#the two of them would have serenaded buck | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

stfrancisprayer · 6 months ago

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Last Winter, This Spring

John "Bucky" Egan x female!reader —when bucky thinks about the past, you're there.

word count: 4.2k notes: female reader, but no physical descriptions and no use of y/n. friends to lovers + postwar. reader is implied to be an aviation machinist. a smidge of angst at the beginning and then a giant helping of fluff for the rest. ❀ warnings: brief description of stalag

HO HO HO! @bandagesandloveletters, i was your secret summer santa! it was a such pleasure getting to know you through your asks and i loved all of the room for creativity you gave me...and your music recs!!! "moonlight serenade" and "a nightingale sang in berkeley square" were big inspirations for this fic. thank you for trusting me with your gift-- and i hope you have an amazing summer <3

ⓘ This is a work of fiction based off of the AppleTV series Masters of the Air and strictly intended to be understood as factitious. Any named mention of an individual is based solely on their dramatic portrayals, NOT their real life counterparts.

In that cold German night, you’re there.

Inside that cabin, frozen to the touch, with his cheek pressed to his pillow– his bent left arm.

Above John Egan is the corrugated wood of the top bunk, its pattern his personal constellation. In the middle bunk, there’s barely enough room to raise his head and ask Buck if he’s still awake. The spotlight on the eastern side of the grounds makes a wide revolution, sending a scanning light through the window before plunging the room back into the darkness of winter.

It comes again. In that cold German night, Rita Hayworth's there, too; Grace Kelly right below her. Posted on the wall below them is the lead hitter for a hometown baseball team, on the wall opposite is the other team’s pitcher. But John can turn to face his wall, and you're there.

He didn’t expect you to write, but the way he’d nervously paced around the bunk betrayed the fact that he was hoping you would. So when a letter comes on a gray winter morning, your familiar handwriting penned on the front, John’s numb hands fumble open the letter tellingly eager. He reads it in your voice, once, twice, enough times to memorize. But most importantly, you send him a sprig of the wild cherry tree.

When the light comes again, he can see it on his shelf. Its once-white petals are shriveled and missing now, it’s a different color than when you’d first sent it to him. But it’s still you, the brightness in your eyes and that smile– the smile he’d always loved coaxing out of you.

John switches arms so he’s lying on his right.

There’s a scratching at the base of his throat now, the sound of your name fighting to release itself. The weight that sits on his waterline is the type that he thinks won’t spill over if he pretends it isn’t there. When he breathes, his chest only expands so far, suffocating in the space between the two bunks. It’s the layers, it has to be. You’d never do that to him.

He takes the twig into his hands just to feel the thin wood between his cold fingertips.

I'll be back, he thinks. I'll be back.

In the Norfolk spring, the trees blossom at the turn of March like clockwork. Where the English sky has been gray since the beginning of September, the bloom is a welcome sight in Thorpe Abbotts. Their petals are the same color as the overcast: a delicate white. Bucky first notices them by chance from the window of the cockpit, glancing to the right as the landing gear touches down on the runway.

By mid-April, the blooms are dense enough to see from the air. When Bucky's circling above the airfield after another near-death mission, he spots the spattering of trees on the ground below and allows himself an exhale. Repetition has turned the sight of them into his own personal air marshall, congratulating him on surviving and beckoning him down onto the runway. He wipes the soot and blood from his face and tips the nose down until they’re clear from the windshield.

He’s barely pushed himself through the escape hatch, but Bucky's already making a beeline toward the aircraft hangar. His legs are still getting used to the ground; wracked with pins and needles and clumsy with each step, but he wears a smile he can’t seem to wipe off. He knows you’re behind those open metal doors, and he likes to think you’ve been waiting for him to return.

You’re there, so focused on tinkering with the uncapped propeller of a plane that you don’t notice him limp in. He could tell it was you from a mile away, all unruly hair and oil-streaked slacks, standing on a platform and putting the brunt of your weight on your wrench. Bucky calls your name, and it's familiar on his tongue.

You flash him a grin– his favorite kind, the one with teeth and the crinkle in your eyes. Perhaps you weren’t expecting his return, but like this he can’t help but believe it.

“Major Egan!” You wipe your hands on your pants. “How was it?”

Terrible; missions like those never go well. He still returns your grin. “Good. I'm here, right?”

“Right,” you laugh. “And since you’re here, hand me those pliers, will you?”

He notices your toolbox underneath the propeller and retrieves the pliers obediently. As he inches onto his toes, you reach down, tongue darting out past your lips as you grasp the handles. He stifles a laugh, remembering how you’ve sworn up and down it’s not a tic of yours.

“She took flak to the engine,” you call out over the sound of mechanics. “Pierced right through the skin. Lucky she didn’t get it from the underside, otherwise we’d be out a plane.”

“Can’t have that,” Bucky muses half-sarcastically.

Smirking, you use the pliers to point at him accusingly. “You’d like that, Egan.”

He scoffs. “What, like I'd prefer to be on the ground?”

“Maybe you should.”

You’d be on the ground with him, he considers. Maybe he should.

“Hey, you see those– flower things?” he pivots.

Your voice is muffled by the machinery. “What things?”

“The trees with the flowers.”

“Oh, the wild cherries,” you realize, wiping the sweat from your forehead. “Yeah. Real pretty, right?”

“Stunning,” he stuffs his hands inside his flight jacket. “You can see ‘em all the way up there.”

“Is that right?” When you pull away from the propeller, your expression is impressed. “Seen them from the ground?”

“Not yet.”

“Do it sometime,” you offer, like it’s advice. “They’re better up close.”

You dip back down to fiddle with the mechanics. This might be your way of dismissing him, Bucky realizes, but he can’t seem to leave the hangar. So he stands there, content to share a space with you, the noise of engines, and the heartbeat he catches resounding between his ears.

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice the way he lingers. You’re too proud to tell him you enjoy the company.

The upcoming mission gets canceled later that week– bad weather or faulty intel or a miscalculation; some reason Bucky didn’t feel the need to triple-check. He'd have the weekend on the ground and that alone was enough cause for celebration.

Tonight, the pub is hazy with the smoke of cigarettes and fanned with the heat of alcohol. Glasses of warm beer exchange hands as easily as money. Buck sits at Bucky’s left, and there’s an empty chair to his right he’s hoping to fill. He can pick out the rest of his friends from the sound of their laughter alone. Bucky’s eyes scan over the room, the corners of his mouth urged upwards in a lazy smile: this is how things should be, he thinks, without the threat of a mission come morning.

And if tonight couldn’t get any better, he notices the way you creep in through the pub’s door.

Your eyes scan over the crowd until your gaze magnetizes to his. He's hard to miss, the only head turned in your direction, unabashedly waiting for you to notice.

Bucky’s eyes scan up and down your figure as you approach the table. You’re dressed in your Class A’s, hair styled into regulation curls, the cheeks that once sported oil smears now complimenting a ruby-red smile. It spurs him to remember what you’d told him earlier: something-something better up close.

“Good evening,” you grin.

“There she is,” he greets you. “Come here often, stranger?”

You roll your eyes playfully. “When I can.”

The two of you pause to smile at each other.

“...Mind if I take a seat?”

Bucky looks down and realizes the way his hand is smoothing over the chair seat might seem like he’s saving it for someone else. He draws his palm back, stumbling out of his chair to pull yours out for you. “Ma’am.

You smooth your skirt under your thighs as you sit. “Thank you.”

“Crosby,” Bucky chides Harry across the table, “What are you doing? get her a drink!”

“No, no, that’s alright,” you raise a hand to motion for Crosby to sit back down. “I'm up early tomorrow.”

Crosby's not so quick to take a seat. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure,” you tease, “Egan’ll drink for me.”

When the table laughs at your remark, something like pride swells in Bucky’s chest. That's my girl.

Both of you lean back into your chairs in sync, settling in to observe the conversation. Bucky’s look of adoration is unabashed, trailing along the curve of your eyelashes with lidded eyes. You’re so beautiful like this– effortless; with the relaxed slump in your shoulders and the poised way you’ve crossed your legs. He’s keen on the way you’re resting your weight on the armrest closest to him, and he’ll still be pleased if he’s only here as your accessory for the night.

You could practically feel the way Bucky’s gaze swept over you, passing up and down your figure with a slight hesitation. He was holding back his affections, undoubtedly, if it wasn’t obvious by the way he was smoothing his hand over the back of your chair but stopping short of draping an arm atop it.

When you lean into him, you’re sure to have your shoulder bump gently against his. Go ahead.

Bucky seems to take the hint. He rests his arm atop your chair, fingers brushing against your opposite shoulder like he’s waiting for further instruction. You hum with laughter at the feeling.

“Is this okay?”

When you turn to face him, he’s already pulling away, afraid you’ll bite.

You settle into his side. “It's perfect.”

That's all he needed to hear.

He brings his chair closer until your seats are touching, melding both of your spaces into one for you to share. Your gaze is still fixed in your lap, half-afraid of ruining the moment with a misplaced word, your breath in your throat even as Bucky inches closer. At the table surrounded by pilots and airmen, this space feels intimate– isolating yourselves amidst the haze of the pub until it’s the two of you alone.

When he leans in to whisper, Bucky’s lips brush feather-light against the shell of your ear. “You look beautiful.”

A shiver runs up and down your spine at his words. When you turn to look at him, he’s close, impossibly close, so close you’re afraid he’ll see the way your irises tremble with misplaced confidence. But he’s patient, content in the moment you’ve stolen together.

Before you can speak, your hand’s pulling the sprig from your lapel.

“Now, what’s this?” Bucky asks curiously, taking the plant between his fingers. It’s so fresh its wood is still damp with afternoon rain, the flowers adorning it still retain their shape. Spinning it between his pinched fingers, he studies it in wonder.

“Those are those flower things, John,” you grin, pausing to nervously retreat to the opposite armrest. “Wild cherry blossoms.”

Bucky tucks the sprig into his lapel gingerly. You slump a little further into your seat.

Air service command decides that a sunny Thursday morning is the perfect time to reschedule the mission lost. Aside from the immediate threat of warfare, the day couldn’t have been any more picturesque.

The tail end of April brings warm breezes meant as a preview of the upcoming summer; and when Bucky looks up at the sky through his aviators, he wonders if the troposphere is any less colder. The B-17s creep slowly out of their hangars like waking giants– in the meantime, he slings his bag over his shoulder and counts the altocumulus clouds peppering the sky.

They’re just like the white petals strewn across the Thorpe Abbotts’ lawns. The wild cherries are beginning to fruit upon the branches; he wonders if you’d tell him you’d miss the sight of them adorning the trees if it’s worth the smell of cherries after.

He hears someone call his name, and you’re there, bounding on the tarmac towards him.

The streak of oil on your nose matches nicely with your stained coveralls. When you skid to a halt in front of him, Bucky lets you find your breath, tugging your hefty gloves from your hands to stick into your back pocket. His mouth opens and shuts as he scans over you, unsure if he should be the first to break the silence and ask if you’re alright.

“Are you heading out?”

He takes off his aviators and meets your gaze with his. “I guess I am.”

“Okay,” you cough, nodding your head. “Okay.”

Your hands smooth hastily over the woolen lapels of his flight jacket, your lip caught behind your teeth. Bucky watches you before he can think to flinch away, looking down to notice the way your eyebrows furrow in the middle as you brush off nonexistent dirt. His tie’s loose, and you take the liberty of tugging it further up his neck– strangely enough, Bucky finds himself looking upwards, amused. This is a ritual for you, he realizes, a way to make him tangible while you find the words to say.

Finally, you rest your forehead against his shoulder, exhaling in defeat. “...You’ll be fine.”

The words are spoken like they’re for you to hear and Bucky to understand.

“Course I’ll be fine,” he laughs, cradling your waist with his arm. “I don't go down that easily. Besides–”

Somehow, you understand to pull away from his shoulder. Although you keep your hands on his jacket, there’s enough space for him to pull his lapel to the side and reveal the uniform underneath. There, tucked in his breast pocket, is the outline of a sprig from the wild cherry tree, as close to his heart as it can possibly be.

He winks. “I’m takin’ you with me.”

“John, don’t–” your fingers trace across the shape sadly. “Don’t do that.”

His hand envelops yours, stilling your trembling fingers with a squeeze and calming them with a smile. He doesn’t seem worried; nowhere as worried as you find yourself, and somehow it makes it a little better.

“For your peace of mind,” his voice is low, the words only for you. “Can’t have my pretty girl worrying, right?”

Buck strides behind the two of you, nudging John as he passes by. “Load up, Bucky.”

Bucky nods at his friend in acknowledgment. “Be there in a second.”

Now, your features are sullen, gently tugging his lapel to cover the outline of the twig in his pocket again.

“I should let you go. I'll miss you,” you admit. “I always do.”

Bucky brings a hand to cup your jaw, his thumb smoothing a rhythm across your cheekbone.

You can’t think of anything else to say.

“...I just wanted to let you know how I felt before you left.”

The sudden heat coursing through Bucky’s chest almost makes him want to abandon the mission. In his hands, the looming threat of burning engines and inevitable loss seems so much more real. His jacket stays between your fingers, digging into the plush material like you’re hesitant to release him to the sky.

“I'll be fine,” Bucky whispers, leaning to bring himself closer to you.

Somewhere in your haze, you can feel his lips brush against yours in permission. You respond with a soft nod, a shy please– and relief seeps through your veins when he presses his lips to yours to dull the ache.

He begins slowly, allowing you to get used to the feeling of contact, relish the moment into your hands. His arms hold you flush against each other– somehow, the pressure takes the edge off, and you respond with your own like it’ll convince him to stay. Though his time is drawing near, your lips part a little wider, and he responds with a sweep of his tongue across your bottom lip.

You push off of him right as someone behind you calls his name. Heavy, ragged breaths exit you as you try to fight tears and the undeniable feelings you have for the pilot doomed. A noise betrays you when it spills from your lips; a quiet sob that he’s already leaning down to kiss better.

“I’ll be back for you, gorgeous. I promise.” Bucky presses his lips to yours, feather-light. "We’ll be okay.”

And when he says it like that, you can’t help but believe it.

The taste of you is still buzzing atop his lips by the time Bucky pulls up the yoke. Thorpe Abbotts shrinks into the distance, further and further away until the cherry trees on the ground are dancing underneath the shadows the clouds cast onto the earth. In his mind, you’re still there, standing beneath a thousand petals falling like confetti, waiting for him to land.

His words to you are lost among the roar of the twin engines– I'll be back.

“...John.”

“John.”

“Bucky, wake up!”

“Hmm?”

Your hand is rubbing up and down his arm before he can startle himself awake. When his vision unblurs, his first sight of the morning is one of you backlit by the sun, an orange glow around your face like a halo. You’re the angel standing in your shared bedroom, coaxing him awake, and Bucky decides this must be heaven.

“G’morning, beautiful.” A sleepy grin stretches across his face.

“Good afternoon,” you giggle.

“Afternoon? Already?”

“John, it’s half past twelve,” you tell him as he rubs his eyes. “You said you’d help me get after the living room.”

“It's too early,” he murmurs. “Lay with me.”

“John–!”

You barely have a moment to protest when he’s surging forward, wrapping his arms around your waist to tug you back onto your mattress. Unfairly, his advantage is that you’re weak with laughter, yelping when he pulls you down to his chest and rolls on top of you for good measure. Your hand swats weakly at his back as you giggle, the morning scruff on his face tickling your cheeks when he peppers your face in kisses. Your fingers card through the messy brown curls atop his head– maybe you can be convinced to stay in bed a little longer.

Later that afternoon, the windows of the living room are pushed open as far as they go and the curtains are fluttering in the spring breeze. It’s the end of March, and the nascent Wisconsin spring ushers itself in through the door. Outside, patches of grass poke through the melting snow and the overcast clears– the perfect time to start fresh with some spring cleaning.

Bucky pushes the couches against the wall so you can drape the rug over the railing of the front porch. He throws paper, and you throw scissors, and he pretends to be a sore loser about it when you hand him the mop. By the time you’ve halfway finished sweeping the floor, Bucky finally decides what radio station he wants to listen to.

He perks up the moment he recognizes the tune. “Oh, I love this one!”

A smile spreads across your face. You know this one, too. “Here we go.”

Bucky’s already gliding across the living room floor in time to the music, never mind the fact that the mop is dripping water while he uses it as a microphone stand. You playfully roll your eyes, pausing your sweeping to tap your foot in time. He swings his arms, pointing at you in dedication when he begins to sing.

“Never saw the sun shining so bright– never saw things going so right,”

You offer him your palm when he approaches and he takes it gingerly, spinning you around.

“Watching the days hurrying by– when you’re in love, my, how they fly!”

Bucky gestures grandly in your direction, leaning down to speak into the end of the mop handle like an announcer. “Ladies and gentlemen…MY WIFE!”

“My turn?” you prop your broom handle up. “Blue days, all of them gone…nothing but blue skies…”

“FROM NOW ON–!”

Both of you complete the verse as a duet, holding the note as a shout rather than the dulcet way that Ella Fitzgerald had intended it. If you’d stayed focused, the living room would have been spotless an hour ago, but here you are, dancing arm-in-arm with your husband as he revels in your newfound singing career. You take a joint bow when the song ends, a reverent kiss from Bucky your encore.

“My girl's a superstar,” he murmurs, dipping down to kiss you again. “My superstar.”

“That reminds me,” you grin. “There's something in the garden you should see.”

Your fingers lace with his as you lead him through your home, nudging open the screen door to the backyard. Slowly waking from its winter slumber, sprouts emerge from the thawing dirt and the remnants of snow piles melt into the ground. Bucky raises your conjoined hands to his mouth, blowing hot air between your palms to warm them. “You’re gonna catch a cold, baby.”

“We'll only be out here a second,” you say. “Look!”

Sprouting along the fenceline are the reams of begonias you’d forgotten to uproot before the winter frost came. Lo and behold, they’d survived, now unfolding under the light of the spring sun. Their petals are delicate white along the stalk, bending slightly in the spring breeze. You kneel before them to get a closer look, beaming proudly– Bucky’s eyes light up when he sees how happy you are, crouching down next to you.

“Would you look at that,” he whistles, running a hand along the flowering buds.

“I can't believe they survived,” you lean forward, scanning over the flowerbed. “I really thought the cold would kill them.”

The realization hits him; he’s seen this shape of flower before. “These look exactly like–”

Your smile is practically ear-to-ear. “The wild cherries in Thorpe Abbotts, right?”

He nods, studying the flower between his fingers. They even feel the same.

“I think they’ll be in full bloom by May,” you lean into his chest as he drapes an arm atop your shoulders.

