orphans.” He pulled at Mikasa’s scarf for emphasis.

“Oh fuck, yeah, sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“Don’t worry about, he just always brings it up to get sympathy gifts.” Mikasa sighed, jerking the red cloth from his hands and scowling. Eren only laughed, brushing a stray hair from his face that had come loose from the bun at his nape.

You sunk a little deeper into the cushions, eyes glancing out the window in hopes you’d see headlights flash in the driveway.

“Do you think Jean’s okay? He should’ve been here a while ago and the storm is getting closer.”

“Jean, Jean, Jean,” Sasha trotted into the room, balancing a mountain of sweet-smelling cookies on a plate, “you’re always worried about him.”

“Someone should be, guy’s an idiot.” Eren chimed in, green eyes shining from the low flames rolling in the fireplace. He and Mikasa were sitting in the floor, a game of checkers spread out before them, with more stolen pieces resting near the cunning Ackerman’s side of the board.

Eren wasn’t wrong, but over the years you’d known your group of friends, you’d noticed just how much the man in question had grown. In his early twenties, Jean had been quite the bumbling fool, having literally met you by bumping into your shoulder while leaving work, only to look at you and mumble “god you’re beautiful,” before issuing a quick apology as he rubbed at his neck sheepishly. You’d never mentioned the moment again, though your stomach still churned with a slight thrill every time you thought about it.

But over the years he’d managed to turn that puerility into something much more charming. He was more refined, almost infuriatingly suave, easily gaining attention from anyone and everyone. And though you sometimes hated to admit it, he’d captured your thoughts as well.

You kept your budding crush on Jean Kirstein close to your chest, not admitting it to any of your close friends. You always figured he was out of your league, seeing that he had a new, more beautiful girlfriend just about every other month. But, despite your simmering feelings, you still allowed yourself to get closer and closer to him over the years—some might say he’s your best friend, but you might call him your most treasured vexation.

Another hour or so went by, your time spent nibbling at cookies and reminiscing with everyone about another year passed.

Then the door finally opened, cold air gusting into the small living room as Jean stomped his damp boots on the entry mat.

“Have you guys opened presents yet?”

You glanced over the back of the couch, heart tugging in your chest as you noticed snow dusted in his long hair and a sizeable red and white polka dot package in his hands.

“No because Christmas is tomorrow, or did you forget that too?” Connie said it with crumbs in his mouth, feet kicked up on the coffee table.

Jean laughed, running a hand through his hair before wrapping the gift in his arms like it was something valuable.

“I know, I know, and sorry I’m late, had something important to go get.” He smiled, bright and cheery, hazel eyes bouncing between his friends and the carefully guarded box, “I ask because…uh, this needs to be opened kind of soon.”

“Is it perishable?” Sasha perked up, already ready to go make room in the fridge if something delectable was waiting as a gift.

“I mean…you could say that? It may or may not be alive.” He was laughing, that kind of infectious laughter that had everyone in the room grinning whether they wanted to or not.

Jean didn’t set the present down to even take off his shoes, instead tracking snow in with him and plopping onto the couch with flurries still on shoulders. He nudged your knee with his, pushing the present toward you. You pressed your lips together, hands getting sweaty as you pieced the puzzle together.

“Is that…?”

“Yeah,” his grin was pulling at his cheeks, eyes so sincere and happy and it almost startled you, “it’s for you.”

The top of the box moved, the green bow popping on top of the polka dots.

You moved the gift into your lap, pulling off the top to find perky ears and green eyes peering up at you—a kitten, grey and striped, with long, white whiskers and a pink bow around its neck greeted you with muted curiosity. You just stared at it for a moment, and it stared back, like you were both wondering just how it got into your lap.

“I just,” Jean was getting nervous, carding his fingers through his hair again as he waited for your reaction, “I wanted to make sure you’d never spend another holiday alone, you know?”

You carefully picked up the little cat, watching how it stretched and yawned as you pulled it from the carefully lain blanket inside its temporary home.

You smiled, pulling the warm little bundle to your chest.

“Um, Jean, this cat has six toes on her paws,” you said, pressing your thumb gently against one of the extra appendages in question.

“Six toes?!” Sasha was jumping up from her seat, bounding over to kneel in front of you and pluck one of the kitten’s paws into her fingers. The cat quickly pulled its paw back, little black toe beans curling to its chest.

“Yeah, it’s what drew me to her. She’s extra special…” you could’ve sworn you heard him mutter something under his breath, a little musing of “just like you,” but any hushed murmur was overshadowed by the ohs and ahs of your friends gathering around to look at the adorable little creature.

The kitten had been lulled to sleep by the car ride from the shelter to the cabin, content to just curl up in your arms as inquisitive fingers prodded at her little kitten mittens and the silky, white tufts in her ears. Even Mikasa was enraptured by the tiny animal, taking the time to retie the little pink ribbon around her neck to make a bigger, prettier bow.

You noticed how your friends were whispering, cheeky grins pressed against eager ears as they looked between you, the precious kitten, and Jean on the couch. You were starting to feel like you were missing something, or maybe that you were at the end of a joke you hadn’t caught on to yet.

“Thank you,” you whispered to Jean after the fuss died down, everyone returning to their seats and back to their previous fixations.

You’d mentioned perhaps wanting a cat a few weeks ago; it was just a silly, off-hand comment you made over coffee about how you’d once read that people with cats live longer because they pick up on the nine-lives of their feline partner. You didn’t believe it to be true, but you’d mused about the idea of having a cute kitten of your own to snuggle up with on lonely nights.

“I know it’s sudden and a lot of responsibility, so if you don’t want her—”

“No,” you cut Jean off, bundling the kitten a little closer in your arms, your heart singing as you felt her start to purr, “no, I want her, she’s perfect.”

Jean finally started to get settled himself, standing up and shrugging off his jacket. He was in a tight turtleneck, coal black threads stretched to their limit across his broad chest and shoulders, hugging his trim waist. You were careful not to stare for too long as he stretched his arms above his head to shake off the weariness of his drive through the snow.

He always looked like he stepped out of a fashion catalogue, fresh and so put together that sometimes you were tempted to snap his photo when he wasn’t looking; he just looked that good all the time. He loved to wear designer clothes and keep up with the latest menswear trends, and tonight was no different, that beautiful black turtleneck (that was covered in grey fur) undoubtedly belonging to a designer whose name you probably couldn’t pronounce.

“What are you gonna name her?”

He sat a little closer this time on the couch, a brawny arm outstretched behind you as he leaned over to scratch at the kitten’s chin.

“I don’t know,” you admitted, gazing down at the serene, sleepy face in your arms, “I’ll have to get to know her first.”

“Well, I’ve been calling her Frankie.”

“Frankie?” You smiled through your confusion, the name sounding oddly right.

“She was pretty wild in the car and kept meowing when Frank Sinatra was on the radio.”

“I see,” you laid the kitten down into your lap, sweeping your fingers through her fur and watching as she curled up into a tighter little circle, “well, I’ll consider it.”

You felt warm, heavy fingers brush against the back of your neck, Jean absentmindedly painting figure eights into your prickling skin. Heat flushed to your face as you realized just how close your bodies had become—his thigh was pressed against your own, dark jeans tight and hot, the scruff of his cheeks brushing against your own as he toyed with the sleeping cat’s tail.

There were voices all around you, the muffled sounds of your friends relaxing together falling almost on deaf ears. Your whole world felt like it just revolved around this couch, like nothing else mattered beyond the simple touches to your skin and the drowsy kitten beneath your hands. He never wanted you to spend another holiday alone, you replayed his words, the sweet sentiment finally settling into your spirit.

_______________

You could tell everyone was starting to get a bit sleepy, a few hours spent drinking spiked eggnog and chasing the new kitten around with a feather toy having left you especially exhausted. Your head was a little swimmy as you bid everyone goodnight, the grey tabby cat following closely on your heels to your bedroom where Jean had already brought in a litter box and a bed for her to sleep in. Jean, underneath all the designer bravado and smiles, was perhaps the most thoughtful person you knew.

But despite the heaviness in your head, you couldn’t seem to sleep. You tossed and turned in the bed, occasionally picking up your phone to scroll through it or just watch the time tick by. You had a lot of thoughts mulling around in your mind, most of them revolving around the man sleeping just right across the hall.

Never in a million years did you expect Jean to walk in with a beautiful, perfect kitten as a gift. The little thing was back to sleeping again, this time curled around one of your feet, each exhale a little purr against your toes.

You’d carried the weight of this crush around for too many years. You rubbed your palms against your eyes, sighing as you came to terms with your feelings for Jean for what felt like the thousandth time. Your pining was starting to take its toll, too, what with the sleeping giant so close yet so far away.

And you still felt like you were missing something.

Throughout the night, your friends had seemingly been playing coy, teasing Jean about getting you such a big, sentimental gift. Maybe they had all caught wind of your suppressed feelings and were poking at Jean for even daring to indulge you. Now you were just getting frustrated with your thoughts, sighing as you tried to squeeze your eyes shut and force yourself to sleep.

But then you heard a little sound, the soft buzz of your phone against the wood of the night stand.

Jean: You awake?

Your heart skipped a little in your chest as you saw his name flash upon your screen. You texted him nearly every day, yet he never failed to send a little jolt of adrenaline down your spine.

You: Yeah. Can’t sleep.

Jean: Me either. Cabin is too fucking cold.

You: I have a kitty asleep on my feet, definitely helps beat the chill.

Jean: A warm kitty sounds nice right now.

Only a few seconds passed before the next message appeared.

Jean: Wanna come keep me company?

Your thumb hovered over the keyboard for a moment, your mind not even thinking about the words in front of you. Instead, you were picturing Jean in his bed, hair tussled with his own phone in his hand as he texted you, light spilling over his bare chest in the dark. You wondered what he was thinking—maybe he just wanted you to bring the cat over to see him for a bit, or maybe his mind was wandering in the same place yours was, which was picturing him naked beneath his sheets.

You set the phone down, momentarily starting to panic.

You hadn’t prepared for this, hadn’t prepared for the possibility that Jean might be asking you to come get in his fucking bed with him. Thank god you took a leisurely shower earlier—and you still smelled good, you checked.

You stood up from the bed, watching the kitten stretch and quickly fall back asleep on top of the blankets. You bent down to slip on your pajama pants, but then found yourself debating if you should just leave the flimsy material behind.

If this was what you were hoping it was, walking in without pants would send the “I got the hint, I’m here to fuck,” message loud and clear.

But if this was just “hey pal come keep me company, I’m bored,” walking into his room in nothing but a shirt and panties could be quite awkward.

You decided to hedge your bets, stuffing your pajama bottoms back into your bag as that lingering liquid courage from the eggnog set in. If worse came to worse, you could always say you forgot to pack them.

