#thanks for letting her know she's loved and appreciated

[sometimesanalice]

I just loved getting to read your thoughts! It’s always so fun to see the things that stand out the most to people!

More for you!

Ok, so I try something new. Kinda like a life comment while reading, let's see how it goes.— thank you for taking the time to write your thoughts out and share with me!!

Sweetie the effort is great, but that's why you google the places you go to. I feel so bad for reader though. A warning would have been nice. Hopefully, at least her date is appreciating the effort...— bless her!! The one time she decided to throw cation into the wind, it boomeranged and hit her right back in her face! I tried to fold in ways that showed how she was usually a planner, but trying something new (like the way she was stressed about not knowing the drinks menu and what to order). And then juxtapose how out of place she felt under the circumstances at the beginning, compared to the end with Bradley and how much more at ease she is because of him making her feel that way.

Bradley the cavalry comes to the rescue. At least the Valentine's day is getting a little better. Ok, I correct myself. It's getting a hell of a lot better. “Because if I’m being honest, if that asshole had actually shown up, I don’t know if I would have played fair.” Really Mr. Bradshaw? You wanna make me melt in my seat or what?— that man is all gas no brake!! There’s nothing subtle about him in the least! And it makes for so much fun! 🤭🤭🤭

“Good to know they still work, I wasn’t sure if I still had it.” Oh please. You are a 20/10.— cheeky boy!!

Ok. He gets her a ring on date one. If that's not the most romantic thing ever I don't know what is.— I’d be in an absolute FULL SWOON

“I take it you know, Malibu Ken?” The way I burst out into laughter at this perfect description of Hangman... even my dog gave me the side-eye for disturbing her sleep. Also, the annoying younger brother energy I am getting from this is priceless.— Hangman is a MENACE! Like let the man flirt with a pretty girl! 😂 he definitely deserved his new moniker!

I am so proud of reader for grilling Hangman with such grace. You go girl.— she was such a queen! She was like, I’ll just show you how it’s done 💅🏻

Also, that move with the dating app. Good god Rooster is just such a romantic and I'm living for it. I loved every second of their banter and the amount of times I've sat here awwing or kicking my feet while I giggle might be a bit alarming but I loved every second of it. This was such a wonderful read and I sure as hell will come back to this one quite often. Thank you so much for sharing this with us.— ahhh!! Oh that makes me so happy you liked this!! That dating app bit was a last minute burst of inspo and I’m so glad that I decided to include it because I love just the extra mile he went with that! 🤭

GIF by muvana

To you, for writing this masterpiece and to cute paper rings and milkshakes with two straws— 🥂🥂🥂

For the Plot

Summary: Things aren't looking too good for you, sitting alone at the Hard Deck waiting for a man who might not show. Until Bradley Bradshaw sits down across from you and turns your entire night upside down.

Pairing: Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x Reader

Length: 7.7k

Warnings: fluff, so much flirting, and an italicized oh

Going on a first date on Valentine’s Day is unarguably the worst possible idea that anyone has ever had.And while the sure to be terrible, no good, horribly bad idea hadn’t been yours, you weren’t entirely sure what you were thinking when you’d even agreed to it in the first place.

The guy you were planning to meet tonight was cute enough, even if you were still undecided about the mustache. And while the chats between the two of you had been pretty good as far as it goes getting to know a literal stranger, you were hopeful that it could be even better in person. The fact he was in the Navy was still a bit of a consideration for you, but not a deal breaker.

In retrospect, the name of the bar should have been your first clue and the location paired with the causal beachy exterior covered in planes should have been the second.

You had been expecting to see more than one girl all done up in pinks and reds tonight, but you couldn’t have been more wrong. And you swear to god, somewhere you hear a record scratch as you step into the Hard Deck, because you are surrounded by nothing but a sea of olive green and khaki and denim.

And you have never been so clearly out of place in your entire life.

There was nothing about your ensemble that was even remotely fitting for the literal Navy bar you’d found yourself in.

The ice pink mini slip dress you’d dug out of your closet was admittedly a little much for a first date, but since it was Valentine’s Day you figured why not lean into it a bit. And well, if your date didn’t appreciate it, then that was a him problem.

Or so you’d thought at the time, because now it was a decidedly you problem.

The silhouette was simple enough, with the gentle drape of the cowl neck and the barely-there spaghetti straps, but the shiny sheen of the fabric made a statement of its own. It wasn’t something you got to wear very often for as much as you loved it.

But then you’d gone ahead and paired it with the tallest, most ostentation heels you had. The effort had been worth it though because the pearl encrusted block heels made your legs look like they went on for days. Even if it had been a feat trying to get the dainty buckle done with the way you’d been rushing out of the house with your beaded bag in tow.

The whole look was something you’d sure would come with Cher Horowitz’s seal of approval. However, the patrons of the Hard Deck you were less sure about. And even though there were civilians- like yourself- scattered about the bar, none were anywhere near as dressed up as you.

There are more than a few pairs of eyes on you as you stand there with your feet glued to the uneven wooden floors, as the door with its porthole-shaped window slowly closes behind you with a squeaky creak. The twinkle lights above your head felt more like a spotlight, illuminating how out of place you are in this moment.

Your hand is still clutched on the handle unsure whether you’re going to make a run for it or not. You are more than a little tempted to hightail it back to the parking lot and text your date to claim a bout of food poisoning from the safety of the driver’s seat in your car.

But chances are if your date is here then he has already seen you. A bright beacon of pink amongst varying shades of brown and woodgrain.

“Oh my god,” you mutter under your breath, trying not to panic. Officially a victim of your own bad decision making.

You take a quick scan of the room, trying to decide what your next move should be. There’s a woman behind the bar with kind but clearly inquisitive eyes. A blonde with a wolfish smile eyes you from where he stands next to a man with broad shoulders bent over what must be the pool table, hidden behind the paneled half wall. By a dart board, there are a couple men with their heads turned towards you, the game seemingly forgotten as they discuss the spectacle that is you.

There are hundreds of planes dangling over the bar, patches and plaques littering the walls and rafters, rounders suspended from the ceiling laden with too many ceramic mugs to count. It was all done with a heavy-handed, maximalistic approach that you’d take a moment to appreciate under any other given circumstances.

When you spot an open table tucked away in the corner of the room it feels like life raft to the iceberg of a situation you’ve put yourself in. Mindful of the scuffed, uneven floors- because the last thing you need is to eat shit or twist an ankle in front of room full of curious onlookers- you hustle over to the spot in hopes of having a moment to regroup.  

Once you’re situated- shrugging off the ivory cardigan you’d topped your outfit, trying to keep the nervous sweat that wanted to break out over your body at bay- you pull out your phone and check the time only to realize you’re devastatingly on time. Five minutes early, to be specific.

So you wait.

And check your phone again and the notifications in the dating app, just in case you missed something.

And wait.

You try to play it cool, skimming posts on Instagram and replying to some overdue texts. Finding anything you can to keep yourself occupied to ignore the sinking feeling in your stomach the longer you sit there. Alone.

Now you’re not just simply embarrassed, you’re mortified.

You can still feel the eyes, the energy steadily shifting from curiosity to sympathy over the last thirty minutes you’ve been waiting all alone in the corner of a Navy bar you had no business being in for a man who clearly wasn’t going to show.

So much for doing it for the plot, you think to yourself with a shake of your head.

Another minute ticks by with no message and you decide you’re more than ready to hightail it out of there. Fully aware that you’re about to become a topic of conversation that won’t have to be restricted to only covert glances and muffled whispers. But hopefully, they’ll at least wait until the door closes behind you before the chatter starts up for real.

With a sigh, you reach for your beaded bag, just as a large body slips into the chair across from you, with an ease that is in contrast to the bulk of muscles you catch in your peripheral vision.

“You look like you’re in need of a date,” a warm, raspy voice offers.

It’s the smile that you catch first. Not quite a grin, but something familiar and friendly and charming in the way it crookedly pulled to the left. Followed closely by the rich chocolate brown eyes that were squarely trained on you with a look that was just as earnest as it was playful. But what surprised you the most was the way he was sitting in the stool across from you just as comfortably as if he was supposed to be there all along.

There was no way you could have prepared yourself for the sheer level of attractiveness of this man.

He was in a league of his own with those curls and wide shoulders. The white and olive green stripped crochet shirt he was wearing didn’t hurt either, especially the way the top buttons were undone giving you glimpse of a chain around his neck and the chest underneath it. He didn’t need to be in uniform- or even in a Navy bar- for you to tell he was a military man. Not with the confident way he held himself.

Even if the mustache he was sporting made it feel like the universe was playing tricks on you, but he more than wore it well.

You huff out a self-deprecating laugh. “What gave it away?” you ask. “The way I’ve been watching the door? Or just the general look of regret and embarrassment?”

“Embarrassed? What do you have to be embarrassed about?” His eyebrows pull together, perplexed. He shakes his head like he disagrees with even the suggestion of it. “I think the only person who should be embarrassed is the guy who is missing out on sitting across from you right now.”

You give him a soft smile of your own in return for the cinnamon sweet words. There’s a genuineness in his tone that makes some of the tightness that had settled in your shoulders from the moment you’d walked in release.

“That’s kind of you, but I think I’m going to head out,” you say, nodding to the door you never should have stepped through in the first place.

He gives you a teasing tsk. “And let a dress like that go to waste? Now that would be a shame.”

The appreciative look in his gaze that sets off a swarm of butterflies in your stomach. And then his eyebrow ticks up, just a little. Part invitation, part dare. And you can’t say you’re not intrigued.

There’s a decision to make.

You could leave now and cut your losses. There was a reason you had a back-up pizza in the fridge and had left you well-loved copy of You’ve Got Mail sitting out on your coffee table.

Or you could stick around and see what happens next.

You tilt your head at him, just as teasing. “Would it now?”

“It would,” he states, sincerely.

Before you can reply, your phone lights up with a new notification, pulling you out of the whisky haze you’d found yourself in. 

His eyes dip down to your illuminated screen. “Is that him?”

“It is,” you confirm, almost regretfully. You open the app and skim the message. And then read it again.

There’s no sorry, no apology for cancelling a half an hour after the time for the date that had been his idea in the first place. And then he’d even had the audacity to tack on a cavalier maybe another time at the end.

Unbelievable.

He lets out a low whistle. “That bad, huh?”

“Apparently, I should have been the one to remind him that the fourteenth of February is a calendar holiday and a fan favorite day of the greeting card companies.” It’s so ridiculous you’d laugh if you weren’t so annoyed by the lack of consideration and the not-so-subtle blame he’d tried to shift on you. “Even though I did double check if he was sure about meeting up today, I guess I didn’t realize I actually needed to spell out ‘Valentine’s Day’ for him.”

The man across from you doesn’t bother holding back the less than impressed look on his face. And you decide you like that about him, that he wears his thoughts so openly. It’s refreshing.

“Do you mind if I take a look at his profile?”

You shrug and pass your phone over. You were planning on blocking West the second you had a moment anyways. You see him roll his eyes and guess it has something to do with the amount of shirtless gym selfies.

He snorts as he scrolls, “Please, his mustache has nothing on mine.”

An amused laugh escapes you. “Are we ranking mustaches now? Because if that’s the case, I’m sorry to say that I’d have to give it to Selleck.”

“Fair enough,” he concedes good-naturedly, as he hands you back your phone. “But am I at least a close second?” There’s no mistaking the flirtatious tone in his voice.

You hum and take full advantage of the opportunity to look at him unabashedly, mapping the contours of his face because you can.

To simply call him handsome would be an understatement.

The way the golden light of the sunset is hitting him you catch some sunkissed strands in those soft looking waves of his hair. There’s the beginning of some crinkles around the edges of his eyes. You notice the scars on his face, some that look long healed and others that are still a light pink- like the one on the side of his neck and beneath is ear. And that mustache on him worked for you, one hundred percent.

There’s a playful glint in his eyes as he lets you assess him that leaves no question as to whether or not he’s been flirting with you. You like the way he’s looking at you and the way he’s easily made you forget about being overdressed and how uncomfortable you were even just five minutes ago. You’re having fun. And while you still haven’t answered his question from earlier, you have no doubt that he’d show you a good time if you let him.

“Maybe not a close second, but yours is certainly up there,” you tease.

He grins. “I can work with that.” There’s something about the way he adds on for now that has a spark dancing up along your spine. And then he sticks out his hand, “I’m Bradley.”

It’s a good name. It suits him. It’s one you think you’ll enjoy the way your tongue will curl around the letters of it in your mouth.

When you give him yours in return, he sits up straighter in his seat, like he’s won a small victory.

You don’t doubt that he’s the chivalrous type, the fact that he’s gone out of his way to come over to try and turn this evening around for you says more about him than any dating profile with nonsense questions and overthought answers ever could. But with a man like him, one who’d swoop in to save the night of a stranger because she looks like a damsel in distress, there’s an answer to a question you need to hear first.

“Bradley, this isn’t a pity thing, is it?” You were right, you like the way saying his name feels. You drop your hands into your lap, as you search his eyes. “Because if it is, that’ll make me feel worse than being stood up did.”

The way the words were sitting out and open on the table between the two of you made you feel vulnerable in a way you didn’t like. But you’d rather know now before anything goes further. Doing it for the plot or not, your ego could only take so much bruising in one evening.

He pins you with a look so serious that you feel it down to your toes. “Trust me, this is furthest thing from a ‘pity thing’, as you put it,” Bradley says, his tone slipping down a few gravelly notes. “Because if I’m being honest, if that asshole had actually shown up, I don’t know if I would have played fair.”

Oh.

A thrilling rush of warmth courses through you as your cheeks heat up.

You nod, trying to not look as affected as you feel. “Ok, I believe you.”

“Good,” he smirks, his gaze dropping down and lingering on your lips. You didn’t realize you’d trapped your lower lip between your teeth, you release it immediately. “Because you should know, I would have come over sooner- the second I saw you, actually- if I’d known. That’s some dress, sweetheart,” Bradley continues, “Plus, you’d be doing me a favor.”

You couldn’t help but be curious, so you lean in closer. “Oh, how so?”

Bradley mirrors you, crossing his thick forearms over each other and leans in that much closer. “I haven’t had a Valentine in years,” he says it like he’s letting you in on a secret.

For the first time all night, you don’t regret wearing the dress. You don’t regret the ostentatious shoes or the glimmering beaded bag. You don’t regret walking through that creaky door. You don’t regret showing up tonight.

How could you when you’ve just been served the best plot twist you’ve possibly ever experienced? A meetcute you never could have seen coming.

You realize just how close your faces have gotten and lean back in your seat, from fear of thinking you might do something stupid, like kiss him. “Will you stop with the big cow eyes, if I agree?”

Those crinkles around his eyes deepen, “Good to know they still work, I wasn’t sure if I still had it.”

You press your lips together trying to hide your smile, all too thoroughly charmed, but the corners of your mouth curl up all the same.

“Trust me, you have plenty.”

And Bradley’s own smile gets even wider.

Anyone in the bar can see how pleased with himself he is at your words. It rolls off of him in steady waves and swirls around your shins and ankles.

He makes a show of settling further into his seat, now that it is officially his seat. “What’re we thinking? One milkshake, two straws?”

You play along and pretend to ponder the offer for a moment. “That seems more like a second date type of activity, does it not?”

“You’re right, something to look forward to for next time,” he responds, not missing a beat. “So, can I buy you a drink?”

“I’ll allow it.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

There wasn’t a menu or anything on the table when you sat down, so you aren’t sure what all is offered here. You thought you might have caught a glimpse of a laminated stack near register when you’d first walked in, but you hadn’t wanted to draw any more attention to yourself at the time by getting up again and wandering around and reminding people just how out of place you’d been.

You look around and see a mix of ceramic steins, pint glasses, beer bottles, and a few stems of wine on tabletops and in the hands of the other patrons.

The noise of the bar had become a faint white noise in your ears as the two of you talked, but it comes back in full force now.

“If they have rosé, I’d take a glass of that.” It isn’t hard to miss the hesitation in your voice, feeling a little silly defaulting to your usual go-to. You don’t imagine they go through a ton of pink wine here. “But, uhm, anything on tap would be fine too, if they don’t.”

Bradley’s lips twitch up. Not in a smirk, but something caught between amused and something else you can’t quite describe.

You try not to fidget under his warm gaze, “What?”

He slides out of his stool and rounds the table, setting a big hand on the armrest near your elbow, “There’s something you should know about me, sweetheart.”

“And what’s that?” you ask, more than a little breathlessly. Feeling a little high off of the smell of his leather and vanilla cologne, and something underneath that that reminds you of kerosene in a way that makes you want to breathe him in even more.

Bradley dips down close, his lips just a whisper from your ear, and murmurs, “Pink is my favorite color.”

Your head tips back on its own as you laugh. Its unabashedly loud and bright and delighted thing that fills the nooks and crannies of the corner you’d tucked yourself away into. And if a few heads turn your way because of it, that’s alright with you.

You don’t believe him, not one little bit. But that’s part of the fun. The back and forth, the flirting, the banter, the teasing. He’s so quickly turned this night around for you, you already know your cheeks are going to hurt by the end of it.

The sound of Bradley’s own laughter chases after yours. It’s warm and raspy and boyish, and you like the sound of it. You like him.

“One rosé, coming up,” he says, giving your shoulder a light squeeze before he steps out of your space. “There’s nothing I like more than a girl who commits to a theme.”

You catch his wrist, his skin warm under your palm. “Wait, what’s it really?”

“Red,” Bradley says, then gives you a slow once over, making your pulse spark in your veins. “But you’ve got me second guessing myself now.” He gives you a wink and then heads towards the bar.

You watch stunned as he saunters away, admiring the way the light wash jeans he’s wearing form to his long legs, before taking a moment to send a string of words punctuated with more than a few exclamation points to the group chat.

When he comes back, only a few minutes later, he has glass of familiar pink wine in one hand and a bottle of beer in the other. And oddly enough, a straw tucked into the pocket on his shirt.

“It’s almost a perfect match,” he notes, when he sets it in front of you.

“At least I won’t have to worry about staining if I end up spilling on myself.”

Bradley chuckles and moves his stool in closer to yours, sitting back down with more smooth grace than a man with his build has any right to move. He tips the neck of his beer towards you, and you lightly tap your wine glass against it.

You take a sweet sip. “So.”

“So,” he repeats, with a teasing lift of his eyebrow.

“What’s your move?” you ask, running a glossy tipped finger around the rim of your wineglass.

“My move?” And there’s that grin again, one he doesn’t try to hide as he takes a sip of his own.  “‘m pretty sure I’ve been showing you my moves since I sat down. I’ve never been good at being subtle.”

Bradley pulls the straw from his pocket and taps it a few times against the shellacked woodgrain table top. He takes the flimsy wrapper carefully starts twisting it, a little furrow of concentration forms between his brows, spiraling it until it’s pulled taut against itself.  

You set an elbow on the edge, resting your chin on your hand as you study him. “But what’s the big move? I know you have one,” you press further.

His hands are big, calloused and rough, but capable. You want to know the story behind the scar that’s near the base of his thumb. You note that he wears his watch on the right instead of the left, and you pocket that new discovery for yourself the way a kid enthusiastically collects rocks in a park.

Bradley takes that piece of paper and folds it in half before twisting it again.

You watch in fascination as that pleased grin transforms into a confident smirk, like he’s enjoying even just the thought of showing you his big move. He looks like good trouble.

Bradley’s eyes slowly lift to yours, his hands pausing whatever he’s doing with that wrapper. He shoots a thumb to the left towards the end of the oval shaped bar. “You see that piano over there?”

“Mhm.” It’s an almost purr.

“That’s my big move.”

You feel your eyebrows lift in surprise. Bradley gave off such hometown golden boy vibes, you’d never have expected that he’d be the musical type too. The idea of seeing those hands fly over a set of black and white piano keys made your stomach tighten deliciously in anticipation.

“Am I going to get to see it?”

His gaze is steady on you when he replies, “Yeah, sweetheart, I’ll show you my move.”

A grin stretches across your face and you feel downright giddy, as you wiggle your shoulders in triumph.

Bradley shakes his head amused, and then refocuses his efforts on the task he’d started with the straw wrapper. He struggles only for a moment- those large fingers getting in the way- as he tries to open the end just enough to slip the tail though. He gives it one more final twist, securing the loop, before inspecting his handiwork.

“Now, since we’re valentines and all, it seemed only fitting that I get you- well, make you- a little something.” Bradley gives you a soft, boyish smile as he holds out his palm towards you, and in the center of it is a perfectly crafted paper ring. “Sorry, I couldn’t find you a Ring Pop on short notice.”

The words escape you for a moment at the sheer sweetness of the gesture.

Gently, you take it from his outstretched hand, and slip it onto the pointer finger of your right hand, adjusting it with care until you have it situated just right.

“I usually wouldn’t be able to accept something so grand on a first date. But for you, I’ll make an exception,” you say, liltingly. “Thank you, Bradley.”

You look down to appreciate it again, more than a little tempted to take it off and tuck it securely into your purse for safekeeping. For as much as you liked your dress and bag and your shoes, that little paper ring was now your favorite piece of the outfit you were wearing.

When you glance back up at him, his cheeks have the faintest pink hue to them. The little nonchalant shrug he tries to give you does nothing to hide how pleased he looks. “I make a mean daisy chain too. We might have to wait a couple months for Spring, but I’m good for it.”

Your mind flashes with an image of you and him in a park with a picnic basket sat between the two of you, and those large hands of his threading celery green stems together. It’s a pretty picture.

“Well, aren’t you just a regular modern day Renaissance man.”

“I’m a man of many talents,” he rasps, silky smooth. It makes goosebumps raise along your arms. “Now, I’ve told you mine. Can’t say I’m not dying to know what your big move is. Am I going to get to see it, sweetheart?”

“Maybe,” you muse, lifting your glass to take another sip, “If you’re good.”

Bradley hooks a foot under you stool and tugs you just a few inches closer. “Just out of curiosity, what’s your position on kissing on a first date?”

You bend forward towards him and think you hear his breath hitch, you smile. “I’ll keep you posted.”

You’re still looking at his lips when a shout from across the bar startles you both.

“Bradshaw!”

Bradley mutters a string of curses and then blows out a breath, giving you a smoldering look that tells you that the conversation is far from over. You’re more than willing to let him try and change your mind about where he lands in the mustache rankings.

You look over your shoulder to see the with the sharp smile from earlier waving your date over to the pool table. “I take it you know, Malibu Ken?”

“Unfortunately.” A mischievous look coasts over his face. “But I’ll get you all the Ring Pops you could ever want if you say that to his face.”

You laugh. “I’m holding out for that daisy chain.”

Another holler rings out from across the room, the same Southern drawl as before.

“Seems like he wants your attention. Is he a Leo?”

He snorts. “You know what, he just might be. But more like he’s been waiting for the right moment to annoy me since I ditched him to come talk to a pretty girl instead.”

You try not to preen at the compliment.

“The relentless type, huh?”