“You should be proud,” Bucky muses, pressing his lips to your temple. “They’re the second prettiest flower in this garden.”

(It takes you a second.)

“Stop,” you laugh, shoving him lightly. Bucky allows himself to fall onto the wet grass with the satisfaction of making you blush.

Mid-afternoon creeps in slowly, the setting sun casting light from its peak at the west face of the house. It was the perfect time to recline on the living room couch and enjoy the direct sunlight before it shifted away. Bucky savors the moment by stretching lazily across the couch, feeling the tension in his spine release with a satisfying pop.

“What do you think?”

Bucky raises his head at the sound of your voice. You gesture towards the end table, now decorated with a single stalk of the begonias from the garden in a glass vase.

“You picked them early?” he yawns.

“One of the sprouts looked ready,” you tilt your head, inspecting the arrangement. “Something to make the living room nicer.”

Bucky hums in acknowledgment, shutting his eyes. “It’s perfect the way it is.”

It's more than evident that Bucky’s losing the battle with sleep, and seeing how the sun hits him just right makes it difficult to stay awake yourself. You consider the implications: it’s more than likely you’ll both wake up after the sun has set, but it’ll be a reason to justify takeout and late-night TV with him. Toeing off the heels of your shoes, you amble down until your weight rests comfortably atop his chest.

“Move over,” you murmur, settling into the crook of his neck. He lets out a pleased hum right as your thigh slots between his.

Your hand feels around until it finds his dangling over the side of the couch. Lacing your fingers together, Bucky brings the back of your palm to his lips, pressing a kiss to the skin that lingers.

“I was thinking we’d go somewhere for dinner,” you mutter, shutting your eyes.

Bucky nods. “Whatever you want, beautiful.”

His hands urge underneath the hem of your shirt, palms smoothing firmly up the plush of your sides. With your face slotted in the crook of his neck, he can feel the way you smile. The only thing he can think to do amidst his fog is press a trail of lazy kisses to the side of your face.

“You’re warm,” he murmurs, fingers curling gently into your waist. “Feels good.”

You giggle. That drowsy little giggle– he swears, it’ll kill him someday.

Before he falls into slumber, Bucky opens his eyes to remind himself of the life he’s made with you; stolen kisses and singing out of tune and the vase of white flowers in the house you live in together. Neither of you had ever really left behind Thorpe Abbotts– but you’re here, with your head on his shoulder and your fingers interlocked, underneath the sunlight of a lazy afternoon.

John Egan never doubted he’d be back. He was just happy that he’d come back to you.

“Sleep,” you press a chaste kiss to his neck. “I'll be here when you wake up.”

And finally, John can believe it.

#john bucky egan #john egan #john egan x reader #bucky egan x reader #masters of the air #mota #mota fic #hbowarsummer24 #🧀 ; writing

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evita-shelby · 3 months ago

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Ménage à Trois

for the ever patient @motley-baby who asked for a sequel to the Two Buck Special

John 'Bucky' Egan x Diane Shelby x Gale 'Buck' Cleven

cw: polyamory, throuple, m/m/f threesome, vaginal fingering, semi-public sex, blowjobs, train sex(technically), p in v sex, anal sex, mirror sex, cuck kink, breeding kink, period typical attitudes, closeted gays, bisexuality, size difference, interracial couples, cum eating, handjobs, mentions of past sex escapades

(yes even i am surprised at how i wrote that much smut!)

She’d missed this.

Bucky’s arm wrapped around her with his hand tracing idle patterns on her shoulder as the lazed about in bed. Best pillow she’s ever had even if he is leaner and new scars marred his body.

God, Di’s never letting him go again.

“I missed two of your birthdays, almost thought I’d miss a third one.” He brushed her still damp hair from her face with his free hand and held her chin between his fingers with his thumb brushing the beauty mark she’s hated since she was a kid. But he loves it along with her mismatched eyes that made her stand out as if her tanned skin and mixed blood already didn’t do the trick.

“You were in a prison camp run by Nazis, the fact that you came back at all is equal to more than three birthday gifts, love.” she leans up to kiss him tenderly, not caring they’ve just woke and she used to complain about his morning breath before he was shot down.

The young witch needs him like she needs air, more than that as she tries and fails to get him to take things further. Doesn’t even allow her to suck or even rub his morning wood as he continues talking about her missed birthdays.

“Still, your future husband needs to make up for that. I promised to give you a gift as great as the one you gave me for mine.” He pulls back enough for her to see that glint in his perfect blue eyes that tells her exactly what he has in mind.

Not jewels or serenades or even flowers.

He wants to share her with Buck again. To make up for the birthdays they didn’t celebrate. And to celebrate a change in their relationship.

“My bed at the Townhouse is much bigger and Buck’s never been to London.” Diane points out. Not that this bed wasn’t big enough for the three of them, the heiress just wants to privacy to truly let go.

Besides, she had a great mirror where the two fucked like animals and got even more turned on by the depraved image in front of them. She’s wet at the thought of how their ménage à trois would look like.

Maybe after Di can ask Buck if Marjorie Spencer would like to make it their ménage à trois into a ménage à quatre.

They wouldn’t just be friends, even if Buck marries Marge and Di marries Bucky, it won’t change the fact that Marge will have to share him Bucky and Diane at some point.

She would understand if Marge decided against it, God knows Diane had a possessive streak she inherited from her mother. Strange enough it did not affect her budding relationship with Buck and knowing she shares John with him.

“Ah, yes, how could I forget the Mirror, gonna look like those Italian paintings your mom has.” He grinned at the thought of desecrating the small gallery her mother has there. “Me and Buck fucking the daylights out of you, covering and filling you with cum and then fucking you some more in the big old tub.”

“How soon can we leave?” Di asks knowing this will be the best trip to London she’s ever had. He could ask her to have Buck’s bastard and she’d say yes at this point.

“Leave that to me, princess.”

They can’t leave this place fast enough.

While John’s her fiancé and lover officially, it was not exactly a secret that Buck Cleven had been seen being less than proper with his best friend’s girl.

Hadn’t been intentional, just them missing Bucky and a few kisses turning to Di and Gale fucking against the same tree she and Bucky fucked that first night to stave off the loneliness.

“There’s a family friend that has two wives and the three of them love each other like this. Nothing to be ashamed of, just not as understood.” Diane had said as they had laid there in the little room when it happened again, and again, because no one else loved and missed Bucky like they did.

They hadn’t wanted to admit it, but they came to be more than just friends, not close like he and John were, but Diane’s place in his was almost equal to that of Marge, his future wife. Gale had not worked up the courage to say the words out loud, but the witch knew he too had fallen in love with her during these three months without Bucky.

John hadn’t cared about it, spoke of it as something that was bound to happen and said that was his intention from the moment, he suggested that threesome on his birthday.

We have an arrangement; he and Di had told those bold enough to ask why Gale was sporting the same marks Bucky wore with pride a month or so after his return. If they knew how they cut the middleman some nights at the Stalag, they’d be killed with a firing squad.

What would Marge react to the two other people joining their marriage? Would she be as understanding ---and enthusiastic--- about it like Diane, or would she call the police on them? Hell, Bucky and Diane would already be facing issues ‘cause her mother is Mexican, homosexuality was illegal and even their medals wouldn’t protect them.

He is broken out of those thoughts by his two lovers demanding his attention as John locks the cabin door behind him.

“Gonna be a long trip, isn’t it?” They would be taking a first-class cabin to London courtesy of Diane’s endless money, the three of them alone and Bucky with that shit eating grin of his.

The time at the camp had made all of them miserable and missing that release sex gave them. His times with his best friend and lover had yet to happen in a bed and not a cramped bottom bunk with a hand clamped over his mouth and another rubbing him out, but Bucky wanted it to be in a bed fit for a king.

“You wanted to take the scenic route, John. Maybe Lady Di wanted to see the inside of plane again.” Gale takes the plush seat across from them wishing they had just flown there instead of the two hour train ride.

“But we couldn’t have had the fun we just had in that cab, wouldn’t we?” Diane tossed her things carelessly away and for extra measure sat on Buck’s lap as easily as she did with Bucky.

Diane wore a short dress, risqué lingerie and been cooking by the time John had taken Gale’s hand and guided it to the wet spot in Di’s underwear while the cab driver remained unaware of what went on in the backseat. The coat over her lap had given them a semblance of privacy, but a lack of privacy was something that turned John on as well as Diane wearing nothing but his sheepskin.

Bucky’s hand had pulled his fiancée satin panties to the side and invited him to finger fuck her all the way to the station. She’d been sat between them, almost on John’s lap and held John’s hand for dear life as kept her mask of the pretty and posh Lady Di.

She’d called him Buck and her other hand rubbed Bucky’s dick over his trousers in tandem to the pace Gale fucked her.

Then once they boarded the train and Bucky sucked their girl’s cum from his fingers, he remembered Marge and how illegal their love and lust for each other was.

But he has no time to keep thinking of Marge’s hypothetical reactions when John orders Di to strip off her panties for her bad behavior and hand them over to him. Just like that first time they shared her, he takes a good whiff of the ruined satin.

Bucky used to joke about it back at the camp, how he could kill for her cum soaked panties at how desperate he was for her. He used to write the dirtiest things to her, mumbling under his breath what he wrote to himself and she’d write back, throwing around her name and money to make sure he and Buck got every tiny luxury she could send them.

She’d sent naughty photographs, a small can of Vaseline and an almost obvious blessing for the Buckies to do what they pleased. That last one had been more obvious than all the things they hid their letters to coordinate their escapes.

The Germans had once poured over those letters. The Kraut reading them turned red like the swastika on his uniform from just reading and only came with the conclusion that they were simply two degenerates writing to each other. John had looked very proud of himself as he pointed out his favorite lines as the soldier's smoking gun disappeared in the filth it came packed in.

Now Gale found his place in their relationship as if he always belonged there.

“No, we wouldn’t have.” The blond agrees as he begins to tease John by kissing their girl like he kissed Bucky when they were finally alone.

The last man he had imagined having a cuck kink was larger than life John. If those less than platonic and fraternal feelings and desires between them had surprised Gale, he had assumed nothing else would.

And then Buck learned John Clarence Egan gets turned on by seeing him flirt, fondle and fuck his sexy little witch.

“Di’s been a bad girl, Gale, told me not once has she sucked your soul through your cock like she does to me.” Bucky clarifies what his punishments have been about.

John had waxed poetically about the skill Di had when it came to giving head. Hardly spilled a drop, sometimes emptied his load back into his mouth and made him feel like she’d taken his soul out through his cock.

From then on, the men who heard of that particular letter assumed Di’s witch nickname came because the posh English nurse was that good of a slut.

“Hasn’t let me, didn’t even fuck my mouth on your birthday like you wanted him to and won’t let me now.” The Englishwoman breaks away and trails her manicured hand down his chest and to the appendage she’s wanted in her mouth since they met apparently.

“Didn’t know if you wanted me to fuck your girl’s face while you were in the Stalag.” They had fucked in various positions, he’d eaten her out again because the last time he’d been with a woman was her two and a half years ago, but because John loved the way she gave head Gale had abstained fearing he wouldn’t appreciate him fucking his girl’s face while he was still imprisoned.

“Like you even needed to ask, Buck, after everything we went through together and how well that vaseline served us those nights. Di is as much yours as she is mine.” His blue eyes are dark, hands itching to reach between his legs and enjoy the show he’s now authorized. “On your knees, Miss Shelby.”

The witch complies immediately with a “Yes, daddy.”

Gale doesn’t help her undo the fastenings on his uniform, watches John who watches her expertly undo them and release the cock that’s been inside her more than it had been inside Marge at this point. They had joked about needing to train him to call out the right name when Marjorie Spencer becomes Marjorie Cleven.

What would be worse, calling her Diane or calling her John, Buck asks himself as Diane shows him why their John loves her mouth so much.

He calls her Diane, Di, love, sweetheart as his hands thread themselves in her dark hair while he looks straight at Bucky who’s hand works furiously at his cock as John praises their girl for her stellar work.

“Go on, princess, give daddy a taste.” Bucky stops Di from swallowing and the sight of Diane kissing his cum down John’s throat had Gale hoping Diane’s money is enough to keep their tryst from banning them from ever using a train.

Somehow, they make it to the London townhouse without fucking the daylights out Diane.

It is as grand as he remembers, though London looks almost as if the war didn’t touch it as every repair went into place.

The eyes in Tommy Shelby’s portrait with his wife still makes his skin crawl, but now that he’s come back from hell to steal away his little girl, John smiles at the painting in the foyer and proceeds to desecrate the house with their new lover.

He kisses Diane who leads the way and turns to take Buck’s hand and kisses him like he’s been dying to do since they got off the train.

“The staff won’t tell.” Di assures Gale who is hesitant to relax under the watchful eyes of the man they learned was a feared gangster from the English prisoners.

Doesn’t care about things like that. Only cares that Di is careful with what she does so it won’t reflect badly on her. Which was why Bucky was going to marry her as soon as the ring is done.

Besides with all the fucking they’ll be doing here, whether it’s his or Gale’s the baby has to be born on the right side of the blanket.

“Hasn’t even fucked me and already he’s thinking about the two of you breeding me.” The witch laughs as she reveals what he’s thinking to their lover.

Gale almost stutters in response, man was as smooth as butter and yet when faced with the prospect one of the Egan kids could be a blonde cherub taking after the wrong Buck, he clammed up.

“Don’t worry, Gale, I take precautions. How do you think I didn’t receive you and Bucky with Rosemary Gail Egan?” Di reveals the name they came up with when they both got serious about each other and the cards showed they’d have two girls. Their firstborn would be named Rosemary after Rosemary Clooney and Gale Cleven.

“Besides, we’ll be married anyways even if Di’s tonics fail.” Bucky reassured his lover this was no issue. This seems to relax Buck as they get settled and have dinner together in the big empty house.

He doesn’t have much at home and Wisconsin isn’t anywhere close to London or the country house older than America she lives in, but he’ll give her the fucking moon if she wants it.

Bucky just wants a nice life with a bed big enough for three…or four if Marge wants in on the fun.

He’s a simple man with simple pleasures and right now he wants to fuck his two favorite people in front of a mirror straight from Versailles in a house owned by a gangster turned politician.

Dinner cannot end fast enough for him. But it does and before they know it the door is locked and all three are in various states of undress.

“We should get one of these for our place,” Di gestures to the gilded mirror placed directly in front of the bed.

If Mr. Shelby knew why his little girl displayed it that way, he was a wise man to ignore it.

“Haven’t married you yet and you’re already decorating our house, sweetheart.” Bucky finds the fancy lubricant she had in her drawer where she hides all the naughty things that made him forget she had told him Buck would be shot down on that next mission.

He had tried to forget everything, focus on the pleasure and forget the world was crashing down outside the fancy townhouse. To do that ritual of theirs where he comes inside her and Di drinks the tonic only when he is back home in her arms.

When he was shot down part of him hoped that she’d have more than just than the locket and his sheepskin to remember him by. His witch took it as a sign he’d come back, told him so when she confessed feeling disappointed when there was no baby.

John’s never wanted everything with a woman and now he’s gonna have it all and even some more with his Lady Di. Princess Di and Buck, his wife and their husband.

The tall and dark-haired man wants to fuck Gale and see the show of him ass fucking Buck while Buck fucks Di at the pace John sets for them.

Maybe even let the blond fuck their firstborn into the English Heiress. Di would come around to the idea eventually, loves Buck as much as she loves him. It would be the closest the Bucks could ever get to having a child between the two of them.

The results from tonight would be seen in nine months when the world sees whether their firstborn daughter takes after Bucky or Buck. Either way Rosemary Gail would be theirs.

It feels too good, Gale moving in tandem with John’s thrusts and fucking Diane like his life depended on it. They had never done it like this, in this angle and with a girl holding the bed railing for dear life as her pussy milks the blond’s dick.

The image in the mirror makes it all hotter as it fogs up from the heat it witnesses. God would strike them down for this, but where the fuck was he when the Nazis got their hands on him and all those innocents in Europe?

He didn’t believe in witchcraft and now he barely believed in God, but he believes in Di and Gale and that if this was wrong it wouldn’t feel so right.

When the first act is over, they lay together, tangled like a braid with Bucky in the middle because he’s big enough to hold the two of them to his chest. They had to spoon to fit all three of them that time years ago, here they have all the space to fit another person.

Maybe Di can romance Marge and make that a reality. Once Di and Bucky had fucked one of the many girls back at the base who’d kill to fuck him and the sight of his girl fucking another woman was almost as good as the sight of Gale ruining her pussy. Another blond in their bed would even things out.

“You’re the last man I could ever suspect of being into this.” The blond kissed him without any lingering shame as John prepared him for the most forbidden pleasure in the country.

“Men?” Bucky asked knowing it surprised others when the virile ladies man proved to be as queer as any of them. As if God’s gift to women couldn’t also be God’s gift to man.

“No, knew that from the moment you named me Buck,” Gale laughed and then clarified for his lovers, “Never thought you’d be into cuckolding.”

“Full of surprises, that one.” Di smiled, reached out to caress Buck as she assured him of his not-so-secret worry, “Marge will come around and our bed will be big enough to fit four when she does. Rosemary is John’s, so you have one less thing to worry about.”

“I love you.” Gale kissed John and then leaned over him to kiss Diane as the three of them try to forget the world wouldn’t care to even try to understand there was nothing wrong with love like theirs.

But at least Marjorie Cleven would and that is all that matters.

#diane shelby #dianecore #bucky x oc #buck x bucky #bucky x oc x buck #bucky egan x oc #buck cleven x oc #smut #masters of the air fanfiction #mota fanfic #mota oc #its only a paper moon #john egan x gale cleven #john egan x oc x gale cleven #masters of the air

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winchesterandpie · 2 years ago

Text

Lovin' Feelin'

Pairing: Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x wife!reader

Word Count: 1573

Warnings: highly self-indulgent, really nothing that I can think of. Just fluff and messing with Hangman

A/N: I had this idea bouncing around in my head and then I saw @katiemcrae made a post asking for a fic with this song. As evidenced by this post, that was the last push I needed to make it happen. I'm debating doing a second part, so let me know if that's something y'all would be interested in. I had so much fun writing this! Thank you all again for the support on my other Rooster fics! Enjoy!

Lovin' Feelin' Masterpost

“You up for a bet, Rooster?”

Rooster looked up at Hangman from his set up at the pool table. “What did you have in mind?”

“Twenty bucks says you can’t get a girl’s number by the end of the night,” Hangman started, taking note of the other man nodding along and continued with a smirk. “without serenading her from the piano.”