You carefully closed the door behind you, making sure the cat didn’t follow.

Then, it was literally just a few steps to Jean’s room. Conveniently, his door was cracked. Did he get up and leave it open for you? Did he always sleep with his door cracked? Or had he planned all along to ask you to come over?

You shook your head, taking a deep breath. Those inessential thoughts needed to be quieted.

The door creaked as you slid past it, the old hinges signaling your arrival and making Jean’s attention whip towards you. His phone was still in his hand, like was watching your messages and too-eagerly anticipating your reply.

“Hey,” you whispered into the darkness, wincing as the door kept groaning as you pushed it shut behind you. You leaned against it for a moment, too nervous to just waltz up to his bed and fall in. You chewed at the inside of your cheek as you waited for him to break the silence.

“Aren’t you cold?” He whispered back, shifting in the bed.

His figure was illuminated by the pale, grey light from window, the snow clouds still keeping the moon suppressed in the sky. Like you’d imagined, he was shirtless, all those hard-earned muscles on display from where he was propped up on his elbows, sheets low against his waist.

“I thought you were cold, Mr. No Shirt.”

“You’re not wearing pants.”

“I’m not wearing pants,” you parroted back.

You watched the smile spread across his face, that darling, infuriatingly pretty smile that made you a little too happy in this moment.

He pulled his sheets back in invitation, revealing that he, too, was not wearing pants, only clad in blue boxer briefs that were sinfully tight around his upper thighs, etchings of Calvin Klein pressed against his lower stomach.

His hands were on you before you even settled onto the mattress, warm and greedy and pulling you flush against his body. All those worried thoughts you had before vanished under his touch, the message you had been missing suddenly loud and clear: you weren’t the only one hiding your feelings. All those veiled emotions came alive beneath wandering hands, your fingers digging into the meat of his shoulders as his found the flesh of your thighs.

“Was this what you were thinking about when you invited me here?”

You breathed in the smell of his warm skin as you settled against him, notes of his cologne still lingering against his body.

�� “This is what I think about all the time,” he confessed, nudging his thigh between your legs.

You couldn’t stop the moan that fell from your mouth as the muscles of his thigh pressed against your aching core.

“Me too,” you were pulling his face down to yours, thumbs against his cheeks as you pressed your lips to his.

A satisfied sound rang from both of your throats, lips melding and slanting against one another hungrily.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” His words were lost within the kiss, being swallowed down as you kept drinking him in.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” You echoed back, gasping as his hands slid underneath your shirt and began to wander across your belly, reaching up toward your ribcage.

You both knew the answer to that: you were idiots, too scared to admit feelings even though they were clearly on display for everyone around you. But now the question didn’t matter, all the answers you wanted about to be shared between your anxious bodies with starved kisses and touches.

You shamelessly pressed yourself a little harder against his thigh, sighing as your pussy found relief against his leg. He groaned at your action, moving his thigh back and forth a little bit to see how you would react. When you whimpered, your own thighs squeezing around his, he smirked, repeating the motion of sweeping his thick, sturdy thigh back and forth between your legs.

“You like that?” His head was tilting down, teeth nipping at your jaw and down your neck as your head fell back against the pillow.

“Y-yes, feels so good.”

His hands were still traveling, wandering across your heated skin like he wanted to map your curves into his memory. He groaned against your throat when he discovered you’d also forgotten to wear anything under your t-shirt, his thumbs lazily brushing the undersides of your breasts.

You felt like you were burning beneath his sheets, like he was painting fire against your skin with every touch. His large hands engulfed your breasts, carefully kneading and rolling your soft flesh in his palms. He was eager to kiss you again, to slip his tongue past your parted lips and get addicted to your taste.

Jean pinched and pulled at your hardening nipples, greedily taking your little mewls into his mouth. He touched you like he already knew you, pulling at your body like you were the perfect little sex doll on strings for him to play with; rocking you on his thigh, tugging at your nipples, tongue dancing in your mouth, his hair tickling your cheeks, his cock hard and hot against his stomach.

Your panties were getting more and more wet by the second, the soaked material sinking into your folds as you rubbed yourself against the downy hairs and rounded, solid muscle of his upper thigh. His boxer briefs were bunching closer to his hips, pre-cum already staining against the fabric where his cock was imprinted into the threads. You slipped your hand down his impressive chest, fingers dipping into the elastic of his briefs.

“Oh fuck,” he groaned against your lips, pulling back to suck in a breath as your fingertips brushed against the head of his cock, “fuck you’re so hot riding my thigh like that, so fucking wet.”

“You did say you wanted a warm kitty.”

Your words had him pinching harder at your nipples, making you gasp as he chuckled.

“Mhm I can’t wait to play with your kitty, make you mine,” he punctuated his sentence by bouncing his leg up, sending electric pulses of pleasure racing over your nerves.

You responded by pulling his cock from its confines, wrapping your fingers around it and tugging at the silken skin. God he was thick, barely fitting in your palm as you moved your wrist up and down. You suddenly felt so small against him, realizing that he was dwarfing you just by lying next to you in the bed. His long, thick fingers could spread across the entirety of your chest, the thigh sliding against your pussy was enormous, but it felt like it belonged there; you could get used to riding him like this.

You both fell into a frenzied, delirious rhythm, your bodies bucking and panting as you found bliss against each other.

His hands slid down your body, leaving your tender breasts and searching for a new home. He found your hips, fingers digging into your skin as he rocked you back and forth against his thigh himself, using the strength in his forearms to have your pussy pressed down against him in the most perfect way to have you seeing stars and whining his name.

“Gonna cum, baby? Gonna cum just from riding me?”

“Fuck, yeah, yes, please, make me cum like this.”

Your hand had gone slack against his cock, your mind almost unable to concentrate under the waves of pleasure building and coiling inside you.

It felt too good to have his rapacious hands on your hips, grip mean and tight as he basically fucked you against his thigh. You wanted to scream, your other hand clawing at the back of his neck for stability.

“Baby,” he breathed, peppering a few kisses along your cheek, “could…could you call me daddy when you cum?”

There was a hesitancy in his voice, like he was ashamed to ask such a thing.

Your lower belly clenched, heat racing across all your nerve endings like he’d just poured sin straight out of his mouth.

You nodded your head for him, uncontrollable moans and gasps getting in the way of your own words. The thought of calling him daddy, that sent something wicked down to your pussy, had your fingers squeezing and tugging at his cock again and your eyes falling shut.

It felt like your sanity was breaking, like reality was splintering and this wasn’t real—you were dreaming again, weren’t you? But then you felt his cock twitch in your hand, felt your swollen clit brush against your panties and his thigh, and you were thrusted back into the actuality of your situation. You were with Jean, he was groaning in your ear, and you were about to cum all over him.

“D—da…,” you were choking, so overwhelmed with a final cresting of bliss that you almost felt like sobbing.

But he just clutched you more tightly, pressed you harder against him, whispering your name in encouragement to let yourself go for him.

Then, you lost all of your sensibilities, euphoria washing over your body as you snapped and came undone with a little whine of, “daddy,” against his lips. You slowed the rocking of your hips, your heart beating out of your chest, your pussy pulsing and clenching as you rode out the last remnants of your orgasm.

“Holy fucking shit that’s so hot, you’re so hot,” he mumbled, one of his hands smoothing against your cheek.

“Wha—,” you smiled, shaking your head as you caught your breath, “what are you doing with a daddy kink, Jean?”

He mimicked your smile, hands moving to slide your ruined panties down your legs and removed the rest of your clothing as he repositioned your bodies. You let him move you around like a ragdoll, so delirious in your afterglow that you barely even registered how he was hooking your legs onto his shoulders.

“Do you not like calling me daddy?” There was a seriousness laced into his tone that told you he’d drop it if it made you uncomfortable.

“I like it,” you fisted one of your hands in his hair, bringing his lips to yours for a slow, messy kiss, “just didn’t expect it.”

“I’m full of surprises, baby.”

You felt the head of his cock nudge between your wet folds, his hands back on your hips where they belonged. Your head fell back against the pillow as he started to push inside of you, stretching your walls and making your toes go almost numb from the pleasure. You felt like you were splitting apart, like a fissure was forming down the middle of your body, stemming from where he was spearing into you.

With your legs on his broad shoulders, he was pushing you into the mattress, his hands urging your hips to relax and let him sink into your warm heat.

“Ohhhh fuckkkk daddy,” you couldn’t help but to whine, all your senses suddenly overwhelmed again. You were drowning in him, falling deeper and deeper into the throes of heaven with every inch of his fat cock slipping inside of you.

“God you’re so tight,” he presses his forehead to yours, keen eyes watching how your lips were falling apart and your eyebrows scrunching together in pleasure, “that’s right, daddy’s going to take such good care of you.”

It felt like all your history with him was being wiped away, like this moment wasn’t about two friends fulfilling all their years of mutual pining, but instead about a new relationship blooming between two bodies full of lust and desire. This was about Jean fucking you senseless, about him taking control and finally having what’s belonged to him for longer than he probably even realized. You wanted to lose yourself to him, lose yourself to his appetite and just let him devour you.

All the air left your lungs when bottomed out inside of you, your walls clenching and sucking him in. He stayed still for a moment, nearly lost himself at the feeling of your cunt wrapped so tightly around his cock.

“So fucking perfect,” he groaned, dragging his cock out of you slowly before pressing in again, your cunt greedily sucking him back in.

“I always have been,” you teased, one hand lost in his hair while the other slid down the expanse of his back. You bucked your hips in his hands, coaxing him to keep moving.

“Oh fuck. Good girl.”

His praise made you feel drunk, liquid heat rushing to your ears and between your legs.

He began to snap his hips, repeatedly burying his cock into your depths, the angle of your body making him hit that fleshy patch inside of you. You cried out at the feeling of being so stuffed, your walls burning from the intrusion but that coil inside your belly tightening again, hotter and more intense than before.

“Mhmmm, such a good girl, I promise,” you pressed your lips to his in reassurance, letting your breathy moans fall into his mouth as he started to get a little rougher. His pace was steady, solid, a hard motion of his cock thrusting in and out of you, each push and pull full of purpose and passion. Every plunge was making your lower stomach spasm, making pleasure burst across your body so forcefully that you felt that urge to cry again.

“Wanted to fuck you for so long,” his face was tucked underneath your chin, mouth trailing across your throat between his words. A particularly hard suck against your neck had your back arching, breasts flattening against his chest and your nails clinging to him.

Jean sat back on his knees, big hands smoothing down your thighs as he looked to where your bodies were conjoined, watching how your pussy enveloped his cock with every thrust of his hips, sweet skin encasing all of his length. He looked enraptured by the sight, groaning and hissing every time he pressed inside of you.

Then his eyes were flashing up to your face, softening as he took note of your blissed-out state, your face flushed and your lip between your teeth.