“You don’t know the half of it. I think I’m about thirty seconds from him queuing up “You Make Me Feel So Young” on repeat just to fuck with me,” Bradley explains. There’s a story there and you want to know more. “I know I still owe you the big move, but is it alright if I try to show off a little for you now? Just to get off my back for the rest of the night, then I’m all yours.”

You feel like you’ve just pulled an ace from your pocket.

“What are the stakes?” you ask, intrigued.

“Two hundred dollars and a whiskey,” Bradley replies.

You let out a low whistle, trying to school the catlike grin that wants to overtake your face. “That’s a lot of Ring Pops.”

The corners of his mouth curl up. “I was thinking dinner for our third date,” he says. “I’m buying for our second, of course. But it’s only right that we split the spoils of war.”

The sound of a brass band rings out over the staticky speakers and Bradley hangs his head down and lets out a long-suffering groan. You playfully pat his shoulder in faux commiseration.

You pretend to consider it for a moment, but you already know your answer. “Okay,” you agree, “Just as long as you’re okay with a little respectful ogling. You like my dress, and I like those jeans you’re wearing.”

He laughs, it’s a throaty rich sound. “I’d be offended if you didn’t.”

You gather for you purse and sweater as Bradley stands. His hands come to your waist, helping you off the chair, your bodies closer than close. It’s a forward move- he knows it, you know it- but with him, you don’t mind at all.

Bradley offers you his hand and you take it in yours; his fingers slip between yours easily like the two of you have already done this before.  

The two of you only make it a few steps before you tug on his hand, waiting until he looks at you from over his shoulder before asking, with a lifted brow, “Bradley Bradshaw?”

He huffs out a not-so-exasperated sigh, “I blame it on the 80’s.”

“Whatever you say, Brad-Brad.” It’s the one and only time you’re ever going to say it, you decide. You like saying his name too much to shorten it. And his back may be turned to you now, but that now familiar chuckle still makes its way to your ears.

Bradley leads you to the bar first, where he buys another glass of rosé and a beer for himself. When you try to pass your credit card to the woman behind the counter, he takes it, and rasps into your ear, “Let me.”

He tucks it right back into your purse as the sound of brass instruments starts up yet again.

“Like a dog with a goddamn bone,” you hear him mumble. And you press your lips together to keep from laughing. Sure, you’d rather be seeing his big move, but you can’t claim not to be amused by all of this.

He nods to a group of people in the corner near the popcorn machine when the two of you enter the alcove with pool table. Some of his other friends of his you assume.

You send them a little wave, one that they return in greeting. You can tell they’re curious, but you’re grateful when they resume their conversation instead of making you feel like your date with Bradley had become a spectator sport for their viewing entertainment.

The first thing Bradley does is introduce you to his friend. It’s a little thing, but he does it without prompt or awkwardly leaving you to take the initiative yourself. You appreciate the way he is still prioritizing your comfort the way he’s been doing it since he first sat down across from you.

The second thing he does is pull out a chair for you. Not with a fanfare, not with a flourish. But like it’s something that’s innately ingrained in him. You get the sense that the gentleman thing isn’t an act with him, it’s who he is.

Jake rests a hip against the table. “Sorry to interrupt your date, but Bradshaw and I had some unfinished business.”

You wave him off, it’s not a big deal. Not when you’ll have the rest of the night with Bradley. Plus, you’re eager to watch this play out between them, curious about their gameplay.

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s get this over with,” Bradley rumbles, as he arranges the balls in the rack. And you wonder if he lost the lag before he’d made his way over to your table for one.

He comes back over to you, and leans on the ledge next to you as he chalks his cue. You’d thought about slipping your sweater back on, with the outside chill pressing against the line of glass windows at your back, but Bradley had more than enough warmth radiating off of him that you didn’t need to.

“You that eager to be out a couple hundred, Bradshaw?” Jake grins, as he leans over the side of the table. He turns his gaze to you and sends you a wink right before he breaks, sending the cue ball barreling into the others with a resounding clack, scattering them across the table.

And then they’re off.

It’s a rapid fire of back-and-forth banter between the men as they take their shots. Mostly good natured, but undeniably competitive. Smirking when they land their shots, and snarking over fouls. Clear that neither of them wants to lose.

Jake is all confident posturing, playing low over the cue with a lightly too tight grip. It’s the only thing that gives him away that he’s not the easygoing player as he wants people to think he is. Choosing higher risk shots that would highlight his ability versus some of the more straightforward options laid out for him, and skilled enough that it pays off most of the time. But after a couple rounds you note he’s too quick to stand up after taking his shot, not enough follow through because he’s too eager to see if his gamble pays off.

Bradley is all loose-limbed ease, clearly comfortable in both his skin and at the table. You can tell he’s probably playing quicker than he normally does, clearly trying to hurry up the game for your sake, even though he doesn’t need to. Although he does take his time as he positions himself around the table, only adjusting his bridge every now and then. Always with a 1-2 shot, a warm-up stroke followed by a steady hit. Watching him you catch his tendency to throw out his elbow of the follow through.

The two are pretty well matched in skill, you observe with keen eyes, as the balls skate across the Top Gun insignia, against the rails, and into pockets.

When Bradley’s not up to play, he’s by your side, right at your elbow. And when he is, it’s your eyes he’s looking into the moment he stands back up, seeking out your reaction. But more than once you feel his eyes on you as you watch them play.

True to your word, you to admire him in those snug fitting jeans. And when he catches your appreciative gaze, he sends you a wink before lining up his next shot.

Jake sinks another solid into the pocket he’d called only moments ago, and turns his dimpled smile at you, “You still sure about your date with the old man, chickadee? I bet I could show him up in that department too.”

The way he says it, you know he’s just teasing, probably just to rile you date up and get a reaction from him.

“Unfortunately for you, I think I have a thing for mustaches now,” you toss back, unbothered. And Bradley smiles into his drink.

You watch as Jake lines up his next shot and hits the white with a compact stroke.

“Double hit,” you declare.

“Dammit,” Jake curses.

You look over to see Bradley looking at you with a focused look on his face. Like there’s a theory clicking into place, one he needs the answer to. Wordlessly, he hands you the cue.

“You sure?” you ask.

“Two hundred dollars sure,” he states.

You take it from him with a sly grin.

Bradley’s thighs brush against the front of your knees, you know if you parted them even a couple inches, that he’d fit just right between them. His hands landing on your waist again as he assists you off the stool you’ve been perched on. And you’re starting to think he just likes an excuse to touch you, not that he needs one because you already more than like the feel of his hands on your body.

You walk the pool table, running a finger around the rails as you do. Evaluating the balls on the table like they’re chess pieces. The slow clip of your heels on the floor like the tick of a clock as you take your time deciding your approach.

“You’re the stripes,” Jake offers helpfully. “Don’t worry, I’ll even let you have a free shot.”

And you can’t help but laugh because this is going to be fun.

“Bradley?” you ask, leisurely chalking your cue.

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

“Do you mind?” You gesture to the spot behind you, and he catches on quick with a not-so-subtle glance at the short hem of your skirt.

He sets his beer down and comes to stand behind you, there’s just enough space between the two of you that you don’t have to worry about hitting him with the cue, his broad from proving you the coverage you needed to bend over the table. While you don’t think you’d mind Bradley seeing the silk thong you had on underneath your dress, you weren’t exactly up for flashing the whole bar.

You haven’t played in a while, but it’s a muscle memory at this point, as you map out your moves. Seeing the lines and angles and arcs in your mind’s eye before anchoring your bridge.

You look at Bradley from over your shoulder, only to see his eyes are trained on the ceiling with his tongue pressed against his cheek. A gentleman, albeit not an unaffected one. A tendril of smokey gratification curls its way along your spine. You turn your head back to the pool table looking between the cue, target, cue ball, target.

It’s a smooth stroke with a satisfying crack. A clean three-rail shot that lands the striped five into the pock you’d intended for it.

“Damn” is all Jake says. His eyes you up, clearly impressed.

“You sure about that free shot, Jake?” You stand up and smooth out your dress, just for the show of it. “Or do you want to make it double or nothing instead, Malibu Ken?” You hear Bradley snort from behind you.

And just like you thought, he wasn’t one to back down from a challenge, “Deal.” Jake turns to Bradley. “I just let your girl hustle me, didn’t I?”

“You sure did,” Bradley says with a grin, but his eyes are on you.

Neither are surprised when you sink your next shot too. The six sailing into the left corner pocket.

On your next shot, you may or may not deliberately foul. A tactical choice that sets Jake up with a less than ideal position on the table, knowing it’ll be a difficult shot for him to make.

“Now you’re just toying with me, aren’t you?” Jake grouses.

You just smile and take a sip of the rosé that Bradley hands you, neither confirming or denying.

Surprisingly, he banks it.  But his good luck only lasting through that one play. Because on his next, the ball glances off the side rail at too acute an angle to reach the intended pocket and he groans.

Not quite ready to be done, you ease off a little. Enough that they both know you’re going easy on him to extend the game longer, just so that he can catch up to you.

But soon enough, soon there’s only your eight ball left on the table.

“Looks like you’re about to be out four hundred dollars, Jake,” you say with a self-satisfied smirk.

“Just put me out of my misery already.”

You turn to Bradley, who has been carefully positioning himself behind you the whole time. You hold out the cue to him and ask, “Do you want the honors?”

He shakes his head. “Go on, finish him off, sweetheart. I’m enjoying the show.”

And when your final ball tips into the side pocket, Jakes resounding groan is drown out by the whistle Bradley lets loose between his thumb and pointer finger, as you turn towards him beaming.

“The atm’s by the restroom.” Bradley sounds only too happy to remind Jake as he closes the gap between the two of you.

You look over his wide shoulder, “As for the whiskey, something expensive please, Malibu Ken.”

Jake huffs a grumble but nods all the same as he goes to round up your winnings.

“Scored four hundred dollars and a valentine, that’s not too shabby, if I do say so myself,” you preen to Bradley.

“Think that might have been the best thing I’ve seen all year,” Bradley announces. “The hottest too, if I’m being honest.” You feel your cheeks heat under his gaze. His finger slips under the thin strap of your dress that had fallen off your shoulder somewhere along the way. He slides it back up and into place, treating it like some delicate thing the same way he did that paper wrapper. “Where’d you learn to play like that?”

Normally, this is when you’d rerack, but you’ve never had a Bradley Bradshaw looking at you before.

“I took a class in college over the summer as an elective credit, and it turns out I had a knack for it,” you explain with a playful little shrug.

“I’ll say.” He takes another step closer. “Did you just show me your move, sweetheart?”

“One of them,” you grin.

You don’t have to press up to his height, not with your pearly heels.

You wrap your arms around his neck and bring his lips to yours for a kiss. A sound of surprise escapes from his throat. You feel the curve of a smile before his hands slide around your waist to pull you closer.

The scrape of his mustache against your upper lip sends electricity racing along every nerve ending in your body. In that moment you are Midas touched, the blood thrumming through your veins feels like liquid gold. It’s unhurried, like he’s been waiting to savor the feel of your mouth against his. Exciting and new as you learn the taste and touch of him. You knew it was going to be good, but even so, it’s better than you could have expected.

“Think you just snagged that number one spot of my list of favorite mustached men,” you say against his lips.

“Suck it, Selleck,” he rasps.

You inhale the amusement of his light chuckle, letting it go to your head like champagne bubbles, before he slips a hand around the base of your neck and pulling you in close once again.

A couple hours later, you find yourself at home on the couch. Your cheeks a little sore from how much smiling you’d done tonight, as Tom and Meg trade words over a plate of caviar on screen.

It was only much later that night you’d gotten to see Bradley’s big move.

He’d surprised you with his voice and the talented way his fingers glided over the white and black keys. An expensive glass of amber colored liquor sitting atop the old piano as he played, and four hundred dollars tucked safely away in your purse.

You’d given him your number when he’d walked you to your car, only distracting you for a few extra minutes with his mouth, before you’d left for the night, hoping that you’d hear from him soon.

A notification lights up your phone, and a ribbon of thrill unspools through you.

You sigh when you see that it’s a notification from your dating app. You’re wary to open it, not wanting anything to color your night, but you figure now is as good of time as any to block the guy who had nothing on the one you’d spent your evening with.

When you see the name of the person who’d sent you a message, you click into his profile with lightning-fast fingers, skimming all the details to things you hadn’t had a chance to learn yet.

𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐲 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐰

𝐀𝐠𝐞: 𝟑𝟓

𝐉𝐨𝐛 𝐓𝐢𝐭𝐥𝐞: 𝐏𝐢𝐥𝐨𝐭

𝐒𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐥: 𝐔𝐧𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐕𝐢𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐚

𝐏𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐬: 𝐋𝐢𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥

𝐙𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐜 𝐒𝐢𝐠𝐧: 𝐂𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫

There is a picture of him in uniform, grinning to someone out of the frame. And another one of him shirtless on the beach, surrounded by some of the faces you’d seen tonight at the Hard Deck.

But it’s the answers to the prompts that he’d picked, that set your heart fluttering.

𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐟 𝐈 𝐭𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭: 𝐈 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐩𝐩 𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲. (𝐈 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚 𝐟𝐞𝐰 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐡𝐞𝐫.)

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐢𝐬: 𝐈 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐬, 𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐲 𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬.

𝐈 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭: 𝐈 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐩𝐨𝐨𝐥 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐬.

That one makes you laugh.

You open the message from him, one that had been sent with a rose.

𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐲 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐰: 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐈 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐨𝐧 𝐚 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐞? 𝐚𝐥𝐬𝐨, 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐨𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐬𝐨𝐨𝐧? 𝐈 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐈 𝐨𝐰𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚 𝐑𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐏𝐨𝐩.

You don’t even have to think.

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐤𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐰𝐬 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝?

And you can’t help but grin to yourself as look at that paper ring still on your finger. Because you know, this app won’t be on your phone for much longer.

Not now that you’ve met him.

Happy Hearts Day, friends! Thank you for reading!

And a big thank you to Jordan ( @gretagerwigsmuse) for all the support and encouragement and general woogirling over Bradley Bradshaw!

You can read my other stories here!

Taglist:

@gretagerwigsmuse @sehnsuchts-trunken  @callsignspark @notroosterbradshaw @tongue-like-a-razor @laracrofted @ofstoriesandstardust @bradshawsbitch @starryeyedstories @top-hhun-main @startrekfangirl2233 @callsign-viper @teacupsandtopgun @angelbabyange @oneelleandaneye @mizzzpink @cornishkat @alana4610 @20th-centu-fairy-girl @pono-pura-vida @donttouchmycarrots @eg-dr3amer3 @whaledots-blog @a-beaverhausen @hangmanscoming @mandolin22 @theweekndhistorybook @lilpeekabooze @high-bi-imgonnacry @ahintofkiwistrawberry @ruewrote @spiderman-stilinski @jayniebop @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @imaginecrushes @keyrani @chicomonks @artemissunn @mayempress @eddiemunsonreader

[ceoofglytchell]

So this is love

Summary: From the moment you took your first breath, you were meant for each other. You are his twin, the missing part of his soul, and Aegon swore to himself that he would do anything in his might to make you happy.

Pairing: Aegon II Targaryen x Twin Sister!Reader

Word count: 4355 words

Warnings: Incest, Reader has Targaryen features, tooth rotting Fluff, brief description of a birth, forced underage marriage, idiots in love, suggestive themes, brief mention of smut, talks of possible infertility, no mention of Y/N

Notes: I am late as usual, sorry. Likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated 💛

⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙∘☽༓☾∘∙•⋅⋅⋅•⋅⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅

Alicent Hightower never expected to give birth to twins in her first pregnancy, but the gods seemed to have had a plan.

The midday sun shone high in the sky above King's Landing and warm rays of sunlight streamed through the windows as the young queen let out one last painful cry and suddenly an even more shrill, high-pitched scream cut through the air. The cry of a newborn echoed through the chamber and Alicent fell back onto the pillows, exhausted, relief spreading through her.

A maester held the screaming, bloody bundle in his arms, a gentle, almost fatherly smile spreading across his old features. Her husband was not in the room to assist her with the birth. Neither was Rhaenyra.

"It's a boy, Your Grace," the older man in the white robe and the many chains around his neck told the young wife, causing tears of joy to run down her cheeks. The birth had been quick, thank the gods, and she would not have to go through that ordeal again.

The king now had a male heir to the throne.

But suddenly another stabbing pain ran through her abdomen. At first Alicent thought it was the afterbirth, but that was not the case. Her hand found the curve of her rounded belly again and, with wide eyes in shock, she realized that the little boy was not the only one that had been growing inside her for nine months.

"There... there's another one," gasped the young Hightower, whimpering in pain.

The maester immediately handed the boy over to one of the midwives who were in the far corner of the chamber. He hurried back to his queen and looked between her thighs. She was right. There was indeed a second child.

Twins.

"The gods have blessed you, my queen. They are twins," said the maester as he helped her get into the right position again.

Alicent just hoped that the second time would be over just as quickly. A few minutes of pain and then joy. She did not want to lie bleeding and torn on the sheets like Viserys' first wife.

A cloud obscured the sun in the sky and Alicent burst into tears for the second time that day and screamed with all her might as she tried with all her might to bring her Lord Husband a second miracle. She did not know where he was, or if he even knew that she was giving birth to his children, but she hoped that he would be happy in the end. She had done her duty. If he was merciful, he would be happy with two children.

Minutes passed and suddenly the time had come. A second shrill scream echoed through the chambers and mixed with the cries of the little boy who was busy screaming his little lungs out.

The young queen held her breath as the maester took the second bundle in his arms to check that it was healthy. A minute passed and he looked down at her with another smile, although this one was a little more polite than the previous one.

"A girl," he finally stated, wrapped the newborn in soft cloths and handed the little one over to the queen.

At the same time, the midwife approached from the other side and placed the boy in her other arm. Full of love and with tears of joy in her eyes, Alicent Hightower looked down at her twins.

They were beautiful. Two little angels with silver hair and purple eyes. They would need names.

Suddenly the door opened and King Viserys, first of his name, hurried in with an excited glint in his tired eyes. But instead of immediately going to his wife's side to ask about her or to look at the newborns, he turned to the maester, who was a good friend of his.

She didn't hear his question, but she heard the older man's answer: "A boy and a girl, my king. Twins."

Viserys whispered something else and the maester quickly replied: "The boy, your grace."

She could guess what he asked. Who was out first?

Her husband let out a sigh of relief and only then did he approach the birthing bed and look at the two sleeping babies that his wife was holding in her arms.

"They are beautiful, my wife. You did very well," Viserys finally said, brushing a wet strand of hair from the queen's face.

"They will need names, husband," she replied wearily, looking up at him with uncertain brown eyes.

"We will call the boy Aegon. A strong name. He will honor the Conqueror's name."

Alicent looked down at the baby she held in her right arm. Aegon. A weight came with that name and it seemed as if the little life which only saw the light of day for a first time a few minutes ago, has already faded away to some extent.

"And the girl..." Viserys hesitated for a moment before finally saying your name. It was a beautiful name and suited you. It didn't have the same weight as Aegon's, but it was still meaningful.

The young queen smiled gently and pressed a kiss to your forehead and that of your twin.

That day the whole court had a reason to celebrate. Finally there was a male heir to the Iron Throne.

"Aegon, give it back, it's mine!" you shouted loudly as you ran after your twin through the dark corridors of the Red Keep.

Servants quickly moved aside and knights of the Kingsguard just sighed as the young Prince Aegon ran past them, closely followed by his younger twin sister, as if the stranger himself was on their heels.

You had only recently had your fourteenth name day, but you still chased each other and played with each other like you were little children who had only recently discovered the joy of play and fun.

Aegon held a pink silk hairband in his hand that your little sister Helaena had given you for your name day. It wasn't much or anything special, but because it came from her it was all the more special. Aemond had given you a small wooden dragon figurine that sat on your nightstand and would hopefully never fall into Aegon's clumsy hands.

"Go get it!" he called over his shoulder, laughing, whereupon you uttered a little curse that you certainly shouldn't know at your age.

Aegon ran sharply around a corner and slammed into something hard. He fell back to the floor and lay there for a few seconds, staring up at the ceiling and still holding the hairband in his fist.

Without looking where exactly you were running to, you ran around the corner as well. You suddenly saw a large figure in front of you, but before you could stop, you tripped over something lying on the floor and fell down just like that, breathing heavily and looking at the ceiling.

"Have you gone mad?!" shouted Ser Criston Cole and immediately knelt down next to you. Apparently you had overlooked the knight.

Aegon giggled and looked at the older man with an amused expression in his bright violet eyes, whom he sometimes saw more as his own father than the king. "Sorry."

The prince was about to stand up again when you suddenly jumped onto his stomach and tried as best you could to pull your hairband out of his hand: "Give it to me, Aegon!"

"Say it nicely!" he replied and only gripped the hairband tighter while you pulled on the ends.

"Fuck you!" you replied, whereupon Ser Criston could no longer look away, grabbed you by the hips and carried you away from your twin.

"Let me go, please! He stole my hairband," you explained, struggling against the knight's grip like a wildling behind the wall.

"Did he now?" he said with a sigh and looked down at Aegon, who slowly sat up again. His silver hair was disheveled and fell in wild strands over his face. Yours looked no different.

"Perhaps," the boy replied with a shrug.

"You should give it back to her, my prince. She's your sister," Cole said and slowly let go of you, but he kept a hand on your shoulder to be safe. He didn't want to risk another attack.

He bit his tongue, suppressing an unkind comment that would have called him either a fool or an idiot. But he wouldn't have meant it that way. You were his twin. You were one and the same soul that the gods put into two bodies.

"Fine," Aegon finally said and threw you the hairband, which you immediately accepted with a sigh of relief.

Ser Criston let go of your shoulder again, as he was very sure that the danger was now averted and that the twins would not jump at each other's throats. Especially not because he was already aware of what lay ahead. The queen had planned it together with her father and the king.

"Daughter!" a worried voice suddenly called from the side.

A green dress and fox-red hair appeared in your field of vision and you immediately felt two hands resting on your shoulders and brown eyes searching your gaze. The queen was obviously concerned about the state of your blue dress and silver hair.

Alicent ran her worried gaze over her firstborn daughter's face, looking for any scratches or bruises, but thank the gods you seemed to be fine. Only when she had made sure of this did she look at her son, who was standing not far away from her and staring at the floor.

She did not check him for wounds or minor injuries.

"Ser Criston? What happened here?" the queen asked her sworn protector with a tired sigh.

"The princess chased the prince through the corridors, Your Grace. It was a game between children," the Dornish man explained to her calmly so that there would be no confusion. As much as he valued the queen, he knew that she could get moody at times. Especially when it came to the king's firstborn son.

"Then why is her dress dirty?" Alicent asked, trying to brush some of the dirt off her daughter's skirt with the palm of her hand.

"The prince stumbled while escaping and the princess then stumbled over him," Cole continued. He was honest, but knowingly left out the argument and the fact that the boy stole his sister's gift to annoy her. He didn't want to give her any reason to worry or reconsider her decision.

Alicent sighed and shook her head at Aegon, who actually couldn't do anything about this little accident. Except, of course, that he stole your hairband.