Rooster bit back a grin, trying to keep Hangman from realizing something wasn’t as he expected. He looked over at the bar, under the pretense of surveying the bar, but really he was looking for you, his wife.

He had forgotten until this bet came up that Hangman didn’t know you were married. Hangman didn’t even know you knew each other. Nor did the rest of the group of pilots, for that matter. Bradley preferred to keep you to himself, so he kept his wedding ring on a chain around his neck. You, in a sweet gesture, had gotten a matching set of delicate chains when he said he felt guilty for not wearing his ring.

But that wasn’t the point. The point was that Hangman was smugly unaware that Rooster had this bet in the bag.

“Without the piano?” he repeated indignantly.

“C’mon, Rooster, bet’s a bet.”

“I don’t know, it just… just doesn’t seem fair,” Rooster took a sip of his drink before continuing, watching you laugh at something Penny said to you, “to you, I mean.”

“You’ve got your eye on someone already?” Hangman laughed, following Rooster’s gaze to you. “ Good pick, I haven’t seen her around here before. How are you going to know the right moment to talk to her?”

“She’s lost that lovin’ feelin’.” Rooster was grinning, looking forward to your reaction.

“She’s lo-- No she hasn’t.” It took Hangman half a second to put together Rooster’s face, his claim, and the stories Maverick had told them all about his time in Top Gun.

“Yes, she has,” he said, enjoying this even more as he clapped a hand on Hangman’s shoulder.

“No, she has not lost that loving--”

“Hangman, she’s lost it.” With a last, teasing nod, Rooster started moving off.

“Rooster, come on.” He was already gone and Hangman sighed in resignation. “I hate it when she does that.”

Hangman didn’t know where Rooster found the microphone and he wasn’t about to ask. They approached, and Rooster tapped you on the shoulder.

“Excuse me, miss?”

You turned, and nearly grinned when you saw your husband. The only thing that stopped you was the devilish glint in his eye. When you saw Hangman, you realized something was going on and were happy to take part in messing with him.

Hangman interposed himself between the two of you quickly, which confused you a little.

“Hey, hey, hey” he said to Rooster, waving him back like an out-of-line child before turning to you. “I’m sorry about him. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of this.” He turned back to Rooster, and you saw Penny grin from the corner of your eye as she handed someone their drink.

You didn’t miss the tap to Hangman’s shoulder and the way both men bent low. The microphone came from nowhere, and you heard rather than saw Maverick choke on his drink beside you.

“You never close your eyes anymore when I kiss your lips,” Bradley sang, not breaking eye contact as he straightened, pointing at you.

“And there’s no tenderness like before in your fingertips.” You were surprised when Hangman took over a line, both of them snapping with the beat as they leaned backward and forward.

“You’re trying hard not to show it.” Bradley sang again. The other naval aviators started to gather, chuckling quietly before joining in on the next line.

“But baby,” everyone was joining in as Bradley serenaded you, “baby, I know it. You’ve lost that lovin’ feelin’, whoa that lovin’ feelin’.”

You couldn’t help the giggle that escaped you at how much your husband was playing into the song.

“You’ve lost that lovin’ feelin’, now it’s gone, gone, gone, whoa-oh.

Other aviators picked up the “bum, ba-dum, ba-dum, ba dum dum dum” of the bass line as you gestured for him to take the barstool next to you that Maverick conveniently vacated.

“Baby, baby, I get down on my knees for you,” someone else sang as they all moved away.

Maverick lingered, just long enough to say, “You sound a lot better than I did, kid.” He moved further down the bar, shaking his head good-naturedly at the pair of you. He, of course, had met you soon after he and Bradley reconciled.

“So what am I missing?” you asked Bradley, who was already beaming at you.

“Hangman bet me twenty bucks I couldn’t get someone’s phone number. I figured that would buy us a couple of ice cream dates.” He took your hand, lifting it to his lips.

“I like how you think, Bradshaw.”

“I couldn’t have done it without you. You were quick on your feet, not giving me away, Bradshaw.” Bradley’s smile softened as he said your name, and you were reminded how good a decision it was to marry him.

“So, am I buying drinks?”

“For the show, they’re on me,” Penny said, sliding you two drinks.

“Ooh, Pen, you’re my favorite person.” You flashed her a wink as Bradley raised his eyebrows at you in playful shock.

“And what am I, chopped liver?”

You laughed, leaning closer to him and reaching for his hand. He crossed his arms, hiding his hands from your grasp petulantly.

“You’re my husband, so it would be unfair to include you in the general ranking of people.” He let you take his hand this time.

“I suppose that’s fair,” he allowed with a shrug. You basked in the warmth of his smile. Even after all your time together, he still could melt you with a single glance. You wouldn’t want it any other way.

“Can I borrow a pen?”

“What do you need one of those for, sweets?” Bradley looked genuinely confused, but he still reached over to the jar of them that Penny kept by the register.

“Well, I gotta give you my number, don’t I?”

“You’re right, I still have to get Hangman’s money.”

You hummed affirmatively as you uncapped the pen and turned his hand over. “It almost feels like stealing, but honestly I just want to see how long we can go before he figures it out.”

“I want to see how far we can take it.”

You finished writing your number, even though you knew good and well it was saved in his memory and in his phone already.

“As long as you don’t drive the poor man’s finances into the ground.”

“Anything for my little lady.”

“Great, now go get me my twenty bucks.”

“Your twenty bucks?” He egged you on, “I was the one doing the serenading.”

“That’s true,” you pretended to ponder for a moment, “but I’m the one who no longer has a ride home.”

“What do you mean? I’m your ride.”

“Exactly. If you still drive me home, they’ll figure it out that much faster.”

“Screw them, then. I only need Hangman to believe it long enough for me to cash in this bet.”

“I've got a better idea,” Maverick interjected, not even pretending he hadn’t been listening to some of your conversation. “You duck out now, Rooster goes and talks to Hangman then he calls it a night. They’ll probably stay for a while yet tonight.”

“You are a genius, Mav.”

“So I’ll see you out there?” You turned back to Bradley and downed the rest of your drink.

“I’ll be right behind you,” he promised as you shoved his shoulder lightly.

You leaned over from your seat to kiss his cheek before getting up and heading for the door. Bradley couldn’t help the soft smile that overtook his face as he watched you leave. He got up and walked somewhat reluctantly over to Hangman and the rest of his friends.

“Ooh, you’ve got it bad for her,” Phoenix teased as he came closer.

He didn’t deny it. He did, however, hold up his hand triumphantly to show off the number you had scrawled across his skin.

“Well, I’ll be damned.” Hangman didn’t seem too put out by Rooster winning the bet. “Rooster’s got game after all.”

“Yeah, yeah, get it all out.”

“Nah, I’ll save it for my best man speech when you get married. I expect full credit for the start of your relationship.” The Texan pilot grinned, holding out a folded twenty dollar bill out.

Rooster laughed at that, imagining Hangman’s face when he finally found out. He knew, of course, that he could only reveal it once, and he wasn’t going to give it up just yet.

“Alright, I’ll at least give you credit for the backup vocals,” he bargained.

“We’ll work out the details when you get there. So, who am I setting up next?” Hangman turned his attention to the broader group. “Coyote? Fanboy?”

Bradley stayed a little longer, teasingly speculating about how to get dates for the others. He made his excuses, hoping he didn’t sound suspicious, then retreated quickly to the Bronco where you sat waiting.

“They don’t suspect a thing,” he whispered conspiratorially to you. He pressed a playful kiss to your lips, then another to your forehead.

“We’re going to have so much fun with this.”

#bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster x reader #rooster #top gun #top gun maverick

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lune-hime · 3 years ago

Note

I just love your writing and have been reading a lot of your stuff these past few days. I really enjoyed how you wrote Logan Howletts character, you did an amazing job. I think of those two stories you wrote as connected, and seeing that your requests are open, could you write possibly how they meet or moments in their relationship? Whatever comes to mind.

Hope your well and enjoy writing this if you decide to take it. ❤️

It makes me so incredibly happy that you have been loving my stories and my portrayal of Logan :’). Logan and reader’s first meeting had been previously requested so I went with a few moments in their relationship. Thank you for being patient with me in posting this, I hope you enjoy and that you are doing well <3.

↞↠↞↠↞↠

A Second-First Meeting

“You’re Logan.” Storm let out a melodic chuckle, her realization breaking the silence within the jet.

“Uh...yeah.” He said with a quirked brow. The ivory haired woman’s jaw went slack and another giddy laugh erupted from her. Logan's eyes darted from the oddly acting woman to Rogue who only shrugged, looking just as confused as he was.

“Logan from Canada.” She stated in semi-awe, looking him up and down as if comparing him to information she already had. It made Logan feel like he was missing something.

“He looks dirtier than she described.” Scott let out a snarky huff from the pilot’s seat.

“Okay, what is this?” Logan rose his voice to just below a growl, irritation evident in his tone. Storm put her hands up in harmless defense.

“You met Y/N in the summer. Saved her from becoming a prune all alone in the woods, remember?” Storm said and beamed brightly. Logan’s eyes widened as the memory came flooding back. The bears, the beautiful girl, the thunderous storm and her lightening energy.

“You know Y/N?” He said in disbelief.

“Know her? She’s my best friend.” Storm giggled. “She told us all about you; how she fended off that bear but didn’t have to fend you off when you guys huddled up in your car.”

Storm winked at him as he narrowed his eyes at her teasing. Rogue let out a little giggle of her own at Logan’s speechlessness.

“We’re landing.” Scott announced as everyone began feeling their smooth decrease in altitude.

“All jokes aside, thanks for looking out for her.” Storm added with a kind smile before she swiveled in her copilot’s seat to help Scott with their descent.

⇷⛒⇸

“Hey, kid, is Y/N here?” Logan asked the child in front of him. He found himself on the precipice of a new life it seems, but more literally on the precipice of the lounge area in Xavier's Mansion. He was exhausted after an abrupt and confusing flight from his little slice of Alberta to New York. His head was spinning from all of the information about Mutant Brotherhoods and Striker that was just laid upon him. And now the remembrance of the girl caught in the rain who had once told him she lived at this very school.

“Ms. Y/N? Yeah she lives here.” The child said nonchalantly. Each time he blinked, a new channel would appear on the almost theatre sized TV. “She sometimes teaches my kinetics training.”

Logan let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Relief washed over him that he would have at least one familiar face here.

“Where can I find her?” He asked the boy who still hadn’t taken his gaze away from the television. He briefly paused on the Disney channel before continuing his search.

“Why would I know? I’ve been watching TV all morning.” The kid huffed as if it was the most obvious fact in the world. Logan grumbled and sauntered out of the room and back into the many mahogany halls of the massive building.

As he neared the large eastern courtyard, he caught a glimpse of just the woman he was looking for. Through the immaculately planted dormant shrubs he observed you standing next to an ornate fountain chatting with a girl who looked to be around middle school age. He felt that same energizing hum in his chest as he did a few months ago when he took in your appearance. The way you smiled so sweetly at the student, the way your hair was gently pulled from your face by the brisk winter wind, in how your legs bobbed back and forth in place as they fended off the early afternoon chill. He waited for you to finish your conversation with the child before he made his presence known.

“Y/N?” He called tentatively as he eased his way between the garden boughs. You looked up towards the direction of your summon. When you saw who it was, your eyes sparkled with excitement.

“Logan!” You chirped and jogged over to him. “How was the flight?”

“You knew I was coming?” He asked, surprised at the lack of surprise in your reaction.

“I did.” You answered with a guilty smile. “I’m a part of the team now too so I was there when Charles made the call to find you.”

Logan’s mind tried to connect the dots between the sweet yet snappy, soaked girl he met before to the cleaned up, self assured one standing before him. He pictured you using your abilities to fight opponents rather than bears and guessed you would be goddamned good at it with sparks like yours.

“I’m really glad he did…” You trailed off with the beginnings of a goofy grin. “That he found you and brought you here of course, not that you’re being targeted by the Brotherhood-”

“It’s good to see you again.” He confessed, his honeyed voice coating your rambling and effectively adding to the chilly redness of your cheeks.

“You too.” You replied softly, trying not to ogle at his casual attire of heather gray sweatshirt and joggers.

“I think you owe me, though. I gave you a free ride back then.” He declared with a smirk.

“Fine, do you need a ride to the nearest tractor supply for a new wardrobe?” You quipped back. Logan let his half smile bloom into a full crescent moon.

“Sure, if I can take you out for a drink after.” He proposed with a look that made you feel like the New England snow had suddenly melted around you and you were now in a humid jungle.

“Well, I did have another date tonight…” You began, looking up at the taller man through your lashes. If you hadn’t already been looking at him, you wouldn’t have noticed the minute clench of his jaw.

“Buuuut, I don’t think he would be able to handle being accidentally zapped as well as you would.” You continued playfully. Your suitor paled in any comparison to the old acquaintance that had just arrived at your doorstep. The amusement in your eyes was contagious, spreading to Logan’s forested green orbs and down to his boyish grin.

“I’ll take that as a yes, then.”

Firelight

You hummed in utter bliss. The warmth of the campfire kissed your bare legs as your tired eyes gazed upon the moon basked lake in front of you. You nuzzled deeper into the crook of Logan’s neck as the crickets and the treefrogs serenaded you with a private summer evening concert.

Logan’s hand lazily ran the expanse of your hip and thigh from your position curled across him in the camping chair. He was about to close his eyes in complete relaxation when a boisterous banging erupted from one of the cabins in your section of the campground. The clanging was followed by a teenage chorus of muffled curses and cackles. The two of you had volunteered to be counselors of sorts on this weeklong camping trip Charles held for his beloved students each summer. Logan groaned at the disturbance, slightly annoyed with your rowdy group of students.

“They’re just having fun. As long as no one comes out on fire or with a leg missing it's fine.” You spoke up, tone laced with amusement. “Admit you love them-and spending quality time with them out here.”

You felt Logan huff against you at your wholesome accusation.

“I love being out here in the woods, with you.”

Logan’s answer wasn’t to your satisfaction. You zapped him gently with a single crackle of your energy just beneath the rib cage. When he jolted from the surprise attack, you folded yourself to him so that you were now straddling his lap.

“Sure. Not like I saw you earlier spending an hour teaching Rogue how to fish properly after she got her line all strung up in the nearest tree. Or how you, willingly I might add, played hide and seek with the younger ones when you were supposed to be taking a break. Or when-”

You rambled off his sweet acts in adoration until he leaned up to press his lips to yours. You sunk into his embrace and sighed at the euphoric feeling.

“Alright, alright. You’ve proved your point.” He grumbled half heartedly. In the fading natural light, you could see the lazy smile that adorned his face had become dusted with your lip gloss. You returned his response with a triumphant grin as he gingerly grasped the back of your head and pulled you to him once more. His heated palms sailed over your curves like a forest fire as your kisses deepened. You let out a small moan when he discretely bucked his hips into yours.

Or, what the two of you had thought was discrete.

“Gross. I’m just trying to get to the bathroom.” Bobby complained with a grimace as he walked by the two of you towards the community restrooms. You let out a chuckle as Logan brought his fist up to Bobby’s line of vision, a single adamantium claw extending to flip the younger man off against the firelight.

#fanfiction #marvel #marvel fanfiction #marvel x reader #Marvel x Y/N #x men #x men fanfiction #Logan #logan x reader #logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #wolverine #wolverine x reader #reader insert

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marvelouspeterparker · 4 years ago

Note

If you’re taking requests, no worries if not, can you do one based on Tom’s recent insta story (him playing guitar) where he sends that to the reader bc they’re doing long distance, and he’s trying to serenade her but it keeps going wrong. So reader makes a joke about his fingers and then they video sex.

requests aren't rly open but i had to indulge <3

wc: 1.2k

warnings: mutual masturbation/phone sex

"oh for fuck's sake––" tom muttered under his breath, a look of pure frustration on his face that you couldn't help but smile at. he'd been trying to play the same song for a while now, the pressure he was putting on himself getting the best of him, making him mess up the parts he knew by heart.

he looked up at you with an almost pleading smile, "one more time, hold on, love." he focused back on the guitar for a few seconds before looking off to the side and starting to strum again.

your eyes trailed over his figure through the small screen, the more you looked at him, the more you missed him, his comforting presence, his soothing touch.

your gaze made it's way along his body, from his messy curls to the concentrated furrow of his brows, his bottom lip caught between his teeth, his neck, his bare chest and the hypnotizing movement of his fingers. you found yourself unable to look away, entranced by the veins in his hands, the precise fingering of the strings.

the more and more you stared, the more you missed him, specifically his touch. you felt a pit of desire growing inside you, warmth spreading through your body as he finally finished the song successfully with little to no mistakes.

he looked back to the screen and you sucked in a breath, your eyes widening slightly as you snapped out of your trance. "what did you think? be honest."

"i think...you sounded great," you paused and bit your lip, your smile peeking through. "but your hands looked even better."

tom chuckled in surprise, intrigue and amusement clear in his eyes. "oh really?" he put the guitar aside and kept his eyes on you as he smiled smugly. "well i can't say watching you ogle me through the screen didn't have an effect on me."

you rolled your eyes but lied back against your pillows, looking up at the screen with a needy look in your eyes, letting your free hand trail over your chest to graze your nipples through your thin night shirt (which was really tom's). "i really miss you tommy."

his eyes darkened, his voice almost a whisper. "yeah, darling?"

you nodded, "miss your hands, the way you touch me and make me feel good."

"shit––" he reached a hand down to palm himself through his boxers, sitting back against the couch. his phone was propped up against the table so you could see everything, from his spread thighs, to his pretty face. "you miss feeling my fingers in your tight cunt?"

your breath hitched as you nodded immediately, "so bad."

"let me see those tits, baby. lift your shirt up."

you pulled the shirt up over your chest and sighed at the feeling of the cool air hitting your pebbled nipples.

you reached up and squeezed one of your breasts, letting your fingers graze and pull at the sensitive nipple and tom groaned softly, his mouth falling open as he looked at you. "you know what i miss, darling?" he started palming himself faster, bucking into his own touch. "the feeling of your skin on my tongue, the way your back would arch when i ran my tongue over your nipples, the way you'd gasp and cling onto me when i sucked on them."

you rubbed your thighs together at his words, your breaths getting heavier and choppier as you watched him start to get more desperate in his actions.

"but you know what i miss most of all?" he licked his lips. "the taste of your sweet pussy, the way it would tighten up around my fingers when i stretch you out for my cock––fuck––" he slipped his member out of his boxers and your mouth practically watered at the sight of him––he'd be gone for another two weeks and you didn't know if you'd be able to last that long, you needed him.