“So pretty,” he mused, a palm ghosting up to your chest to toy with one of your tits as he found a new rhythm.

You were ensnared by the scene before you as well, eyes wide with delight as you admired the man before you. Jean felt unhinged, electric between your legs, like he’d finally let go and was pouring all his clandestine secrets into your willing body. His chestnut hair was swept over his shoulders, the muscles in his arms and across his body rolling, rounded and thick like he was marble come to life. And his face was smooth, pretty, concentrated, cheeks dusky with a dark blush as he found euphoria from within your body.

Your hips began to match his thrusts, bucking up into him in order to feel his thick cock fall deeper into you. His strong hands encouraged you, gripping into the supple flesh of your thighs as he pressed himself into your wetness, faster and faster with every thrust.

“Daddy,” you called out to him, having to bite back a grin as you observed how quickly you earned his attention, “you feel s-so good,” your hand was traveling down your chest, trailing over his fingers on your breast before snaking down to your clit, “p-please let me cum again.”

You had an inkling that he would take over for you.

His thick, long fingers hovered over your own, carefully aiding in swirling over your aching clit. You hissed, recognizing the buildup to orgasm pooling within your belly.

Jean’s other hand slid higher upon your body, fingers lacing around your ribcage, framing the underside of your breast. He began to forcefully pull your body into his, sliding you upon and down the sheets and upon his cock. You cried out, legs tightening at his waist, pulling him closer, deeper, begging him to devour you and take what he wanted. His thumb was almost impatient on your clit, now circling so quickly that your body was shaking, lower stomach clenching and unclenching repeatedly like you were lost in a reckless tide.

“Shit, I’m not gonna last with you squeezing me like that, baby.”

Your mouth watered at the thought of him finding that ultimate pleasure inside of you. Your ears became tuned to the chorus of resonances between your legs, the sweet, wet sounds of skin against skin, of slick at the base of a fat cock, of Jean grunting your name like a lost prayer.

The final chord of your sanity was threatening to snap, you could feel it again, like he was pulling the strings of your body too tightly and you were going to splinter and break with just the right swipe of his thumb.

“I-inside,” you mewled, unable to keep your eyes open any longer as your thighs began to quake, “daddy—oh fuck, fuck—cum inside me, please,”

God you were so fucking close to falling off the edge, and he could feel it, using his grip to bring you even harder and faster down onto your cock to get you careening and falling again.

Your push into oblivion came when you heard him pleading, almost whining, above you, sweat dripping down his skin as his syllables flowed together, “please, please, please, fuck, cum for daddy, cum for me, please.”

You could both feel it, how you creamed around his cock, pussy sucking him in so deliciously tight that it caused him to lose all control. His fingers dug a little too deep, his cock throbbing and pumping deep inside of you with his release. It was like the world went quiet, like a blanket of snow fell onto your bodies and hushed your sounds and cooled your skin. You could feel the heavy weight of him inside of you, like he was meant to be there. Your body relaxed, feeling like you were sinking into the mattress and he was the only thing keeping you from being lost.

When he finally pulled his spent cock from inside you, he wasn’t gone long. His hands were back on you again, pulling you in for simple, affectionate kisses and rubbing tenderly at the places he’d perhaps explored too roughly.

“Jean…” you cut yourself off with a yawn, fatigued limbs winding into his own.

His thigh found its home between your legs again, both of you groaning with a mixture of lust and disgust as you felt his cum drip into a mess between your thighs.

“Whatever it is can wait until morning, we need to sleep.”

“Oh fuck, it’s Christmas.”

He nuzzled your cheek, lips searching for yours.

“Mhmm, Merry Christmas, baby.”

You laughed, laying your head against his chest.

_______________

You weren’t sure how long you slept, but it felt like you spent a small eternity in Jean’s bed before your eyes opened again. When you awoke, he was already awake, sitting on the edge of the bed with the kitten in his arms. She was ready to play, striped tail swishing as he dangled a toy mouse just out of her reach.

“What time is it?” You stretched, suddenly all too aware that you were still very naked beneath the sheets.

“It’s only eight, everyone else is still asleep aside from Mikasa who actually went for a run in the fucking snow.”

Jean smiled, hair tucked behind his ears, and you felt your heart skip a beat as you realized just how madly in love with him you were. You always aimed to make him smile, to hear him laugh, but to see him gazing at you in the morning sun with pure adoration shining in his hazel eyes had you practically melting into the bed.

“I meant what I said last night, you know,” he said, turning the kitten loose to run across the bed.

“You said a lot of things last night, daddy,” you teased, watching his cheeks turn a pretty pink at the mention of that name.

“I meant about you never spending another holiday alone. Because, you know, I’d like to…” he trailed off, rubbing at the back of his neck like he was genuinely nervous.

You sat up, running a hand down his arm before kissing at his shoulder, momentarily getting lost in the smell and feel of him.

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

No one was surprised that the two of you, and the kitten, spent every single holiday together thereafter, mostly naked, and always smiling.

#jean kirstein #jean kirstein x reader #jean kirstein x you #aot jean #aot jean kirstein #snk jean #snk jean kirstein #snk fanfiction #snk x reader #snk #aot fanfiction #aot x reader #aot #jean aot #jean kirstein fanfic

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dollslayer · 4 years ago

Text

Botanical Interest - Thorns

Soft!Mob!Steve Rogers x reader

Summary: After dating the notable mobster Steve Rogers for a couple months you think you’ve got him figured out. An altercation in an alley leaves you questioning whether or not that’s true.

W/C: 1995

Warnings: Violence, angst, fluff, swearing

A/N: Holy smokes! I am completely overwhelmed by the love that the first part to this story has received. Obviously, I couldn’t help myself so I wrote a part 2 also as an entry for @stargazingfangirl18 ‘s 5k soft dark challenge! Using the Mob!Au and the dialogue prompt “Oh, Honey, you weren’t supposed to see that”.

If you want you can check out part one here and my other mob fic here! Cheers!

Botanical Interest Masterlist I Main Masterlist

______________________________ 6pm was fast approaching as you began to close up shop for the day. Steve was here to pick you up for dinner and much to your embarrassment walked in on you having a very difficult conversation argument with a very difficult customer over pricing and promotion. Having run your small business on your own for years you knew how to hold your own but you completely froze when you saw Steve enter the shop out of the corner of your eye.

“I- listen Mr. Andersen, I appreciate all the business that your venues have given me but I can’t afford a raise in advertising prices right now. I’ve been reliable and trustworthy and I’ve always treated your venues with respect. I’ve never been an issue for you, please don’t raise the rate. Wedding season is coming up and I need the exposure.”

You tried to bargain with him quietly, hoping the music overhead would prevent Steve from hearing but it was a low volume and a small shop. You’ve only been dating for a couple months. You didn’t want to embarrass yourself in front of him, especially not at work.

Mr. Andersen exhaled sharply. You could tell he was annoyed at you for the pushback. “Look, I’m sorry but we can’t be making exceptions every time a business owner comes groveling.”

Tears stung your eyes, you really did generate a lot of business through Andersen’s venues. They listed you as one of their recommended vendors to their clients, it’s been huge for you. Knowing that Steve was there made this even worse. “If I’d have known you were going to cry like this I would’ve just done it over email I mean really-”

“That’s enough.” Steve cut him off before he could humiliate you any further. He sent a quick text and shoved his phone back in his pocket before pulling himself to his gull height and squaring his shoulders. “You’ve done enough, now get out.”

A scoff from Andersen and a harsh glare directed towards you and he was on his way out of the building. Steve’s phone vibrated but he didn’t check it. Instead he walked over to you and extended his arm to rub your back.

“Are you okay? That guy was a total fucking prick to you, you don’t deserve that.” Steve consoled you. He seemed calmer than you expected for having just witnessed something like that. You’ve seen him agitated but never upset. Maybe he was restraining himself for you but it didn’t matter, you appreciate him being there for you.

“I’m fine, I just need to finish closing up shop and we can get to dinner. Just give me a minute” you said as you began to sweep up.

“Alright, sweetheart. I’m double parked so I’m gonna go to the car and try to find a space.” You nodded as hummed along to the music.

____________________________

As Steve left the shop he pulled his phone out and checked his text from Thor ‘we got him’. When Steve heard that man talk to you like that he knew you didn’t want him to threaten Andersen and make the situation worse. You were already on the verge of tears so he decided to ask one of his men to hold Andersen out back where he could have a few words with him.

Stepping around the corner into the alley behind your shop he took off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. He needed to be quick so you wouldn’t find out. He didn’t want to upset you further, he just wanted this guy to know that you can’t treat his girl like that. And maybe he could be talked into giving her the advertising for free.

“So you think you can talk to my girl like that huh?” He questioned. Andersen looked like Thor had already punched him once in the process of restraining him. Thor’s hold on Andersen’s arms tightened.

Andersen was scared, but not scared enough to Steve’s liking. Before Andersen had the opportunity to answer Steve cocked his fist back and launched it directly to Andersen’s jaw. “Shit! I’m sorry, I didn’t know. We’re expanding and we need the money so I have to raise-”

Before the excuse could be finished Steve hit him again. “Stop! Please!” Andersen begged.

Steve chuckled. “No I don’t think I will. I can’t just let people go every time they grovel to me. They’d never learn.” Another punch landed.

“You’re not gonna raise your prices for her. In fact, you’re gonna call her up in a couple days and apologize by offering her advertising free of charge for all of your venues. Do you understand?” Steve asked coolly.

Andersen coughed up some blood. “I- I can offer her half price but I can’t just waive the cost like that!”

“Not good enough.” Steve punched him even harder, Andersen was nearly knocked out. Steve thought about the tears that slipped from his girl’s eye and couldn’t stop himself. He struck Andersen one more time with a growl and his head hung limp between his shoulders. Just then he heard the sound of shattering glass behind him and froze, hand still in a fist.

_____________________________________

Finally done with most of your tasks all you had to do was take out the garbage and empty the vase of leftover stems from bouquets into the dumpster. You opened the back door just in time to see Steve land a brutal punch to Mr. Andersen’s cheekbone. Mr. Andersen’s head fell and it was clear he had been knocked out cold.

You hadn’t even realized you’d dropped the vase until you felt the shards fall around your feet. You couldn’t look away when Steve looked up at you with wild eyes, you’d never seen him so angry. You felt the way you did the day you met him. Nervous and frozen in place.

His face instantly fell and through his heavy breathing said “Oh, honey, you weren’t supposed to see that.” He was trying to relax his features as he approached you but you could only take steps back and into the shop like a scared animal being cornered.

Your heart was hammering in your chest and you couldn’t tell if you were more angry or scared. You held your hands out in front of you and stammered “I’d better.. I need to lock up shop I’ll um, I’ll go”. “Sweetheart wait!” Too late. You shut the back door and locked it behind you.