"Well, I wanted to talk to you both anyway."

You looked curiously at your mother and raised a silvery eyebrow, while your twin just tilted his head.

"Of course, mother," you answered politely. "What is it?"

The Green Queen shook her head and gently placed a hand on your shoulder. The subject was too private to discuss with you here in the middle of the hallway. It was a difficult subject, but it was necessary for both of you to know about it.

"Come with me, you two. Ser Criston, you too," Queen Alicent ordered, turning and walking towards her chambers, which were not far from this corridor. She gently pulled you along by your shoulder, while Criston made sure that Aegon followed as well and would not run away again.

Once in the queen's chambers, Ser Criston closed the heavy wooden doors so that the queen could be alone with her firstborns. He already knew what was coming and it would probably get loud in not too long.

For a moment, the room was plunged into a loud, uncomfortable silence, with the chiming of birds and the distant ringing of bells the only sounds.

"Your father and I have made a decision," Alicent began with a serious expression, folding her hands in front of her stomach. "You will soon be adults and we are already receiving letters about potential marriage alliances."

Aegon's shoulders visibly tensed and you could feel your eyes widening.

A marriage? Now? It was still too early...

"In order to ensure that House Targaryen remains strong in future generations, we have decided to marry you both to each other."

For the young prince, it feels as if all the wind had just been knocked out of his lungs and as if a whole herd of wild horses had trampled over him. He did not want to marry. You were his twin sister and he loved you, even if you could be annoying at times, but was that love enough to want to be your Lord Husband?

Just like your brother, you were at odds with yourself and were lost in the deepest recesses of your thoughts, torn. He was your twin brother and your souls were already one. You always knew, even when he was feeling bad, you knew exactly when he needed you and now you would be bound to each other forever.

As husband and wife.

You found your voice first: "And when will it be, mother? When will we get married?"

A soft sigh escaped your mother and she scratched the back of her hand with her short, bitten nails as if she was nervous or under immense pressure. It almost seemed as if she didn't want this any more than they did.

"In a fortnight."

Time passed faster than you could have ever imagined. One day your mother had stroked your long silver hair soothingly while she told you about her own wedding and suddenly you were standing in front of the mirror while your maids stood behind you, lacing up the bodice of your ivory wedding dress.

The dress was beautiful. The fabric was white and there were small gold decorations on the chest, hips and sleeves. Your hair was tied in a braid and around your neck you wore a gold chain with a green gem in the middle - a gift from your mother.

You looked pretty. You just hoped that your twin would see it the same way.

Aegon couldn't believe his eyes when you entered the sept and your father, King Viserys, gently led you by the hand to the altar.

Although he still didn't want this marriage, he couldn't ignore the warmth that spread in his chest when he saw you and a lump formed in his throat.

You were beautiful.

"I am hers and she is mine." "I am his and he is mine."

With those words it was official. And when he finally pressed a quick kiss on your lips he knew that he could perhaps learn to see you as more than just his little twin sister.

But it would take time.

And that you took.

Six years have passed since your wedding day and a lot had changed in that time.

You were now grown up and far more mature than you had been just a few years ago. A lot had happened. Your little brother Aemond lost an eye, Rhaenyra and her sons moved to Dragonstone and your father was now seriously ill.

The issue of succession has been getting bigger and bigger lately and all kinds of voices are getting louder. There are some who are vociferously advocating for your half-sister and others who wish your husband would one day sit on the Iron Throne.

But you also knew something that no one else knew. Aegon was not interested in power or the crown. Family was the most important thing to him in the world and that included you.

In fact, you were the thing he loved most in the world.

Aegon's head rested on your lap, his eyes closed and his face peaceful as you gently ran your fingers through his short wavy hair. You hummed a soft melody and he was lost in your angelic voice. It was a kind of ritual between you. Every time the world outside your marital chambers became too much for you, you came back here and you calmed him down and he calmed you down in return.

"I heard them whispering again today," Aegon murmured against the velvet fabric of your dress. "They still wonder when the line will be secured."

A small sigh escaped you and you stopped humming as he reminded you of life outside again. Of your duty. The one you had failed at so far.

"Soon, my darling. I promise you. We just have to try a few more times and then everything will be fine," you tried to calm yourself and your brother-husband. But in vain.

It has been six years since your wedding and so far you have remained childless. It wasn't as if you weren't trying, because you were. Often enough, in fact. At first, sex and pleasure had been something that was foreign to you and made you feel uncomfortable, but now it had become something you enjoyed doing. Aegon had always loved it, and in the last few years he had shown and taught you so many things that you couldn't even remember them all.

"Mother is getting nervous," he whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to the fabric of your dress while his hands ran soothingly up and down your lower back.

You couldn't help but roll your eyes. Of course she was getting nervous, but not for your sake. Not because she was worried about the functionality of your body or that of your twin, but because she was interested in the continuation of the royal line. Her blood on the throne. It was never about you, but about her ambitions and her will, shaped by her father the Hand.

"Yes, sure. If it were up to her, we would already have ten heirs,” you replied grimly, shaking your head. You wanted children, but not because you had to and it was your duty as Aegon's wife, but because you loved him and it would enrich your life.

It was similar with Aegon. Duty crushed him and in this great patch of darkness of the Red Keep, you were his only ray of light. A ray of sunshine on a rainy day, a gentle breeze in unbearable heat. Many years ago, he had wanted neither you nor this marriage, but you had taught him that this alliance could be more than a political tactic.

Because of you, he knew that he was more than the heir to the Iron Throne. He was more than that. His life had a meaning and that meaning was you. His twin, the other part of his soul, his light, his queen.

You saved him. More than once, and not only from the anger and rage of his mother and grandfather, but also from himself.

"She should be satisfied with one for now," said Aegon with a laugh.

You looked down at him with a smile on your lips and tapped him on the nose, whereupon he wrinkled his face and pulled a playful grimace, which in turn made you laugh.

"I love you, brother," you whispered softly, playing with one of his wild strands of hair that never let itself be tamed.

"And I love you, little sister," he replied with a grin.

"We're twins," you said, raising your eyebrows.

"But I'm still older."

"Only by a few minutes."

"Still."

"You're an idiot."

"And you're a twat."

He was behaving differently than usual. For several hours now, he had been following you through the corridors of the Red Keep like a kicked puppy that wants to apologize to its master for a misstep. It was strange. Especially because you didn't know what he could have done wrong.

Had he drunk too much again? Vomited on an old tapestry? Knocked over a vase? Ruined an heirloom? Questions upon questions, and you couldn't find an answer to any of them.

For the last half hour you had been sitting with Helaena in her chambers and she had told you something about the centipede she had in her collection while you tried not to show your disgust. She loved these little creatures and because she was your little sister you loved her too, but you couldn't understand that for the life of you.

You said goodbye with a smile and opened the door, but the moment it opened just a crack you could see a silhouette quickly disappearing around a corner.

What had your beloved brother done now?

"Aegon?" you called after him, but there was no answer at first.

You shook your head, your long silver hair falling in waves over your shoulders, and decided to follow him.

The corridor was empty. Apart from a few tapestries showing the conquest of Westeros by your ancestors and a few torches on the wet, cold walls, there was nothing interesting to see. Surprised, but still curious, you walked slowly down the corridor when suddenly a hand grabbed your wrist and pulled you into a small, dark alcove. Before you could scream, the person had already pressed a hand over your mouth.

Your instincts took over and you tried to defend yourself, but then-

A laugh. A laugh that was very familiar to you.

Aegon has rarely seen you as frightened as you were at that moment, and it amused him deeply. A broad grin lit up his features and a sparkle in his violet eyes revealed that he found everything about it very amusing.

Slowly he let go again and you couldn't help but hit him in the chest with full force, whereupon he coughed instead of laughing.

"What has gotten into you?! Do you want me to die?" you asked him angrily, but your Lord Husband just giggled and wrapped his arm around your waist while leaning his forehead against yours.

"Quite the opposite, my heart," he murmured before pressing a kiss to your lips and then another and then another.

You leaned away, whereupon he whined and pulled you even closer to him.

"What's wrong with you?" you asked him confused and shook your head. He was acting strangely.

"I want to give you a child. I want it so much," Aegon whispered and leaned forward to let his lips brush the side of your neck.

A shiver ran down your spine and you instinctively pressed yourself closer to him. Oh, you wanted to too. You wanted to be a mother and give him an heir. Or two or three. As many as he wanted.

"And what makes you think it will work this time?" you asked him instead as he gently sucked a mark onto your skin.

"There's this book-"

Your laughter interrupted him and he looked up at you with wide eyes: "What?"

"Forgive me, brother. I forgot that you also have the gift of reading," you replied with an amused giggle, whereupon he rolled his eyes exaggeratedly and pushed you against the wall with a sudden jerk.

"Don't be a brat. Don't you remember what happened the last time you were like this?" he asked you, bowing his nose in your silver hair and inhaling your sweet scent. Gods, he had to find the person who made your oils and make him a Lord, because you smelled divine.

"Of course I remember. But I feel sorry for Aemond when he accidentally came into our chambers," you said, leaning your head against the cold, stone wall behind you.

"Why? Sooner or later he had to learn that these positions were possible," he whispered and started to nibble on your earlobe, which made you whimper softly.

His one hand wandered down your body and he kneaded your backside, while sometimes he bit your earlobe and sometimes he peppered your neck with more kisses.

"Go on. What about that book, darling?" you asked him, your voice quiet and shaky.

"Apparently there is a position that promotes female fertility," he answered you with a grin.

"And you want to try it?"

"Yes."

"Now?"

"Now."

Exactly one month later, you came running out of Maester Orwyle's chambers with a wide grin on your lips. He had just told you the good news. You were pregnant. After six years of marriage, you were finally expecting Aegon's child. You could hardly believe it.

With quick steps you hurried to your marital chambers, where Aegon was leaning against the window and looking out into the courtyard. When he heard footsteps, he looked around and smiled when he saw you. His beloved wife.

Without saying a word to him, you jumped into his arms and clung to him tightly, a wide grin on your lips.

"Hey, my sweet, what's wrong?" he asked you, wrapping his arms around you.

Instead of giving him a direct answer, you held him even tighter. "You're going to have to be much more careful with me in the next few months, dear brother."

His eyes widened and he reached for your face to look into your eyes, which were identical to his own. Although he always found yours far more beautiful. Like sparkling jewels.

"You're pregnant," he whispered reverently, looking down at your stomach, which was still flat.

"It seems so," you murmured with a soft smile on your rosy lips. Finally. After so many years.

Without waiting another second, he pressed his mouth against yours and kissed you as if his life depended on it. He poured all his love and passion for you into that kiss as he slowly moved toward the windowsill.

He would have to be more careful with you now, but that didn't mean he couldn't love you, as any good husband should.

And, as fate would have it, a few minutes later Aemond came into your chambers to seek his big sister's advice, only to see you sitting on the windowsill in front of the open window, your hair disheveled and your cheeks flushed, and Aegon kneeling between your legs, his face between your thighs.

And for the second time, you gave him a view he would never forget.

Not again.

⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙∘☽༓☾∘∙•⋅⋅⋅•⋅⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅

Taglist: @bey0nd-1he-stars @sassypain @hisfavegirl

[rafesslxt]

Can I request a reader with the Slytherin boys who dresses like Maddy Perez from Euphoria?

꒰ ౨ৎ .ᐟ .ᐣ ᡣ𐭩. let me introduce you to..

Perez like!reader

summary: reader who‘s like maddy prerez from euphoria

warnings: none

note: thank you for requesting darling! hope it‘s somewhat what you imagined <33

𝜗℘ ᶻ 𐰁 ⟢ ݂

🀥 she‘s a slytherin, best friends with Theodore Nott who she grew up with since her parents are from an old pure blood family that is friends with his

🀥 their parents always hoped for the two of you to fall in love but they soon noticed you two were too much alike to be a couple. As friends you were perfect but as a couple you would destroy each other.

🀥 she‘s loyal, fiercy, ambitious, loud, loving and caring for her close people, destroys everything and everyone that fights her or her friends.

🀥 the boys are very protective of her, knowing her revealing style and the trouble it sometimes brings with it.

🀥 she‘s more than capable of handling it herself but sometimes when the boys hear something before you do, they make sure to handle it their way.

🀥 of course they all have a mini crush on you! But nothing serious.. right? Well - most of them. Theo and you? Fire and fire, too much. Enzo? He‘s too manipulative and soft for you. Draco is too eager and not manly enough to be your boyfriend. Blaise? Close. He has class and is smart, bit somethings missing. Mattheo is – wait. He‘s fiercy but never with you, he‘s the calm when you‘re in literal flames. He‘s the cool head when you‘re ready to throw a punch. He‘s - Matty.

𝜗℘ ᶻ 𐰁 ⟢ ݂

thank you for reading and supporting me! Every like, comment and reblog is highly appreciated! <33

masterlist

xoxo sarah <3

[buckysouvenir]

agora hills

pairing: bucky barnes x y/n authors note: day thirteen!

the valentine’s day collection 2025: for the first 14 days of february, i’ll be posting a series of short stories inspired by songs, all centered around bucky barnes.

reblogs, likes and comments are always encouraged and highly appreciated! thank you ♡

Bucky never cared much for attention. He had spent years slipping into the shadows, keeping his head down, trying not to be seen. There was a time when being invisible was a matter of survival. A habit that never really went away.

But with Y/N?

With her, he wanted the world to see.

He didn’t care who was watching when he pulled her closer in a crowded room, his arm wrapped securely around her waist. Let them look. Let them whisper. He wanted them to know she was his. He wanted them to see that she had chosen him. That she loved him.

And he loved her right back.

His fingers found hers, warm and soft against his own, and he squeezed gently, grounding himself in the reality that she was here, that she wasn’t going anywhere. He caught the way people’s eyes followed them, the way heads turned as they passed. Normally, it would have put him on edge, sent him into that old fight-or-flight instinct that never quite left him. But not now. Not with her.

"Let ‘em watch, doll," he murmured, a smirk tugging at his lips as he leaned down to her ear. "I don’t give a damn."

Y/N laughed, the sound warm and easy, and she turned to face him, tilting her head. "You sure about that, tough guy?"

"Wouldn’t be doin’ this if I wasn’t," he muttered, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to her temple.

She shivered at the contact, and he didn’t miss the way her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, holding on just a little tighter. He wasn’t subtle. And for the first time in his life, he didn’t want to be.

The music was loud, the bass vibrating through the floors of the dimly lit club. Normally, a place like this wasn’t his scene—too many people, too many flashing lights, too much noise. But Y/N had wanted to go out, and if she wanted to dance, if she wanted to have a good time, then he’d be damned if he didn’t give it to her.

"Come here," he said, tugging her toward the dance floor, ignoring the way a few people turned to look.

Y/N raised an amused brow. "Didn’t take you for a dancer, Barnes."

"Not usually," he admitted, guiding her through the crowd until they were in the middle of the room, bodies moving all around them. "But for you? I’ll make an exception."

His hands found her hips, fingers pressing firmly into her skin, and he pulled her close, letting her body melt into his. She fit against him like she was made for it, her arms wrapping around his neck, her fingers toying with the hair at the nape of his neck.

It was dangerous, how easily she undid him.

"Big, strong hands, huh?" He teased, the words low and rough as he leaned down, his lips barely grazing her ear.

She grinned, looking up at him through her lashes. "You heard that?"

"Doll, I hear everything."

Her laughter vibrated through his chest, and damn if it wasn’t the best sound he’d ever heard.

He spun her then, pulling her back against his chest, his arms locking securely around her waist. Her body moved against his, hips swaying with the music, and he let himself get lost in the feeling of her. In the way she fit against him so perfectly.

They had spent too much time apart in the past, too much time dancing around whatever this was, whatever they were. But now?

Now he had her.

And he wasn’t gonna let the world forget it.

[writingsofwesteros]

https://www.tumblr.com/writingsofwesteros/776393523339673600/targaryen-men-and-their-daughters-maegor-and-his

Maegor/Daughter: Maegor consummated his wedding night a dozen times over, if his daughter wants ‘the Cruel’ she will have to best that feat. She will have to accept the bruised neck, the staggering walk, and being mounted like a bitch in heat for her ill-advised desire.

Viserys/Daughter: She’s a bit nervous at the start, but her mother’s soft words help her relax. She coos gentle encouragements, praising her for taking her father so well. Afterwards she tilts her hips up and gently helps her continue the maesters’ fertility potions she had been taking since the wedding was announced. Aemma is thrilled at the healthy twin boys nine months later, and scolds her former husband if he attempts to take her sweet daughter to bed again too soon.

Viserys/Rhaenyra’s Twin: She knows her big sister is so jealous, but she finally takes pity on her, teaching her all her little noises and mannerisms. The twins are always writhing in bed together, sleeping together like they did as children but now exploring each other’s bodies. Viserys soon realizes it is sometimes Rhaenyra and not his wife who comes to his bed, but he turns it to an advantage by claiming them both at the same time. It is much harder to tell them apart as they try to outdo each other in pleasing him.

Viserys/Aegon’s twin: if Viserys wants her, you know Otto will not let her even think of saying no. Otto brings a soiled septa from Oldtown to make sure his granddaughter fully appreciates the Mother as a face of the Seven. Otto fucks the septa from behind as she fingers and licks his granddaughter. She has a new perspective on ‘religious ecstasy’ in time for her father bedding her. Otto keeps the septa for himself after, he loves to hear her sobbing and praying as he fucks her in the great sept for anyone to hear.

Daemon/Laena’s daughter: Oh Daemon loves fucking his wife as she feasts on his daughter. Some days they browse the lascivious etchings in the Red Keep and decide which they will partake in that night. They’re both heavy with child now and Daemon enjoys rubbing and kissing the bellies of his favorite women, Rhaenyra gives him his first son, his daughter gives him his first granddaughter.

Daemon/Bastard: His daughter is excellent at her learning, Daemon gently easing her into being fucked for hours, taking several cocks, and playing to any fantasy a man could desire. No one in the Red Keep realizes the pretty new maid is Daemon’s bastard. Aegon enjoys shoving her down and taking her as she wriggles and Aemond accepts the soft mothering as she coos about how good a boy he is. The loyal Gold Cloaks have every Green captured just after Viserys dies, their attempts for the throne foiled.

ALL OF THIS!!!!

Oh she truly did not realise what she was asking for as she bounced back and forth against him. Her whines of pleasure echoing around the royal chambers as he roughly palmed at her arse; spreading her cheeks to watch the erotic display of her body taking him.

Oh , Aemma is frightening thank you very much and even Viserys knows not to overstep. The sweet bouncing baby boys are the cutest and they trail after their mama; reaching for the skirts of her dress.

Viserys thinks he's with the Gods as he is brought the pleasure from his two Princesses. Oh he is the luckiest man in the realm.

Oh , Otto is so mean!! But he won't let anything come between him and his legacy especially if he gets a little pet out of it ;) Viserys has her wrapped around his finger; cooing and whispering his praises as she falls apart for him.

Using the tapestries to have some new positions in the bed chambers! Sweet thing is completely engulfed in their relationship with the possessive dragons.

She is Daemon's secret weapon thank you very much; Aegon & Aemond never saw it coming...nor do they truly care. The rogue Prince has trained her so well

[pepshee]

Jealousy, or Jealous Hee: Second First Dates

⋆˙ ⋆⭒˚.⋆

Pairing - ex!heeseung x fem!reader Genre - smut, a bit of fluff, angst Synopsis - After you hooked up with you ex-boyfriend, Heeseung, who had broken up with you out of the blue you didn't know what would happen afterward. Will you finally get your answer as to why? Word Count - 5.4k Warnings - cursing, mentions of alcohol, a bit of angst towards the end, smut, reader is insecure, mentions of manipulation and peer pressure, heeseung is an asshole in the first half, some cringe (oops), mentions of Jake & other idols, mentions of possessive heeseung, heeseung is desperate and begs for forgiveness, a little fluff, cream pie, fingering, p in v, plot twist-ish?, lmk if I missed anything!! MDNI 18+ A/N: thank you guys for the love on the first part i really appreciate it 😭 i didn't expect ppl to actually like it but im really glad you did! also if you have c.ai, i make bots over there too! my invite code here! also.. please keep in mind this is only my second time ever writing a fanfic so if it's ass in your opinion then idk what to tell you... i hope you do enjoy tho thank you in advance for reading !! <3 (even if you didn't like it)

PART ONE HERE

Waking up in your own dorm after you had hooked up with your ex at a house party last night wasn't what you expected. You thought you'd be next to him, but of course, that was crushed. At least he was a gentleman and brought you home, right? There was one question that lingered in your mind, what happens now? It was disappointing not waking up next to him, but then again, what did you really expect?

You get up out of your bed seeing your roommate's bed is empty, but then the smell of bacon hits you, she must be cooking. After getting dressed you make your way to the kitchen, you are so glad your university was at least prestigious so they had bigger dorms than the average one. You had a raging headache, as expected from the alcohol. "Hey Giselle," your voice a bit scratchy due to having just woken up.

Giselle turns around, you can see the slight concern in her eyes but also a hint of a smirk. "Y/N, you're up," she says softly, however, you still had a ton of questions in your mind. "What happened last night?" You're a bit embarrassed at the fact you had to even ask that question.

"Well.. After we went to the party we all split up and I assume you went to drink alcohol, cause the next thing we knew you were being brought out of the party by Heeseung. You were completely asleep, nothing woke you up," your face heats up a bit at the memory of getting drunk and hooking up with your ex-boyfriend who fucked you over. "Right.. and did he tell you any details about anything..” You hoped that he didn’t because it would be even more embarrassing for your friends to know you had sex with your ex who fucked you over.

Those hopes are immediately crushed by Giselle’s reply, “Y/N you were so drunk you had sex with Heeseung, your fucking ex and you don’t even remember it,” she chuckles at the end of her sentence. 

Damn.. Well, now your friends know you hooked up with your ex-boyfriend.

“It was an accident..” 

“Y/N it’s okay to want him back, but..” she paused for a moment emphasizing the word ‘but.’ “You shouldn’t let him get it so easily,” she continued. 

Then an idea hit you, seduction.

“Giselle holy shit,” she perked up at your words while she plated the breakfast she just finished making for the two of you. 

“What'd you think of girl?”

“I’m gonna post slightly revealing photos of myself on my Instagram story with little subtle jabs at him like he does to me, I’m gonna get back at him by showing him what he made himself lose,” you couldn't stop the grin that formed on your face.

“You mean you’re gonna ‘show him what he’s missing?' Isn’t that super cliché?” she might be right.. But he did it first.

“Well he’s been posting his new girls to make me jealous, so why don’t I try seducing him, and if he messages me I just play hard to get. Like you said, I shouldn’t let him get to me so easily,” you relayed your reasoning for the idea and you see Giselle think for a moment considering your words. “Okay you know what, maybe it is a good idea, after all, he fucked you over,” she almost started grinning. 

After having eaten the breakfast Giselle cooked, you ran to your closet to pull over any sort of revealing clothes you had. You find a slightly-too-small black tank top, and grey shorts. You had originally planned on being comfy today since you were still hungover—you were wearing a hoodie and sweatpants, but you quickly change into the tank top and the shorts and then did your makeup.