"will you let me see my pussy, lovie? be a good girl and touch yourself for me the way i would."

a small moan escaped you and his head fell back from the sound, he was holding himself back for you, but if he was being honest, just by looking at you, he could've finished a while ago. he let his head rest against the back of the couch and licked his lips as he watched you prop the phone up against a pillow between your legs, by your feet.

you pulled the shirt back up over your chest and leaned back before spreading your legs and spreading your lips with two fingers, looking back at the screen when you heard a curse.

"look at you, god––such a perfect pussy," he sat up to get a closer look, his hand stroking his cock lazily. "wish i could bury my face between those thighs again, you're gonna be the death of me, love." you whined out his name breathlessly and he shushed you, cooing softly, "you're okay baby. touch yourself for me, okay?

you dipped a finger into your sex and spread the wetness all over your clit, bucking and hissing at the sensitivity, tom wasn't even here, but just his words had made you this wet.

your other hand teased your nipple, making you sigh and moan and tom spit in his hand before stroking himself faster, the wet sounds making you even more worked up.

"fuck, that's it baby, so good for me."

the praise only added fuel to the fire, your moans and whines increasing in volume.

"can see your pretty little hole clenching, darling. your pussy's just aching to be filled––why don't you put a few fingers in there, hm?"

you let out a breathless 'okay' and let your head tilt back from the pleasure when you slid a finger inside, pumping and curling it until you shoved another one as well. you spread your legs impossibly wider and focused on the image of tom's hand stroking his hard cock with hooded eyes and a lustful gaze.

you reached your other hand down to rub at your clit and gasped, "oh fuck––"

"you getting close baby?" tom's voice was strained, his breath shaky as he started massaging his balls with his free hand, eyes focused in on your body, ears tuned into your moans. you nodded, "me too––go a little faster baby, shit––wanna watch you cum on your fingers."

you nodded and did as he said rubbing and pumping your fingers faster, the sounds of your slick carrying through the call and making tom bite his lip at the thought of how good you feel around him, how wet you get for him.

"gonna––gonna cum tommy––" your voice was breathless and whiny, and if you were honest, it was turning you on as well.

"go on, cum darling. make a mess for me."

your back arched and your eyes fluttered shut for a moment, the pleasure practically coursing through your veins as you came with a sharp moan.

you heard the sounds pick up speed on the other end and willed yourself to lift your head and open your eyes, biting your lip as you watched tom cum with a groan, his release coating his fingers. you watched with your mouth hung open from the pleasure, your legs near trembling as you continued to rub yourself through your high.

you both looked at each other with lazy, lust-drunk smiles, your hands still moving slowly. you brought your hand up and licked your fingers lazily before sucking them in your mouth, cleaning off your wetness and tom bit his lip, grinning as he shook his head.

"i'm flying you out this weekend, i can't take this anymore."

you smiled back, popping your fingers out of your mouth, glad you were both on the same page. "can't wait."

#the ending is bleh #this is the first blurb i've written for tom in a while #i feel rusty #tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland blurb #tom holland smut #tom holland smut blurb #tom holland ask

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bowieandqueen11 · 4 years ago

Text

Set Me Dreaming / Bucky Barnes Imagine

Request: can you do a bucky fic where reader catches him awake in the middle of the night and fighting off some of his troubles? like maybe bucky resists any type of consolation until he finally succumbs. i am open to any of your ideas/own interpretation! thank you!! <3

Yes I can thank you!! Also Mr Barnes it’s been seven years and I am still looking respectfully 👀

If you like, please comment and reblog!

(The lyrics are Moonlight Serenade by Glenn Miller/ Frank Sinatra (we’re just going to pretend this version came out at the right time aha), and I got them from Google!)

You haven’t heard this song since that night in 1943. Since the night he proposed. Since the night he left. Since the night you lost your Bucky.

‘The stars are aglow and tonight how their light sets me dreaming.’

It takes you a moment to see in the darkness of the little New York Apartment you and Bucky had managed to scrounge up the money to pay for. It certainly needed some work, and sometimes you missed that smell of antiseptic and apple pie - that warmth familiarity of Bucky patching Steve up after a fight with one hand, and trying to copy his mom’s old recipes as a treat for when you got home from work in the other. This place only smelt of car fumes, and a certain stench of must and old pine that was just a sucker punch to the stomach every time you entered. Every time the two of you were reminded how stranded Steve had left you. Buck had tried to cook for you, once, a couple of weeks ago, but you had come home to find him sitting slouched, crying, on the kitchen tiles as he sobbed out how his mind couldn’t remember the measurements his mom had written down. But it didn’t matter, you think as you finally spot the sound of the noise. Wherever and whenever you had Buck, you were home. Even if everything needed work, it was worth it.

The record player swirls slowly from its spot on the kitchen counter, languid in its spinning as the familiar notes bounce around the confining walls and fill the place, and the city, with its warm jazz. At this time of night, there’s little to compete with the rippling trumpets, or the baritone voice - just the faraway sound of car horns and the jagged breathing of something coming from the fire escape. For a moment, you jump, forgetting yourself, forgetting you weren’t trapped in Hydra anymore. And then your heart starts to drop as you untangle yourself from the blankets, getting up from where you were holding your fiancée on the floor, to spot his sitting with his back to you. His eyes are gone. You don’t know how you can tell, solely just from the rise and fall of his naked back. You just know him too well, you suppose.

He’s gone from you, at the moment, eyes glazed with a faraway mist as he looks down at flashing, neon lights and dirt-tramped streets of the city he used to know like the back of his hand. But he’s not there either. No, his mind has wandered away with the song, memories allowing him some reverie by thinking back on that day. On you. A warm glow flashes through his eyes, a smile threatening to twitch at the corners of his lips as he pictures you, the love of his life, hand intertwined with his. He had sobbed against your lips that night, forehead pressed tightly against yours as he gazed at you with terrified eyes, drinking in every feature of your face as if he knew it would be the last time he would see it. If he was going to die, he wanted to make damn sure that the last thing that ever passed his mind was you. He could die happy then, knowing that he had been given one proper, good thing in his life, feeling safe in the memory that he had loved it well. That he would go knowing he would love you forever. You pretend not to feel him shake in your grasp as you dig your fingers into your shoulder, pulling him tighter against your chest and whispering sweet nothings into the dance hall, the thought of him leaving the next morning plaguing your every thought.

‘My love, do you know that your eyes are like stars brightly beaming?’

He could barely get the words out that night, he had to mouth them against your lips and hope, his silly, foolish hope, that you would agree to marry a man who was being shipped of the next day. He just needed to go knowing that he was yours, thinking the last twenty five years you had spent joint at the hip would sway you towards the sentimental and you would agree to let him be yours, even if only for a day. It didn’t matter, he knew, as his lips trembled against your own, clenching his eyes shut to try and stop the tears spilling down as you nod your head vigorously. It didn’t matter how long you had in this life, he would be yours forever.

‘I love you, doll. I love you so much it hurts.’

‘Don’t you know I love you the same, Buck?’

He doesn’t feel you come up behind him, placing your hands on his back. Every muscle seems to be jumping out of his skin, skin flush and like a furnace to the touch, but you just wrap your arms around his waist and pull him against your back. Glancing round to see your Bucky’s face, his stubble tickles your cheek as you sigh. He’s still puffing out breath into the cold night’s air, eyes glossy and wet and by grief, filled with so much pain and love and fear that it breaks your heart.

‘I bring you and sing you a moonlight serenade.’

Then he remembers falling. Feeling weightless in the water, gazing up at the blanket of grey sky above him, at peace in the knowledge that you were here with him, your picture still tucked into his jacket and your face the only thing he saw when he looked up at the sky, at the stars. When he finally closed his eyes, and let himself drift away to you. Then he remembers the pain. The pain of remembering you while he was tied down to that chair, jaw clenched and lips threatening to spill his sobs as they punished him for remembering you, again and again and again and again, until the end, he buries you into a pocket of his mind he hopes Hydra can’t touch. He remembers the plea that used to fall from his lips as they hit him, the tremble in his fingers once he woke up and realised that he, that James, that the Winter Soldier was holding a gun against the head of someone he had never even seen before. Not in his lifetime. But he does what he’s meant to do, what he’s told to do, finger pulling the trigger as some thought twitches at the back of his mind, telling him to keep going. To always carry out his missions, saving the world, saving you.

He doesn’t feel your lips brush against his forehead as he begins to gasp now, almost fighting back against your touch. But you only reach out to steady him, grabbing his biceps as you swing yourself over the barrier to kneel down in front of him, fingers tight as he finally starts to settle himself again. You reach up slowly, careful not to startle him away from whatever pain is haunting him, and brush his hair away from his damp forehead. You don’t miss the way he subconsciously drops his head towards your touch, the almost inaudible sigh of relief that brushes against your nose.

He finally starts to remember himself, remember where he is, eyelashes fluttering open and closed quickly. He nearly bursts into tears right there and then when he spots you, wide eyed and obviously shivering from the cold in front of him.

‘Buck. Buck - James. It’s okay, we’re okay. You’re here with me, not back there. It’s alright.’

‘Sweetheart-’, he starts, squirming within himself as he scrambles closer to you. ‘A-are you real? You’re really here?’

‘Of course I am, Buck. I’m never leaving you. Never again.’

For a moment there’s a comfortable silence, a knowing moment of trust and understanding between the two of you, before you tug on his metal arm. He gives it to you willingly, the only person he’ll allow to touch the metal without feeling revolted with himself. You pull gently at his fingers, silently pleading for him to unfurl his fists. His breath shakes, knowing it was the same way you had brought him back to himself that day Helicarrier when he had been sent to kill you. The cruellest trick fate had ever played on him. He still cried about it in his dreams, eyes strained and throat hollow with screams as he strained against you, trying time and time again to stop his arms from hurting you. To stop himself from drowning just by the thought of you.

You- you were real. You were here, and then he found himself full on sobbing again. You shush him gently, jumping up to pull his hands away from his face, away from where he had shoved them into his eyes to try and stop himself. Yet he only grabs onto his shirt that you were wearing, fingers clenching and fists white as he pulls you down to straddle his thighs. He nestles his head into your neck, pulling you tight into his arms until he couldn’t be sure where he ended and where you began. As if there had really ever been a difference for him, anyway. You brush your hand through his hair, appreciating the little hum of delight he tried to give you as your fingers scrape the nape of his neck. He sniffles against your skin, but he’s alright. He knows that you would do anything for him. Your soulmate, your Bucky.

And Bucky knew, as he held you against him, that he would never let you go again. He knew that he couldn’t pretend he was alright anymore, that somehow and someway he would have to make amends for everything he has done - everything he has put you through. Yet some warm hope fizzled at the bottom of his heart as he felt your engagement ring bump against the goose bumps of his back, knowing he still owed you a wedding as well.

His hands are so soft, so gentle, so careful, as he grips onto your waist. His nose bumps against your forehead the same way it had that night, all those years ago, before you had lost him. His tears stain your shirt again, and although he knew he was different now, he also knew there was still some of James Buchanan Barnes left. He knew, because you had his heart, this whole time.

#Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes imagine #tfatws #bucky barnes x reader #the falcon and the winter solider spoilers #bucky barnes fluff #marvel #the winter soldier #fatws #falcon and the winter solider spoilers #fatws imagine #marvel imagine #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction #Sebastian Stan

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theepisceswriter · 4 years ago

Note

Prompt 47 and 49 with Armin please if that's okay. Also congrats on 300 girl! 🧡

300 MILESTONE EVENT.

Prompt #47: “you sound so pretty when you moan” + Prompt #49: “I’m going to put a baby in you tonight.”

♡ TW: I didn’t proofread so if you see any typos shhhh, public sex, breeding kink, mature things duh, 18+, MINORS DNI or I’ll bite your ankles

♡ WC: 1.8k cause I got carried away besties

You weren’t quite sure what to think when Armin woke you up earlier than usual for the two of you with his bright blues staring directly into your eyes and a smile wide enough on his lips to show off the small dentition that he had on the right side of his cheek, easily missable if you hadn’t spent most of your time observing his soft beautiful features on his face.

“Come on, get up and get dressed and meet me in the car in like twenty minutes. We’re going to the beach!” He spoke up once he felt that you were at a conscious enough level to take in his words, not even staying a second longer after those words left his mouth, but jumping off of the bed and heading immediately to what you presumed to be the direction of the car. You had no choice but to protest against his orders or complain about the good slumber he had woken you up from. Instead you followed his directions and got dressed with nothing to go off except for the fact that the two of you were going to the beach.

Curses slipped past your lips underneath your breath constantly throughout your whole routine and even throughout the duration of the car ride; Armin’s overtly bubbly mood this early in the morning causing confusion upon confusion, but still you smiled from ear to ear as you watched him sing his heart out to the cheesy pop song on the radio, enjoying the subtle serenade he was giving you and even joined him towards the end of the song. Giggles and jokes from the both of your terrible singing filling up the car. Your semi sour mood from earlier already being pushed to the back of your mind.

The sunshine that kissed your skin when you stepped out of the car moments later filled you with a warmness all over and it was then that you were grateful Armin decided to force you out of the house today.

“Are you finally going to tell me what we’re doing here?”

“A picnic!” He answers you in a sing song voice as he makes his way around the car to the trunk where he removes all the needed supplies for your rendezvous, handing the picnic over to you once his hands got too full.

“A picnic?”

“Yeah, there’s nothing wrong with that I hope?”

“Not at all,” You’re quick to answer him with the shake of your head and soon a smile creeps its way onto your features, “I’ve just never been on one before.”

“Well, I’m honored to be your first.” Though his tone is teasing, his smile is wide enough to crease the corner of his eyes letting you know that there was some genuity in his words.

The two of you took your place on a spot where the concrete sidewalk met the sand, deciding that you didn’t want to be directly in the sand just incase it got in the food you two had packed with you which consisted of sandwiches, strawberries, a mini charcuterie board, and even champagne to be more on the boujie side. The choices of food showing that Armin had planned this out thoroughly and put quite some thought into it. Not to mention that few people occupied the space where you two were at, too early in the morning for people to come flocking to the beach.

Laughs, reminiscing, and conversations about everything and nothing filled up a good portion of your picnic. The warmth and breeze of the beach adding to the feelings of security and comfort you felt by Armin’s side, the glances his blue eyes would give you making you feel loved and appreciated without him even having to open up his lips, but still he does: “You’re so beautiful. I can’t believe I got lucky enough to get someone as beautiful, kind, and smart as you in my life.”

His words left your cheeks warming up and not from the harsh rays of the sun, each one of his words hitting you in your gut and leaving your stomach fluttering with butterflies. Before your lips could even open up to request a stop to his compliments his lips are on yours in an instance, molding so perfectly against your like they always did, like they were made exclusively for yours like he claimed so many times. What started off as a sweet passionationate kiss in the sun quickly switched gears to something more sensual. Armin’s tongue sliding past your lips and teeth to gently swirl around yours, the remnants of the strawberries and champagne on your buds warranting a soft groan out of his mouth.

Before you knew it, the soft padding of his hand is travelling up your thighs and spreading the soft flesh with his palm, gripping it lightly but not moving another inch just to mess with you. But the moment you wrap your arms around his neck to pull him closer into the kiss he gives in, hand disappearing underneath the fabric of your sundress and immediately allowing his middle and index finger to travel up to the thin fabric of your underwear and massage your clit.

“Armin,” You pulled away with flushed cheeks and a breathy moan to scan the environment around the two of you. Though there still seemed to be no people around except for a few strangers scattered far away at the waters of the ocean, there was no telling how it might change in the next couple of minutes. Because there was no stopping your lover once he got started.

“Don’t worry about anyone around us. Focus on me.” Though his tone was sweet and soft as ever, the action of his fingers moving your panties to the side to give his middle finger access to run up your slit was the complete opposite. And focus on him you did indeed, face trying to remain stoic as ever and even going as far to tuck your bottom lip between your teeth to hide the moan that dared to escape from your lips when you felt the pressure of his middle finger entering your cunt with ease.

“You’re so wet for me already baby, did I do this to you, hm? I got you this wet?”

You nod in an attempt to keep your mouth closed knowing the next time you opened it a moan would slip out with ease and possibly catch the attention of those at the water despite their distance from you two, but he wasn’t having any of that. His index soon followed his middle one, curving up against the soft spongy part of your insides that he knew got a reaction out of you no matter what and he was right because a stifled moan left your lips soon after. “That’s my girl,” He praised, fingers beginning to move in a constant beckoning motion inside of you, “Give me some more moans, come on. I want to know that I’m doing a good job.”

Bullshit, he always knew he did a good job. No one, not even you, was able to work your body the way that he did. Get reactions out of you that you didn’t even know you had in you and make your body do things that you didn’t even know that you could do.

“Y-You always make me feel good.” You finally let out, lips connecting back to his to silence your moans once more, but he only allows you to kiss for so long before he’s pulling away, your head resting in the crook of his neck to hide the expressions of pleasures that find its way onto your features and to muffle your moans so only he can hear them.

“You sound so pretty when you moan for me. I wish all these people here could hear how pretty you sound for me, know how good you’re feeling.” It was these words that finally brought you to your orgasm, eyes shutting tightly, toes gripping on to the blanket underneath them, and walls clenching around his fingers as he purposefully pumps them into you quickly to let you ride it out until his fingers were soaked with your orgasm.

He gives you no time to recover from the orgasm you only experienced seconds ago before he’s tapping at your hips for you to lift them as he moves to remove your underwear from underneath your dress and placing them inside of the picnic basket you brought along with you. In those few seconds you decide that missionary would be too obvious even with the few people that surrounded you, so you make the decision to push Armin on his back and take a position where you;re straddling him from above. A smug look on his face as he watches your nimble fingers work at unzipping his jeans, hips lifting to allow you to pull his boxers down enough for his erection to come smacking against his fabric clad stomach, the tip flushed and pink with precum leaking from it showing that he had been wanting just as much as you had for the last few minutes.

“Fuck, y/n,” An airy grunt leaves his lips when he pushes his hips up against yours and slides deep inside of you with one swift motion, hands going to your hip to hold you in place with each deep long stroke he sent up in you.

“Just like that,” You let out the prettiest sounds that are music to Armin’s ears from below and encourage him to buck up into you faster at a pace that has your tits bouncing against his face, his hand going up to pull the top of your dress down to expose them and mouth opening to catch one of your nipples into it. “Your cock feels so good, Armin.”