You went to your back office and sat down, not even sure where to go from here with this. You two had talked about his work a bit, it wasn’t like it could be avoided forever, you just didn’t think he’d bring it into yours. You weren’t scared of Steve doing something like that to you, you were scared of that look in his eyes. His capability of doing something like that with little thought.

Oh, God, what does this mean for the shop? Mr. Andersen will have you blacklisted. He’ll tell every wedding planner in Brooklyn. Now your heart was hammering for a whole other set of reasons. Too busy spiraling as you thought about it all you didn’t hear the bell of the front door ring.

A knock on your open office door pulled you out of it and you looked up to find Steve. He wore what looked like a truly regretful expression on his face. You fought the urge to yell at him. You’re an adult, you’re going to talk about this like adults. Let him say his piece.

He had straightened up, his hands were clean and his jacket was back on. He gave a heavy sigh. “Sweetheart, I don’t even know where to begin. I’m sorry you had to see that side of me, but I want you to know I would never ever do anything like that to you or anyone close to you. I only want what’s best for you.”

“And that’s punching one of my main sources of income?” You snapped. You appreciated the apology but you were getting too worked up in anger thinking about the future of the shop.

He was a little miffed at the outburst and became defensive. “That man disrespected you, disrespected your work. No one talks like that to my girl. That’s how we settle things in my world!”

“Well you’re not in your mob world right now you’re in mine! And things don’t get handled like that! Do you have any idea the toll that could take on my business? He’s gonna have me blacklisted by the end of the day if he wakes up.” The last words came out a bit broken as you felt more tears build. You were more worried about the business than anything.

Steve walked around the desk to console you just like he had not twenty minutes ago. He gently put a hand on your forearm. “You’re right. It’s not my world, it wasn’t my call to make and I had no right to react like that. I didn’t even think about that. The way he was talking to you, I just.. I got so mad. You work so hard and you don’t deserve that. Sometimes I forget there’s more than one way to handle things.”

Okay, that went better than expected. This is what made Steve so interesting to you. Steve was funny and sweet and charming as hell, but beyond all that there was this tender heart. He was dangerous but he was also fiercely loyal. He was more than a mobster and he was better than the brute force he used. It’s why you were able to accept that part of him, because it wasn’t his entire life, it didn’t consume him.

“Thank you for saying that,” You said quietly. You looked up to him and could tell that he really did feel bad. “I accept your apology and I appreciate it. But you have to make things right with Mr. Andersen. I’ll pay the new rate but you have to apologize before it’s too late.”

_________________________

Steve was beginning to harbor resentment towards himself for fucking this up for you. Andersen just made him see red, he has such a hard time shutting that part of himself down. You work so hard and care so much there’s just no way he could let that stand. He just hoped to work through it and move on. He really didn’t wanna screw it up.

Steve was much more at ease knowing you accepted his apology. “I won’t like it but I can do that. It’s only fair. Can I make it up to you over dinner? We’ll make a quick stop to the hospital to set things straight with Andersen.” When you shut the door in his face in the alley he had Thor take him to the hospital. He’d call another town car to get home.

He’ll apologize to Andersen and pay the hospital bill, but you’re not paying the increased rate. No way. Steve will pay him off enough that he won’t be telling anyone about the altercation, either. Win-win in his eyes.

You leaned your head against his shoulder in slight exhaustion and nodded. “Can we forget the reservation? I really want breakfast food right now.”

A soft chuckle escaped his lips. “Of course sweetheart, you wanna get takeout and go back to mine?” He felt you nod. “Yes, please”.

“Let me just order a car and we’ll be on our way. I’m sorry again, sweetheart, I promise I’m gonna make it right even if that guy’s a douche.” You laughed a little bit and wiped the few tears that stayed in your eyes.

“So.... your girl, huh? Is that like some mob slang term I don’t know about? Are we official?”

A smile graced his lips. “I’d like to be, if you would.”

You smiled back at him. “I might be persuaded with waffles.”

#siris5ksoftdarkchallenge #Mob AU #mob!Steve rogers #mob!au #Mob!Steve rogers x reader #mafia!steve rogers #angst with a happy ending #fluff #angst #marvel fic #marvel au #mafia!au #steve rogers x reader #Soft!Mob!Steve Rogers

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hansensgirl · 4 years ago

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don’t feed it, it will come back.

summary. | “Don’t let me in with no intention of keeping me. Jesus Christ — don’t be kind to me. Honey, love, darling... Don’t feed me, I will come back.”

warnings. | Non/Dubcon, dark themes, drugging, sex pollen, stalking, obsession, lying, manipulation, angst, smut, fluff, Master kink, praise, degrading, dumbification, unprotected sex, blood, choking, possessive behaviour, creampie kink, stomach bulge kink, cat and mouse chase, fingering, slapping, corruption kink, yandere, grooming, kind of DDLG themes, collars, age gap, facefucking, mentions of bullying, scary stuff, anxiety, mourning, mentions of death, virginity loss, overstimulation, kidnapping, and more. +18, DARK!FIC. MORE WARNINGS AT THE BOTTOM!!

word count. | 10,601.

pairings. | Dark!Bucky Barnes x Innocent!Reader, Sam Wilson x Innocent!Reader.

a/n. | happy halloween!! i’ve changed up many things because why not. thank you so much for 5.1k!! thank you sm @barnesjamcs and @mypoisonedvine for beta-ing, ilysm!

You’re stuck. You’re stuck in that moment where you’re asleep, yet awake at the same time. Time is distorted and you can hear your grandmother faintly humming the ‘Monster Mash’ from down the hall. Childhood memories flood your mind and you blink back the tears that come up. Your eyes are bleary and you can’t tell if the thing in the corner of your room is a chair or a demon. The former seems more reasonable, but the horror stories that the people down the street used to taunt you with believe otherwise. “Sweetheart? Are you awake? You’ve slept in an extra half hour, that’s unlike you.” Your sweet grandmother croons from the other side of the door. You let out a smile and slowly get up with a sigh. “I’m awake, Nana! I guess I’m just extra tired from when I walked yesterday.” You reason, still sad that the bullies destroyed your bicycle that your grandma gave you when you turned twenty — just a mere few months ago. You don’t have the heart nor the courage to tell her, and you don’t think you ever will.

“I hope that darned Johnson gives you your bicycle back! I got a new basket, handwoven by yours truly… You can put your little treats and books in there and ride your bike all over town!” She admits, unable to hold back her secret. Your heart breaks, even more, hating that her basket will have to go towards pens and pencils that she had bought you. They won’t be able to hold your groceries or her fabrics that Mrs. Rogers would save for her. You get up from your bed and revel in the warmth that your llama pyjamas provide. You slip on some old slippers that Natasha’s mother gifted you — even though Natasha loathes you for some reason. And so does Anthony, Steve, Wanda, Thor (named after the Norse God), Clint, T’Challa, Okoye, Vis, Carol, Steven, and Loki (again, named after the Norse God). Sam (you call him Sammie, which always earns you an eye roll), Rhodey, Peter, Shuri and Pietro don’t really mind you, but they’re also not your friends. Except for Sam, who’s known you since you realized brownies are even more amazing when you add a bit of coffee to them.

They’re all older than you and you’d think they’d be around your age, but no. All are around 10 or 18 years older than you and it’s safe to say that they definitely won’t be maturing until they’ve got their pension plans secured. You giggle at the thought and smile to yourself as you remember that Sam wanted to show you some new flowers but you know it’s code for you to bring him some scones and let him rant about how he can’t wait until he makes enough money to leave town. If he leaves town then you’ll be lonely… The thought sends you spiralling and your heart drops to your stomach at the revelation. You gulp nervously and push it out of your mind. You reluctantly walk down the hallway and you’re greeted with the lovely scent of pancakes and pumpkin spice. Your mouth waters at the smell and a fresh wave of autumn-themed nostalgia hits you. Your feet parted against the wooden floors that you’ve spent ages mopping. She’s already cut the pancakes up and you can’t suppress the child-like giggle that bubbles in the air.

Cheap, silver forks that you had gotten for $2 per pack are set on the table. You can remember that sale like it’s your last name and date of birth. Summer clearance, a real jackpot to say the least. You scored quite a lot of things and you feel the almost two months old embarrassment from when you had to make two trips from the store to your home to bring everything back. You sit down but you don’t dig in yet, no. You watch your poor grandmother dance around the kitchen and it’s not the dance that one would immediately think of, not at all. She frantically moves around the kitchen and occasionally takes a peek out of the window. “Nana… Can you sit down and eat with me? Please? Just- just like old times…” You beg quietly, your voice nothing more than a whisper. She turns around and looks at you before nodding her head, and you give her a meek smile. You both dig into your delectable breakfasts and the only things that you can hear are birds chirping and forks scraping at the plate.

It’s tense. Awkwardness ready to burst at the seams yet it never seems to happen. Syrup covers your plate and you have the greatest urge to lap it all up like a kitten. “I… I remember when your mom used to do that… Always had to scold her, but she’d never learn.” Nana laughs to herself. She sounds tired, so fucking tired. You let out a dismal chuckle, breathy and full of air. You hold your hair back and indulge in an old childhood habit. Sweetness explodes in your mouth even though the syrup was slightly watered down. You pull away and sadness once again fills the air. “I can’t wait for you to become a…” The word is at the tip of her tongue but her old mind erases it. “Writer...” You fill in for her, before picking up your dishes. The walk to the kitchen isn’t far, only about three steps that you already have forgotten. She follows behind you, placing her dishes atop of yours. “Go sit down, Nana… I’ll show you a new piece I wrote!” You bargain, and she lets out a squeal. A victory, at last. Truth be told, you don’t want to show her your latest piece.

It’s sad and dismal, no happiness wavering from it and it’s a pitiful rendition of “hope.” You wash the dishes with care, passing your soapy hands over the ceramic gently. “I hear we’re getting a new neighbour, I can’t wait to meet them…” Your grandma speaks up, catching your attention. New neighbour… You grip the dishes tighter at the mention of a new neighbour. You scrub the syrup away from the plates and forks a bit harder, too. You finish off washing all the dishes and stack them away in the old wooden cupboards. “You bake him something… I’ll knit him something too! You know these brisk winds, always so brutal.” She croons, before running off as quickly as her old limbs can take her. You smile at the enthusiasm she radiates and notice a container sitting on the old burner stove. It’s covered in a dingy cloth — a makeshift one to be exact. A piece of extra cloth that couldn’t turn into anything more than a rag. You smile and walk back to your room to get ready for another autumn day that’ll be filled with sadness.