You decided to take a selfie in bed, and so you lay down and grabbed your phone. You swiped right to open your camera, and you positioned it in a way where it would show your cleavage just enough so that it's not obvious.

It took you a bit to get the perfect one, but when you did, you open Instagram and thought of a caption to put.

'i miss you. missing you is hard, but i bet missing me makes you hard'

You knew it was definitely cringe, but it got your point across so you could live with the cringe right?

You'd clicked the 'Add to story' button almost too fast. You and Heeseung don't follow each other anymore but you know he stalks your account. He uses his friend's account to do it without it being suspicious, which you can't blame him because why else would you have Giselle's password if not to stalk your ex-boyfriend cause he stalks you?

After logging into Giselle's account you tapped on Heeseungs story to see what he had posted. You immediately regret your decision because you're met with a photo of him and his friends, with alcohol, snacks, and of course, Heeseung is with a girl. He even had the audacity to put 'this could've been you' god this asshole doesn't know when to stop does he?

He was just being nice to you last night after you hooked up, why does he keep doing this to you? Once again with the taunting...

You were so lucky not to have Saturday classes, it meant you could go anywhere you wanted to. Believe it or not, you were actually majoring in dance, and even though you didn't have to go to classes, you still at least wanted to go to the studio.

────୨ৎ────

Dancing was therapeutic to you, everyone told you not to do it as your major because it wouldn't take you anywhere they said to just leave it a hobby. However, before you even graduated college you had offers from Idol companies trying to scout you. Usually, you would have celebrated that with Heeseung but that obviously wasn't an option.

You had spent a few hours dancing and you were getting really hungry and tired so you sprayed some perfume and reapplied deodorant before grabbing your bag and leaving the studio.

You didn't want to go out to eat so you decided to settle on the on-campus cafeteria which thankfully makes decent food. It was just about lunch time so it was quite packed there. You walked up to one of the counters and looked at the menu, but you still couldn't quite see so you took a couple of steps back until you felt your back hit something... or was it, someone?

The hands that flew to your waist were a clear indicator of who it was without even needing to turn around, it was him.

Too petrified to turn around, you just stand there frozen, not knowing what to do.

"You think you're slick huh? I saw what you posted on Instagram, it's about me, isn't it? In that case, you may be right," It's like your whole body failed to react, it didn't know how to. "I will say, whatever you're trying to do, it's working," he leaned down to whisper that into your ear.

Before you can respond he lets go and walks away, finally turning around to watch him leave. What is his problem?

You ordered your food, which was tteokbokki and kimbap.

Throughout your lunch you keep thinking about what had happened with Heeseung, did he do it on purpose? There's no way he was just coincidentally there right?

Whatever his reasoning was, you didn't care, he was trying to get to you.

When you finished your lunch you didn't know what else to do today so instead you figured you'd at least hang out with your friends so you took out your phone.

────୨ৎ────

It didn't take long for you all to agree on the mall, and you're currently waiting for the others to arrive. You and Giselle had gone together since you're roommates so you were just waiting for Karina, Yujin, and Moka. Minnie wasn't able to make it since she had a test to study for.

A little while longer the other three finally arrived, the five of you walking through the mall and looking through various stores.

You decided to take this as an opportunity to buy more clothes to fuck with Heeseung. The clothes you were buying were either the slightest bit too small, making them tight so they cling to your curves, or showed some sort of skin, some a lot, some just enough that would make him crazy.

You see, one thing about Heeseung is while you two were dating he was such a sweetheart when you two were in public, but as soon as you got home is when his possessive side would show. He'd recount all the times a man looked at you a bit too much or too closely and he'd fuck your brains out.

That was one of your favorite things, how good he'd fuck you when you wore crop tops, skirts, shorts, or tank tops. He didn't control what you'd wear, he let you do whatever, but you'd be lying if you said you didn't wear revealing clothes in public on purpose cause you were horny for him to fuck you at home.

Any other time he was a sweetheart, he was perfect, he wouldn't hurt a fly but when you had sex that all went out the window.

Now, however, you're buying revealing clothes to piss him off, to make him break, to get revenge, to make him beg for mercy.

You felt as if this revenge plan was a bit bland, but you couldn't think of anything else but to just drive him insane.

You and the girls had a lot of fun, and got told to shut up a few times from laughing too loud... but at least you have had fun.

It was 8 PM by the time you and Giselle made it back to the dorms. You made it just in time for curfew so you wouldn't get in trouble. You'd always thought it was stupid for a university to give adults a curfew, but it was pretty influential so you guess the university just didn't want its reputation ruined by their students dropping out to take care of babies.

Curfew didn't do anything anyway, you just couldn't leave your specific dorm building after 8:30 PM, you didn't know what would happen if you did it anyway but you honestly didn't care enough to find out.

────୨ৎ────

That morning when you woke up you immediately thought about what to wear to make Heeseung jealous, to make him mad.

You reached over and grabbed your phone and opened Instagram in order to check Heeseungs story, of course, he has a new one. You tap on it and see a video, clearly taken by a friend of his and it's him, with a new girl—because of course it is who fucking else could it be—the video was Heeseung and his new girl, who you identified as Julie Han. She was in your dance group, and she was really good and she's really pretty. You've always admired her beauty, but also felt a bit insecure. You wanted to be like her so badly. Heeseung didn't know that, or maybe he did considering you two broke up before you even had the chance to meet your classmates.

Seeing this rubbed even more salt into the wound, the girl you'd admired, and wanted to be friends with, and that made you feel insecure. Obviously it wasn't her fault you were insecure, she was super nice to you, and she didn't say anything to make you insecure it was just all in your head.

Seeing the video of him with Julie, he had his arm around her, and they were clearly flirting. It made your blood boil, but at the same time made your eyes water. You didn't know if you should be angry, or if you should cry.

You didn't know if it was on purpose, or if he was just doing his usual girl-to-girl shit. If he did know then he was a complete asshole for using her against you.

The truth is, he did know.

Yesterday, when you were walking to the cafeteria for lunch, you were recording a voice message to send to your friends. You had run into Julie while leaving the studio. That reminded you that you hadn't even told your friends about her so that's why you were recording a voice message.

Heeseung was with you, well not with you, rather.. behind you. He was walking with his friends, and he hadn't even realized it was you until you started speaking. He couldn't stop himself from eavesdropping and when he heard what you said about Julie, he knew exactly what to do.

He wanted you back, desperately, he knew you wouldn't easily accept him back into your life so he decided to try and make you desperate, just as much as he is. He used Julie, he wanted to make you as jealous as possible so you crawl back to him. When he saw your first story with the subtle jab at him and the cleavage he knew you were trying to clap back at him, you were trying to give him a taste of his own medicine. He'd be a liar if he said it wasn't working because it was. He hated that you had posted that, that you were revealing yourself to others. He knew he fucked up, and he knew he needed you back.

After you had seen the story of Julie and Heeseung you knew you had to strike again. You got out of bed and went to your closet grabbing one of the bags of new clothes you'd gotten yesterday. After dumping the clothes on your bed you finally picked out an outfit you knew would rile him up. It was a pair of white shorts, with a dark blue top. The top was pretty much a bralette, it's not something you'd wear out, but you bought it for the purpose of making Heeseung jealous—also in case you decided to go to the bar or another party—you went to your bathroom to do your hair and makeup before taking the photo.

After you finished those you posed in front of your mirror with your phone in hand. You tried doing poses that would show off your ass or would maximize the amount of skin you show in the picture.

Finally, after about 5-10 minutes you got the perfect shot, and you went straight to Instagram to post it.

With a small filter added, all you had to do was add the caption, but what should you even put? You had no clue honestly, you weren't as witty as you had originally thought.

Maybe posting it without a witty caption would be better, making less noise will create more noise.

So that's exactly what you did. You uploaded the photo to your story and waited. Waited for Heeseung to see it., until he did.

Heeseung went onto Instagram after he hung out with his friends, plus Julie, and he saw that you had posted on your story. He clicked on it and what he saw was something he expected, but also didn't. He hated that you were posting shit like this. He couldn't take it anymore, he slid up and started typing out a reply to your story.

It was about three hours after you had posted it when you got a notification while you were scrolling through tik tok.

'heeseung.lhs69 replied to your story: Y/N can you knock this off?'

Seeing the notification shocked you, first off why does he have '69' in his username? Is he serious? Since when did he have 7th-grade boy humor? It was probably the fault of his dumbass friends.

You didn't really know how to reply to him, but what matters is your plan worked. He fell for your bait finally.

you: what're you talking abt ?

hee: you know what I'm talking abt y/n

you: no i don't think i do heeseung

hee: we should talk in person y/n

you: ykw fine when and where

hee: ice cream place where we had our first date, 6 pm, today

you: k i'll see you then ig

Although it didn't seem like it, you were really nervous. He seemed serious even if it was just over text. It was only 4:30, so you had about an hour and thirty minutes to get ready or contemplate your choices, probably both.

You started getting ready, you didn't know how to dress really. You went for simple baggy jeans, a grey tank top, and a zip-up sweater. It was now 5:30, and so you left your dorm and started walking to said ice cream place.

After entering you saw him.. he was sitting at a booth. He looked quite nervous actually which is a big contrast to how you've been seeing him for two and a half years.

You slid into the seat in front of him and he immediately looked up from the table to look at you. "Hey," his voice was soft and gentle. You looked into his eyes, his soft, big doe eyes.. Looking into his eyes was your favorite activity when you were together, they were so beautiful. "Hey," you replied, also in a soft and gentle tone.

"I think we have to talk Y/N, I just want to explain myself," you let out a sigh knowing that he's right, you do have to talk. How could he leave you like that? "Explain it to me Heeseung, explain to me why you left me like the way you did," he was immediately saddened when you raised your voice a little at him.

"Y/N, I'll explain.. Please just calm down. I don't have a good reason.. Jake, my roommate, well we were talking and he told me about all the girls he's been with, and he asked me about how many girls he and I told him we've been together for five years and he started laughing. He then told me he was gonna invite a couple of friends, which he did," you didn't interrupt him the whole time. You just listened as he continued to talk.

"When they came over, it was four of them, Jake told them what I said about you and then they all started going on about how I'm too young to be tied down like that, I should live a little. I originally shot it down but they started giving me alcohol. The more they talked about the benefits of being single, and the more they talked about all the fun they have I started to believe them. I felt as though I was tying you down, I was a burden, that you'd be better off without me," you didn't know if you should be pissed off or pity him, he was influenced by his 'friends.'

"I started to believe what they were telling me, and they were telling me I should just let you go because you're probably getting bored. I was scared of the future, I was scared you'd break it off cause you were bored, and so I broke up with you first. I started doing all the things they did, hookup, smoke, drink, party and I did it all to move on from you," his story was making sense, that's 100% something his friends would do but you were still pissed at him.

"That doesn't explain to me why you didn't just think to talk to me and express your feelings to me. We could've talked this out, but you didn't even bother to text me," he sighed knowing you were right, and he didn't even have an excuse.

"I don't have an excuse, I'm an idiot Y/N. I love you so much and I wasn't thinking, they manipulated me, and I believed it all.. It was selfish of me and I know what I did was wrong. I hurt you and I'm just realizing it. It took me this long to realize how much of an asshole I was, my actions weren't okay," he looked back down at the table like he was in shame.

"Why would you post girls in your story though? I know it was to make me jealous, your story makes sense but that part doesn't add up," honestly you believed his story. He's always been quite gullible and pliable. Obviously, you never used that as an advantage, you'd never take advantage of him.

"Well... I wanted you back but I didn't know how to contact you.. How to communicate it, how to get through to you. When you posted that on your story earlier I couldn't hold back. I know you've been using Giselle's account to view my story, and that's not exactly relevant, but I've been doing it cause I miss you, and I want you. My new persona, it's all fake. I don't like doing this stuff. I just wanted to fit in and forget about you, I was depressed and vulnerable when Jake started doing what he was doing. I love you, I miss you, I want you, and I don't have any good excuses."

He's right, his excuse isn't exactly good, he knows he fucked up, and did you wrong. He had no actual good excuse, he had no actual reason for the thing with the girls.

"You should've just talked to me Heeseung," you were disappointed in him, and you resented him. "I know Y/N, I'm an idiot, and I made a selfish, vulnerable mistake. Please, I want you to forgive me, I want to be with you again, I want to be with you forever," those last few words were kind of shocking to you. Did he mean that? You both had discussed marriage and the future briefly and that ended in a big argument so it was never brought up again.

"What are you even saying?"

"I'm saying I see a future with you, and I know we had a huge fight about the future which also led to our break up, but I'm serious. I want you back. Please," he didn't stutter, not one bit and that solidified his point. He was serious.

"Okay, but you still hurt me, you still did all these bad things that made you an asshole. I can't just forget what you did to me," he was so, so desperate for you, so desperate to get you back to him. "Please."

He kept repeating himself,

"Please Y/N,"

"Please,"

It was almost pathetic how he was begging, how he was so desperate, but at the same time, it was so sexy. You had never seen him beg you before, he'd always been the top. You looked into his eyes, and he was staring right back at you waiting for a response.

It was difficult, you didn't know if you should forgive him, after all, he happened to fall in with the wrong crowd, he was manipulated, he was molded.

"Heeseung, you still fucked me over, you still ruined me, and broke my heart. Don't you know how hard this is?" he nodded, he knew you'd be hesitant. He never expected you to give in immediately and he knew he would have to convince you. However, there was one detail he left out, one that would change everything.

"Y/N, there was a detail I left out, and it seems that you completely forgot that you also played a part in this. You're not completely innocent," you were confused, how could that even be?

"When Jake was giving me alcohol and convincing me of all these things, I texted you, I needed you, I needed your support in that moment, and I know you weren't busy either. You ignored me, ignored me when I needed you most. That, plus all the manipulation, it broke me, it made me send that text, made me spiral into who I am now," holy shit. He was right.

Nearly three years ago, two days before your first day as a college freshman, you were decorating your dorm. You and Giselle went shopping for decorations and you weren't busy at all that whole day which Heeseung knew.

You had seen the notifications coming in, you read them and you didn't reply. You remember the texts, you remember it all.

'y/n i need you rn'

'babe pls reply'

'i need you please im serious y/n pls respond'

You were so caught up in your dorm decorations, and shopping you ignored Heeseung when he needed you the most, when he needed you to save him.

You weren't busy, you just simply didn't reply.

It was partly your fault.

"Heeseung.." now it was your turn to beg, to ask for forgiveness, and it didn't feel very good. "I'm so sorry, it's my fault. I saw the texts and I just ignored them, and I don't know why. You needed me, you needed help, and I wasn't there.. Holy shit," you wanted to reach for his hand, to hold him, but you knew you didn't have the right to.

"Y/N, I needed you, I really did, and you weren't there. We both fucked up, we both contributed to the end of our relationship. What matters is that I realized what was happening, that I changed for the worst, and that I realized that they had manipulated me, and peer pressured me. We both messed it up, and I want to fix it, please," his words resonated with you and he was absolutely correct. You both fucked up.

"What do we do? Do you mean you want to get back together?" you were hoping he would say yes, you did want to get back with him, I mean that was literally the whole goal.

"Yes, I want you to be mine again, I still love you, I never stopped," you immediately nodded in response telling him you also wanted to be back together.

"I missed you, babe," the nickname had always made your heart flutter but hearing it after all these years that's not in the context of a one-night stand made your cheeks heat up.

It felt like your first date all over again, you're even in the same place, a second first date.

"Let's go back to my dorm, Jake isn't there, and he won't return till like the afternoon tomorrow," you nodded and got up. He grabbed your hand, dragging you out of the ice cream shop and back towards campus.

After you arrived at his dorm he couldn't hold himself back and immediately crashed his lips to yours. You instantly started kissing him back. It felt more real this time, it was filled with love, passion, and longing.

You felt your back hit the wall as his hands grabbed onto your hips, and your fingers got lost in his hair.

He broke away from the kiss before grabbing the hem of your shirt and pulling it off of you. "You've been driving me insane, you know, with those revealing photos of yours. Especially the one of your cleavage. I missed your tits so bad baby," his hands grab your clothed tits. You can feel him reach behind your back and make quick work of the clasp he was clearly skilled.

When he got it off you could feel his mouth attach to one of your nipples. You let out a small moan which just egged him on. "Hee— please," he let go of your nipple and looked into your eyes, but that didn't last long because he immediately started kissing your neck, and biting it gently while he unbuttoned your jean shorts.

"Shit I missed this so fucking much Y/N," you clenched around nothing at his words, you could feel that your underwear was ruined, and how drenched they were, and so could he.

Once he got your shorts off he threw them somewhere in the room, it didn't even matter. You felt his hands trace your underwear and touched your clothed pussy. He let out a groan at the feeling of how wet you were, "holy shit Y/N, you're so fucking wet already," he took your hand dragging you to his bed. He debated doing it on Jake's bed for revenge, but he didn't want any more problems or misunderstandings, he just wanted you.

Now you were lying on his bed with him hovering above you. This time it felt more real, it felt more passionate rather than when you were drunk and stupid.

He hooked his fingers under the waistband of your underwear and pulled it off, and when he did you got shy and tried to close your legs but he wouldn't let you. He gripped your thighs and pulled them apart again giving him a view of your bare, dripping pussy. The look of pure hunger in his eyes was unmistakable.

He ran one of his hands down your thigh, then to your inner thigh, and finally reached your core. He ran a finger through your folds teasing your entrance. You were so desperate you couldn't help but moan.

The wetness of your cunt made him groan, and his pants tighten. He stuck one finger in, and then a second. The intrusion made you moan and squirm, but that only made him smirk.

He thrusted his fingers in and out of you slightly curling them to hit that spot that makes you scream.

"Fuck— Right there Heeseung!" You moan out.

"Yeah? You like that baby?" He chuckled a little, and the smirk on his face grew.

He continued to move his fingers and started going even faster. You felt the familiar knot in your stomach start to tighten and you knew what was coming. "Heeseung.. Shit," he nodded slowly and spoke "Come on, cum on my fingers baby," his words made you clench around his fingers before you finally reached your limit with a moan loud enough you were sure the neighboring dorms could hear.

Both yours and his breathing were fast and heavy. He was still hovering above you while he looked at your face which was covered in a thin layer of sweat. "Can you take my cock, or are you completely spent?" He asked the question in a soft tone not wanting to hurt you or overwhelm you.

"I need your cock Heeseung," the softness in his eyes instantly left now replaced with a look of desire, and lust. "Then that's exactly what you're gonna get baby," he started removing his clothing starting with his shirt, then his belt, his pants, and finally his boxers.

When he took his boxers off you couldn't stop staring at his dick. The thick, long, veiny shaft was one you had missed in these past years. "I can see you staring my love," you couldn't even stop yourself and you just kept staring.

He gave himself a couple of pumps spreading the precum along his shaft. He then lined himself up with your entrance, he hesitated for a moment looking at you, "Do you want it rough, or slow?"

"Please give it to me rough," he didn't give you a second to think before he pushed inside of you quickly, and immediately bottomed out.

"Fuck!" You moaned out at the feeling of the stretch of your hole from his cock.

He grabbed your thighs tightly allowing him to thrust into you more efficiently. You felt him hit your G-spot every time he moved in and out. You felt your climax approaching and you bucked your hips as he groaned feeling you clench around him.

You finally went over the edge and came onto his cock, while you felt him release into you. His thrusts slowed to help you ride out your orgasm before he slowly pulled out, making you whine at the empty feeling.

He kissed your lips before lying down next to you. You turned to look at him and you stared into each other's eyes, a soft smile forming on his lips. "Goodnight my love, I missed you so much. I won't fuck this up."

You were going to respond but the exhaustion caught up to you and you fell asleep in his arms, for the first time in years as his girlfriend.

TAGLIST : @clandestineself @kittympirty @azzy02 @wemalyri @jayhoonvroom @hwangswife4

[wlwsoccerfics]

JustRelax(LiaWältiXGorryReader)

A/N: hope you enjoy it.

Summary: you just left the hospital after giving birth to your son and Lia gets protective, wanting you to rest.

Lia had just picked you and Maxim up from the hosptial. You gave birth to him yesterday. Maxim was both Wallys and your first kid. He was just a day old but already your biggest joy. His full name was Maxim Elias Wälti-Gorry.

She carried him inside with the Baby carrier walking behind you to make sure you got inside safe and Sound as well.

"Babe. You don't have to watch my every move. I am fine!" You told her.

"you gave birth not even 24 hours ago! I am gonna keep an eye on you and make sure you relax . Whether you Like it or not!" She stated.

"i don't like it." You let her know.

"well too bad. You need rest. Off to the couch you go. Your sister is coming over soon with the Family and some of the girls as well! They want to meet our son. I will bring Maxim over to you on the couch in a few. Just gonna get him out of his little Jacket." She told you. You sighed softly but went to sit on the couch after taking your shoes off.

"you know i would have helped." She told you as she handed Maxim over to you.

"i know Babe! But i can take my shoes off on my own!" You stated. You were still sore but didn't want to be treated like you were sick.

"i know you can, i know how tough you are! I saw you giving birth Yesterday and you were a freaking Rockstar!" Lia told you. You blushed a bit.

"thank you for saying that! I couldn't have done it without you by my side though!" You let her know.

"Babe i know you could have done it without me! Which is why i want you to relax now and let me help you! You gave me the best gift ever with giving birth to Maxim! So please let me take care of you!" Your wife replied.

So this was about her showing how much she appreciated what you did. You didn't think she had to do so much cause you both wanted a Baby and you offered to carry it. And the entire pregnancy she was always there. Even when you woke her up in the middle of the night and she went to grab snacks from the gas Station cause you were craving something.

Your sister Mini came to meet her nephew with her wife Clara and your niece Harper and Nephew Koby. They brought over some Gifts. Including a Matilda Jersey with your number and Name on it.

"He is so adorable!" Your sister said as you handed him over to her while Harper sat in your lap carefully.

"He is small." Harper told you.

"indeed he is." You said with a soft smile.

"He was in your aunties Belly until yesterday." Clara explained.

"like Koby was in yours. And i was in mommys Belly!" The little Girl figured out.

"exactly like that." Wally answered.

Koby was sitting in Claras lap. Looking at his new cousin. Clapping his hands together. Smiling softly. His little tongue sticking out.

"you got yourself a new buddy there, Koby?" You said to your nephew with a smile and the almost 10 months old started to let out some Happy giggles. Harper got a turn holding Maxim with the help of your wife.

And then more people you love started showing up. All of your teammates from Arsenal showed up with Gifts. Even though you got lots of Gifts for the Baby shower.

"let me hold my Cousin!" Kyra stated. You handed him over to Kyra who indeed was like a niece for you in a way cause your sister was basically a Mom to her.

"He is really cute!" Lotte told you.

"yeah ,you did pretty well. He looks like a little Angel!" Kyra said.

"He looks like a doll. So sweet!" Alessia spoke up.