“Yeah? Yeah?” He breathes out, hand dropping underneath your dress to rub at your clit in sloppy circles trying to get you as close to your orgasm as he is right now. You feel so good and warm around him and the way you clench around him has his eyes rolling to the back of his head, he can’t help but allow that warmth in the depth of his stomach to accumulate more and more with each thrust up into you.

“I’’m going to put a fucking baby into you tonight, y/n, but you’d like that wouldn’t you? You’d like to grow round with my seed and be my personal breeding toy, wouldn’t you?” With each word that leaves his lips makes his thrusts harder and faster at the thought and it’s the only warning you get before warm strings of cum are shooting up into you. Instead of pulling away and letting the two of you gather yourself and get clean Armin holds you in this position for a while, face planted in your chest as he heaves against it coming down from his orgasm.

“Let’s stay like this for a while.” He suggests in between a breath, adjusting his head so he’s looking back up at you, sly smirk on his features, “Make sure my cum stays inside of you and so you can keep my cock nice and warm.”

#thank you so much bestie! ily and I hope you enjoy!#300 Milestone Event.#armin arlet x reader #armin arlet smut #aot x reader #aot smut #attack on titan x reader #attack on titan smut #attack on titan #armin arlert #Spicy.#aot imagines

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dear-yandere · 4 years ago

Text

[ kinktober day 4 — devotion. ]

yandere! dio x f! reader x the world. oneshot.

summary. day by day, he’d fuck you like a man fucks his most expensive whore. a demon masquerading as a God, and you’ve come to realize that there is no true God who will punish him.

— word count: 2313. — prompts: mindbreak + size difference + degradation. — warnings: n/sfw (dubcon, threesome, biting), blood, religious themes, depersonalization. — art credit: @tyonoraora.

“How does it feel, little one?”

Little one—his voice is untouched silk, reserved only for when you’ve been good. Your heart pounds against its cage as if trying to reach him—it shows on your face. He lowly hums and buries his lips against the nape of your neck, easily enticing moans from your throat. The effect he has on you was disgusting at first, hearing remnants of praise for letting him violate you, seeing his body dwarf yours against the bed, feeling his powerful touch trap you against the sheets. You have no control, no freedom here—no one would come save you even if you screamed.

Sharp teeth graze the hollow of your neck, dangerously close to puncturing your jugular. Air’s trapped alongside your throat—you can’t breathe under the full weight of his body and the threat of death on your skin. Fingers hungrily knead and pull at your nipples, twisting when you don’t moan quite to his liking. “Answer me.” He hisses and nips at the skin beneath your ear.

Your throat dries up—his commanding tone enough to knock you down to Earth. “G-good—feels so good My Lord!” You bite back another moan, mind empty and gaze locked onto the snap of his hips against yours. You whimper, half wanting to look away from the way his cock disappears between your folds, the other compelling your hips to meet each thrust. Hips shamelessly and sloppily cant into his, the thrill of knowing that one wrong thrust and he could split you in two. Looking at it now, seeing his dick disappear between your thighs—it’s rapturous, addicting like ambrosia. Deep in the recesses of your mind, the thoughts strike you as foreign—that the image of dying by his hands is exhilarating. You want him to tear you to pieces, to use you as a cock sleeve until he has no more use for you.

Dying at his hands is all you’re good for now.

He says you should consider this an honor, a privilege to be personally fucked by your own God. You’re his favorite toy, he says—the other girls don’t come close, but you can’t help but question why you’re so special. Is it your defiance, your cunning? Is it how easy it is to strip it away, down to your fragile and wary bones? Or is because he gets off on how rewarding it was to break you, to hear your screams blossom from terrified to eager? Because he knows how to get under your skin, knows how to make you feel special, knows how to make you feel wanted as if you finally have a purpose in life, a purpose rewarded to you by the hands of a God himself.

Your purpose is to used.

A comfort, more than anything else. When did it happen exactly? The drugs had grown less potent, weren’t as needed when he was in the mood to take you without complaint. When was it? When did you become addicted to doing this act with him? When did you stop resisting and refusing refusing, stop kicking and biting and clawing at his thick skin? Resist has always been useless, when something so inhuman and inhumane heals before your eyes, when your hard works is all for naught. How do you fight a man who calls himself God? How do you fight a man who may as well be a God?

...You don’t.

“M-more, My Lord.” You shamelessly plead—anything to win his favor—and wrap your legs around his waist.

He stills, briefly, and watches you fall apart. “Oh?” Your whimpers of complaint are a serenade he finds himself indulging in. “How indecent. I taught you better than to beg, didn’t I?”

Your hearts hammers.

He sees the way your eyes widen and he smirks, content with the fear he’s struck into you. He’s made it clear he never liked needy women; you’re an exception only in that he enjoys fucking you most.

“Beg for me more, little dove.” He orders and begins gently rocking his hips.

Desperate for the friction, you throw your head back and eagerly hum out countless, wordless prayers. This isn’t you anymore, not in the slightest; this is better in his eyes. And that is so much worse. But he is content, and so are you when his pace descends into harsh thrusts that leave your pussy throbbing. You take it like a bitch in heat, like a good girl, like a good concubine.

“Little dove...” You drink his praise up like water. His gaze travels downward, enraptured by how small you are beneath him. You could break in an instant. “This is all you’re good for, isn’t it?” He asks—you waste no time anxiously nodding. “So full of my cock, it almost looks like it belongs there.”

Tucked under his large body, pressed flush against the chest of a man who’d sooner leave you for dead — tears spill, but you’re overjoyed for once. He’s always loved making you cry, who are you to rob him of that? Even though your legs hurt from being pressed flat against your torso and your cunt is bruised bloody and raw, you weep and moan like you mean it. His arms are curled under your pretty legs like vipers, large hands pinning each of yours against the mattress as he buries his cock in your womb.

You can’t help but focus on the way his body presses against yours. His cock feels heavy between your folds, and he’s careful to keep his pace slow enough to drive you wild. Each harsh thrust is few and far in between, a perfect cacophony of impatience and frustration building a coil in your stomach. Dio runs his tongue over unused fangs, studying the way your features twist and contort with pleasure when his thick cock would press against your insides. He’s waiting, and you both know it; he wants to see you unfold, wants you see you whine and beg and claw at his arms for more. It’s a feeling unlike any other — his other women can’t compare, can’t beg like you can. You used to hate him, but he doesn’t see that hateful glint in your eyes anymore. You like this, you like being fucked — he’s finally broken you. This once prideful woman is his to do as he pleases with.

There’s no greater feeling in this world.

“Lean into me.” He orders like a king and you comply like a whore. Dainty arms weakly coil around his shoulders, not nearly long enough to touch each other; his body is too big, too monstrous, and the thrill of being torn apart by it only makes you want him more. He praises in hushed tones, allowing you a small, rare moment of bliss. Your face is always particularly cute when he utters such meaningless words to you, like a dog desperate for praise. It’s tempting to defile that innocence even further.

“Look how needy you’ve gotten, gripping my cock so tight I can hardly pull out,” he teases, lies right to your face. Unsheathing himself is as easy as you are, but he keeps that to himself—prefers to get your hopes up. You’re already whimpering at the sheer mention of how needy you’ve become; Gods, you’d feel so empty without him, but it isn’t your place to complain. He doesn’t have to please you, you only exist to pleasure him. And still, you can’t hide the disappointment on your features. Dio smirks condescendingly and utters assurances. “Stop making that face, little dove.” He jests and realigns himself to your cunt, not even so much as a warning when he slams into you once again. “I’m not done with you yet.”

And you did — your eyes roll back into your head when his hips slam into yours. Fangs part your flesh as easily as meat, and droplets of blood quickly well from the incision, but he doesn’t care to lap them up; you always did look better coated in blood. You hadn’t even noticed his stand, The World hovers over the mattress by your head, its cock free from pants you didn’t know could be removed. His dick, thick and grey, is as large as your Lord’s; you already knew it was to go in your mouth, you just weren’t sure if it’d fit. The image alone made you want to come apart, it was already taking all your willpower to not scream with each thrust into your little cunt.

“Suck.” Dio pulls away from your neck long enough to bark out an order. That simple command is all it took to strip you of dignity. “I’m sure you wouldn’t mind another cock to please, would you?” He caresses your hips, his thumb sweeping over the raw flesh he’d gripped onto in his earlier reverie. You wince, but maintain eye contact—he prefers it like that. “Look how needy you are, little dove. Sometimes you just need the extra attention, don’t you?” He coos. “Need another set of hands on you, more skin to get your hands on.” Breathily, you nod and lean into his touch. There’s no use hesitating or complaining; you’ve turned a new leaf, after all. You’re a good girl now, and good girls don’t talk back.

Fangs return to your neck, digging deeper, harsher this time. You whimper, the new sensation of pain overwhelming when your thighs were already so chaffed and your cunt already so bruised, skin still raw from this morning’s session. But your mouth fell open anyways, the underside of your tongue pressed taut against your lower lip, ready to accommodate The World’s shaft. The creature grunted lowly, more akin to the growl of a wolf in heat, and slid himself into your tiny mouth. The feeling of being filled from top to bottom was so intense, so overpowering you feared your jaw would come apart. The World was markedly more gentle than his user, but it was hard to miss the excitement rolling off his body like waves; he’s not being gentle for your sake, he’s trying to hold himself back lest his length rip through the back of your throat. He’s excited, even if you can hardly hear his moans.

Dio chuckles but makes no further comment, too busy suckling on your sore flesh. The World stares down at you, locking eyes for only a moment before bucking into your throat. Your tongue instinctively swirls around the tip, drool soon pooling beneath your nose. Deep growls escape the Stand’s lips, and Dio feels every second of it. His cock is buried deep in your cunt and he can feel every lick and suckle of your lips.

Dio licks his lips, already feeling the bulge of The World’s cock inflate the throat he’s mercilessly sucked on. The chuckle that rumbles from his chest and into yours would be enough to send your body shaking if he hadn’t pinned it to the bed with his own. “What a well-trained whore.”

“Mm—”, you struggle to breathe out a raspy response, hardly able to formulate words when your thoughts are filled with cum and his thrusts refuse to relent. His stand’s dick press against your insides, blocking air from entering your jugular or from leaving your throat. The soft, rubbery skin of the stand’s balls stuff your nostrils — you nearly lose yourself in the bliss of being treated like a lifeless fuck toy. You could die right now and they might keep fucking you, and that alone fills you with joy. To be used until the very end... you could think of no better use for the new life Dio has given you. But, he doesn’t plan on letting you die just yet; you still have many more uses left in you.

“Oh? Are you going to cum again? So soon?” His tone is mocking near the end, and he squeezes your hips. Fingernails rake closer to your inner thighs, coaxing you to tell him what he wants to hear. The World leans back slightly to relieve some pressure from your nostrils and throat, and you shamelessly fill your lungs.

“I’ll, aah—” A moan catches in your throat, and his Stand gives you enough space to speak. “I’ll cum as many times as you like!” There’s a spark of boredom in his eyes, but it’s gone so quickly you wonder if you’d imagined it. You...you hope you imagined it, and a feeling of realization and disgust washes over you like a cold wave. You want to cover yourself, to crawl into the deepest hole you can find and die, anything to escape the way he looked at you just now. Like you’re trash on the street. A charity case he picked up out of pity. A pet he’ll discard at the drop of a hat.

He makes a sound in the back of his throat, and before you can ask, your mouth is stuffed again. He watches your shoulders squeeze together and your throat bulge from the sheer size of his Stand. The tip of The World’s cock pushes against the back of your throat, pinning your head to the mattress—you would have thrown up if Lord Dio hadn’t train you so well.

“Then cum.” He orders, stuffing your mouth and your cunt full. “Cum as many times as I want. Cum until I’m done with you.”

You obediently nod. You can’t see his face anymore; whether that’s a blessing or a curse escapes you, so you stop thinking and simply oblige. Your past self would be laughing at you. Chastising you, encouraging you bite down on his cock and fight back. What happened to that girl, you wonder? Did Lord Dio tire of her? Did he dispose of her? Will he dispose of you too?

What a terrifying devotion. When did you lose yourself?

When did he become your world?

#yandere dio x reader #yandere dio brando #yandere dio #yandere jjba x reader #yandere jojo's bizarre adventure x reader #yandere jojo's bizarre adventure #yandere jojo x reader #jjba x reader #yandere jjba #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere #yandere scenario #yandere imagines #kinktober20 #*oneshot #tw dubcon #tw not sfw

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madnessinwrighting · 4 years ago

Text

When They Know (You're the One)

(Summary: There's a moment, one distinct moment, when you know you're going to spend the rest of your life with someone. This is the Avengers (plus Loki and Bucky) having those moments.

Reader Insert, inspired by an imagine I have long since lost the link too. Open to writing a part two for the other characters.

Notes: Hey all! This is something I've pretty much sat on for a year, but the convincing of two best friends has pushed me to post it. Basically, it's just a quick bite of little moments with each Avenger, with a reader insert. Yes, it was slightly self indulgent. Hope y'all enjoy.

Read on AO3

Steve

It was how you welcomed him home.

He comes back to your shared floor in the tower after a day of meetings. He was tired, and wanted nothing more than to take a hot shower and wait for you to come back from your training with Wanda. He paused when he heard music softly playing. Glenn Miller’s "Moonlight Serenade" drifted around the corner, pulling Steve into the living room. His guard dropped when he saw you curled up on the couch in one of his sweatshirts, book in hand. Regina, your cat, and Doger, his dog, were laying at your feet.

Steve was always captivated by your beauty, but in this moment, with your attention completely held by the book in your hand, thinking no one is watching you, is when he found you the most stunning. Before he could clear his throat to let you know he was here, you glance up at him. A breathtaking smile broke out across your face as you got up to welcome Steve home. It was in that moment, he knew that he would never let you go.

Tony

It was in your careless beauty after an event.The two of you were in his room, lounging on his bed, after the monthly Avengers Gala that Stark Industries held. Every month, the Avengers and Stark Industries held a fundraising Gala to help different organizations in need. It had been your idea; being the Avengers PR person, you had proposed the idea after seeing the growing interest the public had in seeing the “real life superheroes” more, but still being unsure of the Avengers after New York and Sokovia. The galas let the general public mingle with the elite, all while the Avengers mingled with both. (You had started to notice how much the heroes spent less and less time with the elite and more with the general public (especially Steve and Bucky)).

You were wearing one of Tony’s button ups and a pair of pajama shorts. A champagne bottle rested against your leg as you grabbed for another slice of pizza. Tony laughed at you; you were always hungry after the galas. He reached for a slice too. He glanced up at you as you took a bite, just staring for a moment. Your hair was in an imperfect bun, wet strands falling around your face from where you missed a few pieces after your shower. There was a smudge of black under each eye from leftover makeup. As you wiped some sauce from the side of your mouth, Tony could see where your fingernail polish had started to chip. You noticed his staring. “What, playboy? Do I have something on my face?” He laughed at the nickname. Any other time, he would have sassed back. But the whiskey that had been coursing through his veins finally reached his head. Or maybe it was your beauty. Maybe it was a combination of the two that made him say, “No. I just realized I’m going to marry you someday.” You rolled your eyes at him, laughing. You thought he was joking. But Tony knew the truth, and that’s all that mattered; for now.

Clint

It was how you interacted with his kids, and how you could read him.

He had just come back from a mission. He and Nat had gotten banged around, nothing serious, but he knew his ribs were going to be hurting for a few days. He heard laughter the moment he stepped off the elevator to your shared floor. His smile grew when he saw you and his kids in the process of building a blanket fort, you standing carefully on a leaning chair to get the blanket on a high hook. Lila hid her face behind her hands as you made a show of “almost” falling, before doing a flip and landing perfectly. Little Nathaniel clapped his hands as the three cheered. The four of you took a step back to admire your work. The three kids all come in close to you, Nate hugging your leg. Your hand came down to play with his hair. You all talk quietly about what to add. Clint’s heart clinches at the sight. While his and Laura’s split was mutual, and they still cared for one another, it had been hard, for both them and the kids. To see you interact well with the three people that made up a big portion of his world, and them to do the same with you… Clint really couldn’t ask for more.

He caught the repetitive tapping of your fingers on your leg. “Take your time. Love you.”

Natasha

You learned Russian for her.

Any time she came into the room when it was just you and Bucky, the two of you would stop talking and a red hue would cover your cheeks. It didn’t take a spy to know you were hiding something. At first, Nat had a fleeting thought that you might be cheating on her, but she knew you, and knew Buck, and knew that that wasn’t the case. So she let the secret go for the time being; well, that’s a lie. She actually decided to turn it into a game and see if she could find out what it was that you were keeping from her. But sneaking up on the Winter Soldier proved to be difficult, considering most of her skills she had learned were from him.

She thought she had figured out a way to catch you. She was thinking through her plan while making her coffee that morning when your arms snaked around her waist. She smiled as you rested your head on her shoulder, placing a kiss on the bare skin. “Доброе утро Любовь. Спать хорошо?” you asked.

“конечно, ты был следующим -” Natasha froze as she processed what just happened. She spun in your arms to face you. “That’s what you and Barnes have been doing?”

“Yes. Were you going to say because I was next to you?”

“Yes. Why are you learning Russian?”

You rolled your eyes. “Because of you, silly. Your Russian, are you not? And while most of your Russian adventures are in your past and not really you anymore, they and Russia are still a part of you. I love every part of you and want to know every part of you, so I asked Bucky it he would be willing to--”

Natasha cut off the rest of your explanation by placing a kiss on your lips. If there were tears on her checks, neither of you mentioned it.

(Translation: Доброе утро Любовь. Спать хорошо? - Good morning, love. Sleep well?конечно, ты был следующим. - Of course, you were next -- Done with Google. I'm sorry if they are incorrect. Please let me know if they are so I can fix it.)

Thor

You didn’t treat his brother like a villain.

None of the team was thrilled when Thor announced that Loki would be coming to live with him on Earth. But considering the alternative was for Loki to be executed, Thor convinced them to allow Loki to stay in the tower. But of course there were rules. Loki and Thor accepted these; Loki just wanted to leave the place that never felt like a home to him, and felt even less so now, no matter what his mother did to try and help. Thor was excited to see you once again, to be able to be with you once again, but he worried about how you would react to Loki. You had been badly injured when the Chatiri attacked. Thor loved both you and his brother; he wanted, no, needed you two to get along.

When the time came for Loki to move in, all the Avengers were waiting in the teleportation room. The alarm alerted you to the brothers incoming arrival. You all shielded your eyes as the Bifrost opened. The blinding light cleared, leaving the polar opposite sons of Odin in its place. Everyone stayed still for a moment. You rolled your eyes at all of them before throwing yourself at Thor. He caught you with a laugh, spinning you around.