You don’t have many clothes to choose from, unlike most of the town-folk. You don’t have the privilege to go out of town and to the nearest snob-infested city just for a small sweater that’s going to be thrown away after two weeks. No, instead you buy your grandmother fabric from Mrs. Rogers and she makes you something that you’ll always end up loving. It takes you a mere two minutes to choose a huge cable knit that goes down to your knees (you had begged her to do it and even bought her a month's worth of yarn). You’re careful to dodge your grandmother, knowing that she’ll start tearing up because you look just like your mother. You can’t have that happen, not today at least. With a meal for Sam ready in your hands and a book, you’re off wandering to his home. You wave at the little kids across the street that are busy hanging up Halloween decorations and smile to yourself. You try to remember the entirety of Lana Del Rey’s cover of the infamous “Season Of The Witch” and your memory doesn’t completely fail you.

Sure, your voice can’t compare to hers but that’s not what matters. The ‘for sale’ sign that was in front of your neighbours’ house is now gone, and there’s not even a ‘sold’ sign. Hopefully, they’re nice… You think to yourself, before speed-walking to Sam’s townhouse. Your feet pitter-patter against the concrete and they carry you as fast as they can go. “Sam! Sammie!” You cry out, running to him as fast as you can. You slam into him and hug him tightly as if you haven’t seen him in years. He lets out a groan just to tease you, earning him a huff of annoyance from yourself. “How are you?” You ask, pulling away from the warm comfort of his body. You look up at him and watch as he rambles on about the stress he’s getting all thanks to those bratty adult-children. “I can’t wait to leave this town…” He sighs exasperatedly, rubbing his forehead. Your frown and try to push away the impending goodbye. You hand him the meal and his eyes light up. “Eat up, Sammie! Can’t have the smartest man in town going hungry!” You cheer, watching as he shovels pieces of syrup-covered pancakes into his mouth.

You lead him to his porch and you sit him down in the swing chair he repaired all by himself. “So… When you leave town, where are you going to go?” You question him, looking down at the ground instead of at him. Through a full mouth, he manages to speak still. ”New York, I have some family up there and many opportunities too!” He exclaims, careful to not spit at you. You let out a giggle at his enthusiasm and you can’t lie and say that you’re not excited for him to start up the life he’s always dreamed of since you were both wee things. “But… But you won’t forget me, right?” You hesitantly ask, fiddling with your cold fingers. Selfish… You’re being selfish… You know you’re being selfish but the question slips out before you can even register the words in your troubled mind. You don’t look up at him and you’re ready to retract it along with litanies of “I'm sorry, please forgive me!” “Never, Dollie, never.” He sighs, the sound settling deep in his bones. He looks at you with sincerity and reassurance — comfort in his eyes that you’ll always be weak for.

You stare at each other for a bit, a tension building in the bitter cold air that’s just ready to snap. You can swear and say that his eyes travel down to your lips — almost as if he’s ready to kiss you. You lean in as well, because why not? Until he abruptly pulls away and apologizes to you. You watch as he heads inside to wash his hands and you sob on the inside. Oh, how you wanted to kiss the syrup off his lips until yours grew numb. You curse yourself with darned words that your mother would’ve been unhappy with. The rest of the day is awkward — not that it usually isn’t. You follow him around like a lost puppy and admire him from the short distance that is between the two of you. You can’t handle the silence- well, heavy sighs and grumbles. He occasionally spares you a few glances that you hang onto for dear life. “Uhm, Sammie? Is everything alright?” You ask him, after spending minutes to find it in you to speak up after a few hours.

He sets down the screwdriver in his hand that he has been gripping for hours now. He takes his glasses off and you hold back the frown that threatens to drag your lips down. He pulls you into an abrupt hug, and usually, you’d be filled with glee. But… but the way he holds you is different. His arms that surround you are tighter than usual, and the way his chest rises and falls is irregular. “W- What’s wrong, Sammie? Talk to me, please.” You desperately whisper to him. The winds of autumn are loud, but they don’t have the power to silence you. “‘M… I’m leaving tomorrow morning…” He admits. Suddenly, the world stops spinning on its axis and your heart isn’t beating anymore. You swear that you could die just then and take him down with you, but the Reaper is ready for you yet. You look up at him and his eyes mirror yours. Glassy with tears that are ready to fall. “A- Already?” You ask incredulously. He nods and smooths one of his coarse hands over your head.

You let out a shaky breath and your throat tightens up. A sob is stuck and it’s painful, but you can’t let it out. Nodding your head, a sad smile stretches across your face. “So… New York, huh?” You joke with him, but he doesn’t smile. “Don’t do this, dove.” He warns — no, he begs. You’ve never heard him beg, but you hope that he never ends up doing it again. “Send letters, please… And take care of yourself too. I can’t wait to see you make it big, Sammie.” You say as you blink your tears away. You try to pull away from the hug but he pulls you back into his strong arms. You look down to the wooden floor and he presses a kiss to the crown of your head. He lets it linger for a few moments and then pulls away from you. You’re no longer in his arms and you no longer feel comforted. Suddenly, though, it’s as if gravity pulls him down to you and his lips are against yours. You can recall the way your Mother would lovingly kiss your Father and how you used to blanch at the sight. But now you understand it all. Your lips stay locked for a few more seconds until he pulls away.

Sam places his forehead against yours and you’re glad because you know you’ll end up with a pain in your neck by tomorrow morning. “I don’t want to go and leave you, dove.” He expresses wholeheartedly, a pang of sadness in his voice that’s usually all bright and cheery. “You have to. Go for me, go for the sake of yourself… Please.” You plead to him. You can easily be selfish and beg him to stay, but you know how much New York means to him. “I’ll drop you home, one last time?” He proposes, linking your arm with his. You nod and let out a breathy chuckle — fake happiness staining your face. You play the act all too well, but Sam knows you better than yourself. He unlocks his arm and pushes you in front of him, hugging you from behind and continuing to walk. He hums an old 50’s tune that you can’t place your finger on. You want him to walk slower; to take shorter strides. The neighbourhood is dark, even though it’s only 7:32. “You’ll write to me, right?” You ask, breaking the silence. It seems that it’s your job, and you don’t mind.

“Of course, I’ll write to you until you can get a phone.” He chuckles in your ear. You laugh with him, knowing how he loves to tease you. “And you’ll visit too?” You question, shivering as a gust of wind blows by. “Are you kidding me? That’s a no brainer, dove.” He says as he squeezes his arms a bit tighter. You revel in the feeling and savour it for however long he’ll be gone. If it was possible, you’d lock the feeling in a jar and store it away forever. You never knew that the walk from his to yours was that quick. You stand outside of your home and turn around, still in Sam’s arms. “You’ll wake me up in the morning, won’t you? Just so that I can say goodbye properly, please.” You ask him, even though you’re practically teetering on the begging side. “Of course, Dovey.” He smiles down at you, and you mirror him. Tears glaze over your eyes and they glisten in the pitch-black darkness of the October night.

He kisses your forehead and whispers a soft “good night” against your cold skin. You’re not sure if it’s the chilliness or the sadness in his voice that sends shivers throughout your body, but you try to ignore the feeling. You don’t want to go inside, no. You want to spend the whole night with him, doing the things that you both love such as baking and reading poetry. “Go get some rest, dove, I’ll see you in the morning.” He smiles, before starting to back away from you. You nod and turn to walk inside your small home, not even noticing that your grandmother was pacing inside the kitchen. You kept looking back at Sam, just like in those romance movies that you found in the attic when you were 12. He looks at you too, as he slowly inches away from the front of your home. You unlock the door and fall into your grandmother’s arms, letting your sobs reverberate around the room and your tears stream down your face.

You don’t remember falling asleep, and you certainly don’t remember changing your sweater to your llama pyjamas. You wake up and your bloodshot eyes immediately fly to your digital clock. 8:07. You shoot up from your bed and throw your sheets off of your body. The cold harshly welcomes you but you don’t care; you’re not here to stay. You run out of your room and slip on the first pair of shoes you can find, “darn it,” you groan under your breath and your foot doesn’t successfully slide into the shoe. You dart out the door after fumbling with the lock, before running down the street. The lights on the sidewalk are still on, even though it was bright. Your lungs are burning and against their will, you keep on running. “Sam!” You yell, spotting his car parked on the road. You continue to run and start to cry too. Your face and hands are numb from the cold weather. “Sam! Stop!” You yell even louder, feeling as though you’re in a dream.

As much and as quick your feet carry you, you’re still so far from him. He starts up the car and begins to drive away slowly; almost as if he’s purposely stalling for you. You miss the uneven sidewalk that has always been the cause for most of your scars that littered your legs. You fall to the ground and luckily your hands stop you from knocking your head into the concrete. You look up and let out a piercing sob that makes the pigeons fly away. You watch as Sam drives off, leaving you behind without even saying one final goodbye. Your tears fall onto the ground and are immediately soaked up. You can hear your grandmother calling your name through your cries and the distant sound of his car driving away. You’re sure that you look insane, but you don’t care. The love of your life is gone, and he’s not coming back for now.

You stay cooped up in your room for days on end. Occasionally, you help your grandmother out, but you don’t speak much. You stay in your pyjamas, switching between the llama ones and the sloth ones. You’ve convinced yourself that maybe Sam leaving is for the best. Your sadness still dwells, but you’re happy that he’s pursuing his dreams regardless of anything. “I’m so happy you’re feeling better, sweetheart. But if you ever need to talk, I’m always here for you.” Nana tells you, and you give her a sad smile. “Thank you, Nana.” You gently speak, tightening the lid on the jam jar. You give her the plate you prepared and take a seat at the table. “I heard that our new neighbour is coming today, I’m planning on knitting them a sweater and baking something.” She recounts, and you sigh playfully. She lets out a breathy chuckle and you think about your neighbour. Are they a man, or a woman? Are they nice, or rude? Are they like Sam? You ask yourself, but quickly push the third question out of your mind.

“Can I bake them cookies?” You ask her, before digging into your toast. “Of course! Maybe do macadamia ones? And regular ol’ chocolate.” She gleefully adds, the crinkles in her eyes deepening as she smiles widely. She clasps her hands together and lets out a noise of excitement. You watch her with a smile of your own, and you feel grounded. You slowly eat your food and stare out into space, letting your mind wander to the farthest places. You think back to your joyful times with Sam. Each memory makes you miss him more and more, but you keep on telling yourself that he’s in a better place. He’s happy, and that’s all you care for. You eat your food slowly until you realize that it’s half past nine. Shoveling the rest of it into your mouth, you stumble over to the sink and wash your plate as quickly as possible.

“What’s got you in such a rush?” Nana asks, adjusting one of the many sweaters she wears. “The store! It’ll take me awhile to get there, and I really want to avoid running into any of them.” You explain, changing your tone just so that she knows who you’re insinuating at. “Oh… Go on, sweetheart, dress warm!” She ushers you, grabbing your coat for you whilst you run back to your room to change into a sweater. Before, you couldn’t even bear to look at Sam’s favourite sweater of yours; but now you’ve realized that it’s best to face the music. Maroon had always been his favourite colour, and you remembered the joy on his face when you wore your maroon sweater. You smile in front of the mirror, pleased with your appearance. You grab your coat and slide your shoes on, before yelling goodbye to your Nana.