"i want to get some Newborn snuggles in as well, please!" Leah answered.

You ended up having a Pizza Party and just enjoying the time with all of your loved ones. Lia always making sure you were okay and had everything you needed.

[sacredsorceress]

hi! i’m new to your account , i came from your fluffy oldman!logan headcannons and they were to die for!! i loved it so much!!!

if you find time, do you mind making 40s!bucky barnes x reader headcannons but before hydra had taken him away? yknow, going to see stark expo, waiting for him to return from war, all that jazz?

i’m sure it will be amazing !!!! thank you so much , i really appreciate it !!🤍🤍

hi!! welcome to my account- I'm so happy to have you join us!! if you're new here and a fan of 40s!bucky I recommend checking out my 40s!Bucky Barnes x Rogers!Reader Collection but omg thank you for this because I love any excuse to discuss 40s buck.

⋆｡°✩ Dating 1940's!Bucky ⋆｡°✩

ask box

The first time you met was at a dance club.

Bucky had been staring at you from across the room the entire night: watching the way your face lit up when you laughed along with your friends, and how your feet tapped along to the rhythm of the music as your friends danced while you watched their bags.

Your friends had teased you about your admirer, but you assured them they were seeing things. That was until with a clap on the back by his own friends, Bucky pushed himself out of his seat and strode across the room to you.

“Hey, doll.” Bucky smiled, putting out his cigarette. “Wanna dance?”

And who were you to say no?

From then on you were inseparable. You met Steve within the week and his mother within the month.

Before you, he had never taken home a single girl to meet his mother and sister. When Bucky had suggested it to his mother, she had a sneaky feeling that you were the one.

"What are we having for dinner on Friday, Ma?"

"I don't know, James. Why?" His mother asked

"I was just thinking... I could invite.. this girl over," Buck said, drumming his fingers on the countertop to play it cool. "Think you'll like her."

His mother would turn back to stirring the pot to hide her smile as his sister smothered a laugh beside her.

"Sure, hon." His mother said. "I'd love to meet her."

And when she finally did meet you? Boy was she a fan. Someone had finally managed to rangle her "lady's man" son into the type of guy who pulled out your chair for you, fumbled over his words with a blush, and said "please" and "thank you" to his mother when she passed a dish all to impress you.

He’d ask you to call him James instead of Bucky. Bucky was what his friends called him, but he wanted a name held exclusively for you.

He’d show up to your job with a bouquet of flowers he bought off some kid on the street and all the ladies in the office would gush.

“You’ve got a good one sweetie.”

“-And handsome! Look at that face!”

As mentioned above, when Bucky found out that the Stark Expo was in town he would have bought you both (and Steve) tickets before even asking you.

"Wow..." Bucky sighed, gob smacked, pulling you towards the stage where the flying car levitated above the ground. "You think there's enough room in the back seat for us to-"

"James!"

"Just messin' with you, hun." He laughed, kissing your forehead. "My car works just fine."

When his Ma and Rebecca were out he would slow dance with you in the apartment, letting the echoes of someone playing trumpet outside drift through the window and transport you into a world of your own.

I have a feeling he would always be sneaking up on you.

"James!"

"Aw, don't worry, doll." Bucky laughed, kissing your cheek. "Just me."

When Bucky got the letter in the mail, notifying him that he was being drafted, he was alone. His hands shook as he imagined everything that he had built crashing down and before he even realized what he was doing, Bucky had asked his mother for her engagement ring.

When he saw you later that evening, you could immediately tell that something was off. Bucky had tried to play it off for the first thirty minutes before he could no longer bear it and shoved the letter into your hands.

"James..." You sighed, a crack in your voice. "What are we going to do?"

With shaky hands, he pulled the ring from his pocket and held it between you.

"Let's get married." He said. "I don't wanna go away without you being mine. Just say yes, sweetheart."

Two weeks later you were married in a modest ceremony with Steve as his best man and a reception that followed in his mother's apartment.

On the day he went off to war, you pulled him into a passionate kiss with a tug on his tie. His hands found themselves tangled in your hair as you gripped his lapels, praying if you just held on tight enough that you could keep him there.

With a lipstick stain imprinted on his cheek, you let your husband go. As Steve held you, you kept your watchful eye on Bucky until he was nothing more than a glimmer in the distance.

You wrote him letters every day. Although his responses were infrequent and short, they were drenched with love and longing.

Three months after Bucky left, you discovered you were pregnant.

When he found out, he was a blubbering mess at camp, telling Steve he had to get home.

But he never did.

Six months later, you delivered a baby girl and managed to get a call through to him from some camp they were at (perks of being Cap's best friend).

"You did such a good job, sweetheart." He said, fist in his mouth biting back a sob at the wailing of his baby girl in the background. "Fuck. I'll be home soon."

On the day Bucky died, Steve called you. You weren't sure what it was but before you had even picked up the phone, your heart had sank to your stomach. You knew.

Your soldier never did come back home.

When Bucky finally remembered who he was all those years later in 2016 and found himself at a museum exhibit in honor of him and Steve, he experienced a fresh shock when you appeared on screen.

Your hair had gone gray and fresh wrinkles crinkled at the corner of yours eyes as you smiled, reminiscing over the past- his past with you. You still looked the same, but with the fresh maturity of a woman who had lived, not the girl he had left behind.

"I always said the cigarettes would kill him," You laughed, wiping a tear away with a shaky hand. "If only I knew."

When Bucky finally regained control of himself and his memories, the realization of the life you lost because of his death is what haunted him more than any crime of the Winter Soldier's.

The life he promised you on lone nights staring up at the stars from his rooftop or in his vows on your wedding day were all for naught. You would never have a house of your own, a giggling gang of children who had his smile and your eyes, vacations to different parts of the country... none of it together- none of it shared.

Though, when Bucky first met your daughter that even at the age of eighty had a hint of his smile and your mannerisms, he sobbed.

"I'm so sorry I wasn't there."

"Don't feel sorry," She said sliding a rusted locket into Bucky's hands. "Mom always kept a photo of you on her. She never forgot you. So I guess you were with us after all."

Inside, a photo of the two of you on your wedding day stared back at him. This time he wasn't haunted but freed.

i had too much time to think and this became sad, oops!! sorry nonnie, but I hope you liked it <3. i also apologise if this is riddled with spelling errors,

we're chatting about our favourite MCU guys over in the ask box!!

[h8aaz]

❝ 𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 .ᐟ ❞

SUMMARY .ᐟ . . . you and hughie are left to watch over soldier boy in the motel. while the three of you are watching tv, an old ad from when you worked at vought comes on and the song you sing in it is immediately recognized.

WARNINGS .ᐟ . . . slightly angry ben . ex-supe + fem!reader . powers + name are never given . swearing bc DUH . hughie lowkey kinda fangirling . kinda a song fic but also not really ? also a soldier boy x reader fic but not really ?

GABS YAPS .ᐟ . . . based on the soldier boy performance of rapture by blondie. thought of this while listening to the song bc i have sb brainrot. likes, comments, + reblogs are very appreciated!!

you sat on one of the beds in the motel room while soldier boy sat on the other and hughie on the couch. the tv across the room began to play a commercial, your commercial. and soldier boy recognized the beginning of the background tune.

his eyes widened when you appeared on the screen, advertising some beauty products vought had forcefully plastered your face and supe name onto. he slowly turned his head to you, brows furrowed and nostrils flared. "you did rapture?"

you heard the slight annoyance and anger in his voice, making your eyes pop open as you did the same slow turn to him. "uh...y-yeah?" your voice broke into a higher octave at the end.

he scoffed and shook his head turning back to the tv. you shared a look with hughie across the room, both of you shrugging and wincing at the angry huff ben let out. "they'll give the rights of that shitty song to anyone, huh?" he sneered at the screen.

"it's not shitty. it's actually pretty good." you defended the song, hughie nodding in agreement with a small 'yeah'. ben gave you the dirtiest look known to man. "you're fucking kidding, right? rapture. by BLONDIE. is 'pretty good'? what the fuck does that even mean? if it means it's complete ass and you're being nice, then yeah, i guess i agree with you."

"it's not ass!" you exclaimed, sitting up straighter to face him. "the song did well for a reason. plus, you kinda boosted it's streams or...whatever you called it back then when you performed it." hughie joined in while pointing at ben, who rolled his eyes.

"of course i fucking did, because i did it better than them." ben said before taking a sip of his drink. "oh, you did NOT do it better than them!" you practically laughed. "yeah, dude. maybe it was good then, but you've been shown up." hughie then pointed to you, "and she actually got blondie in the commercial next to her."

you nodded, "yup! yes, THANK YOU, HUGHIE!" you gestured to the slightly younger man. "did you actually sing or whatever in it?" ben asked. "indeed i did. and people loved it, loved me. but of course there were these old ass bitches who probably got fucked by you once saying yours from 'back in the day' was better." you grumbled the last part.

"but the ratings and amount of products people bought settled that debate." hughie added before ben could try and spin your words to inflate his own ego. "although i think everyone agreed that a skincare and makeup line didn't call for all of this, let alone a cover." he gestured to the tv, where the whole collection was being shown with outrageous graphics that reminded you of how much you wanted to throw up when seeing it for the first time; not like that feeling hasn't changed from then to now.

"yeah, this looks fuckin' terrible." ben commented. "did that shit even work?" he asked while gesturing to his face with a look of pure disgust. you shrugged in response, "i actually don't know, but it's all made by vought, so i'm sure some number of people died or got poisoned from it." you sighed, "not my problem now, though."

the part ben and hughie, especially hughie, anticipated but you dreaded came on. you and deborah harry walked down aisles filled with your products with background dancers holding them while you began to say the lyrics.

fab five freddy told me everybody's fly

DJ spinnin' i said, "my my"

"oh my god, yes!" hughie cheered while you exclaimed a pained "dear god, no!" at the same time. you stared at him in bewilderment, "you actually liked this?! are you serious, hughie?" you shouted in shock while he laughed.

"it was so unnecessary but honestly, really good? you could ask my dad, i rewatched this countless times when i was younger." he grinned at the television, watching you dance as you 'sang'.

flash is fast, flash is cool

françois c'est pas, flash ain't no dude

ben nodded, squinting his eyes as he listened to your voice and silently, yet somewhat proudly, examined your body as you danced before looking over everyone else in the ad. "it's pretty good. and not like, 'this is so ass' good, but like actually, uh, really good." he complimented, which took you by surprise. "thanks." you mumbled quietly, still embarrassed as you watched your younger self do the moves that took way too long to rehearse because you simply didn't know what the fuck you were doing.

and you don't stop, sure shot

go out to the parking lot

and you get in your car and drive real far

your cover of the song continued to play while the products and their prices were shown one final time along with the stores they were available at. you cringed into the bed with a long and loud groan of great regret, all while hughie continued to speak the lyrics of the song and ben fully bellowed a laugh at the situation.

when the commercial ended and the screen began to run a different one, the two men began to sing the lyrics at you, which pissed you off to no end. "oh my god- I HATE BOTH OF YOU! SHUT UP!" you yelled while they continued, even when you sat up and threw pillows at them.

tags: @soldiersgirl @j2archives @sunsbaby @bejeweledinterludes @dulcescorderitas @legalmente-loca @starzify @bluemerakis @deansbeer @immodestly-marina

[kirain]

Part seven of my appreciation project.

@yappacadaver A fic based on their wonderful art piece here and here. Thank you for feeding the fandom!

The world stood still.

The battle was over, the blight vanquished, and Elgar'nan was dead. What remained of his influence was nothing more than hardened tendrils of corruption, now inert, forming a crude staircase down from the empty battlefield. One by one, the wearied heroes descended, each step agonising, their bodies battered but unbroken.

As Mara's boots met solid ground, the air shifted. Silence shattered into a wave of sound—a roar of celebration, clapping hands, shouts of triumph.

Applause.

Mara barely processed it. The cheers, the grateful weeping of the saved, the elation in the voices around her—it all seemed distant, as though she were submerged beneath dark waters. She saw it, knew what it meant, but she didn't feel it.

Her eyes swept over the crowd, their faces blurred and unimportant. She only wanted to see one man, and she found him.

Emmrich.

He stood nearby, his golden bracelets dulled by grime but still gleaming in the sun's rising light. His vest was torn, his shirt sticky with sweat and streaked with blood, his silver hair damp and unruly against his forehead. He was bruised and exhausted, yet he'd never looked more enticing.

As if sensing Mara's gaze, he turned towards her, his large hazel eyes brimming with need. A smile tugged at his lips, weak but fervent, ignoring the soreness in his joints. Before she could think, before she could breathe, he hobbled over to her and cupped her face with calloused, trembling hands.

And then he kissed her.

Mara inhaled greedily as his lips met hers, neither of them caring that hundreds were bearing witness. The way his mouth parted against hers, the heat of him, the way he tasted of steel and the residual drags of mana—it wasn't a dream nor an illusion. It was real.

They were alive.

They won.

As her hand caressed his cheek, her body balancing on her toes to reach him, his fingers curled at the nape of her neck, his other arm wrapping around her waist. Tilting her back, he deepened the kiss—a confession of every unspoken fear, every desperate prayer, every moment spent wondering if they'd survive.

"Darling..." he wheezed, his eyes flitting shut as he enjoyed her.

Simply enjoyed her. He hadn't had many opportunities, even after she escaped from the Fade. The best night of his life—their stolen hours in the Necropolis, the way they talked, touched, and made love—had also been the shortest. Made bittersweet knowing it could have been their last.

But now, it was over. The danger passed.

When they finally parted, their breaths mingled in the space between them, heavy and lustful. Mara wanted more, but as she moved to kiss him again, Emmrich suddenly stumbled back, the colour draining from his face.

"Emmrich?" she asked, following him.

His nose wrinkled, his hand coming up to cover his mouth. "I reek," he gagged. "Like blood and sweat." His eyes drifted to her swollen lips, mortified; surely she had noticed. "Forgive me. I don't know what came over me."

Mara laughed, catching him by the wrist. "You think that bothers me? Did you forget I'm a Crow?"

"It bothers me," he croaked. "Darkspawn, Venatori—who knows what pernicious pathogens they carried? I don't want to get you sick, my love."

Mara grinned, trailing a finger down the front of his tattered vest, her voice dropping to a sinful murmur.

"Then let's go take a bath."

Emmrich flinched, then returned her seductive expression.

The applause raged on, but for Mara, the only thing that mattered was the way the older man laced his fingers with hers, unwilling to let her go.

-----

The spring bath. A marvel to behold, where the heroes of Thedas were welcomed to bask in its luxury. The water lapped at Emmrich's chest, mending aches he'd neglected for days. The fragrant blend of elfroot oil, lavender, and daylilies clung to the steam rising around him, mixing with the fainter scent of the potted plants that lined the walls.

Everything about this place—calm, indulgent, long overdue—was a reward he never even dared to fantasise about.

As he raked wet fingers through his hair, he sighed, letting his head sink into the soft towel behind him. For the first time in months, he allowed himself to relax. He would never claim he'd earned it, but his companions had insisted. None would disturb him—save for one.

Soft footsteps echoed across the jade flooring, and Emmrich lifted his head to greet her.

Mara.

She stood at the edge of the bath, bare and radiant in the sunlight streaming through the high glass windows. Her dark hair tumbled over her shoulders in luscious waves, and her sharp eyes—usually so alert and calculating—now shined with a sense of freedom and serenity.

Emmrich held his breath, drinking her in. "You're so beautiful," he uttered.

"Even with my scar?" she asked, running her finger along the indentation from her left shoulder to her right breast.

"Darling," he said, a bright blush flaring across his cheeks, "every inch of you is perfect."

Mara smiled, then stepped into the tub, sinking gracefully into the water, the ripples distorting her reflection like a splash of paint on a canvas.

"You're perfect," she stressed, aware that he still harboured insecurities about his age.

Emmrich huffed, but before he could argue, she slid onto his lap, straddling him, her thighs caging his hips. Her arms wove around his neck, her skin like silk against his own.

For a long while, neither of them spoke, each one staring at the other with an aura of desire.

Then, their lips met in a slow, lingering kiss—one that spoke of solace and devotion. Emmrich's hands traced up her back, his fingers ghosting over her spine, muscle, and hints of grit left over from battle. He wanted her, needed her, and he refused to wait a second longer, lest some other threat tear her from his grasp. Gods, cultists—all of them be damned. With a hungry moan, he pulled her closer, pressing his lips to the delicate line of her jaw, then lower, to the pulse of her throat.

"Yes..." Mara gasped, tightening her embrace, burying her face into his neck.

"Are you ready, darling?"

He shifted beneath her, his hands finding her waist, preparing to move her into a more comfortable position—but then he froze.

She was shaking.

A light tremor at first, barely noticeable through the heat of the water. Then more pronounced.

Emmrich let out a low chuckle, trying to ease the tension he suddenly felt. "You must be very excited," he teased.

She didn't respond.

His stomach twisted.

"Mara?"

Still, nothing. Just the tightness of her arms around his shoulders, the slight shudder in her breath.

Then, he heard it—a partially suppressed sob. His heart clenched. Immediately, he wrapped her up, one hand sliding to the back of her head, his fingers threading through her hair.

"Darling, what's wrong?"

Another shaky breath. Another barely-there sob.

He rubbed her back, panic creeping into his tone. "Darling, please. Talk to me."

Mara inhaled loudly, as if forcing down another cry, then finally—finally—she spoke.

"I'm sorry..." she choked. "I ruined the moment."

"No, no. You didn't, my darling. You didn't." He tried to lean back, to see her face, but she was curled so tightly against him, as if hiding herself out of shame. "Mara, please... tell me what's wrong. You know you can tell me anything, yes? Please, darling, maybe I can help. What is it?"

She sniffed, shaking her head. "Nothing's wrong, Emmrich. For the first time in ages, nothing's wrong." She squeezed tighter, her legs hugging his hips, yet careful not to hurt him. "I just..."

Emmrich closed his eyes and rocked her through the water, willing the gentle motion to soothe her. "Go on, darling. I'm listening."

Mara sighed, his support a balm to her weary soul. "I've just been... holding everything in since Varric put me in charge." Her voice was raw, quiet. "I've been so—"

She swallowed her words, unable to say it.

"Scared?" Emmrich offered.

She nodded.

"Oh, Mara..." He held her tighter, giving her a moment to unwind. "Look at me."

Gently, he eased her back, his chest aching at the sight of the tears rolling down her cheeks. He'd never seen her like this—relief, sorrow, ecstasy, and fear overwhelming her all at once. Without hesitation, he cupped her face, brushing his thumbs beneath her lashes.

"I saw how hard this was on you every day, yet I can't even begin to imagine what you were going through," he said, his hazel eyes fixed on hers. "But I need you to hear this: we never would have made it without you."

She whimpered at his praise, her lips trembling. "I was so worried I'd fail everyone."

"You didn't," he said, his voice firm. "You were incredible. I was terrified of losing you, but if anyone could lead us to victory, I knew it was you."

"Emmrich, I didn't—"

"I knew it was you," he averred. "From the moment I met you, you were indomitable. You kept everyone's spirits up. You made the difficult decisions. You suffered a living nightmare in the Fade, but came through it stronger than before." He leaned in, pecking her lips before returning to her gaze. "Darling, it's over, but not despite your efforts—because of them. You're a natural-born leader." He grinned, playfully pinching her chin. "And so damn irresistible."

Mara let out a breath—half a laugh, half a sob. Then she smiled, resting her forehead against his.

"I'm sorry for... the hysterics."

"Hysterics?" He frowned. "How many times have I unloaded my problems onto you?"

"That was different," Mara chuckled. "And I was happy to help."

"It wasn't different," Emmrich tittered. "My love, you have nothing to apologise for, and I'm glad you shared that with me."

"...I'm just so tired."

Emmrich kissed her temple, cradling her close. "Then sleep. I've got you."

She was silent for a moment, soaking him in. Then, with a sudden scoff, she pulled back, mischief flickering through her exhaustion.

"I'm not that tired," she smirked.

Emmrich arched a brow, caught between amusement and adoration. "No?"

Mara shook her head, then kissed him again, her tongue pushing past his lips as the warmth of the bath enveloped them.

"Mmm..." Emmrich melted beneath her, his hands wandering lower as the heat between them intensified. "Not too tired for some 'rigorous activities'?"

"Never," she purred.

The steam thickened, swirling around them in a fog, until their world shrank to nothing but their sensual touch and the heady pounding of their hearts.

[cellophaine]

Chapter I: En Avant

Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Warnings: Fluff.

Word Count: 5.2k

Author's Note: The first chapter is finally here!! I'm very excited to bring this new series to you. It's what I've been thinking about for a few months now. It came to me while I was still working on A Languor Spell, and now I can give it my full attention. Thank you for your patience! I hope you will enjoy the first chapter!

P/S: This is my first time writing in present tense, so if there's any mistake please let me know so I can fix it!

Disclaimer: I'm not a professional ballet dancer. I'm an adult beginner, and I've been taking classes consistently for over a year now. I just want to say that the series isn't written with the experience of a professional ballerina, but with my love for the art and the extensive research that I've done and will continue to do. I don't choose to write the Reader as a ballerina because of the aesthetic, but because I think there are so many things to explore in the original story that I've come up with, with the Reader being in the industry.

GIF Source: @/petertingle-yipyip

There has always been an emptiness residing within the frame of your body. In the absence of your old life, it has grown expeditiously. It carves into your body and makes a home in the forefront of your mind. On worse days, you feel as if anyone can see at first glance, how incomplete of a person you are. On better days, like today, you can hide it well, even from your closest friend. But right now, sitting in a dimly lit bar across from the friend you have known since you moved to this city at 18, you feel the person you're supposed to be has taken your anatomy apart. You're disembodied, scattered, and fractional.

Jo notices your silence and reaches over the table, laying her hand atop yours.

“Have you thought about my offer?”

Jo’s proposal. How can you not think about it? It has never left your mind ever since she mentioned it. Her newly acquired gym could be a place for you to get back to dancing in complete privacy. And you won’t have to pay a dime.

“I spruced up the place a little bit and will be adding more equipment. I can get whatever you need so it can be a proper space for you to practice.”

“I appreciate your concern, but I don’t know if I’m ready.”

Jo casts a sympathetic look at you, her voice careful.

“How’s your foot?”

You flex and point the right foot under the table, recalling the phantom pain that was your consistent companion for the most part of last year.

“It’s not that bad.”

“Are you still seeing Amy?”

“Of course. She’d bite my head off if I missed our appointment.”

You share a knowing chuckle, knowing Amy's personality. You know her through Jo, and they dated briefly in college. The two stayed friends afterward. After leaving Lady Liberty Ballet Theatre, your physical health was left to your own management. Your gaps of knowledge were filled in by Amy, a physical therapist who stepped in and offered her help voluntarily when Jo mentioned your situation. You still meet biweekly at her practice in Harlem, and the three of you hang out from time to time.

“Come to my gym.”

She hastily continues once she sees the decline perches on your pressed lips.

“It’s free.”