Loki rolled his eyes. “Maybe I should have chosen execution.”

You sensed the movement of the team tensing and gripping their weapons. Placing a kiss on Thor’s cheek, you walked over to Loki. You knew he recognized you from when he fought against you during the Chatiri invasion; you also knew it wasn’t his fault. Hardly any of the New York Attack was Loki’s fault, directly. Knowing that, you placed your hands over both of the bracelets on his wrist, said a small incantation, and melted them away. You felt and saw Loki’s magic return to him. His eyes were swirling with questions. All you said to him was, “No one, not a single being, deserve to be cut off from something that makes them whole.”

Thor had tears in his eyes. He had been trying to convince others that his brother wasn’t the enemy, and here was the woman that he loved, showing that she believed that too.

Bruce

You loved him despite his inner demon.

Bruce Banner had felt ever since his… accident, that he was very much two different people. You once joked he was a modern day Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde (Tony thought it was hysterical, Bruce not so much). Despite his green friend always being just under Bruce’s skin, you never once feared him. The Hulk and Bruce were one person, and that was something you accepted very early on; Bruce knew he loved you then.

But the moment he knew he would spend forever with you was when you didn’t shy away from his true inner demon. Not the green one, but the one that was very human. The self doubt that he was nothing and only ever became something because of a gamma radiation explosion. The anxiety that he would one day lose control and destroy everything that he held dear. The depression that came from every so-called mistake he thought he had made in his scientific career. The depression that manifests in self isolation so no other mistake could be made, or at least no one was there to be hurt when they were made. He was certain that these monsters would be the ones to push you away from him; they would be the ones that would make you run away screaming.

You never once left his side, though. You calmed the anxiety attacks; you silenced the dark thoughts in his mind. You were his voice in every moment that he needed you. You were his protector, and he would do everything in his power to keep you.

Loki

You saw through the illusion.

Loki moved into the tower not long after everything that happened with the Battle of Sokovia, which was when you joined the team. He was brought to Earth to atone for his sins; Odin thought it poetic to banish his son to the place where he caused destruction.

Besides Bucky (shared trauma in brainwashing and all), you were the first one to accept Loki as he was. A connection flowed easily between you, bonding over books and similar battle styles; you both favored knives and daggers. One night, you two were in the living room of the comunal floor. Loki and you had only been dating for a few months, but your friendship led to a strong bond already. You were reading; Loki had been too, though he was now asleep, head resting in your lap. Your hand stilled in his hair as he started to fidget. Twitching and moaning, you recognized the signs of his nightmares immediately. Your gentle coasting to awake still startled him. A moment on the couch, the next on the floor staring into red eyes surrounded by a blue tinged face. As quickly as it was there, Loki was his blue-eyed, pale skinned self, helping you from the ground.

“Apologies, my love. I do not know what came over me.” He ran his hands through his hair.

You rolled your eyes. “Bullshit. Are you okay?” You reached out for him.

He smiled softly before turning away from you. “Yes, yes, I’m fine, love.”

“Loki, you are not--”

“I said I’m fine, Y/N,” he interrupted. He started to walk away.

“Wha- No, wait.” He didn’t stop. “Loki of Asgard, you stop right now and look at me, damnit!” He stopped, but didn’t turn. “Loki. Please. You can pretend with the team, with your brother even. But don’t lie to me. You’re not fine, not have you been for a long time. Look at me.” While you spoke, you walked closed to him. You reached out to place a hand on the back of his shoulder.

He caught your wrist, half turning to look at you. “You see through the illusions.”

It wasn’t a question. You still answered. “Yes, I do.” You used your captured hand to turn his face to you. “You may be the God of Mischief, but your lies have never worked on me.” You whipped a tear from his cheek.

He’d never admit it to you, but his heart clenched and he was at a momentary loss for words. All he could think to say, as he pulled you into his arms, was, “I know not how I got so fortunate to have you in my life, but I thank whoever it was that allowed it.” You just hugged him tighter.

Bucky

It was how you celebrated his 37th birthday.

Bucky had a doopy smile on his face as he read one of the texts from you; he and Steve were disembarking from one of Stark’s planes. Bucky brought his head up at the sound of laughter. “What, punk?” Bucky shoved Steve’s shoulder.

Steve rolled his eyes. “Nothing. Tell y/n hi from me, jerk.”

Bucky shot back that he would as he headed straight to the garage.

When he did get home, a wonderful aruma tickled his nose while Janet Blair’s “You’d be so Nice to Come Home To” floated to his ears. Dropping his bag by the door, he rounded the island. All of his weariness from the mission vanished once he saw you. Your hair was pinned up and you wore a y/f/c swing dress. He caught the reflection of your makeup; simple, with eyeliner your top lids, just a kiss of it on the lower, massacre gracing your lashes, and a red perfetingly complementing your skin coating your lips. When you faced Bucky, he had to grip the island slightly for support. You looked just like the dames he knew growing up. But unlike all of them, you were his, and you took his breath away.

“Buck! I didn’t hear you come in,” you exclaimed.

He reached out to you; you willingly stepped into his arms. Bucky placed a kiss on your lips, humming as he pulled away. “You look stunning, doll. What’s the occasion?” He started swaying you to the music.

You laughed. “You are, you dork. Or did you forget you turned a whole century while you are on this mission?”

“Ouch, doll. You really know how to make a man feel loved. I’m only 37,” he tried reasoning as he dipped you.

“Is that so? Then why does your birth certificate say you were born in 1917?” Bucky raised an eyebrow at you. “Fine, happy 37th birthday, even though you were born 100 years ago. Do you want some cake? I made this one special.” You began biting the side of your lip.

“Sure, babe. I’d love some.” Bucky gave you once last peck before letting you go.

You went to the cake, cutting two slices. Bucky saw you fidget slightly as you set them pieces down on the island. Not sure as to why you’d be so nervous (you’d made him chocolate cake before, it was his favorite), he picked up his fork and took a big bite. The explosion of flavor in his mouth caused him to pause for a moment before he kept chewing. Unsure if his senses were playing tricks on him, he took another small bite. Nope, that tasted exactly like-- “Is this my mother’s recipe?” Disbelief clouded his voice. You nodded your head. “And her icing?” You nodded again.

“It wasn’t easy to replicate, or even find the recipe, but this birthday is a big deal so I thought--” you were cut off by Bucky pulling you to him and crashing his lips to yours. You could taste the chocolate on his lips.

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abarbaricyalp · 4 years ago

Note

prompt idea - sam/steve/bucky

bucky and steve start calling sam by 40s pet names as a joke but sam discovers he actually likes it but doesn’t know how to tell them.

Hello! Sorry this took so long (vampire anon, that's also taking so long but it is also being so long. I haven't forgotten about it. I just love vampires)

Read on AO3 under the same title by ElisabethMonroe

An Incomplete Dream

As with all things that vexed him, Sam Wilson’s newest problem was started by Bucky Barnes.

“Stevie, don’t he look like the most perfect picture of angelface?” Bucky asked, turning away from Sam, though his metal fingers didn’t loosen around Sam’s wrists, which he was holding over Sam’s head.

Steve looked over his shoulder with a wide grin, even without having to look at Sam. “He sure does, Buck,” he agreed and finished pulling his shirt off over his head.

“Angelface?” Sam asked, just to antagonize Bucky.

Bucky shifted over Sam, ground his thigh a little closer to Sam’s groin. Never close enough to give any real friction, just the teasing promise of more to come. It was about the only time Bucky had any self control, when Steve was around to tell them not to have too much fun without him. And Steve, unfortunately, managed to have the patience of a fucking saint when it meant it got Sam and Bucky harder than sin.

“Yeah, doll,” Bucky purred, dropped his face to Sam’s neck to trail his mouth along his skin. Sam would pretend like that was what had his legs falling open. The kissing and not the words. “Means you look like somethin’ Heaven sent.”

“That’s heavy,” Steve said, reappearing from the bathroom in briefs that Sam was pretty sure he’d bought him. Or maybe they were just Sam’s. “But not wrong,” he added as he climbed into the bed and straddled Sam’s hips. Bucky shifted too, staying out of Steve’s way but continuing to hold Sam’s wrists down. Sam pouted up at him. Bucky ignored him and leaned over to kiss Steve instead.

“How ‘bout you give your angel something to work with?” Sam suggested eventually, pouting out his lower lip again. Steve leaned down to kiss it away.

“Good morning, dollface,” Bucky greeted the next morning. Steve looked up from his newspaper with a fond grin. Sam tilted his head to offer his cheek for their mandatory morning kisses. Bucky skipped his cheek and went for his neck, an arm draping over Sam’s shoulder to run his hand down Sam’s bare chest.

“You haven’t said dollface in a while,” Steve said and brought his coffee up to his lips.

“You ain’t got one no more,” Bucky said. Sam could feel him look up from his nook in Sam’s neck and Sam could only imagine the look he was throwing Steve.

“What happened to angelface?” Sam asked.

“Liked that one, huh?” Bucky said. He kissed Sam’s cheek and went off in search of breakfast.

“They’re all corny,” Sam said. It wasn’t really a lie. They were corny. He was allowed to like corny things.

Steve hooked his foot on the back of Sam’s ankle and it took all Sam had not to visibly react. It was insane that they could still have this effect on him. “Don’t be mean, dollface,” he drolled with the same easy grin he’d shot Bucky.

Sam sprawled over the breakfast bar, cheeks burning. He heard Bucky laugh.

“Steve!” Sam yelped and hurried to the stove to get a pot off the burner before all the water boiled over. “I gave you one job.”

Steve looked sheepish and he shrugged helplessly as he gestured to a bowl he was mixing some kind of cake batter in. “It was either the noodles or the cake. I know which one Bucky would prefer to get done.”

Sam rolled his eyes and bumped his hip into Steve's as he carried the pot to the sink to drain it. “He may say he wants the cake more, but we both know he puts carbs away like he’ll never eat again.”

For a second, the realization that it may very well be a survival instinct for him settled over the both of them. Then Steve shook his head and crammed himself into the corner, trying and failing very hard to be small.

“Hey, sugar, can you grab me the sugar?” he laughed.

Sam rolled his eyes so hard it hurt. “Corny, Rogers. So damn corny.” But he got the sugar and passed it over. He was not surprised when Steve caught him around the waist, spinning him in a lazy dance even though the oven and stove were both still on and he hadn’t so much as measured out his sugar.

“He's special ration,” Steve sang, twirling them around a kitchen not designed for it. “Funny, he never asks for my money. All that I give him is honey. And that he can spend any time.”

Sam looked up when the door opened, but Steve didn’t even stumble, so Sam got Bucky’s bemused expression all to himself.

“I'd make a million trips to his lips, if I were a bee. Because he's sweeter than chocolate candy to me. He's confectionery, that sugar baby of mine.”

“It’s my birthday but you’re serenading him?” Bucky asked, cutting in between them to wrap his arms around Sam’s waist, picking up on the dance like he’d started it.

“You don’t call me dollface anymore,” Steve said with a shrug. He turned back to his cake and Sam dropped his face to Bucky’s shoulder. They swayed slightly, taking small steps now and again, pasta forgotten for now.

“Yeah, Sam’s my new dollface and he gets to give me my gift first.”

“Do I, now? And you know what that gift is, I’m assuming.”

“Sure I do,” Bucky said. He reached for a red bow that had been left on the breakfast bar and smacked it onto Sam’s shoulder. Sam was just about to make a joke when Bucky peeled it off and put it on the waistband of Sam’s pants instead. “Sounds like you’ve got a little sweetness to spare, sugar,” he purred and pulled him back towards the couch.

Steve could handle pasta and cake at the same time, Sam decided. And if he couldn’t...at least they’d have dessert.

Sam turned over in bed and opened his eyes to find Bucky already looking at him, sleepy and only half awake. One of the best ways for him to be, Sam thought.

“Hey, beautiful,” he said, reaching over to brush a curl back into the mop on Bucky’s head.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Bucky murmured back. Sam felt his stomach curl in on itself in elation. It was a little painful, but Sam was realizing most of his reactions to Bucky and Steve were adoration and pain in equal measure sometimes.

“Think Steve’s gonna be out of it all morning?” Sam asked.

Bucky’s mouth curled to the side. “He did take a robot to the side of the head,” he pointed out. “I ain’t seen him bruise like that since he was little.”

Sam grimaced in sympathy for Steve. He had been pretty banged up the night before. He really should’ve been with med, but of course he wasn’t. Of course he was in bed instead, having to sleep with his back to Sam and Bucky because he couldn’t sleep on his right side. Sam shifted over, supporting himself on his elbow, to look over his shoulder at Steve’s sleeping figure.

“The swelling’s already half down,” he said, turning back over in time for Bucky to kiss his forearm. “He better sleep until it’s almost all healed.”

“Hopefully,” Bucky agreed, kissing up his arm to his wrist. “You’re a sweetheart for worrying,” he said pointedly.

“I didn’t argue last time you said it,” Sam laughed softly. He freed his hand from where he’d tucked it under his pillow, and Bucky kissed his palm and then along his fingers.

“I just like saying it. Sweetheart. It was my favorite back in the day.”

“Back when you had game?” Sam asked.

Bucky growled playfully, leaning over to nip at Sam’s lips, sleep still making their movements and words slow and languid. “I’ve got plenty of game. I’ve got the two most beautiful men in the world in my bed every night. But, nah. I never used it on dames. Not like this. This is all yours and Steve’s.”

“Why not?” Sam asked, pushing his fingers through the hair curling around Bucky’s ear.

“‘Cause it’s what Sarah used to call me and Steve. I don’t wanna use it on anyone I don’t fully love,” Bucky said, like it was simple, obvious, not world shattering.

Sam fell into Bucky, kissing him between whispers of sweetheart.

The antiseptic of hospitals always set Sam on edge. When he was thirteen and his grandmother had gotten sick, he’d lost count of the nights he’d spent in hospital rooms and waiting areas. He still clearly remembered a doctor walking into one waiting room to talk to a family near Sam’s. He remembered the blood on the doctor’s pant leg and the sudden rush of mortality that hit him all at once.

Being in pararescue meant he spent a good chunk of his service time in and out of hospitals too. Not necessarily for himself or Riley, though that was a cause too, but just to do his job. Put people in beds, continue field triage, check in on patients who didn’t have anyone else. Even in the desert, that smell filled the air.

Tonight, it creeped beneath his skin too, even though he was half running through the halls, even though there were bandages around his head, even though he was pretty sure he had serious sinus damage under his broken nose. He knew what the hospital smelled like.

The only thing that stopped him was a thick arm around his chest, as gentle as could be given the circumstances, though it still hurt like a bitch. It didn’t stop him grasping for the door handle. “Bucky,” he gasped out, ribs and lung both protesting, fingernails scratching futilely at the arm around him.

“Hang on, Sam. Just wait a second,” Steve said, reaching for his waist instead of his chest with a muttered apology. Sam couldn’t remember reacting, giving himself away. Maybe Steve had just gotten his med eval.

“I need to see him. They wouldn’t say anything. I had him, I was holding him,” he insisted. “I didn’t drop him.”

“Sam,” Steve breathed and finally managed to turn Sam’s wild eyes from the door to his own face. “Do you have a concussion?” Probably, but Sam didn’t know for sure to say. “You were shot down. You didn’t let go of him.”

Sam blinked up at Steve and it felt like it took ten years. “No. I saw… I saw him fall…”

Steve shook his head, brought his hands up to either side of Sam’s face. When his eyes flickered over Sam’s shoulder, Sam finally clocked all of the doctors in the hall, people saying his name, someone reaching for his arm before Steve shooed them away gently.

“You both fell, Sam. You need to be in a hospital bed too. I can’t believe you’re walking, Jesus.”

“Just me,” Sam said weakly. “I hear the resemblance is uncanny.” It was Bucky’s joke and the fact that he wasn’t here to make it had terror clutching at Sam’s heart again. “Please let me see him. I can’t stand this image in my head.”

Steve’s hands were gentle on his face, but relentless. Sam couldn’t turn back to the door.

“What’s wrong with him? Why aren’t you letting me in? Why aren’t you by his side?” he whimpered, hands coming up to clutch at Steve’s wrists.

“He’s not awake,” Steve said.

“They knocked him out? How?”

Steve’s features seemed to all screw in pain. “No. He was in and out of consciousness himself. He hasn’t woken up since the last time.”

“Oh my God, is he dead?” Sam cried, then swayed on his feet with the sudden cold blood rush.

“No, no, Sam, no. He’s not dead,” Steve assured and pulled Sam into his chest to hug him as tightly as gentleness and care would allow. “He’s just unconscious.”

“Let me in. Let me see him,” Sam said again. “Even if he isn’t awake. I just need--” His face fell to Steve’s shoulder as exhaustion caught up to him.

“Can we get a bed…?” Steve asked quietly like his mouth wasn’t right next to Sam’s head. But maybe he had the right idea because there was an ensuing conversation that Sam missed entirely.

The next time he clocked in, Steve was laying him down in a hospital bed. There was a cloth divider, but Sam knew the sound of Bucky breathing. He was so close. Steve tucked Sam’s arm back under the blanket when Sam reached over.

“Hey, easy, angel. Just try to sleep, okay? They’ll get your IVs reset.”

“I had IVs?” Sam asked and hated how his voice slurred.

“Oh, yeah. You took them all out. Very well, by the way. You’re hardly bleeding.”

Sam had put enough of them into other people, he thought he should know how to get them back out. Even concussed.

“You’re just gonna have to settle for me for now,” Steve said when Sam looked over at Bucky’s side again. He settled in a chair that was too small for him and held onto the hand Sam had freed again, keeping it firmly on the bed.

“I don’t settle for you,” Sam muttered. “Just wanna see him.”

“I know, angel. Just go to sleep. You’ll see him in a few hours.”

A few hours was sixteen, as it turned out. “What the hell is this?” Sam heard as he fought against the grit behind his eyelids. “Even national icons--incredibly dangerous assassins even--can’t get their own room?”

Sam sat up, swayed, and had to put his hands on the bed to keep himself upright. At the end of the partition, Sam saw Steve see him, saw a grin pull at his tired face. “Nah, Buck. You just had a gentleman caller last night. I had to keep him in the living room for a while,” he joked. Sam didn’t get it. Well, maybe he did. But he didn’t want to fight through the pulsing stuffing in his head to figure it out.

Steve stepped over to him, helped him stand, offered a wheelchair. “I don’t need a damn wheelchair. I hit my head, not my legs,” Sam snapped, though it came out soft and whiny.

“You hit everything,” Steve said.