You hum some random Halloween tune under your breath and slowly walk down the street. Your eyes are trained on your hands as you fiddle with them. Suddenly, you crash into a slightly soft yet hard wall. You whine in pain, still weak as ever, something that Sam would playfully mock you about. “You should watch where you’re going, little one.” A husky voice warns playfully. You furrow your brows -- one of your many little traits that was left in your Mother’s will for you. “I’m so sorry, Sir! I didn’t mean t- to bump into you, I swear.” Litanies of apologies spill from your mouth and you don’t even look up at your victim. “Don’t worry, little one... Hopefully you’ve learned your lesson.” He lets out a breathy chuckle as he stares you down. Your eyes move from your hands to the house next to you, and you notice the abundant amount of luggage.

Embarrassment engulfs you in a tight grip and you groan softly. “You must be my sweet neighbour, hm?” He teases just like Sam would. You shyly nod and squeeze your hands together as you begin to become nervous. You hesitatingly look up at him, and your breath is taken away. You’re sure that he’s God’s favourite, because no regular man is as beautiful as he is. “Uh, yeah! Nice to meet you…” You introduce yourself and give him your name, reveling in the way it rolls off his tongue and falls past his lips. You nod your head and smile at him, your trip to the store long forgotten. “I’m James, James Buchanan Barnes.” He smirks. His accent… His accent is different. A Brooklyn drawl mixed with a few European accents. “Oh sweetheart! I thought you left!” Nana calls out, startling you and slightly annoying James.

“I uh… I bumped into our new neighbour!” You exclaim to her, stepping away from him so that she can wrap her arms around his large form. She does exactly that, and the large man — James — reciprocates. She pulls away after a few fleeting seconds and sighs, staring up at him. You watch him with wonderment and tune out your grandmother’s sweet voice. Dressed in all black, long hair, a five o’ clock shadow and a beautiful face. You find yourself in some sort of trance, eyes raking him up and down with no shame. His do the same, except he’s more careful and sly about it. “Thank you for your welcome, maybe we could get to know each other better?” He offers, raising his eyebrows and both you and your grandma. You both eagerly agree, excited to learn more about your new, elusive neighbour. “Sweetheart, how about you take our neighbour, James, with you to the store? Give him a little tour?” She proposes. “If it’s not too much trouble, I’d love to.” James entices.

“I… Of course!”

You and Bucky — James, but he insists on you calling him Bucky — walk slowly to the store. Every now and then, the wind picks up and sends shivers throughout your body. The cold doesn’t faze him, he tells you. “I actually prefer autumn, fall, whatever you kids call it these days, over anything else.” He jokes around, making you bubble out in giggles. He smiles down at you and watches you with careful eyes. “Shy? Your laugh is very cute, little one.” Your eyes nearly fall out of their sockets as he praises you. “Uh, yeah, uhm, thank you so much…” You gleam and preen under his gaze, and Bucky is already in love with the sight. “Hobbies?” He questions, shooting a glare at those that even dare to glance at the two of you. “Writing and baking! But mostly writing, what about you?” You ask, shoving your cold hands into your pockets.

“Hmm, I’m not sure. It depends… Perhaps watching...” He ponders out loud. “Like bird watching?” You press, looking up at him for a bit. His eyes lock with yours and you can’t seem to look away. “You’ll see, little dove.” He reassures you, still staring back at you. You shyly look away and keep quiet for the rest of the walk. A faint smile is on your face and you’re not sure why he’s the cause of it. You let it fall and keep your shy resolve. “Is that the store?” He asks you after a minute or two of silence. You nod and don’t utter a word, scared that you’ll end up rambling to him. You bit your lip as you try to hold in your glee as you notice that the supermarket has already been decked out with Halloween decorations. “Do you celebrate Halloween?” Bucky questions, grabbing a cart for the two of you. “Mhm, favourite holiday ever. I love everything about it! You?” You try to keep your reply short, but when it’s about your favourite holiday you just can’t resist.

He agrees with you, and you’re happy that he isn’t a scrooge about Halloween. You lead him through the aisles and pick up what you need, and want. Bucky pushes the cart for you and makes sure you don’t wander out of his sight. The Halloween and autumn display catches your eye and your heart fills with a type of glee that only holidays can bring. You want to pick up everything — from the Halloween cookie cutters to the small decorations that would look lovely sprinkled around your home. You don’t even hear Bucky behind you because you’re too caught up in deciding what you want. Bucky watches you with careful eyes, trying to figure out what’s going through your head. “You should get one of everything, maybe a few little ghosts, three pumpkins,” he suggests to you, “it’s Halloween, you’re not allowed to only get one thing.”

You giggle and shake your head, even though he’s right in your mind. “I wish I could, but I need to spend my money on needs and not wants.” You sadly admit, wishing that you had the type of money the other’s in town have. You walk away from the display and you don’t give it another look, before heading to the freezers for your eggs and milk. Bucky frowns deeply and watches as you slowly walk away. He picks up almost everything that’s on the display and throws it into the cart. He could never see a frown on your face ever again, knowing that his heart would break into two. He trails behind you slowly, forced to make his usually long strides shorter just for you. You turn around to place the milk and eggs in the cart and a heart gasp leaves your mouth. You look up at him in shock, which then turns into your usual confusion.

“Uh- Are you getting those?” Your voice is no more than a mere whisper, and Bucky is lucky that he can hear you. “Nope, for you.” He pops the ‘p’ and then smirks at you. You’re flabbergasted. Shock and confusion still reside in your mind and you can’t find it in you to object to him. “I’m paying for it, little dove.” He reassures you, his voice turning from gravelly and deep to soft and calm. You smile brightly at him and without thinking, you engulf him in a hug. He revels in your touch and pulls you closer to his warm body. Bucky rests his chin on your head and dips his nose down to your hair, inhaling your scent before you could pull away. You stare up at him and smile widely, letting out a squeal of happiness. “Thank you so much! Oh my- How do I repay you? That’s so much money, is there anything I can do for you?” You ramble, straining your neck to look up at him.

“Hmm… I would love to be your friend, and maybe I could come for dinner every now and then?” He ponders aloud and you immediately agree. You couldn't wait to go home and tell your grandmother, knowing that she would be the happiest woman on Earth. You both go through the aisles again and he keeps on encouraging you to pick up the things that you lay your eyes on. The cart is filled and your heart is fluttering with gratefulness. Everytime he shoots a look your way, you send one right back at him. His eyes are the colour of the sea, beautiful and bright yet dark and mysterious. Yours, on the other hand, are soft and innocent. Both are just as beautiful, though. “Once again, thank you so much, Mr. Barnes.” You say, smiling at him. He carries all of your bags and you hold a small, painted pumpkin to your chest.

“Don’t worry, little dove. Oh, and call me anything but Mr. Barnes, formalities haven’t been my thing as of now.” He speaks with eloquence and such grace that makes you think he’s from another century. You giggle before speaking, “you speak like you’re from another century…” You joke, before giggling again. Bucky’s jaw hardens and his stare goes from adoring to menacing. You stop laughing when you don’t hear him joining you with his own rupture. Swallowing thickly, you look ahead to the horizon. It has already gotten a bit cloudy, but you don’t mind. You’re careful to not trip on your own feet, wanting to avoid embarrassing yourself for the second time. “Sorry about the joke, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable…” You apologize after around five minutes of silence. You chew on the slightly dry skin on your bottom lip as you wait for him to speak.

“It’s okay, little dove.” He smiles, not even letting it drop. You look down at your ghost-painted pumpkin and smile, before giving it a kiss. Bucky snorts, making you pout at him. “Hey!” You cry out it faux offence. He only laughs harder, before biting his lip. The sight of you pouting at him sends blood rushing down south, but you’re oblivious to what you’re doing. The rest of the walk home is filled with jokes and questions about each other. During another moment of silence, you realize that you haven’t thought of Sam since this morning. You feel guilty at first, knowing that it’s wrong to forget about him so quickly. Shame eats you up like it’s starved until your mind convinces you otherwise. Sam would be so happy that you didn’t dwell on him leaving, he’d be so proud of you. You promise yourself that you won’t be sad, but you also won’t forget him. Ever.

“Do you have any other friends?” Bucky asks you as you both turn a corner. He remains closer to the road, whereas you're on the inside. “I had one, but he left to go pursue his dreams in New York.” You sadly explain to him, and he lets out an “oh.” You turn again, but this time you’ve reached your home. Your grandmother can be seen dancing around the kitchen, flour in her grey hair and an apron on top of her fuzzy sweater. “I can take them in now.” You tell Bucky, stretching your arms out to him. He lets out a breathy chuckle, what seems to be one of his many habits, and walks towards your home. You’re in shock once again, before realizing that you haven’t moved. You run behind him and frown as you see that the door was unlocked the entire time.

“Nana! Did you leave the door unlocked again?” You ask her and you hug the smaller woman. “Oh, I probably forgot to unlock it… ‘m sorry, sweetheart.” She apologizes against your forehead that she just covered in kisses. You can’t blame her, honestly. Slowly but surely, her old age had started to catch up to her. “Uhm, Mr. Barnes bought all this stuff for us, Nana! Can he stay for dinner? As a thank you?” You excitedly ask her, and she mimics your happiness with a smile that’s similar to yours.. “Of course! Thank you so much, Mr. Barnes.” She gratefully expresses and ushers Bucky further into your home. You take your shoes and jacket off and he does the same, wishing that you could shed more than that. “It’s nothing, and please, call me Bucky or James.” He assures in his Brooklyn-European drawl. He watches you with careful eyes and doesn’t tear his gaze away from you.

Dinner is lively. It’s more lively than it’s ever been since you were seven years of age. You’re all laughing, smiling and happy. Even though it’s only 5 in the evening, it’s still dark. “Where are you from, James?” Nana asks him, and he gulps thickly. “Romania, actually. But I grew up in Brooklyn.” He recounts to you, and then shoves some pasta into his mouth. The flavour of spicy marinara fills his mouth along with yours as well. Through a full mouth, he still speaks. “This is amazing!” He exclaims, covering his mouth with the utmost politeness. Your Nana thanks him and you nod in agreement. The rest of the evening is filled with compliments and questions, but also with wandering eyes and strong gazes. Six o’ clock hits, and 7, 8 and 9 does too. “Well, I should go retire now, thank you for the lovely welcome.” He sighs deeply, almost as though he is regretful. You say good night to him before running off to your room.