“I don’t want to be a bother. You’ll have to get a barre, and the flooring might not be suitable–“

“I don’t care about the cost. I just want to do this for you. Let someone do a nice thing for you every once in a while.”

You meet her eyes, resisting her act of kindness with silence. You know how to pick your battles, and this is the one you have lost from the start, judging by Jo's stern gaze. You sigh.

“I’ll think about it.”

A victory smile graces her lips.

“That’s all I’m asking.”

Jo leans into the table, her hand reaching for yours.

“I want to see you dance on the stage again. You’re a beautiful ballerina, and I know this is not the end for you.”

You know she means well, but her words feel like claws, sinking their sharp ends into your heart. You haven't danced since the injury, and a part of you knows that you might never dance as well as you once did. The best version of you had lived that life to its fullest potential, the life of endless classes and rehearsals, soldout shows, ending many nights and seasons to the deafening cheers from the audience. Your current self is only a shadow, living a partial existence and mourning the past as time passes and your grasp on it weakens.

You want the endless optimism Jo seems to possess. She’s always so assertive in everything she does. From her university days pursuing a bachelor's degree in sports science to her boxing competition days to buying a gym, she has a sense of self-assurance that carries her throughout the years you've known her ever since you became roommates when you first moved to New York. And you admire that about her endlessly. Her goals might vary, but her passion for them never wavers. Her faith in you seems to share the same sentiment.

You swallow the lump in your throat and nod, hoping your face doesn't betray your true thoughts. Jo squeezes your hand and lets go. She checks her wristwatch, and with a silent glance, you understand that she has to leave. Jo meets you as you stand up from your side of the booth, drawing you into a crushing hug.

“Will you be okay here?”

She pulls back. You smile and pat her shoulder.

“I’ll be fine. Just want to finish my drink.”

She takes a step backward as she waves.

“Good luck tomorrow!”

You raise your hand in response and watch her tall and brawny frame vanish through the door. You drop your arm, but you don't sit down. Taking a discreet glance at the bar, your heart rate spikes ever so slightly at the sight of the stranger you noticed earlier when you bought the drinks.

As you waited for your drinks, he came in and settled for a spot at the bar. The lady whose name you learned earlier, Josie, greeted him, asking where his friends were, so you assumed he was a regular. He was good-looking, you admitted before finding yourself staring at him. You averted your gaze, but couldn't help taking in other details. The folded cane rested on the bar top as Josie slid a glass of amber liquid in front of him. The scarred knuckles as he brought it to his lush lips. The suit was pristine for the most part except for the minimal wrinkles from the day's wear and the loosened tie. The red-tinted glasses perched on his pronounced nose, under the tousled sweep of dark hair. The soft smile brightened his handsome face as the other bartender told him something, which you had to tear your eyes away from when Josie placed the drinks in front of you. You thanked her and headed back to your table, feeling a touch of disappointment in your throat.

There is no denying that you want to approach him. But your nerves intervene with all the questions. What if he rejected you? What if he thought you were a creep for approaching him? What if he just wanted to be left alone? He has been sitting by the bar by himself ever since he came in, you notice. You'd ask if you could join him, and possibly buy him a drink if he was up for it. If he said no, that'd be fine. You would respect his wish and leave him alone. You have a feeling you'd regret it if you didn't at least try.

You gulp down your drink for a little liquid courage and make your way over to the bar. Your heart rate accelerates the closer you get to him, but you are determined to get over the little hurdle. You stop within a conversational distance and use your best composed voice.

“Hey, may I join you?”

He turns in his seat and gives you a friendly smile.

“Of course not. Please do.”

The high chair is a comfortable and respectful distance away from his, but still close enough for a private conversation. The stranger has angled his body toward you, and his openness eases the knot in your stomach. At this distance, you can see that he is even more handsome up close. Heat seeps into your cheeks at the full comprehension of his handsomeness up close. The neon signs around help shape the shadows and highlights that are already there in his features. The strong jawline and defined nose blend in harmony with the soft hair and luscious lips. You find yourself unable to tear your eyes away from his moving lips, and only a brief moment later you realize he has asked for your name.

You tell him and laugh nervously, blaming the lively ambience around you. He humours you with a chuckle of his own and reciprocates.

"Matt. Nice to meet you."

“Nice to meet you.”

He reaches out with a hand, and you grab it. Your heart beats a little faster at the feel of his hand, warm and a little rough. You pull away first, conscious of the coldness of your hand. You eye his almost empty glass.

“Would you like another drink?”

“If that makes you stay with me for the rest of the evening, I’d love one.”

Charming. You allow an amused and breathy chuckle to escape, and order another fill of your drinks. When Josie turns away to make them, Matt asks.

“What are we celebrating tonight?”

You think about it for a moment.

“This is not really a celebration since I haven’t gotten the job yet.”

“When is the interview?”

“It's … tomorrow.”

His brows raise above the glasses.

“Are you nervous?”

“A little bit. It’s been a while since my last normal job.”

“What were you doing before?”

Josie puts down the drinks in front of you.

“I’m a– I was a ballerina.”

“Was?”

You run a finger over the cool and smooth edge of the glass, taking a moment to tell a stranger about one of your worst shame.

“I haven’t danced professionally in over a year."

“May I ask why?"

The edge of his lips settles into a neutral line. No pity, just a willingness to listen. It is exactly what you need.

“Yes, but it's just … complicated.”

“How so?”

The old life that you once lived feels so out of your grasp now. Besides the occasional flareups, most mornings, you get up with minimal or no degree of soreness or pain, and you fear that signals the end of your life as a ballerina.

Retirement in your late twenties wasn't something you thought of when you were 18, fresh out of high school with an offer letter from Lady Liberty Ballet Theatre. Moving from a small, sylvan town to a big, lively city like New York was a dream come true. You got to live out the life your younger self used to dream about. How wonderful it was. Dancing on the big stage before the bright stage lights in front of the audience. The early classes, late stage calls, costume fittings, and demanding rehearsals leading up to the shows were all worth it. Because when you got to dance, it was just you and the music. Your body knew the techniques, learned the steps and how to master them. You bent music with your carefully crafted movements and turned the piece into your own interpretation. You worked hard on your craft and artistic abilities, and you thought that it paid off with your promotion from corps de ballet to the first soloist assembly after six years.

But for Matt's sake, you don't go into any of that.

“Well … at my old company, the group of highest rank dancers is smaller compared to other companies. It’s a great honour and a big deal to be promoted to principal. Christine was one of them, and she decided to retire. The head artistic director wanted to appoint a first soloist, which is just a step below principal, to take over in her place. I was a soloist, and I thought it was my opportunity since I've been with the company for the longest out of everyone in the group. I also understudied for Christine in many productions, on top of the roles I had to prepare and perform. I pushed myself really hard that season to prove that I could do it. I was in and out of classes, rehearsals, and performances every day for over three months. On the days we had two shows a day, oftentimes I'd have to perform in both so Christine could have a break."

Matt listens intently, following your words with an attentiveness that you find endearing.

“In the final week of Sleeping Beauty, I had this pain along my heel. But I ignored it and pushed through out of fear that they would dismiss me. At that point, they already had a favourite. One of the directors even told me that I should quit while I was ahead and that I should be happy staying as a soloist."

You swallow the lump in your throat and go on.

"I couldn't take my bow that night, because as soon as my part was done and I went behind the stage, I passed out. It turned out I got an Achilles rupture.

“I had the surgery and was in a boot for a while. I was so desperate to show them my dedication and how good I was by going back to the studio just the day after they allowed me to go without the boot. And I made the injury worse. I was admitted for a partial rupture a week later.”

You thought you could do it. Bearing and hiding the pain so you would stand out as the best selection for the new principal dancer. Yet, all of that hard work didn’t matter in the end. It never mattered the moment Claudia Mavis signed a contract with Lady Liberty.

“In the hospital, the head director told me that they would go with Claudia, even though by that point she had been with the company for only one season. One of the people that I was closed with told me that Claudia left her previous company because they wouldn’t promote her. During a physical therapy session, Claudia told me that they offered her the new contract two weeks before my accident. So I never had the chance in the first place.”

You take a long sip of your drink after the story.

"That is very unfair to you. You deserve more than what they gave you."

You shrug.

“Well, it happened. I have learned to accept it a while ago.”

The hurt is still there, albeit more dull. While you want to blame your departure on the circumstances, you know a part of it is for you to bear as well. Matt becomes thoughtful, and you can see the way he considers his question.

“Do you miss it?”

“I … do. Not the toxic culture, but the dancing itself. It’s like a kind of language that I was fluent in. A form of self-expression that I could indulge in.”

“I’m sure when you come back to it, you will still be amazing.”

You don't even try to hide the disbelieving and playful scoff that escapes.

“You're just flattering me.”

There's not a trace of that cocky confidence of a man who thinks he just scores big with a woman because of a throwaway, vague statement he thinks will please her.

“I mean it. I enjoy music and dance performances in a way most can’t. When I really pay attention, I can hear … movements. The rhythm of someone’s feet striking the ground in time with the music when done right is beautiful. The way you talk about ballet shows me how much you truly care for the art. Like you live and breathe it.”

You tug on your bottom lip with your teeth in quiet contemplation before answering him.

“I did. It was a big part of my life.”

“It still can be.”

You let out a noncommittal hum.

"We'll see."

You took sips of your respective drinks, allowing the moment to reset itself. But Matt isn't quite done with the questions. You give him the go-ahead.

"Why ballet?"

“I just love the duality of it. We're supposed to look graceful and effortless while our blisters have blisters, our toes are bleeding, our legs are cramping. We have to dance through all of that and much worse. I like the pain sometimes. It means that I’m doing it right.”

“I didn’t peg you for a masochist.”

The quip takes you by surprise, but you quickly recover.

"Huh. I usually don't reveal that information to anyone until I'm ready to sleep with them."

Matt's tongue licks at his bottom lip, amused by your response.

"Maybe we are just that compatible."

Maybe it is the alcohol that makes you a little lightheaded, but the conversation has taken on a flirty turn, and you lean into each other's space, sharing a bashful, quiet laugh.

The person who took the seat next to yours when you were in the middle of your story bumps into you from behind, pushing you further into Matt's space. They apologize, and you tell them it's fine. The bar top has grown a little more crowded with new visitors. You think about what you could do to make some space when Matt reaches out and pulls your chair closer, so close that your knees touch. The contact is minimal, yet insistent, and you can't help the heat that races to your skin and the wild rhythms of your heart. Even your internal self admits that was the hottest thing Matt has done so far.

You clear your thoughts, focusing on the man sitting so much closer to you now.

“I'm so sorry. I feel like I've been talking about myself for the past hour.”

“No, don't stop. I like it. You have a beautiful voice.”

If he kept this going, you would need to check yourself for a fever. You clear your throat.

“So, what do you do?”

“I’m a lawyer. My partners and I have our own practice here in Hell's Kitchen.”

“Wow, that's amazing. What do you specialize in?”

“A little bit of everything. We started out representing people who can’t afford the legal service. Pro bono work basically. We still do that, but we have been getting more clients who can pay for our services.”

“Hm. It makes perfect sense. I can see that about you. The good guy.”

“Care to elaborate?”

“You know the right questions to ask. You got me talking about myself for … way too long. And your face …”

You trail off. Almost two drinks have worked their magic on your unabashed honesty.

“My face?”

His plush lips lift in a curious smile.

“Yeah, your face. You made me feel … safe and welcome so I could tell my story. Your face stayed neutral when I went on and on about it. No pity or judgment. You looked like you really cared about me, or my case.”

“I do care about you. And for the record, I appreciate every detail you gave me.”

You know that he might say this just to please you, but his earnestness says otherwise.

“Thank you. I needed that. Not many people care about me, especially after my fallout with the company.”

“It wasn’t your fault. It never was.”

Matt puts a hand on yours on the bar top. You stared at his scarred knuckles, your heart beating along the seam of your body with a slight increase in rhythm. Your hand itched to weave itself into his, to lay flat against the warmth of his palm. As if your body has thrown caution to the wind and wants to do just exactly what it wants to, your pointer finger moves involuntarily. He pulls his hand back, an apology on his lips.

“I’m sorry–“

“No, don’t.”

You reach out with the other hand and keep Matt there. You run your thumb over his knuckles as if to soothe him, to tell him that this is okay. You want this. The additional contact exhilarates you, as you haven't felt another’s touch that isn't from Jo or Amy in a long time. Dating has always been the last thing on your mind, especially in the past year. But right here, right now, being with Matt is easy. There is no pressure. No hindrance. Even though you've met only for two hours, Matt has listened to you. He takes a soft and shaky breath, and your eyes follow the way his chest slightly expands.

Your pointer finger traces the raised edges of his scars, and he lets you. The air seems to thin as your pulse drums a frantic beat under your skin.

“Do you beat people up in your client’s honour?”

“Only those who deserve it.”

You chuckle, and you lean into him as if you can't help yourself. The world has gone quiet around you, and the only thing left on your mind is to have his lips on yours. Your voice is only a breath above a whisper, and you're afraid Matt might miss it entirely amongst the loud voices of others.

“Can I kiss you?’’

He releases a sharp exhale as if he has been waiting for you to utter those words all evening.

“Please.”

You lean in, carefully, slowly. His lips slightly part in an open invitation, and you meet in the middle. The touch is gentle, soft tissues overlap in slow, indulgent caresses. Simple, yet it invokes a craving in you. The need for him to be even closer, the yearning to find out the taste of him. Matt touches your jaw, and draws you in closer, deepening the kiss, and you let yourself go. Eager, perching on the territory of desperation as the pressure on your lips grows more insistently. You're entangled in an exhilarating chase, circling around each other like you simply can't resist the pull that's been there since the moment you sat down. Matt silently asks for entry at the seam of your lips, and you respond in kind. His tongue strokes yours and suddenly, there is a new kind of invisible vapour that you're breathing in. It's overwhelming, yet not enough at the same time. You can taste the bitterness of the whisky that makes you wince on normal occasions, but on Matt's tongue, it's addictive and inexplicably irresistible. His air runs wild in your lungs, warming your body from the inside, awakening your nerves.

You break away at the sound of a teasing whistle clearly directed at you, reminding you of where you are. Matt’s face is flushed red, and you want to see how far down the colour goes under the suit and tie he's wearing. His hand is still on your jaw, gently caressing the line like he doesn't want to let go. And you don't want to let him go either.

“Can we go back to your place?”

The question rolls off your tongue, and he nods immediately, a little breathlessly. You stand up from your chairs at the same time. Matt reaches for his coat that is on the back of the chair. You shrug your own on and avert your gaze when Matt subtly adjusts his slacks. You put the bills down for your drinks, shutting Matt down when he objects to the idea. His hand find yours when you offer it to him, and you walk into the brisk air together.

The walk back didn't take too long. Matt held your hand the whole time, and the small gesture made your insides flutter. He lets you go when you reach his apartment. The unit number 6A has almost faded into the dark door. He unlocks the door and tells you where the light switch is. You turn it on, and place your coat in his awaiting palm. You follow him further into the apartment and take in the space.

“Who did you kill to get this place?”

Matt chuckles, discarding his tie with one hand.

“No killing involved. The neon sign out there is enough to chase people away.”

Your gaze falls on the giant, blinking advertisement outside the window.

“Nothing a few blackout curtains won't fix.”

He drapes the black tie on the back of the couch as you turn to the other side of the apartment.

“Do those stairs lead to the rooftop?”

“Yes, they do.”

You keep your back to him.

"Do you go up there often?"

"From time to time."

"This is … wow."

You're not sure why you're stalling. You pretend to look around as you try to brush off a nagging feeling that has settled in the pit of your stomach. Just the nerves, you think. You're out of practice, that's all.

So you clear your throat and say.

“Is your bedroom behind that bigger sliding door?”

He nods. You feel a little out of place, so you gravitate towards him, a familiar presence in a strange space. Matt lets you come to him, giving you all the control. You lean in and attach your lips to his, allowing it to follow the natural progression as it did back at Josie's. Your legs tangle and stumble towards the bedroom, your lips never too far away from one another. You think you might hit the closed door, but before that can happen, Matt pulls you flush against his body with one hand and uses the other to slide the door open in one smooth, practiced move. You pull away when you need to catch your breath.

“May I …”

You touch the side of his glasses. After a quiet moment, he gives you permission to take them, and you do. Slowly, and with the utmost care you can manage, you set them on the bedside table. His eyes are closed when you straighten. You caress his cheek, feeling the way his features form together. Your touch is soothing, and you hope he can feel the patience you offer to him. There is no rush, no pressure. After a long moment, Matt opens his eyes, and you take them in. You can see how he tries to meet your eyes in his own way. The shade of hazel is shrouded by the low light and the occasional shutter of his eyelids.

“Your eyes are beautiful.”

You raise slightly on your tiptoes and kiss his eyelids, feeling his lashes fluttering softly. He waits for you to return to him, and seeks out your lips in a delicate manner.

You fall onto the bed together. Matt braces himself on his forearms so he doesn't crush you. You pull his head down to yours, kissing and nibbling on the stretch of stubble along his jaw. His soft groans of approval encourage the other hand to travel downward, pulling on the white dress shirt. Once it's free from the slacks, you weave your hand inside and run your palm along the expanse of his torso. The dips and raises of his well-defined abs are warm under your palm, and the sensation stokes the molten liquid that's nestling deep inside you. You feel the feverish need edging over that part of you that you want to ignore.

The gradual pullback doesn't feel like a rejection at first, but merely an invitation to follow. So you do, your hands work to unbutton his shirt. But Matt slows you down to a stop, holding your hands to his lips and placing kisses on your palms. You blink, still snarled in the haze.

“What’s wrong?”

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

Confronted. The only word that can describe accurately how you're feeling.

“What makes you say that?”

“Your heart …”

His hand trails from your collarbone to your chest where your heart resides within in a way that feels strangely intimate and not at all invasive. You hadn’t realized how fast your heart was beating. It's pounding. You are more nervous about this than you thought.

“… is beating quite fast. Are you nervous?”

You're safe. It's an innate feeling, and while you can't explain it, you know lying to Matt serves no purpose here. He seems to have a way to read you without using his sight.

“Yes, a little bit. I haven’t done this before. Sleeping with a stranger, I mean.”

“I see. We don’t have to do this.”

You raise yourself on your elbows.

“No, I wanted to go back here, with you. I want this.”

“But it doesn’t mean you owe me anything. If you change your mind for whatever reason, I'm okay with that as well."

Matt presses a kiss to your forehead.

"We can always try this again at another time.”

Guilt claws at you, urging you to do anything to please him.

“I’m sorry. I gave you the wrong signal.”

“Don’t. You have nothing to apologize for.”

He tries to find your hand, and you offer it to him. He gives you a reassuring squeeze.

“I had a good time with a beautiful woman, then I got to kiss her, all in one night, and that's enough.”

You guffaw, throwing your head back at the blatant flirt.

“You don’t even know how I look like.”

“No, I don’t. But I have my own way to tell. You sound beautiful.”

An idea materializes in your mind, and you give in to it. You bring his hand to your face, trailing along the side of your face. He gets the hint and begins his own exploration of your features. The way he takes his time, following the slopes of your face, his touch gentle, ghosting over your skin. He stops at your lips and soothes his thumb over the kiss-swollen flesh. You sigh softly. He gives you one last kiss, his tenderness makes your heart soar.

“Would you like something comfortable to sleep in?”

“I'm fine with anything you have.”

Matt finds his closet and pulls out a grey sweatshirt. He tells you where the bathroom is, and you take the folded shirt with you. You clean yourself up with water before stripping down to your underwear. You put the soft material over your body. It smells like him, and soft, just like him. You come out of the washroom and see his bare back for a split second before he pulls the shirt down. He has changed into a pair of grey sweatpants and a black shirt that hugs his chest and biceps beautifully.

You stand by his bed, not sure where you can come in despite the two of you ruffling the sheets not even ten minutes ago. Matt chooses for you, settling on the space facing the window, leaving you the side which is closer to the sliding door. His sheets are silky soft, and you feel yourself sinking right into them. You turn to face Matt, touching his shoulder. He faces you fully, his eyes settling on a point on the lower part of your face.

“Thank you.”

You whisper.

“Thank me by staying for breakfast.”

“Why breakfast?”

“I can't send you off to your interview on an empty stomach, can I? It's the least I can do.”

A rueful smile graces your lips.

“I can’t wait.”

You fell asleep with ease. At one point during the night, you could feel Matt detach himself from you, and out of a vague desperation that you couldn't process, you held tighter onto him involuntarily. At that, he stopped moving, and you felt a soothing pattern trailing over your head, luring you back to sleep again. His warmth carried you through the few hours that you slept.

It's a little past 4 AM when you wake, and find Matt still sleeping peacefully. Torn, but you come to accept that leaving is for the best. You get out of bed gently, thankful that the wooden floor didn't make a noise. You take his sweatshirt off and fold it, putting it on top of the pillow that you slept on. After putting on the clothes from the night before, you leave with much regret in your heart.

Likes, reblogs, and comments are greatly appreciated! I'd love to read your thoughts on the story!

For updates, please follow @cellophaine-archives

[sillysealll]

Pls publish more hcs abour dickroy they drive me insane

Well if you insist anon…😊

Teen Titans days HCs :

- Dick became the first sidekick but Roy was pretty close behind and for some time, it was only the two of them and the JL. They barely interacted during that time so Dick always admired Roy from a distance because he thought Speedy was so cool with all his trick arrows (this one is directly taken from the Teen Titans 2003 TV show where Dick is a huge fan of Roy)

- Roy, on the other hand, wanted to get to know him but he was too scared of Batman to dare to approach Robin, who was always glued to the man

- Both of their perspectives changed when Robin, Kid Flash, Wonder Girl and Aqualad formed the Teen Titans and Speedy would drop by. Dick began to find Roy too arrogant and Roy found Dick insufferable

- But they eventually warmed up to each other when Roy officially joined. Though, they kept on bickering even after they started to actually appreciate the other, both too prideful to admit otherwise until wayyyy later

- Another thing that set a gap between them early on was their difference maturity level. Not to say that Roy was childish but he actually knew how to act his age when he could, while Dick was pretty psychorigid. He was acting so beyond his age all the time that it was uncanny for Roy (and most of the team)

- Roy took it upon himself to make Dick act his age and thanks to him and the team, Dick eventually loosen up a more and more around them

- I find the fact that Wally used to be a conservative hilarious (but also sad bc he got it from his parents) and in my mind Dickroy were his exposure therapy

- Even when Speedy was supposed to not like Robin, he couldn’t help but be amazed by Dick’s acrobatics

Outsiders time HCs :

- Roy and Dick shared a place for a little while after Donna’s death because Roy was scared Dick would let himself die while Dick was scared Roy would relapse

- Grace and Anissa used to gossip on Dickroy and at some point the whole team joined them (except for the two aformentioned)

- Unknowingly, Roy stopped Dick from ending his life more times than the latter cares to admit (When he would visit him as Dick was about to grab his gun or call when Dick was about to step off the highest building he could find) Dick never told anyone

- Roy and Dick coddled Lian for weeks after she was rescued from the human trafficking ring and Roy had a hard time bath her without feeling sick to his stomach because of the scar she had kept from that time

Civilians (teen) Dickroy HCs :

- As civilians, Roy and Dick were somehow always put against each other by the media’s and all the comparisons they were making made Roy despise Dick before he even properly met him

- Then they met as civilians in a Gala and they surprisingly clicked together immediately.