But it didn’t matter, because Sam could see the figure in the next bed over shoot upright too. “A gentleman caller?” Bucky said. “Was he handsome?”

“Well, I think so,” Steve said as he helped get Sam’s arm around his shoulders. “I’d take him home with me. You’re lucky I was so patient as to give you a chance to save your date.”

Bucky laughed and Sam just about collapsed at the sound. “Trust me, I could win any gentleman caller back from you.”

“Sure you could, Buck,” Steve said. Finally they started moving around the curtain partition and finally Sam got to see Bucky. They had matching head bandages and there were plenty more creeping out of the paper shirt he was in.

It was a good thing Steve was holding him up because Sam’s knees went out from under him. Steve gently deposited him on the bed and Bucky and he fell together, bandages pressed to bandages as foreheads found resting places together.

“Sammy,” Bucky breathed and brought taped fingers up to Sam’s cheek, his jaw, his lips, his chin. The metal arm was disconnected and Sam wondered if it had been damaged too. “I was so fucking scared. I saw you fall--”

“No,” Sam insisted again. “That’s what they said last night too. But I saw you--” he started.

“No, you fell first,” Bucky said. “You put yourself under me.”

Steve’s fingers rubbed at the back of Sam’s neck. “Told you. You didn’t drop him.”

“Nah,” Bucky agreed. The eye that wasn’t swollen shut was gleaming with fondness and adoration. “A perfect gentleman, you were. My gentleman caller.”

Sam let out a shaky breath and held his hand over Bucky’s chest, just to feel his heartbeat.

“Hey, doll, will you give me the controller?” Steve asked. Sam barely looked up from his phone, only adjusted his feet on the coffee table to give Bucky the room he’d need to hand over the remote.

Steve’s toes dug into Sam’s thigh and Sam lifted his leg enough to get Steve’s toes under him. But then he kept squirming until Sam finally looked up with an unheated glare. “Do you need something?” he asked.

“Yeah, the controller,” Steve said again. “Jeez, you mad at me for something, angel?” he asked.

“No? Why would I be?”

“I’ve asked you twice now for the controller and you haven’t moved.”

“You didn’t ask me. I figured Bucky was getting it.”

Steve’s face crumbled in confusion before a wry grin cut over it. “Where do you think Bucky is?”

Sam looked over at the weird egg shaped chair Bucky liked to curl up in. It was empty. So was the kitchen and the loveseat that was too short for any of them to actually lay on but Bucky liked to do it anyway.

“He left, like, an hour ago,” Steve said. “I asked you.”

“But...you said doll. You only ever call Bucky doll.”

“Do I?” Steve asked.

“Up until this moment, yeah,” Sam said, feeling a little embarrassed and heated.

Steve freed his feet so he could get his knees under him and lean over to Sam. “Well,” he said, kissing Sam’s jaw, “consider this me granting you the pet name too,” he murmured. “I like to use it when I’m undeniably happy. And you make me undeniably happy.”

“You’re full of shit,” Sam laughed, pushing Steve’s face away. “You call him doll in every argument you’ve ever had in front of me.”

Steve shrugged. “It wears him down faster than logic.”

Sam got the appeal. “Do it again.”

Steve grinned. “Make me, doll,” he breathed.

Sam leaned over to kiss him.

“Can we talk about something?” Sam asked finally. The words just fell out of his mouth. It was certainly not the ideal moment he was thinking about waiting for. Steve was reorganizing their colognes on the large chest-of-drawers, even though Bucky was just going to mess it all up again in the morning, and Bucky was doing situps on the floor in sweatpants that he kept taking out of the trash when Sam tried to throw them away.

“Sure, darlin’,” Bucky said, sounding like a sin all breathless and Brooklyn. He sat up and braced his elbow on the side of the bed. “What’s up?”

“Actually,” Sam started and rubbed at his elbow, “that’s what I wanted to talk about.” When Steve and Bucky pulled the same confused expression, Sam moved to the bed and sat down on it. His heart just about burst when both of them moved to sit by him. Steve took a hand in his and Bucky rubbed at his thigh.

“It’s stupid alright. You don’t have to worry like this,” he said and felt a little bit of the tension melt off of his partners. “It’s just...you know, when Bucky first started the whole pet name thing, it was a joke, right? You were just teasing me,” he said.

“Was I?” Bucky asked. Steve pinched his side behind Sam’s back.

“And that was fine,” Sam assured. “I liked it. I like seeing you two smile ‘cause of it. Like that you found a way to bring stuff from back then to now with you.”

“Does it...make you uncomfortable?” Steve asked. And Sam could almost see him try to figure out if there was something offensive in a name like angel.

“No, that’s not… I just… Recently it’s become...heavier, I guess? It feels like it means more.”

“Again, are we sure I was taking the piss out of you before?” Bucky repeated. Steve pinched him again.

“I just wanna know what it means, is all. Because...I really like it. I like it every time you say it. Every single one of them.”

“Angel,” Steve and Bucky said at the same time. Sam shuddered enough to jar his shoulder against Steve’s.

“Shit, you do like it,” Bucky said.

“Are you asking… Are you worried about more than just the pet names?” Steve asked. “Like...are you asking how serious we all are?”

Sam’s fingers tightened around Steve’s hand. He hoped he wasn’t hurting him because he wasn’t sure he could make his fingers unclasp at that point. “It’s this thing between the two of you. These names and stuff. I ain’t heard no one call someone doll since my friend’s great-grandparents renewed their vows when I was a kid. And don’t even get me started on darling. Not the way you two say it. You mean it.

“And I didn’t know how I fit into that. It felt like you were testing out how I fit with the two of you,” he finally admitted. He wanted the words to lift the constriction out of his chest. Instead, it just lifted it to his throat so he could barely keep on talking. “I thought maybe I liked it a lot more than the two of you did,” he said, not talking about the names anymore, not really. “And I was scared you’d give up. But then it got serious, right? And I had to try’n figure out what was going on. So...what is going on?”

“Oh, Sammy,” Bucky breathed and wrapped an arm around Sam’s middle to hug him. “It’s been dead-serious since the moment it started,” he said. “It’s not goin’ nowhere. Not the names and damn sure not me.”

“Of course it’s serious,” Steve agreed, pressing his forehead to Sam’s temple. “We haven’t ever tried to fit you into anything. You already do fit everywhere. It was something we were missing before you. Not a space we rearranged for you.”

“Fuck,” Sam breathed, tried to laugh it out but the tears were evident in it.

“And if you were gonna panic about pet names this much,” Bucky added, because he always knew how to make Sam laugh and break the tension. “You shoulda worked on not having such a perfect angelface.”

Sam did laugh.

“Lucky you got angelface,” Steve said on his other side, putting his arms around Sam’s waist too. “Apparently you can lose the dollface designation.”

Sam laughed again and clutched at the arms around him. “Alright, my loves,” he said and felt something tremor through both of the other men. This was a two way street. “You can call me anything you want as long as you kiss me right after.”

“Sure, angel,” Bucky said.

“Anything you want, doll,” Steve agreed.

He got a kiss on either cheek. And then many, many more afterwards.

#sambucky #stevesam #all caps #the falcon and the winter soldier #captain america #writing #i answer things

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asteriismos · 5 years ago

Text

alone together - stanley barber

warning(s) : eighteen! stanley barber, smut, oral ( male recieving ), cursing

authors note : i was listening to fleetwood Mac and joy division while writing this so there are a few references lol but its stanley barber ofc there’s going to be good music references

words : 1.4k

request :

hiiiiii!!! can u do a stanley barber one where you get caught giving him head lol? it can be by anyone, like syd or even your parents when you thought they were gone for the night? thank u🥺❤️

it was a saturday night. and in usual saturday night fashion, you and your boyfriend stanley barber got high.

his dad was never home so you two would always hang out at each others house, and your parents didn’t really mind where you were anyways. even before you guys were dating you two would hang out almost every saturday and do god knows what.

listen to music, drink sparingly, dance around like idiots, talk, smoke . . . the options were endless.

“oh god! i love this song!” stan exclaimed, standing up from his previous seated position and going to turn up the music on his record player. earlier today you two stopped by the record shop that was on the outskirts of town and searched through the endless piles of records that was there.

instead of looking at the new music selections that were in the front of the store, you two made your way to the back of the store and looked through the piles of discarded records labeled ‘clearance records.’ stan always said that the best records were the ones tattered and worn, and you couldn’t agree more.

dreams by fleetwood mac lulled throughout the room, record player on it’s loudest volume. you turned to watch stan sway his body around in a stupid dance definitely brought on by the weed in his system.

“sing it, stevie nicks!” stanley exclaimed, a goofy grin splaying across his face. he sung along to the chorus, walking towards you and grabbing your hands. he pulled you up from your seat, you giggling profusely, and dancing around with you.

you allowed your body to sway to the music, letting yourself let go and enjoy the good music.

the record played on, going through all the songs on the rumors album. neither of you guys stopped dancing, instead enjoying each others company as your bodies swayed together. stan even serenaded you with gold dust woman, to which you called him an idiot, but you had to admit that it was kind of cute. you two loved saturday nights, where you could just be together alone and not have to worry about being judged or embarrassed.

somewhere in the middle of silver springs, you two started kissing. it was a slow song that set the mood. according to stan, it was a good song to make out to.

the song ended and stan pulled away from you. you were laying on your back on the floor, him on top of you and your hands in his hair. “why’d you pull away,” you whined, lifting up your head to try and chase his lips. but stan just laughed and pushed himself onto his feet.

he walked back over to his record collection and started sifting through the records. his hand grabbed a solid black one ( from what you could see ) and took the vinyl out. the sounds of a drum solo and then a guitar riff filled the room. “music babe, it makes making out so fucking hot.”

stan came back over to lay on top of you, curls falling onto his face which you brushed away with your hand.

“joy division?” you asked, cocking your eyebrow up. the sound of disorder by joy division filled your ears.

he shrugged his shoulders and pressed his lips against yours again, deciding not to talk. he’d much rather be kissing you. you felt the same.

and you didn’t know if it was because your judgement was clouded by the weed or because you were feeling extra ballsy tonight, but you nudged his chest and put your hand on his side. without detaching your lips from him, you pushed him onto his back so you were on top of him, legs on either side of his hips.

your hands reached down and played with his belt buckle, trying to get it off as fast as you could. with your lips trailing down his neck, he said, “wow, maybe i should get you high more often.” his hand ran through your hair while you giggled.

you finally were able to get his belt unbuckled and unzipped his pants, pulling them down with his help by raising his hips. once the pants were pushed past his hips, you came back up to kiss him, pulling him out of his boxer shorts.

he made a sound into your lips, watching you pull away and shimmy your way in between his legs. your hand pumped up and down on him, giving him an innocent look.

“fuck, y/n,” stanley muttered, hands carding through your hair and gripping it tightly.

you flashed him a smile before leaning in and giving an experimental lick on his tip. a drop of precum landed on your tongue and you hummed. stanley’s eyes were on you, half lidded while his bottom lip was in between his teeth. anticipation was killing him, you were such a tease.

mouth opening wide, you guided him into your mouth with your hands. your tongue was flat against his shaft as you pushed him all the way to hit hte back of your throat. you breathed in through your nose, not moving and just listening to his heavy breathing from above you.

pulling him out, you gave him a few more pumps and then went down on him again, bobbing your head up and down and pumping the part you couldn’t fit in your mouth.

while he was filling your mouth to the hilt, his hips involuntarily bucked up, causing you to gag on him a little bit. with wide eyes you pulled away, still pumping while he went to apologize.

but you beat him to speaking, saying, “do that again.”

that was definitely not the reaction that he thought you were going to give, but stan wasn’t going to argue with you.

you took him in your mouth again, eyes looking up at you as if to tell him go ahead. he got the memo, and tentatively, stan pushed the hand in your hair against him, pushing you down farther onto him.

the sounds eliciting from his mouth was heaven as he fucked your mouth, hand not letting go and forcing you to just go up and down on him. you breathed as much as you could through your nose, feeling yourself getting wet just of the thought of him using you like this.

his hips met your mouth halfway and then he let go of your head and let you breathe for a moment. but you didn’t want to breathe. you knew he was so close and he just needed a few more pushes until he would come undone.

you pulled him back into your mouth and went even faster this time, feeling him twitch in your mouth. and then without hesitation, he finally reached his peak, spilling into your mouth.

you didn’t allow yourself to choke or gag on the white liquid, instead continuing to pump him in your mouth slowly as he rode out his high.

as soon as he was done, you pulled away and swallowed the rest in your mouth, feeling the hot liquid slide down your throat. stanley looked down at you with wide eyes, red cheeks, and swollen lips from biting them so much.

the two of you looked at each other, the high starting to wear off and the music still played, illeviating the silence in the room until -

“stan! y/n! you guys there? dina and i wanted to ask if you guys wanted to go eat.”

syd.

you and stanley scrambled to no avail, since syd was halfway down the stairs enough to peer into the room. luckily, stan had grabbed a pillow from the couch just in time to cover himself. but it wasn’t enough to conceal what had just occurred.

syd gave you two a weird look, then looked at the pillow pressed against stan’s lower abdomen then to you - who had wide eyes at your friend catching you two.

“oh my god, fuck sorry, i really should’ve knocked i’ll just-”

“wait! just go back upstairs and wait with dina, we’ll be up in a second,” you said, standing up.

syd just nodded, laughing at the sight and then making her way back upstairs.

stan stood up and pulled himself back into his pants, zipping them and doing the belt. you waited for him to turn off the record player by the stairs. he walked closer to you and kissed you, hands on your face. he pulled away and gave you that classic stanley barber grin, then winked.

“like I said before, maybe i should get you high more often. because goddamn, was that hot.”

#stanley barber #stanley barber x reader #stanley barber smut #stanley barber imagine #i am not okay with this #sydney novak #dina

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labyrinth-runner · 4 years ago

Text

In My Arms

A Jaskier x Reader oneshot

Word count: 2600

Warnings: None

Summary: When a bard tries to woo a barkeep, things get complicated.

Rain splattered against the windows of the tavern. The noise could barely be heard above the din of the patrons, but it was still there. A grimace crossed your face as you polished the tankards. You hadn’t worn a cloak to work. You would get soaked on the way home. Tucking that thought safely into the back of your mind, you went back to work, changing out and lighting the candles before tending to the fire in the hearth to keep your patrons warm. The rainy nights were always the busiest, with travelers stopping in to step out of the storms until they passed. After all, it was cheaper to stop for a night, or at the very least a few hours, than it was to care for a cold. Taking your apron from beneath the bar, you unfolded it with a flourish. The stain from last night’s stew was still on the corner, but you didn’t care. You’d get a new one next month when your sister got a new dress. You could use her old one to make a new apron for both of you. With your back to the door, you fastened the apron around you.

“Lass, can you fetch water from the fountain?” the owner asked.

“Now?” you asked, trying to hide your irritation.

“It’s either now or there won’t be a meal tonight,” she replied.

A sigh passed through your lips. “Yes, Mistress.”

Steeling yourself for the cold, damp night, you paused at the door to take a breath. Once you’d worked yourself up enough, you grabbed the water buckets and opened the door.

It was pouring outside. A steady waterfall cascaded off the roof. You’d have to pass through it. There was no way around it. In the back of your mind, you contemplated just leaving the bucked outside to catch the rain. It would fill soon enough with rain like this, and the fountain was farther than you’d like to travel. You’d catch a cold in weather like this.

“Do you always stand in doorways?” a man teased as he stood under the awning of the tavern.

“Do you always lurk outside of them?” you shot back.

“Only when a pretty woman is blocking the way through,” he winked.

You rolled your eyes, taking in the lute on his back. A bard. Oh joy.

“Are you going out without a cloak? You’ll get soaked,” he pointed out.

“Well, I have to fetch water for the stew,” you sighed, stepping out under the awning with him.

“So just....” the man mimed putting the bucket out in the rain and letting the rain fill them. Then he thumbed back towards the tavern, “They’ll never know the difference.”

The idea was growing more tempting by the minute. “Fine. It’s better than catching my death.” With a furtive glance back towards the tavern, you placed the buckets out to collect the water. With the rate it was falling, the buckets were filled in minutes and ready to be brought back inside. The owner didn’t even notice that you were dry when you returned, or if they did, they didn’t mention it.

The bard started to play after he ate a light dinner. His music was lively, brightening up the dark night. You couldn’t help but smile as you listened. His stories were funny and fanciful, making you long for places you’d never see and dreams that could never be.

As he performed, his eye caught yours and he gave you a wink. Your heart fluttered in a way you wish it hadn’t as you blushed and went about your work. You gave him a wide birth the rest of the night, watching how the man who had been trying to court you eyed the bard. No, it was for the best if you didn’t go down that path.

When you cleaned up the bard’s table once the tavern was empty, you noticed he had left you some coins with a note saying they were for a new apron. They felt heavy in your hand. You couldn’t take these, could you? What would it mean if you did? Perhaps you should just give them back to him tomorrow. Tucking them in your pocket, you decided to do just that. Then, you finished up your cleaning and went to home.

The following night, when the bard walked up to the bar you slid the coins back to him.

“You forgot these,” you murmured.

“I didn’t forget. I gave them. To you,” he said pointedly.

“I can’t accept these,” you sighed. “You earned them. They are yours. Use them to have an actual meal instead of just bread tonight.”

He looked down at the coins before back up at you, realizing that you wouldn’t budge. He swallowed a lump in his throat before picking them back up. “A-alright, yes. I’ll do that.”

You nodded, placing a drink in front of him. “Do you have a name, bard?”

“Jaskier,” he grinned, “But, you can call me yours.”

A chuckle spilled from your lips. “Does that usually work?”

He shrugged. “Hit or miss.”

Shaking your head at him, you went back to work.

“I will win you over!” he called out after you.

A blush settled on your cheeks. You’d never had a man put in this much effort before. You weren’t sure how to feel about it. He winked at you before going to play for the crowd, never taking his eyes off you the rest of the night.

This went on every night for a week until the weekend finally rolled around and you decided to get to the bottom of it all.

You were behind the bar, cleaning some tankards when you heard the door open. Thinking nothing of it, you went to reach for another glass. That was, until the strumming started.

A sigh past through your lips as you looked towards the heavens. “You just don’t know when to quit, do you?”

“Not when it comes to you,” a voice admitted from behind you.

“What do you want, bard?” you asked tiredly as you turned to face him.

“I thought that was obvious,” he grinned. “You. What else is a man to do in order to win the affections of his muse?”

“You’ll have to try harder than that, Jaskier,” you murmured as you swept by him.