Bucky closes his door behind him and hastily shed his clothing off of himself. Underneath his dark black jeans is his hard cock. Dripping with pre-cum from it’s raging red tip, he throbs with want and need. He’s not sure if he should take care of it or not, but as soon as he thinks of you all plausibility flies out the window. He rushes up to his room, dark red walls and ominous lighting are all a blur to him. His room is even darker. The only bright things in it are the many photos of you that line his bedside tables and walls. He walks up to the window and pulls the purple curtains to the side. He watches you cuddle with your stuffed animals — your innocence only making him harder. His cock hangs heavily and he still has the urge to jerk off. “No, I have to be patient.” He tells himself, pulling his boxers back up. “Just one more fucking day until you’re all mine, little dove.”

You wake up earlier than you usually do. Rousing from sleep with a smile on your face, you find yourself in the same clothing from yesterday. You frown and walk into the bathroom for a quick shower. The water is as cold as the winter, and you have no choice but to bear it. Even though your teeth chatter, you tough it out as much as you can. Today… Today is Halloween. You jump with glee and joy for your favourite holiday. You don’t even bother making your bed because the decorations waiting for you are far more enticing. “Nana! I’m going to decorate the house!” You yell to hear, earning a loud “ok” from her in return. You grab your two step ladder that Shuri gave you when you were 15 and you sigh with delight. In just a mere two hours, you’re able to turn your home into the perfect Halloween.

Your stomach continues to growl, but you choose to ignore it. You play old Halloween classics in the background that you found in your father’s DVD and cassette collection. Nostalgia hits you like a truck and you recount all the memories of your childhood. You sniffle a bit as Coraline’s voice rambles on from behind you. Rubbing away the tears that threaten to spill, you continue to place fake pumpkins around the living room. You occasionally get distracted from the movies that play in the background, dragging you away from your tasks. The doorbell suddenly rings, sending a sharp shrill piercing through your calmness. You keep a hand on your heart as it beats through your chest. You rush to the door and quickly unlock it, just to see Bucky in all his great glory.

“Bucky! Hi!” You greet him, moving out of the way so that he could come in. “You’re up awfully early.” He notes, choosing to stay outside. You nod and smile at him, before remembering your manners. “Oh! Happy Halloween!” You tell him, holding out a ghost cookie for him to take. He takes it and devours it like he’s a starved man. “Happy Halloween to you too, little dove. I see you’re decorating. Is that what’s got you up so early?” He asks you, drinking in your form. Nothing else but an overly large cable knit sweater… Fucking beautiful. “Yep! Are you going to decorate?” You ask him in return, leaning on the doorframe. You notice that he’s holding a tray of desserts that make your mouth water. “No, not really. But I am baking, can you try this for me? I don’t really trust myself.” He smirks, handing the tray to you.

You gladly take it and your stomach rumbles loudly, embarrassing you. Bucky laughs but you shy away, turning your face away from him. You take a cookie from his tray and devour it because you are starved. “C- Can I have them all? They’re so amazing, Bucky!” You exclaim, nearly drooling at the amazing taste. “Go ahead, little dove.” He ushers with a wicked smirk that you pay no mind to. You shovel cookies into your mouth like no tomorrow. He watches you, tilting his head and palming himself through his jeans. His half-hard cock slightly bulges through the material, but you can’t see it. You hand him back his tray that’s covered in crumbs and a few sprinkles. Bucky stretches his hand out towards your face and grabs your chin gently. He uses his thumb to wipe the crumbs and slight drool off of your mouth. His thumb dances over your lips and you look at him with such doe eyes that he can feel himself get harder.

“Be sure to come trick or treating at my house, little dove, I have something special to give you.” He says, before smiling at you and walking away. You watch him and feel yourself start to smile brightly. You haven’t felt this way about anyone, not even Sam. Bucky… Bucky is different. He holds this elusiveness that keeps you hooked like he’s a drug. You feel your heart fluttering and butterflies flying, even though you’ve only known Bucky for almost two days. “Was that James, sweetheart?” Nana asks, just waking up. You turn around and nod, remembering the way he let you have all his cookies without even hesitating a bit. “Can I trick or treat-ing tonight? Please Nana! I’ll be safe, I promise.” You beg her, folding your hands together in a plea. “Of course, sweetheart. Just stay safe, okay? I don’t want anything bad happening to you.” She agrees, making you squeal. “Of course, Nana!”

Your stomach cramps up, but it isn’t too painful. Something… Something sticky and slick pours out of your cunt and you don’t know what it is. You don’t want to miss out on your trick or treat-ing, so you choose to keep quiet. You walk with your thighs clenched together; the only way the pain will relieve itself. You say a quick goodbye to Nana and exhale heavily as soon as you get outside. Your makeshift cat ears rest on your head perfectly and you try to keep your smile from faltering. An older choker your mom had from the 90’s is wrapped around your neck and even has a bell on it. You slowly walk to Bucky’s house, which has a single pumpkin on the doorstep and nothing more. You hold a pumpkin basket in your hands and admire the way kids run from one house to the next on their own missions. You turn back to Bucky’s house and raise your fist up to the door, but an extremely painful cramp stops you.

You double over and try to keep in a cry of pain. The door suddenly opens and Bucky looks down at you in pain. “Oh little dove, is everything okay? Do you want to come in? Here- Let me help you.” He rambles as he grabs a hold of you. He leads you into his home and you don’t even look around to admire it. You fall to the floor and sob in pain, begging for help. “Shhh, be quiet, hey, no tears now… I’m here to help.” He lifts you up with ease and reassures you at the same time. Bucky gently sets you onto his couch and takes your jacket off of you. You drop your pumpkin bucket and realize that your palms are overly sweaty. “Wh- What’s happening to me, Bucky? It hurts so b- bad!” You cry out, falling onto your back and pulling your legs up to your chest for comfort.

Bucky cooes and you and pulls you up to him. He cradles you to his chest and shushes you. Your sobs echo throughout his living room and your tears soak into his sweater. You look up at him and he flashes you a smile, fangs sparkling and sharp. You gasp through your sobs before realizing that he dressed up as a vampire for Halloween. Bucky runs his hands up and down your body, caressing you gently. He pulls the headband out of your hair and plays with the bell on your collar. His left hand — which was covered in a glove — trails it’s way between your thighs. You’re soaked, leggings damp and sticky and so are your thighs. He pulls your pants down, and you’re too out of it to even realize what’s going on. He lifts you up slightly to untangle your pants from your feet and you take the opportunity to look around his house. Through your bleary eyesight, you can see pictures of someone scattered along the crimson red walls.

You squint and try to figure out why the pictures look so fucking familiar. Bucky stands back up and blocks your view. His hands travel up to the bottom of your black sweater and he rips it into two instead of pulling it over your head. You furrow your eyebrows as you feel a sudden gust of coldness taking over your body. “W- What?” You rub your head in confusion and realize that you’re naked. “Shh, it’s okay little dove. Your Master will take care of you now…” He reassures you again, but he only makes you more confused. “Aw my dumb little baby doesn’t know what’s going on?” He mocks, before lightly slapping your face. Drool leaks out from the corner of your mouth and your eyes are glazed over. “You see, dove… You were made for me! I’ve spent centuries searching for the perfect little dove for myself, and there you were. You know, I know every little thing about you? I’ve been watching you for years, baby.” He explains, and you furrow your eyebrows.

He opens his mouth to speak and continues to tell you every little thing he has done. “All these pictures are all of you. You’re so beautiful, baby. Sam never had to leave, but he was in the way of everything. Too bad he tried to come back, now he’s at the bottom of Lake Erie. Oh and those bullies? The people that thought it was okay to make my little dove feel like shit? They’re dead too, it’s not like they magically disappeared. And since you’re so out of it, I might as well tell you. I’m a vampire.” Bucky bluntly monologues, leaving you in shock and horror. You feel the urge to throw up, but you also want to scream and cry your heart out. You feel your chest tighten and you gasp for breath. “Shh it’s okay, little dove.” He whispers in your ear, before nibbling on the skin. “Are- Are you-” You try to ask him a question, but the pain is so bad that you can’t speak properly.

He nods his head and presses a few kisses on your face. You grumble and pull away in disgust, before trying to pull away from Bucky. “Aw that’s fine, I love it when my prey has a bit of fight.” He chuckles, before pushing you away from your body. “I’m going to give you five seconds, and you’re going to try to run away. I’m going to catch you, okay little dove?” He explains, and he doesn’t even give you time to agree. “Five,” he shouts, making you jump. You try your hardest to ignore your pain and focus on escaping. You know the door isn’t a possibility, so you dash down the hallway. “Four!” He calls out in a sing-song voice. You cringe and turn on your right, going up the dark stairs. “Three! Two! One!” He yells out, before running after you. You run into a room and shut the door behind you, before realizing that your inner thighs were glistening and sticky.

You reach down to your thighs and run your finger through the slickness that drips down. You’re too distracted by it to notice that Bucky was nearing you. Suddenly, the door bursts open and you're falling onto the floor. Bucky quickly pounces on top of you and rips your bra into two. You cry out but you know that nobody will be able to hear you. “Fuck, I can’t wait to ruin you, turn you into my personal dumb little slut.” He spits, pushing your legs apart. He tears your underwear off of you and you sob loudly. Bucky smashes his lips against yours, dominating you in the kiss even though you can barely register it. He runs his thick fingers through your sopping wet folds. Your clit is swollen and sensitive and you’re leaking like no tomorrow. He rubs your clit slowly, enjoying the way you write wildly underneath him.

He shoves his tongue into your mouth and his left hand comes up to wrap itself around your throat. He squeezes the sides and you let out a throaty moan. You don’t know what any of the things you’re feeling are. He presses harder on your clit and pressure builds up in your lower abdomen. White hot flames burn inside of you with passion. Suddenly, Bucky pushes a finger into your tight, wet hole. He feels around and chuckles wickedly when he finds your special spot. You see blurry stars in your vision. “That’s my good little dove, taking her Master’s fingers so well.” He praises against your lips, before kissing you fervently. He quickly thrusts it in and out of you, watching as you go through at least fifty different emotions. Tingles erupt throughout your entire body, and you whimper against Bucky’s mouth.

His finger continues to massage against your g-spot and you cry out in pleasure. “W- What’s happening, Bucky?” You ask him in confusion and bewilderment. “Don’t think, little dove, just feel.” He shuts you up quickly and suddenly the pressure that was building up explodes. Your jaw slacks and drool leaks out of your mouth as your cunt constricts around his finger. “Look at you, going all stupid with my finger in your pretty little cunt. I bet you won’t be able to handle my big fat cock in your pussy, ruining you over and over.” He growls, grinding his hard cock against your thigh. He continues to fuck you with his finger, despite your protests and pleads for him to stop. The feeling is too much for you to handle, but that doesn’t stop him. He pulls his finger out of your cunt and the pains immediately return.