- Dick already knew who Speedy was behind the mask and he had to remind himself that Roy had no idea so he wouldn’t be surprise by how different he was treated by Roy whether he had the mask on or not

- On interviews they kept on shitting on each other just to make the media’s gossip about their non-existent rivalry because they thought the headlines were hilarious

- When Roy learned about Dick’s identity he felt so humiliated for not having figured it out that he didn’t speak to Dick for the next three galas they had together (the media’s loved it)

Random HCs :

- Roy and Starfire took Jason under his wing because he has the little brother privilege thanks to Dick (and the fact Roy and Starfire were/used to be helplessly in love with Dick has nothing to do with it, not at all)

- Roy genuinely grows fond of Jason (platonically) but he always has an after-thought about Dick whenever he looks at him

- While Roy is tolerated by most of the batfam, Dick is somehow an honorary member of the Arrow family (it’s because of Lian (and Roy))

(Dick is an honorary member of most families in the DC universe)

- Whenever Dick or Roy doesn’t finish his plate, he pushes it to the other who always finish it

- Roy likes most movies he watches and after coming out of a cinema he loves to talk about the movie to analyse it and compliment it. While Dick is a tad more difficult, he also just want to annoys Roy and every time they watch a movie together, Dick ends up saying he didn’t like it just to see Roy go on a rant for the next fifteen minutes

- Dick pretends he’s bad at cooking just to escape the choir and leave it to Roy, who falls for it every time

- Roy braids hair automatically when he’s doing nothing and has someone beside him. Dick is often seen with small braids in his hair

- Roy is never cold while Dick supports heat pretty well. In winter, Roy is Dick’s heater while Roy just hates Dick in summer because the guy always looks good (both figuratively and literally)

Mmmh okay I think I’m done ?

Hope you enjoyed those silly HCs as much as you enjoyed the previous ones 🤗

[eternalbuckley]

Dance with Tensions. — mattheo riddle

SUMMARY: Mr Riddle asks you to dance even though you two don't get along, only to end up in a heated conversation afterwards.

word count: 2,308

genre: angst | fem!reader, queer!reader, bipoc!reader and plus-size!reader friendly

warnings/tropes: lots of tension, an argument, a part of my lady!reader au, it‘s probably not time accurate but who cares!, english is not my first language, briefly proofread — if I forgot something, please let me know!

a/n: i am very much excited to finally share this with you all, enjoy reading my loves 💓 also BIG BIG thank you to @leona-hawthorne and @riddleswhcre for pre-reading one of the parts of the fanfic, you truly helped me out <33

reblogs, feedback and comments are highly appreciated and welcomed! ♡

disclaimer: please do not repost or try and take ownership of my work or post this anywhere without my consent. i don’t give you my permission to use my writing for any ai related things, don’t do it. do not translate my work and post it anywhere — i give you no permission to do that. i only post my stories here, so if you find my work anywhere else please let me know!

divider by cafekitsune

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ navigation | harry potter masterlist | my taglist

The highly anticipated first ball of the season was set to take place this evening. You were full of excitement as you walked into the hall with your older brother hooked on one arm and your parents behind you. Many eyes followed each of your movements. Some of them were filled with admiration and some with envy. You let your gaze wander through the hall and noticed a few men whispering to each other as they sipped on their glasses of champagne and watched you and many of the other people who had already arrived that night. The lookout for possible marriage partners was already happening even if the social season only started a few days ago.

You weren’t quite eager to find someone suitable that night, but you wanted to have a good time with your best friend Miss Pansy Parkinson. She was one of your closest friends ever since you were young children.

The night had been long – you spent your time with Pansy and laughed with her about different jokes. Some words were exchanged with Lords, other Ladies and others that attended the ball as well. Most of them complimented you on your choice of gown but no conversation went deeper. You’ve danced twice with two men, but it was clear that they weren’t interested in you as a person. The conversations revolved solely on how fortunate it must be to be the daughter of a duke and duchess. Talking and dancing with them was exhausting; they stole your energy.

But there was one handsome but infuriating gentleman who seemed to have his eyes on you all night – Mr Mattheo Riddle, the second eldest son of Viscount Riddle. A gentleman you had met before and were not very fond of. You only knew each other because your mothers were friends but you two couldn’t get along.

In your eyes, he was just an arrogant man who clearly didn’t care about being kind to you or any other human being unless he wanted something. And in his eyes, you were an uptight woman who couldn’t care to have fun in her life – which wasn’t the truth.

Your opinions about each other were filled with prejudices and nothing else. Your friend, Pansy, enjoyed teasing you about it and was almost sure that you and Mr Riddle clearly shared a sort of affection for one another. You, of course, didn’t want to admit it or you weren’t able to realise it yet.

Mr Riddle had watched you all night without daring to step forward and take a chance to speak with you. Until you were eventually freed from your current dance partner and could take a breath.

“Ohhh,” Pansy whispered with a devilish grin and slightly covered her mouth with her gloved hand, “Mr Riddle is making his way towards us.”

“Lady Y/N?” Mr Riddle walked up to you with a mischievous and confident smile and kept his brown eyes on you. You turned your head in his direction to meet his eye and shared a tight, polite smile with the man in front of you, “Yes?”

“May I have this next dance?” He extended his hand to you. You quickly turned your head to Pansy who slightly nodded and smiled friendly at Mr Riddle. You inhaled and cleared your throat. “You may, Mr Riddle,” you placed your hand in his extended one and let him lead you to the dance floor. You didn’t want to cause a scene in front of everyone else – so you only had the chance to agree to the dance.

As you walked to the dance floor, you turned your head back to Pansy and wished your look could kill her in that moment. She briefly wiggled her eyebrows and smirked at you. You rolled your eyes at her and turned back to focus on the upcoming dance with Mr Riddle.

As the musicians began playing the next song, some of the ladies and gentlemen started to watch you closely. The song was slow yet moving. Every lady curtsied, and every gentleman bowed in front of their dance partner, most of them shared fond smiles, while you and Mr Riddle exchanged only tight smiles and stared intensely at each other. Your body was quite tense as you stepped closer to him. The warmth of his palm brushed against yours, sending a subtle shiver through your hand, while you both moved in two circles – your palms continued to touch each other. You both kept your eyes locked on each other in intense stares and tried to stay calm, but those who knew you couldn’t help but notice the tension between you. It was impossible to ignore.

After you made two turns, you repeated the same dance move, this time in the opposite direction. “Is everything okay with you, my Lady?” Mr Riddle asked you quietly, though he didn’t expect an honest answer from you.

“What would you expect, Mr Riddle?” you replied calmly, “I’m having the time of my life.” You didn’t truly mean it, but dancing with him was far more enjoyable than with any other Lord you had danced with that night.

Once the two turns were completed, both of you took a step back but your eyes remained on each other. After a brief pause, you slowly approached one another, your palms hovering just inches apart as the air between you was thick with tension. As you closed the distance, your wrists were slightly wrapped around each other. The slight contact sent a light spark of warmth through your bodies. You stepped away from each other and repeated the same moves – your gazes continued to burn into each other, although they seemed to get a little softer. You placed your hands in his as he held them out to you. You then raised your arm and moved it over his head while keeping your hands together. Thereafter, you turned slightly in his arms and repeated the same dance move, only that he made a small turn instead of you this time. As you repeated this movement for the third time and turned slightly, you remained in his arms wrapped around you while your hands remained connected.

Your skin prickled as you felt his hot breath on your skin. You had expected to entirely hate to be so close to him, but surprisingly, it wasn’t as unbearable as you thought. However, these feelings quickly passed as you noticed his small smirk – you wished you could just slap it out of his face. Together you walked in a few small circles while his arms remained around you. The proximity caused your breath to falter for a brief moment, but you suppressed it – at least tried to.

After your turns with him, you stepped away from each other and locked eyes for a moment. Your lips parted lightly as you felt his gaze on you. Then, you moved closer again and placed your hands on his shoulders while he gently placed his hands on the upper part of your back. He touched you with a gentleness you had never seen of him before – it frightened you because you weren’t familiar with such a side of him. You remained in this position for a few brief moments and danced in small circles, before his hands slid down your arms to take your hands and spin you back into his embrace.

You swallowed as you felt his breath on your skin again. The warmth of his body so close to yours was overwhelming. A mixture of tension and something else you couldn’t name stirred within you. The music slowly faded into the background while your faces were close, and your breaths were one. For a brief moment, you lost yourself in each other’s eyes as you continued to sway to the music.

“I wonder how many dances it would require before you finally can stand my company without the desire to do me harm,” he whispered into your ear with a hoarse voice before he let you go after the music stopped. Your breath slightly hitched in response, but you rolled your eyes and inhaled as you decided not to reply any further.

When the music ended, you and he stepped apart to exchange a curtsy and a bow. You then walked back to Pansy and your brother, who were talking to one another. You were sure that you wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about this dance and the words Mr Riddle whispered into your ear before the dance ended.

“Ohh, there she is!” Pansy clapped her hands and grinned. You saw your brother turn towards you – his lips were in a grin as well, but it was filled with his ever-so-brotherly protectiveness. At the sight of both of them, you rolled your eyes and sighed annoyed.

“Oh, come on, Y/N. Shall we truly believe that you have not at least found the slightest enjoyment in dancing with Mr Riddle?” Pansy sighed and grabbed your hands to squeeze them.

“I did not enjoy it entirely, but it was better than with the Lords I’ve danced with tonight,” you admitted.

Pansy smiled at you and then proudly turned her head to your brother. “See, I told you, my Lord. It is only a matter of time,” she whispered, but you clearly heard every word and furrowed your eyebrows.

“For what precisely, Pansy?”

She sighed and looked back to you, “Until you and Mr Riddle are willing to confess that your hatred is not as deep as you so often claim. Everyone that knows you can see it. And I believe that even strangers can sense it.”

You shook your head and looked away from her. “Stop with these jests. In no world, could I ever not hate Mr Riddle. He…” You groaned and pulled your hands away from your best friend. “Just stop with it, Pansy. And you,” you pointed to your brother with your index finger – your voice was calm but hid a tone of annoyance, “Don’t even think about joining her, brother.” You turned around and walked outside to take a deep breath after your brother nodded.

Your tense shoulders relaxed as soon as you felt the cold and fresh air on your skin, a much-needed change of environment. Near you, you could see a small group of fellow citizens and a few servants – what you didn't notice was that Mr Riddle came towards you and stopped next to you. A respectful and allowed distance was between you but in the eyes of the wrong people it could be seen as improper to even stand alone with one another.

“What a pleasant night, is it not, my Lady?” Mr Riddle cut the silence with a soft-spoken voice, but there was a hidden arrogance in it.

You sighed and kept your gaze to the front. “It was,” you then turned your head towards him – your lips pressed together in a thin line. “Until you asked me to dance.”

He chuckled and turned completely around to face you, and so did you. “I saw how draining it was for you to waste your time with these Lords, Lady Y/N. You can be honest; I’ve saved your night with me asking you to dance.” His cocky smile infuriated you even more than you already were. “Who else could you have been spending your time instead? Mayhap a Lord who has far outlived the finest hours of his life?”

You hated that he was right. He sorts of saved you from all the lords you didn’t want to spend any energy or time on. You would have agreed with Mr Riddle, if it wasn’t him.

“Will you ever stop being so insufferable?” You argued back while you clenched your hands into fists out of anger. How could be a single human being so annoying? “It is truly beyond me how you manage to be so…” You groaned and stopped yourself mid-sentence, knowing that he’d just use it to tease you. You turned your head away and inhaled deeply, hoping he would just leave you alone.

Mr Riddle raised an eyebrow and stepped closer, the closeness was risky, but you didn’t step away. “You may finish your sentence, my Lady.” He wanted to know your true opinion about him, although he already assumed how it might be – though he wished it would be the opposite. Something he’d not even dream about to admit in front of you.

You felt the cold air and his breath mixed on your skin and you deeply inhaled as you looked into each other’s eyes. There was a brief pause between you as you stared at one another. Your heartbeat slightly increased – you weren’t sure of the exact reason. Was it the hatred you claimed to feel for him or was it something entirely else?

You cleared your throat. “I’d rather not, Mr Riddle,” you scoffed, your voice full of contempt and turned around to walk back into the house but stopped after taking a few steps. May he use your next words against you, you couldn’t care less in that very moment. Your anger was too much. “You are the most vexing human being that came across me in all my life. It is truly beyond me how you manage to be so tiresome, Mr Riddle,” you spoke quickly but he heard everything clearly. “I shall wish you a good night,” you finished your sentence after taking another deep breath and turned around to walk back inside.

You left him standing alone in the middle of the porch. With his smirk rubbed off his face as he wondered if he had gone too far this time. Perhaps, your hatred went deeper than he thought. Something he never intended to happen. But what if it could all be something else? Something he couldn’t imagine?

[yassbishimvintage]

Hearts On Deck (3)

A/N: We back baby

Masterlist

Cleo adjusted the angle of her phone as she snapped a quick shot of her screen, showing her editing software in action. The caption read: "Another day, another edit! Can’t wait for you all to see what’s coming 🖤", and she added a few cute emojis to lighten the mood. It was a casual post—nothing too over the top—but it gave her followers a peek into her daily grind.

As she hit ‘Post,’ the usual wave of likes started rolling in almost immediately. The little red hearts flooded the screen as her audience reacted.

A few minutes later, she got a direct message notification. It was from one of her followers—her DM inbox was always active, but this one caught her attention because it was from someone who rarely reached out.

“Hey, love the behind-the-scenes look! What’s the next video going to be about? 🥺”

Cleo smiled, typing out a quick response. “Thanks! It's a behind-the-scenes of my day-to-day—editing, meetings, you know, the usual. Stay tuned 😉” She hit send, then moved on to another message that asked for her favorite beauty brands.

As the story continued to rack up views, she started feeling that familiar sense of validation, the rush of connection with her followers. It was a good feeling, but as always, it was brief. She found herself scrolling through her own feed again, watching the numbers climb.

Then, as if fate had its own way of teasing her, she noticed Aaron had liked her post about editing.

Her thumb hesitated before she tapped his profile, her eyes lingering on his latest post. There was something magnetic about him, even through the screen. The subtle way he posted, never too loud or flashy, just genuine and thoughtful.

Her phone buzzed again. This time, it was a text from him:

“Enjoying the behind-the-scenes peek! I see you working hard. Can’t wait to see the final cut. 😎”

Cleo felt a slight flutter in her chest. He was paying attention, in a way that felt personal, like he was truly interested in her work. She wasn’t used to that. Most of the time, guys were more focused on the image she presented than the things that mattered to her.

“Thanks, I appreciate it. I’m excited for you to see it.” She sent back, casually, trying to keep things light but clearly smiling to herself.

Her phone buzzed once more, and before she even opened the message, she had an inkling it was from him again.

“We should hang out when you’re back in town. I think you’d appreciate the city a bit more when you’re not working all the time. 😊”

Her heart skipped a beat. The idea of spending more time with Aaron, outside of the whirlwind of work and the glitz of events, felt like a tempting proposition.

She typed a quick response: “I’m open to that idea. Maybe we can set something up soon.”

She put her phone down and returned to her editing, but her thoughts drifted back to Aaron. For a moment, the endless stream of likes and notifications didn’t matter. It was this connection, however subtle, that made everything feel more real.

-

The next day, Cleo woke up to the soft morning light filtering through the curtains of her hotel room. She stretched, feeling the quiet comfort of having a day off—a rare luxury in her hectic schedule. No events, no shoots, no meetings. Just time for herself.

She reached for her phone, checking the time and scanning through her messages. Nothing urgent. She let out a relieved sigh. She had planned to spend the day doing whatever she felt like—maybe a quiet brunch, some shopping, and definitely a little self-care.

After getting ready in a relaxed, comfy outfit—nothing too extravagant—Cleo decided to head out for some fresh air. As she stepped outside, the weather in London was perfect—mild, with a slight breeze. She smiled, feeling the city’s energy pulse around her.

She grabbed a coffee at a nearby café, enjoying the anonymity of just being one person in the crowd. No cameras, no expectations. Just her and the city. The brief break from her usual influencer persona was like a breath of fresh air.

Sitting at a corner table with her coffee, Cleo caught up on some personal reading. She found herself losing track of time, absorbed in the pages, when her phone buzzed again.

It was a text from Aaron:

“Hope you’re enjoying your day off. If you’re not too busy, how about a casual meet-up later? No cameras. Just us. 😊”

Cleo couldn’t help but smile at the simplicity of his message. It wasn’t grand or showy—just an invitation to spend time together.

She replied quickly: “I’d like that. Where are you thinking?”

Aaron responded just as fast: “How about a low-key spot in Notting Hill? Some good food, good conversation. Let me know if that works for you.”

Cleo felt her pulse quicken slightly. Notting Hill was one of her favorite spots in London—charming, laid-back, and full of little hidden gems. She typed back: “Perfect. Let’s do it. What time?”

“How about 1 PM?” he replied.

She looked at the time—just enough for her to finish her coffee and wrap up the chapter she was reading. She smiled to herself. This felt like a nice change of pace.

By the time 1 PM rolled around, Cleo was dressed casually in a chic, minimalist outfit, with just the right touch of elegance. She wanted to look effortless but still put together. She left the hotel, heading for Notting Hill with the anticipation of seeing Aaron again, but this time, without the constraints of her influencer life.

She arrived at the café he’d mentioned and spotted him right away. He was leaning against a wall outside, dressed in a casual jacket, looking effortlessly cool. When their eyes met, he grinned.

“Glad you could make it,” he said, his voice low and warm.

Cleo returned his smile, feeling that flutter in her stomach again. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

They walked inside together, finding a quiet corner, the soft hum of conversation around them. For the first time in a while, Cleo felt like she could just be herself—no pretense, no cameras, just two people getting to know each other.

“So why this place?” She asks him.

Aaron leaned back in his chair, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he glanced around the cozy café. The exposed brick walls, warm lighting, and soft hum of jazz playing in the background gave it an intimate charm.

“I come here when I want a bit of peace,” he admitted, fingers lightly tapping against the rim of his coffee cup. “It’s not flashy, not packed with people trying to be seen. Just good food, good coffee, and a quiet place to think.”

Cleo studied him for a moment, appreciating his simplicity. In her world, everything was about visibility—being at the right places, in the right outfits, with the right crowd. But Aaron? He seemed to move differently, like he wasn’t caught up in any of that. It was refreshing.

“So, this is where the reclusive actor comes to hide?” she teased, sipping her drink.

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Something like that. I like being able to sit and just… exist, you know?”

She nodded, understanding the feeling more than she let on. “I can respect that. You don’t seem like the type who craves attention.”

“I don’t,” he admitted. “Acting is what I love, but the whole fame thing? Not really my scene.”

She raised a brow, smirking. “And yet, here you are, having coffee with someone whose life revolves around social media and attention.”

Aaron tilted his head, his hazel eyes locking onto hers with quiet intensity. “That’s different,” he said.

“Oh yeah?” She leaned in slightly, intrigued. “How so?”

He shrugged, taking a sip of his coffee before answering. “You’re not just about the attention. You actually enjoy what you do. You put effort into your content, your brand. It’s not just for show. That’s why it doesn’t feel the same.”

Cleo blinked, momentarily caught off guard. Most people only saw the surface—her curated posts, her flawless images, the events, the luxury. But Aaron had taken the time to see past that.

She exhaled a soft laugh. “I don’t know whether to be flattered or suspicious of how observant you are.”

He smirked. “Maybe a bit of both.”

She shook her head, smiling. “You know, I didn’t expect to run into you again, let alone be here having this conversation.”

Aaron’s expression turned thoughtful. “Maybe it was supposed to happen.”

His words lingered between them, unspoken possibilities hanging in the air. Cleo wasn’t sure what to make of it yet, but she knew one thing—this was different. And she liked it.

He grabbed her hand and ran his thumb over the back of it.

Cleo felt a warmth spread through her at the gentle, almost absent-minded way Aaron traced his thumb over the back of her hand. It was such a simple touch, yet it sent a shiver up her spine. She glanced down at their hands, then back up at him, searching his face.

Aaron wasn’t trying to make a move—at least, not in the way most men did. He wasn’t trying to impress her with smooth lines or charm his way into something. He was just… there. Present. And the way his fingers lingered against her skin felt intentional, like he was memorizing the feel of her.

“You’re quiet,” he murmured, his voice low and smooth, eyes studying hers.

She let out a small breathy laugh, shaking her head. “Just… not used to this.”

He raised a brow. “This?”

She gestured vaguely between them. “A man who doesn’t rush things. Who just—” She paused, searching for the right words. “—who just lets things be what they are.”

Aaron’s lips curled into a knowing smirk, but his touch never wavered. “That’s because I don’t believe in forcing things.” His thumb moved in a slow, soothing motion. “What’s meant to happen will happen. No need to rush it.”

Cleo swallowed, realizing how much she liked that answer. In her world, everything was about control—curating, planning, making sure things looked effortless even when they weren’t. But with him? There was no pressure, no performance.

She turned her hand over, lacing her fingers with his just slightly, testing the waters. His grip tightened just a little, enough to let her know he was right there with her.

“And what do you think is meant to happen here?” she asked softly, tilting her head.

Aaron’s hazel eyes darkened slightly, but he didn’t answer right away. Instead, he held her gaze, his thumb still tracing lazy circles against her skin. Then, with a small, knowing smile, he said,

“Guess we’ll have to find out.”

-

As they stepped out of the restaurant, the cool London air greeted them, crisp but not too harsh. The quiet hum of the city surrounded them, a few distant cars, the muffled chatter of people passing by. But in that moment, all Cleo could focus on was Aaron—his presence beside her, the way his hand hovered near hers, his fingers just barely brushing against her skin as they walked.

It wasn’t accidental. He wasn’t rushing to grab her hand, but he wasn’t pulling away either. It was that same unspoken energy between them, that slow, steady pull neither of them seemed to fight.

Cleo smirked, glancing up at him. “You always this smooth?”

Aaron chuckled, shoving his free hand into his pocket. “I’d like to think I’m just being myself.”

She hummed, tilting her head. “Dangerous.”

His brow lifted. “Oh?”

“Yeah,” she said, watching him. “Because that means you’re not even trying.”

Aaron stopped walking for a second, turning to face her fully. The streetlights cast a warm glow on his face, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw, the quiet intensity in his hazel eyes. He stepped a little closer, and for the first time, she felt the warmth of his palm completely envelop hers.

“I don’t have to try,” he said, his voice low. “Not with you.”

Cleo’s breath hitched.

The way he said it—so simple, so certain—made her pulse quicken. She was used to attention, used to men wanting her for what she could offer, for the image she curated. But Aaron? He wasn’t chasing anything. He wasn’t playing a game.