He sucks your arousal off of his finger and moans at the sweet taste. Suddenly, he gets off of you and picks you up easily. You’re still in your collar, much to Bucky’s enjoyment. “Why are you crying? Hm? I’m helping you out, little dove. This isn’t wrong or anything, okay? I would never do anything wrong, and I’m quite hurt that you think I’m a bad person.” He whispers, shaking you in his grip. “I…” You don't know what to say. He knows what’s right and what’s wrong… you don’t. “I’m just helping you out, little dove. Because you’re mine, and I love you. This is love, okay? Anything else is just bullshit.” His whisper turns into a ferocious growl, scaring you. He throws you onto his large bed and puts you on your knees. Bucky strips himself quickly, eager to feel you wrapped around his cock.

“Say ‘ah’ little dove.” He smirks, and your jaw hesitatingly slacks open. He pushes his boxers down and his leaking cock bounces up. Truly, he is big. Long and thick, a phenomenon. He grabs the base and gives himself a few strokes, rubbing the pre-cum that leaks from his tip onto your tongue. He moans softly and suddenly pushes into your mouth. Bucky’s cock hits the back of your throat and you gag loudly. Bucky shoves your head down his cock until your nose meets his pubic hair. He keeps you there for a few seconds, enjoying the way you struggle around his cock. Your gags resonate in the room and your tongue laves against the bottom of his cock. Thick veins throb and pulsate against your wet muscle. The manly, musky taste of him fills your mouth and you’re in love with it.

He growls loudly and slowly moves your head up and down for you. Your bell jingles with each movement and he fucks your face relentlessly. Your gags fill the room and fresh tears stream down your face. You try your hardest to breathe slowly, but Bucky’s cock makes it difficult for you. His swollen, heavy balls slap against your spit-soaked chin and he thrusts in and out of your mouth. He moans loudly and the need to cum grows. You struggle to breathe and easily remember all those nights of panic attacks. You hit against his thigh gently, looking up at him so that he can let you breathe. Black dots decorate your vision and you can see Bucky smiling down at you before moaning loudly. He suddenly pulls you away from his cock and trails of saliva follow. You gasp for air as though you were just drawing. Or you were thirteen and having a panic attack in the hospital as you watch the doctors cover your mother’s head with a sheet.

After a few seconds, Bucky shoves you back onto his cock and you let him. “Shit, such a good fucking girl. Look so beautiful with your face stuffed full with my cock, so good.” He praises, making you preen under him. You grab onto his thighs for support and let yourself be limp under his touch, fully trusting him. Your short nails leave crescent shaped scars that make Bucky hiss. Bucky uses your mouth like a fleshlight, chasing his orgasm without stopping. He moans loudly and you can feel more slickness leaking out of you. It comes in ten-fold but you know that he’ll take care of you. You just know it, deep down in your innocent heart. “Oh, fuck!” He shouts loudly, his metal arm whirring wildly. “Fuck, ‘m going to cum.” He moans, thrusting even harder. You feel yourself losing air, and you wonder if you’re going to pass out. Soon, Bucky pushes your head down and his hips still.

Hot, thick ropes of cum shoots from his tip and he fills your mouth up with no shame or regret. It’s so much, too much. His cum overflows and leaks from your mouth and you’re left with no choice but to swallow it all. Bucky pulls his hard cock out of your mouth and smiles at you. There’s still some left on the corners of your mouth, and a thin sheen of his covers his cock. “You looked so fucking slutty with my cock down your throat, little dove. I know you liked it.” He smiles down at you, before pressing a chaste kiss on your forehead. Bucky once again picks you up, but this time he throws you at the mountain of pillows. He climbs on top of you and kisses you passionately. You try to mimic what he’s doing, but you soon give up. He chuckles against your mouth and pushes your legs against your chest. Bucky grabs the base of his cock and he settles between your legs. Your sticky thighs touch his and he pulls away from your mouth.

“You want your Master’s cock, don’t you little dove? You’re drooling for it, and so is your cunt.” He husks, making you whimper. He slaps the tip against your clit and you jolt from the sensitivity. He rubs his cockhead through your soaking folds and teases your sopping hole. “Y- Yes, Master…” You sheepishly admit, not even knowing what either of you are saying. He curses under his breath and drops his head into the crook of your neck. He bares his teeth with a not-so quiet hiss and drags his fangs against that spot on your neck. He’s careful to avoid your collar, knowing that his sharp teeth can easily destroy the cheap lace of it. “O târfa atât de bună, atât de bună pentru stăpânul ei.” The European langue falls from his mouth beautifully and you have no idea as to what he’s saying.

Bucky feels you getting wetter as he speaks, your cunt giving away how much of a slut you are for him. The throbbing veins of his cock pulsate against your needy pussy, much like how they were throbbing in your mouth. Your wetness mixes with the extra cum and saliva that stained his cock from before. You’re a complete mess. Cunt dripping, drool leaking and you're panting like a wanton bitch in heat. Bucky moves his head up to your ear, lciking the shell of it. “O să te iau iar și iar, o să te fac o mizerie stupidă pe scula mea. Poate și degetele și gura mea, te voi umple iar și iar. Ți-ar plăcea asta, nu-i așa? Porumbelul meu... Atât de nevinovat. Abia aștept să te văd plin cu sperma mea, o să-ți distrug păsărica.” He groans in your ear, watching you become needier and needier with each fleeting moment.

“You want my cock? Beg for it, beg for it little dove. Let the whole neighbourhood hear how much of a cockslut you are.” He commands loudly, pulling his face away to see you burn up. You don’t know what to say, so you choose to remain silent. You look up at him, his eyes dark and blown out. They no longer carry that comforting look that you trust. “Aw, does my little dove need some help? That’s okay, I’m here to take care of you. You gotta repeat after me, okay? It’s okay if you hesitate or stutter, but don’t go purposefully messing it up.” He explains, before slapping you lightly. Your bell jingles and Bucky chuckles along with it. “Say that you want your Master’s cock so bad- that you need it. And beg for it too.” He elucidates, and you let out a little ‘oh.’ “I… I want you c- cock so bad, Master! I need it, please give it to me! I’ll do anything, just please give me your c- cock… Please, Master? I’ll be so good!” You plead, taking both you and Bucky by surprise.

He gets even harder than he already is and he can swear he could cum on the spot right there and then. “Fuck, little dove, you’re already my little slut and I haven’t even fucked you yet.” He remarks, before slapping the fat tip of his cock on your swollen button. One. Two. Three. You yelp and whine each time, before begging him again. “P- Please, Master…” You mewl, throwing your head back. Bucky growls at the sight of your pretty neck, all sweaty and ready for him to sink his fangs into. Suddenly, he pushes into your tight, wet cunt. His thick cock painfully stretches you out, but all he feels is pleasure. Your pain soon turns into euphoria and you feel full… A little too full. “Ngh… Master...” You whine in pain. Bucky fills you up to the brim and it’s almost like he’s never going to bottom out.

The sounds leaving your mouth make it hard for him to control himself. He wraps his metal hand around your neck and looks down to where you’re connected. Through your stomach, you could see his cock bulging through. The sight has him ready to pound you into oblivion. Bucky begins to snap his hips back and forth, hammering into you at an inhumane pace. Your mouth falls slack and your eyes roll back into your head. Your hands search to hold something for support, but you can’t find anything. “La naiba, ești atât de strâmt, porumbel mic.” He growls under his breath and you moan loudly. The sound is lewd and pornographic. Loud, wet squelching noises reverberate each time his cock drags against your sensitive walls.

“Uită-te la tine, atât de drăguță cu scula mea mare care ți-o trage. Îți distrug păsărica inocentă.” he moans, fucking you even faster. Wetness coats his cock and you’re moaning litanies of “Master” over and over. His balls slap against your ass and Bucky pounds into you relentlessly. The light from the moon shines brightly and you look like a beauty under him. Bucky squeezes the sides of your throat even harder and your tits bounce with every harsh thrust of his cock. His other hand, the flesh one, moves to your swollen and sensitive clit. He begins to rub your pearl with slow, hard ministrations. You clench around Bucky’s cock and can feel that weird fire inside you burning up again. “M- Master! That- That thing… It’s happening!” You cry out, feeling the veins of his cock throb against your walls.

Tears fall from your eyes and Bucky coles at you. “Poor little dove, can’t handle your Master’s big, fat cock.” He husks, staring at your stomach as he can so is cock driving in and out of your tight pussy. “Master!” You cry out abruptly, your back arching off of his soft bed. Your pussy convulses around his big cock, milking him for all his worth as you cum. You gush all over him, cum dripping all over your pussy and his cock. You continue to clench around him, hugging him tightly as he continues to fuck you. Bucky stops rubbing your overwrought clit and pressing down on the bulge of his cock. “Look, little dove. Look at how good your Master is filling you up, deep in your tight pussy.” he growls, making you look down. You moan even louder at the sight of his cock bulging through your stomach. “C’mon, beg for your Master to fill you up.” He demands, fucking you even harder. Through your moans and sobs, you manage to speak.

“Pl- Please fill me up, Master. Please, I ne- need it so- so badly…” You beg, before cumming again. You squeeze Bucky’s cock even tighter and soak his cock with your sticky cum. Bucky snarls like a ferocious animal as he feels you milk his cock for his cum. “F- la naiba, rahat, am de gând să cum. O să te umplu, porumbelul. Fill you up to the brim with my cock, watch it leak out of this pretty pussy ‘a yours.” He groans, his thrusts becoming more and more sloppy. “Give me one more, little dove. I know you’re sensitive, but you can do it, cum on my cock.” He growls, and on command, you come undone around him. Bucky sinks his teeth into your neck, making you cry out in agony. His hips still and his balls tighten up as he cums. Thick, hot, white streaks and ribbons of cum paint your walls and you both moan at the feeling. He keeps his cock locked inside you and laps up the crimson liquid that spills from your neck.

You can feel him getting even harder inside you and you moan loudly. Bucky lazily kisses you with his blood soaked mouth. You whimper as you can taste the metallic flavour of it on your tongue, but he only cooes at you like you’re a little baby. “Bu- Master? Am- Am I going to turn into a vampire?” You frightfully ask him once you’ve calmed down. “No, but you are mine. You always have and you always will be mine.” He smirks, rubbing his nose against yours. Your pains haven’t completely dissipated, and Bucky knows that. Feeling his cum spill around his cock, leaking out of you, he chuckles like usual. “Can I go back home, please?” You beg him, thinking about your poor grandmother. He shakes his head and his jaw clenches with anger. “You’re not leaving me, little dove. No matter what.” He reassures, starting to slowly thrust into you. You moan softly and close your eyes, letting sleep take you over.

“I love you, little dove. You’re mine, and there’s no way you’re escaping me.”

WARNINGS. | Dark!Vampire!Bucky, feeding, murder.

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