And that? That was more dangerous than anything.

She exhaled a soft laugh, shaking her head. “You really don’t know what you’re doing, do you?”

Aaron smirked, giving her hand a small squeeze before letting it go. “I guess we’ll both have to find out.”

He nodded toward the street. “C’mon, I’ll walk you back.”

Cleo should’ve let go of the moment, played it off as just another night, another conversation. But as they strolled through the quiet streets of Notting Hill, his arm brushing against hers, she knew—something about this felt different.

And for the first time in a long time, she was okay with not knowing exactly where it was going.

As they approached the entrance of her hotel, Cleo felt a weight settle in her chest. She didn’t want the night to end, didn’t want to step away from the warmth of his presence. Aaron had this way about him—calm, unassuming, but completely captivating.

She glanced up at him, noting how effortlessly he fit into the moment. Hands in his pockets, that quiet confidence in his posture, the way his eyes softened when they met hers. It was rare for her to feel this at ease with someone, especially someone she hadn’t known for long.

“So,” she said, tucking a loose curl behind her ear, stalling. “Guess this is goodnight?”

Aaron exhaled a small chuckle, nodding. “Looks that way.”

She hated how final that sounded.

He studied her for a second, as if he could read exactly what she was thinking. Then, with that same easy confidence, he took a small step closer.

“I had a good time,” he said, his voice low, warm.

Cleo let out a breathy laugh. “I did too.”

She expected him to make a move, to lean in, to test the waters with a kiss. But Aaron didn’t rush. Instead, he reached for her hand one more time, his fingers brushing against hers before he gave it a small squeeze.

“Get some rest,” he murmured.

Cleo felt a shiver run down her spine, not from the cold, but from the way his voice wrapped around her like a promise.

She smirked, tilting her head. “You always this much of a gentleman?”

Aaron smiled, stepping back. “Only when it’s worth it.”

Her stomach flipped.

He gave her one last lingering look before turning to leave. Cleo stood there for a moment, watching him disappear down the street, her heart pounding a little harder than she wanted to admit.

As she finally stepped inside, she let out a quiet sigh, shaking her head at herself.

She had no idea where this thing with Aaron was going.

But damn… she wanted to find out.

-

“Aaron.” She calls. Aaron stopped mid-step, turning back to face her. The way his name sounded coming from her lips—soft, almost hesitant—made something stir in his chest.

Cleo stood in the warm glow of the hotel entrance, her fingers gripping the strap of her purse. For a second, she seemed to weigh her words, her eyes flickering over his face like she was trying to memorize him in this moment.

He waited. Didn’t push. Didn’t speak.

Then, finally, she exhaled. “Stay.”

The word was simple, but the weight behind it was anything but.

Aaron’s brows lifted slightly, surprised. Not because he didn’t want to—he absolutely did—but because she was the one asking.

She bit her lip, shifting on her feet. “Not—” She shook her head. “I don’t mean like that. I just… I don’t want the night to end yet.”

Aaron’s lips curved into a slow smile.

“Okay,” he said simply.

Cleo let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, then turned, motioning for him to follow her inside.

Aaron fell into step beside her, his hand grazing her lower back as they walked through the lobby. It was subtle, barely there, but enough to send warmth spreading through her.

Maybe she was overthinking it. Maybe she was reading too much into this.

Or maybe—just maybe—she wasn’t the only one who didn’t want this moment to end.

As the night stretched on, their conversation drifted effortlessly between deep thoughts and lighthearted banter. They talked about everything and nothing—their favorite places to travel, the worst movies they’d ever seen, the little things that made them who they were.

Cleo felt herself relaxing in a way she hadn’t in a long time. With Aaron, there was no pressure to be “on,” no need to curate every word or moment for perfection. He just let things be.

And as she sat beside him, legs tucked under her on the couch, she became hyper-aware of how close they were. The space between them had shrunk without her even realizing it. His cologne—clean, warm, and subtly intoxicating—lingered in the air between them.

Her eyes flickered to his lips.

She wanted to kiss him.

The thought came suddenly, crashing into her with more force than she expected. She had been holding back all night, keeping things light, convincing herself that this was just a moment. But now?

Now, she wasn’t so sure.

Aaron must have noticed the shift because he paused mid-sentence, tilting his head slightly. “What?” he asked, his voice softer now, more knowing.

Cleo hesitated, her pulse quickening. “Nothing.”

A slow smirk tugged at his lips. “Liar.”

She exhaled a laugh, shaking her head. “You’re insufferable.”

Aaron chuckled, but his eyes held something deeper, something unreadable. He reached out, tucking a stray curl behind her ear. The simple gesture sent a shiver down her spine.

“You sure it’s nothing?” he asked, his voice lower now.

She swallowed, heart hammering.

Screw it.

Cleo leaned in, closing the distance between them.

The moment their lips met, it was soft—hesitant, almost like a question. But then Aaron responded, his hand coming up to cup the side of her face, his thumb grazing her cheek. He kissed her slowly, deliberately, like he had all the time in the world.

And maybe, in this moment, they did.

As soon as they pulled back, Cleo’s mind went into overdrive.

What was she thinking?

She mentally kicked herself, her pulse still racing from the kiss. She had told herself she wouldn’t get attached, that this was just a fleeting thing—two people enjoying each other’s company while they were in the same place. But now?

Now, she had gone and kissed him.

Aaron, meanwhile, was watching her carefully, his hazel eyes searching her face like he could hear every thought running through her mind. He didn’t look smug, didn’t push for more. He just waited, giving her space to react.

Cleo swallowed hard, forcing out a small, awkward laugh. “Well… that happened.”

Aaron’s lips twitched, amusement dancing in his gaze. “Yeah,” he said, his voice even, unreadable. “It did.”

She exhaled sharply, looking away. “I don’t usually do this.”

“What? Kiss?” he teased, tilting his head.

She shot him a look. “You know what I mean.”

Aaron smirked but didn’t argue. Instead, he reached out, tracing a slow circle on the back of her hand with his thumb. It was grounding—gentle, patient.

“Do you regret it?” he asked finally.

Cleo opened her mouth to respond but hesitated. Did she?

She knew she should. She should be pulling back, setting boundaries, reminding herself that he’d be heading back to London soon and she had her own life to return to.

But regret?

No. She didn’t regret it at all.

She sighed, rubbing her temples. “I just… I don’t know where this is going.”

Aaron nodded, his gaze steady. “Neither do I.”

His honesty caught her off guard. No promises, no empty reassurances—just the truth.

And maybe that was why she couldn’t seem to walk away.

Aaron didn’t hesitate this time. As soon as he saw the flicker of uncertainty in her eyes, the way she seemed caught between overthinking and letting go, he made the choice for both of them.

He leaned in again, capturing her lips with his.

This kiss was different—deeper, more certain. It wasn’t just a question; it was an answer.

Cleo melted into it before she could stop herself. Her fingers curled into the fabric of his sweater as he pulled her closer, his hand resting at the small of her back. He was slow, deliberate, like he wanted her to feel every second of this, to know that this wasn’t just some impulsive moment to be brushed aside.

Her mind screamed at her to be careful, to guard herself, to remember that he wasn’t staying.

But the way he kissed her? The way he moved like he had no plans of letting go?

It made her wonder if maybe—just maybe—she wasn’t the only one afraid of what this was turning into.

-

She moaned softly into the kiss. That’s when she jolted away from him. Embarrassed.

The sound escaped before she could stop it—a soft, involuntary moan against his lips.

The moment she realized, her eyes flew open, and she jolted away from him, her entire body going rigid.

“Oh my God,” she muttered, pressing her fingers to her lips, embarrassment flooding through her.

Aaron blinked, clearly caught off guard, before a slow, knowing smile spread across his face. “Did you just—”

“Don’t.” She cut him off, holding up a hand, her face burning.

But Aaron? Oh, he was enjoying this. His smirk deepened as he leaned back against the couch, his gaze locked onto her. “You don’t have to be embarrassed, you know.”

She groaned, covering her face. “I am very embarrassed.”

He chuckled, running a hand over his jaw. “Why? It was kind of cute.”

She peeked at him through her fingers, shooting him a glare. “You would think that.”

Aaron just shrugged, his eyes still dancing with amusement. But there was something else in his expression too—something softer. He didn’t tease her beyond that, didn’t push. He just let her have her moment to recover.

Cleo took a deep breath, trying to regain some sense of composure. “I—maybe we should slow down.”

Aaron nodded, his expression turning more serious. “If that’s what you want.”

She searched his face, expecting disappointment or frustration. But there was none. Just patience. Understanding.

That, more than anything, made her chest tighten.

She sighed, finally lowering her hands. “I just… I don’t want to rush into something messy.”

Aaron studied her for a moment before nodding again. “Then we won’t rush.”

Simple. No arguments. No pressure.

And somehow, that made her want him even more.

She moved in closer to him. Impulse control and embarrassment be damned. If he thought it was cute, just maybe. She leaned in again.

Cleo didn’t think. Didn’t overanalyze.

Impulse control and embarrassment be damned.

If he thought it was cute—if he wasn’t running, wasn’t making her feel ridiculous for being vulnerable—then maybe, just maybe, she didn’t have to hold back.

She leaned in again, closing the space between them, her hand resting lightly against his chest.

Aaron didn’t hesitate. His arms slid around her, pulling her in as their lips met again. This time, there was no hesitation, no second-guessing.

His kiss was slow and deep, deliberate in a way that made her stomach flip. His hands stayed respectful but firm, anchoring her against him. And when she sighed softly against his lips, he answered with a low hum of approval that sent a shiver down her spine.

She was losing herself in him, in the way he kissed like he had nowhere else to be, like this moment was the only thing that mattered.

And maybe, for now, it was.

Once apart he smiles. “Was that so hard to let go?” He asks. “Plus don’t be embarrassed about those cute little moans.” He says.

Cleo rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t fight the smile tugging at her lips.

“You would bring that up again,” she muttered, lightly shoving his chest.

Aaron chuckled, catching her hand and lacing his fingers through hers. “I mean, was it so hard to let go?” he asked, his voice teasing but gentle.

She exhaled, shaking her head. “You don’t understand. I don’t do this—getting caught up, letting things just… happen.”

Aaron studied her, his hazel eyes warm. “Maybe you should,” he said simply. “Not everything has to be planned.”

She bit her lip, looking down at their intertwined fingers. He was making this feel too easy. Too natural.

Then he smirked. “And for the record,” he added, voice dipping lower, “don’t be embarrassed about those cute little moans.”

Her head snapped up. “Aaron.”

He laughed, squeezing her hand before bringing it to his lips for a quick, soft kiss. “What? Just saying I like them.”

She groaned, burying her face in his shoulder, but the warmth spreading through her told her she wasn’t really mad.

Not even a little.

-

Cleo’s thoughts raced as she rested against him, her heart still fluttering from the kiss, from his words, from him.

She wanted this. Wanted him.

But she knew better than to push.

Aaron was still finding his footing in all of this—his career, his privacy, his own comfort with letting someone in. She knew he wasn’t the type to rush things, and the last thing she wanted was to make him feel pressured.

Still, the way he held her, the way he looked at her—it made her wonder.

Was he thinking the same thing? Did he want this to be more than fleeting moments in different cities?

She exhaled against his shoulder, letting herself stay in the warmth of his embrace for just a little longer. Maybe she didn’t have all the answers right now.

But maybe she didn’t need them just yet.

Aaron noticed the slight shift in her body, the way she tensed just a little before exhaling like she was trying to steady herself.

He didn’t say anything at first, just let his hand trail soothingly up and down her back. But he wasn’t oblivious—he could feel her thoughts running a mile a minute.

“You’re overthinking,” he murmured, tilting his head to look at her.

Cleo huffed a soft laugh but didn’t deny it. “Can you blame me?”

Aaron studied her for a moment, then shook his head. “No. But you don’t have to.”

She pulled back slightly, searching his face. “I just…” She sighed, trying to find the right words. “I like you, Aaron. And I know you have your own pace, your own way of doing things. I don’t want to push you into something you’re not ready for.”

Aaron’s lips pressed together, his thumb still absently tracing patterns on her hand. “And what if I am ready?” he asked, voice low, thoughtful.

Cleo blinked. “You are?”

He let out a small chuckle. “I don’t do things halfway, Cleo. If I wasn’t serious about this… about you… I wouldn’t be here.”

Her heart skipped. She felt it—his sincerity, his quiet certainty.

“So what are you saying?” she asked, voice softer now.

Aaron met her gaze, his expression steady. “I’m saying… if you want me, I’m yours.”

Her breath caught.

No hesitation. No games.

Just him, laying it out as simply as that.

“Hell. These last six months have been amazing and if you know you know.” He says.

Cleo stared at him, her heart thudding a little harder. Six months. Had it really been that long?

Between their chance meeting in L.A., the quiet moments, the long conversations, the undeniable pull between them—it all blurred together in the best way.

“Hell,” Aaron continued, his voice steady. “These last six months have been amazing, and if you know, you know.”

She swallowed, her lips parting slightly. “And you know?” she asked, searching his face for any sign of doubt.

Aaron nodded without hesitation. “Yeah. I do.”

His words settled deep inside her, warming something she didn’t even realize had been cold.

For so long, she had guarded herself, kept things light, casual. But here he was—this man who had slipped into her life with his quiet confidence and steady presence—telling her exactly what she had been too scared to admit to herself.

She exhaled a soft laugh, shaking her head. “Damn you, Aaron.”

His brows lifted. “What?”

“You’re making this way too easy.”

Aaron grinned, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “Love isn’t supposed to be hard, Cleo.”

Love.

The word hung between them, unspoken yet fully understood.

She looked at him, really looked at him, and in that moment, she knew.

So she smiled, cupping his face in her hands. “Then I guess you’re mine, too.”

-

“We don’t have to put titles on anything yet. But I’m all in if you are.” He says.

Cleo felt a wave of relief wash over her. Aaron always had a way of making things feel right—no pressure, no expectations, just an understanding between them.

She nodded slowly, letting the moment settle. “I like that,” she admitted. “No titles, no rush. Just us.”

Aaron smiled, his fingers still tracing along the back of her hand. “Exactly.”

She studied him, memorizing the way his hazel eyes softened when he looked at her, the way he made her feel safe without even trying.

“You’re really all in?” she asked, needing to hear it one more time.

He squeezed her hand gently. “All in.”

Cleo let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. Then, unable to stop herself, she leaned in again, pressing a soft kiss to his lips—this one slower, deeper, like a silent agreement.

When she pulled back, Aaron’s smirk was undeniable. “See?” he murmured. “Letting go isn’t so hard.”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t fight her smile. “Shut up.”

Aaron chuckled, pulling her close again. “Make me.”

And just like that, she knew she was done for.

Tags 🏷️

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[buckysouvenir]

say yes to heaven

pairing: bucky barnes x y/n authors note: day fourteen!

the valentine’s day collection 2025: for the first 14 days of february, i’ll be posting a series of short stories inspired by songs, all centered around bucky barnes.

reblogs, likes and comments are always encouraged and highly appreciated! thank you ♡

The first time she saw Bucky Barnes, she knew—she just knew—that he was the kind of man people wrote stories about.

The kind of man who carried the weight of the world without complaint. The kind who had been through too much but still found a way to protect those around him. The kind of man who would never ask for love, but deserved it more than anyone.

And she wanted to love him.

She just didn’t know if he would ever let her.

She stood on the rooftop of their safe house, watching the city lights flicker against the darkness. The skyline stretched endlessly before her, but her thoughts were stuck in one place—on him.

Bucky.

He should have been back by now.

A cold breeze drifted through the night air, sending chills down her spine. She pulled her jacket tighter around her, trying to shake the creeping worry building in her chest. He had been gone for hours. Longer than usual.

She hated this part. The waiting. The not knowing.

But she did it anyway.

Because if he danced, she would dance. And if he stayed, she would stay. And if he left—

Well.

She didn’t let herself finish that thought.

The sound of rustling metal from the fire escape had her turning sharply, heart pounding. Her breath hitched as a figure pulled itself over the ledge, boots landing with a dull thud on the rooftop floor.

She knew before she even saw his face.

"Bucky."

He was there. He was safe.

Barely.

Blood stained his sleeve, his knuckles bruised and raw. His face was shadowed with exhaustion, his shoulders tense like he was still ready for a fight.

"You always wait up for me," he said, voice rough.

"You always come back," she whispered.

And she wished it was that simple.

His gaze flickered to her for a moment before shifting away. Like he was afraid to meet her eyes for too long.

Like he was afraid of what she might see.

Y/N took a slow step toward him, hands clenched at her sides. She wanted to reach for him, to touch him, to convince herself he was really here. But she waited.

Because Bucky Barnes wasn’t the kind of man you could hold onto too tightly.

So instead, she just said, "You're hurt."

"It’s nothing."

"Bucky—"

"I said it’s nothing."

But it wasn’t nothing.

It was everything.

It was every sleepless night, every scar, every fight he had to face alone. It was every wall he built, every time he pulled away when someone got too close.

It was the way he never let himself believe he could be loved.

But she did.

She believed it with everything she had.

And she was so damn tired of pretending otherwise.

Y/N swallowed hard, her voice steady when she finally spoke. "If you fight, I’ll fight. If you run, I’ll chase after you. And if you stay—"

His eyes met hers then, blue and tired and heavy with something unspoken.

"—then I’ll stay too."

For a long moment, he didn’t move.

Then, slowly, his fingers brushed against hers. Testing. Waiting.

She didn’t wait.

She took his hand, lacing their fingers together.

And for the first time, Bucky Barnes didn’t pull away.

[maybequinnidk]

I'm Good At Loving You (You're Good At Loving Me) pt. 2

part 1

(hurt/comfort i think. feedback is appreciated, i'm new to this)

Kara notices after that conversation at the Tower three weeks ago something started to change.

Lena stays over almost everyday, and they develop a domestic routine: sometimes they're lucky enough to spend some more minutes in bed before properly starting the day, just enjoying the other's company. Then they eat breakfast, wash the dishes, sweep the floor, take out the trash. After that they shower and get ready for the rest of their day. They have a late lunch with their team and go back to their respective tasks. By the time she goes back home Lena is usually there, if they didn't go together.

Kara's favorite part is the relief of coming home and finding Lena making dinner, or reading a book on the couch, or coming out of the shower, or- Kara's favorite part is Lena. And today she's...

Not here.

As if today wasn't awful enough already.

She came in through the window and falteringly made her way to the kitchen, leaning over the countertop.

She finds a note on top of it in Lena's handwriting "forgot my phone at the lab, portal watch is still broken :/ BRB "

Not even five minutes later her partner arrives. She barely opens the door and Kara envelopes her in a hug. Lena is quick to reciprocate despite the suddenness.

"Oh. Hi. I came back as fast as I could, are you okay?"

Today was a hectic day. She had to leave early in the morning and missed breakfast, the villain of the week was turning into villain of the month, she'd been running on nothing but a sandwich, a bag of chips and yellow star radiation for the past 12 hours, and to top it all off she solar flared. She used the last bit of her powers to fly home. She didn't break anything and didn't get sick, but still, everything hurts.

She shakes her head.

"Oh, darling. Let's go inside and talk about it?"

Kara doesn't want to talk though. She squeezes Lena tighter. She can do that now.

"Or we could go inside and not talk about it?" Lena knows her so well. "How about we get you out of this suit, and you take a nap while I worry about dinner. Does that sound good, honey?"

Lena knows her so well.

She loves Lena calling her "darling", but "honey" is on another level.

It's for when she's grieving Krypton, her family, her friends, her culture. For when she can't get out of bed after waking up five seperate times in the same night because the memories that come back as nightmares wouldn't give her a break. For when she couldn't save everyone from a fire or earthquake or alien attack. For when she's not even able to process and explain what's happening.

It's been a while since she needed it.

She nods.

She has no idea what time it is when she wakes up, all she knows is that it's cold, Lena is stroking her hair and the softness of her voice can be compared to the one of her hoodie and sweatpants.

"How are you? Did you sleep well, honey?"

Kara yawns and stretches. She does feel a little bit better so she nods.

She does remember what Lena said during dinner. "I talked to Alex and J'onn and they agreed that we all need a break, so Nia suggested a game night sometime soon."

The night's events blur together. She doesn't know if it's because of her exhaustion or the fact that this has happened so many times before — it's mundane, eating with Lena after a hard day.

She also remembers when she was able to voice her thoughts for the first time since she got home.

She had just gone to bed, her face buried in the pillow, as Lena was petting her hair.

"Honey, are you feeling better?"

She nods and turns to her left so she can see Lena. "Thank you for this."

"I'm glad I was able to help."

"You always are."

Kara grabs Lena's other hand and brings it to her lips, peppering her with kisses, maintaining eye contact. She wants to be closer, though.

Lena reads her mind again. She lifts up the blanket as an invitation to get closer, which Kara accepts.

Kara settles her body between Lena's legs and rests her head on her chest. Featherlight fingers caressing her back, the subtle rise and fall of Lena's breathing. It's grounding.

"I love you." she breaks the silence.

> > > × < < <

Kara has said that a lot in the past couple of weeks. Mostly when they're in private, or when she's about to go on field.

She had been so anxious about this. Terrified to trust that Kara wasn't manipulating nor leaving her.

But seeing the way Kara looks at her – like the first time they woke up together, or shared clothes; with an unmistakable fondness in her eyes, a light blush on her face and a smile on her lips – she knows she means it.

Most of the time, Lena responds with physical affection, a soft "I know", a concerned "stay safe", an "ily" text; sometimes she didn't respond at all, still not completely used to it. This is not any of those times.

"I love you too." She barely thinks about it, it's always on her mind. Such a frequent thought it became an easy action. Natural. Familiar. Known.

"I know, baby." Kara plays with the collar of Lena's shirt, traces her neck and jaw.

She never liked being called "baby" by her exes. It was uncomfortable, infantilizing and just felt wrong.

There was only one person who made it tolerable: Jack. But even then he didn't use it all the time. He preferred "darling" and so did she.

The first time Kara used that pet name, it came as a suprise that it didn't bother her. It was two, maybe three weeks into this new aspect of their relationship.

"You're so wonderful, baby, so stunning." Kara could probably listen to her pulse rushing and see her face flushing which only made her blush even more.

In the past she would have said something like "I know you're trying to be cute but I really don't like that word", instead she said nothing because her brain had given up on her.

The reason she likes it so much now is probably because it's always accompanied with compliments and reassurance.

"I'm so proud of you." proud. Lena lets out a short laugh and smiles shyly.

"Darling, you're doing it again..."

"Doing what?"

"Comforting me when you're the one who needs it."

"I told you." she finds a way to get even closer, kisses her cheek and says "It helps."

Although she doesn't fully understands how that works, she does see how it affects Kara when she starts to relax.

> > > × < < <

She eventually falls asleep.

With Lena's hearbeat at the perfect volume on her ears; audible but not overwhelmingly loud.

The words "I love you too" echoing in her mind; can words be addictive?

The hope that tomorrow won't be worse than today; may Rao help her.

She eventually falls asleep.