“Is it because of him?” he asked softly, taking your arm to stop you. His head nodded towards the man in the corner, a local boy that had admired you since you were younger. Most of the villagers thought you’d end up together. He also came here every night just to see you. Jaskier gently ran his hand along your jaw before tipping your face up towards his.“You don’t look at him the way you look at me.”

“And how is that?” you asked, looking up into his eyes. They were as clear as two aquamarines. Precious stones that looked at you like somehow you were more rare.

“You look at him as an obligation. An inevitability. He’s boring. You see me as an adventure.”

“All adventures come to an end, Jaskier, and we all end up back in our boring lives,” you sighed, pulling yourself free from him.

His gaze followed you through the tavern as you delivered drinks to the patrons. He continued to strum, after all, he had to make a living somehow. But, there was less mirth in his songs the rest of the night. He left without goodbye that evening, something you realized as you cleaned the tables after the patrons went to bed. Why did that disappoint you? Your brow furrowed as you realized it was because you were giving up on a dream. A silly dream, but a dream nonetheless. Sure, the bard may be exciting, but it wasn’t real. His statements of you being his muse couldn’t be true. They were just what he said to get in bed with his next conquest. He’d move on, and you’d still be here, left in the wake of destruction caused by the sea in his eyes.

Finishing up for the night, you went home. Pulling your cloak around you to keep you warm in the cold night air, you let out an exhale at the fact that you may never see Jaskier again. You didn’t know where he lived, or if he’d come back through town once more, and if he did, would you really be content to wait until that day came? Looking at the ground, you realized that yes, you would be content, because then the dream wouldn’t die. It was foolish and you knew it, but you also knew that you were starting to fall in love with that idiot who winked at you without shame and looked at you as if you were his own personal Euterpe.

With a shake of your head at the lost cause, you unlocked the door to your small cottage and went inside. In minutes you had started up a fire on the hearth to warm you. You sat on a chair next to it to warm your feet, but your mind was elsewhere.

In your mind, you were on adventures with a bard, journeying through forests and caves to find the next best thing. As amazing as it was, you knew it wasn’t what you truly wanted. You wanted Jaskier, yes, but you didn’t want to constantly be on the move for the rest of your life. Some day you wanted to settle down and have a family. You didn’t know if he felt the same- if he were capable of the same.

A sigh passed through your lips as you got up to go to bed, wrapping a blanket around your shoulders and walking towards the other room.

And then you heard it.

Strumming.

“It can’t be,” you murmured, but your feet moved on their own accord to your front door. Your hands had a mind of their own as they threw open the door to see a bard sitting on your garden wall as he strummed his lute.

He looked up at you with a smile.

“Jaskier, what are you doing here?” you asked, but you couldn’t keep the smile off your face.

“Darling, I wrote something for you and I wanted you to hear it. But, I thought I’d play it just for you this time,” he said, shyly looking down and peeking up at you through his lashes.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you murmured, walking towards him.

“What bard would I be if I didn’t serenade my muse with the works she inspired?” he asked with a confident smirk, but he was blushing.

You chuckled softly. “Then, by all means, don’t let me stop you.”

He nodded and started to strum again, in earnest this time. The melody washed over you. Each pluck of the lute was like playing one of your heartstrings. It was beautiful on its own. It was light but strong. Then, he started to sing.

“The world may be dark, the air may be cold, but here in my arms to have and to hold, a kiss forms a spark to light up the dark. With you in my arms, I will grow bold, together we’ll write a story untold,” he said before finishing with a flourish.

The two of you stood in silence for a moment.

“I haven’t finished it yet,” he admitted.

“I’m sure it’ll be great when it’s done,” you murmured.

His smile fell. “Yes, well...”

“I love it,” you said, taking his lute and placing it on the wall next to him. “And... if you meant it, then I love you, too.”

“Y-you do?” he asked as he jumped down to stand in front of you. “I mean. I do mean it. I meant every word. I’ve been serenading you all week with love songs, but they weren’t working. I figured if I wrote you my own then maybe... I’d have a chance.”

You shook your head. “For a man that acts so confident all the time...”

“When I’m sure of something, I’m unsure of myself,” he admitted.

“And you’re sure of me?” you asked with a grin.

He reached up to cup your cheek, gently pushing your hair out of your face. “Ever since you were willing to brave a rainstorm for your work. You’re dedicated. If you’re willing to do something like that out of obligation, then I couldn’t begin to imagine how dedicated you’d be to something purely because you wanted to be.”

“But you’re an adventurer, Jaskier. I’m... not sure I’d always want to be,” you murmured, leaning into his touch. “You have an adventurous heart.”

“Who’s to say love isn’t the biggest adventure of all?” he asked earnestly.

“A story untold is a lofty goal,” you replied.

“You dare me to dream big,” he grinned.

“What if I disappoint you?” you sighed.

“You won’t.”

“But how do you know?” you pleaded.

“Because I love you,” he said laughed, “I have never put in this much effort for a woman. But, something told me that I couldn’t just give up on you.” He leaned his forehead against yours and added, “On us.”

“You’re a fool,” you whispered.

“So I’ve been told,” he said softly with a half smile, “But only fools fall in love.”

“I guess that makes me one, too,” you replied, looking into his eyes.

His arms encircled your waist to pull you against him.

“But here in my arms, to have and to hold,” he murmured.

You bit your lip. “A kiss forms a spark to light up the dark.”

Slowly, he turned his head, nose bumping yours. Your hands slipped up his chest before gently grabbing his collar. His lips connected with yours, softly at first. Then, the kiss grew desperate as you started to kiss back harder and harder, pulling him back with you towards your cottage. Reaching back, he grabbed his lute and let you lead him back inside before pushing you up against the closed door. He placed his lute on the ground next to the door as his hands came up under your skirts to lift you. You jumped a bit, wrapping your legs around his waist as your hands slid into his hair and tugging gently. He moaned against your lips as he pressed you further into the door.

Finally, you pulled back for air.

“With you in my arms-” he started but you cut him off with another round of kisses.

You trailed your lips along his jaw towards his neck before gently nipping his ear, causing him to gasp. You felt your back leave the door as he started to walk towards your bedroom. His hands kneaded you as he walked, little moans and gasps of praise slipping from his mouth as your lips assaulted his neck with kisses and love bites.

He dropped you on your bed and kissed you hard as his hands slipped your skirts up past your knees. A giggle escaped your lips.

“What?” he asked, stopping to look down at you from inches above you.

Leaning up, you answered. “I will grow bold,” you teased in his ear.

Gently, his thumb traced circles on your bare thighs, slowly working up them. He looked down at his hands for a moment before flicking his eyes up to yours. “Together, we’ll write a story untold,” he murmured.

Cupping his face, you pulled his lips back down to meet yours, losing yourself in him. The fire in the other room was dying out, but you didn’t care. You had a different source of heat, one that was showing you just how adventurous love could be, and you wouldn’t want it any other way.

#jaskier x reader #the witcher #jaskier #fem!reader #because I mentioned lass one time #in my arms #the witcher fanfiction

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amazingmsme · 5 years ago

Text

Dandelions Don’t Die

AN: It’s finally here! The much anticipated(on my part at least) vampire!jaskier fic! Buckle the fuck in cause it’s a whopper, I really wanted to make this all one fic, so it stands at 12,714 words! Wowza, I think this is the longest oneshot I’ve ever posted! Too long for me to read through & no beta, I apologize if there’s any mistakes

WARNINGS: Jaskier’s a vampire, so there’s a few mentions of blood if that sort of thing upsets you. He also kills a deer, but that’s over fairly quickly so you can skip over that if you need to.

As much as Jaskier wished it could last, he knew it couldn't. It would have to end eventually, with Geralt and Jaskier going their separate ways. He only wished it had ended on better terms. Instead they split at the mountainside, with harsh words thrown in his face. It hurt more than he ever thought it could. He had traveled back down the trail at a slow pace, matching his somber mind. He felt many things, more than he had in a long time. Anger, hurt, jealousy, guilt and sadness all swirled like a whirlpool in his head, turning his brain into a sloshing liquid that splashed against his skull with each step he took.

He needed to take his anger out on something, anything. He knew he could not feed on humans. Not only would he feel immensely bad about it, but it wouldn't be long until word spread of a vampire lurking about. And where a monster was, a certain witcher was bound to show up eventually. So he journeyed into the woods in search of an unfortunate creature.

Hunting always helped to clear his head. It had been hard to do on his travels with Geralt. He always had to find a way to slink off while the other man was busy and clean himself up before he noticed his companion was missing. At least he wouldn't have to worry about that anymore. His chest ached at the thought.

Well Geralt would finally have what he wanted. To be alone. Truly alone, with only his horse to keep him company. As he thought about it, he began to miss Roach. He hadn't only grown fond of the brooding man, but his horse as well. Fuck, these next few years were going to suck. If he was lucky, he would be over this by the end of the decade. He hadn't been this down since he had first been turned. For 50 years he hasn't felt a steady beat in his chest, only the odd slow thump every five seconds or so. A stagnant muscle sitting in his chest just trying to resemble some semblance of normalcy.

He waited in the bushes, consumed by his misery. A twig snapped and he jerked his head up. He hoped beyond hope that Geralt had come to apologize, to take him up on his offer of escape, to invite him on his journeys. Instead he saw a buck enter the clearing before him. He licked his lips. He could smell the enticing scent of the deer's blood. It had been forever since he had had a real meal. He continued to eat human food to keep up appearances, but it did nothing to satisfy his hunger. It still tasted wonderful and he enjoyed the comfort, but his stomach and veins remained empty, longing for something more.

He pounced, and the poor animal didn't stand a chance. He let out a hum of relief as his teeth pierced through the pelt and flesh, sinking into the jugular. He sucked, not wanting to waste a drop. He felt himself grow stronger with each gulp. The blood was warm and thick, like syrup fresh from a tree. The satisfying tang of iron coated his mouth as he finished his feast. He wiped the remaining blood from his lips and continued on his way. To where, he did not know.

He wandered aimlessly from kingdom to kingdom, town to town. He was in every sense a lost soul. His songs were no longer jaunty tunes to sing along with, but emotional ballads that made the heart weep. People started to forget the bright eyed bard who sang the tales of the white wolf. He would hear others play them in taverns across the land, and it would always bring about a sad smile on his face. Those songs were popular, and good if he did say so himself. But they made him yearn for what once was. He couldn't have that anymore.

He heard whispers asking whatever happened to Jaskier, the bard who nobly followed Geralt of Rivia wherever he went. He sat alone in a booth, overhearing such a conversation. He himself wondered the same thing.

Everyone must die eventually, he thought to himself. He needed a fresh start, one not tied down to the ghosts of his past. It was commonplace for vampires to assume a new identity and create a fake death for their old persona. Now would be the perfect opportunity to plant the seed for his new life. He spoke up without turning to look at them.

"He died." There was a brief silence before they spoke up.

"Oh... that's a shame, he seemed like a good man. Talented too," the man in the booth behind him said. The woman at his arm chided in, "I suppose one of his journeys with the witcher didn't turn out so well."

"We'll never know I guess. At least the music will live on."

And with that, Jaskier was dead.

Word travels fast through a town, and faster by horse. It wouldn't be too long before Geralt would hear the news. Good, he wouldn't have to worry about running into him. What a mess that would be. He couldn't decide if it was bad that he hoped the man felt guilty. Make him feel as lousy as he does. He was always a little petty, and he saw no reason to change that.

He went by Amarant now. What can he say, he liked flowers. He still liked Jaskier much better, but he knew he would have to give up the name eventually. Perhaps in a hundred years or so he could take it up again. Surely Geralt will have forgotten him by then. If only he could be so lucky.

He still needed to change his appearance somehow. He had become slightly well known as the White Wolf's bard, and he didn't want to risk anyone recognizing him. The funny thing about vampires is that their appearance doesn't change... except for hair.

He really did have lovely hair. Thick and shiny and looking good in whatever style he chose. He decided to grow it out. Shoulder length was his limit, and he preferred to keep it slicked back away from his face, giving it a natural wind blown look. He also grew out some facial hair, keeping it well shaped into a handsome mustache and goatee.

He never stayed in one place for too long, always needing to find some way to fill the emptiness he felt inside, but never finding it. He enjoyed many nights with many strangers. And if most of them tended to be blonde and large in stature, well, he never mentioned it.

Amarant was making a name for himself as quite the hopeless romantic. He sang songs for the heartbroken, and lovers serenaded each other with his ballads. Even his peppier jaunts held a sad tale. He was currently between travels, resting in a poppy field as he wrote his newest song. The familiar weight of the lute sat against his chest as he strummed.

Laaa la la laaa lala laaa lala la laaa I once knew a man of such beauty He wandered from place to place. In search of life and fulfillment But nothing could replace his lovers embrace.

Ooo he had a secret. His face was fair. He only travels by night and escapes from his lair.

Laaa la la laaa lala laaa lala la laaa I once knew a man so empty, The life faded out long ago. What a sad and weary soul Who will never grow old.

Ooo he's lost in the night. And he hides from the light, of the day. And if they knew what he was, they'd all turn away.

He liked it so far. The chords sounded right and the lyrics came from the heart. Those were his best ones. His quill dragged along the parchment in his journal, leaving black ink in spiraling letters. He continued.

Laaa la la laaa lala laaa lala la laaa I once knew a man so heartless. 'Twas ripped from his chest With hatred and scorn And now owns a barren breast.

Ooo a lost love can kill you With heartbreak and blade. Because a steak through the heart can kill any maid.

She was as lovely as ever, Skin pale as snow, and red lips of blood, She stole him away. A bleeding heart left to drain.

Laaa la la laaa lala laaa lala la laaa I once knew a man so broken, Who just went through the motions, of a pointless life.

Ooo he was doomed for infinity. Until someone sets him free, He will rest in a coffin bed.

A dead bard sings no songs. Dead men tell no tales, And dead witches can't cast spells.

Laaa la la laaa lala laaa lala la laaa I once knew a man so hollow. So desperate for love, he would follow. Tailing behind until the end of time.

He finished the ballad with a soft series of strums. It was short, but good. The song was just as much about him as it was about Geralt. He just hoped that people wouldn't tire of his melancholy tunes. Of course he would take requests for songs and wouldn't mind singing ones other bards had written. Wherever he went, he still received requests for the songs of the great witcher's travels. And he would sing them as his heart ached, remembering a better time.

~~~~

He wasn't the only one who longed for the comfort of the past. About two and a half years into his travels with Ciri, he heard word of Jaskier's death. They were having a quick meal in a tavern, and Geralt nursed his mug of ale, idly listening to whatever Ciri was rambling about, but not giving it too much thought. He was tired after killing the silkie that had been drowning children in the nearby river and let his mind wander.

His enhanced hearing was able to pick up a conversation from a nearby table. They seemed to be talking about the bard stood in the corner. He was singing Her Sweet Kiss. Geralt couldn't help but note that Jaskier was much more talented. Apparently he wasn't the only one who thought so.

"He's butchering this song," the man said, staring at the musician with distaste. His friend nodded along.

"I know. Poor Jaskier's probably rolling in his grave."

That definitely caught his attention and his head whipped around to look. Ciri's brows furrowed with concern.

"Geralt are you-"

"Shh." He held his hand up to silence her as he listened more intently.

"It should be illegal to sing a deadman's song unless you can actually sing it."

"Cheers," the man agreed and clinked their glasses together. Geralt stood and made his way to their table. Ciri, not knowing where the situation was heading followed, ready to deescalate if need be.

"Sorry for for intruding but I couldn't help overhearing what you said about the bard, Jaskier." The men didn't seem to mind very much about his sudden appearance.

"Yeah, it's a real shame too. One of the most talented bards I've seen in my day." He looked Geralt up and down, as though just now taking him in. "Hold on a minute, you're that Witcher he was always singing about! Thought you'd be the first to know, seeing as well, y'know..." he trailed off, taking a drink from his glass.

"Mm. We parted ways some time ago. I hadn't seen him sense. Now I know why," he said gruffly. The two men shifted awkwardly, remorse clearly written on their faces.

"Well gee, I'm sorry you had to hear it from us."

"Hmm," he grunted, ready to turn away. Ciri stepped forward, asking, "How did he die?" Geralt shot her a warning look. One that she did not heed.

The first man shrugged, "Wish I could say, but no one knows. Not even sure if there's a grave."

"If there's no grave, is there a chance he could still be alive?" she asked.

"Ciri," Geralt's patience was wearing thin. With the news he just received, he was in a sour and rotten mood and just wanted to drink himself unconscious.

The other man tilted his head in thought, "I suppose so. Been hearing rumors of a traveling bard who looks strikingly similar. Apparently he sounds like him too. His songs aren't as upbeat though. More melancholy." Geralt nodded in thanks with another grunt, and grabbed Ciri to lead her back to their table.

He was even more silent than usual. Ciri began awkwardly, "I'm sorry about your friend." He didn't look at her. "Why did you two split up?" she asked, ever so curious.

"We had a fight, and I said things I shouldn't have." He stared into his empty pitcher, mind completely lost. He didn't know what to think or to feel. He needed to be numb. He waved at the bartender for another pint and nodded gratefully once he brought it to him.

"I'm sorry, I know how awful it can be when you're left on bad terms with someone close to you."

"Mmm."

"But I'm sure that despite whatever you said, he knew you still cared for him," she tried to comfort him.

"That's the thing," he said, tracing the grain of the table. "I don't think he did." He threw his head back, taking large gulps of the bitter liquid. He relished in the slight burn down his throat as his stomach began to feel warm. Ciri offered a sad smile and squeezed his hand from across the table. By the end of their meal, Geralt could barely walk straight, and Ciri had to hold him upright on their way to the inn they were currently residing.

~~~~

Amarant couldn't take it anymore. Constantly being on the road was too painful of a reminder of what he lost. Traveling was lonely, and he was not meant to be alone. Clearly that was more suiting for Geralt, seeing as how he made it clear how unwanted his company was. His feet were constantly sore, and he wanted nothing more than to find a place to settle down. Wherever it was needed to be remote. A place where he could still perform for people, but also have a decent meal without stirring suspicion of a vampire in the area. There had been too many close calls, a cow here, two or three sheep there, all drained of blood leaving angry farmers. He tried not to make a habit of feeding on livestock, but there were times when he was desperate and starving. And there were many nights spent with beautiful strangers that were all too tempting. The hot and fresh scent of blood hanging in the air after sex. He knew their veins were full; he could feel their pulse against his skin. The flush on their cheeks made them look as delicious as the ripest apple, just waiting for him to sink his teeth into it. But he always resisted the temptation.

Even after everything, he still felt the call of the sea. Everything about it just seemed so appealing. The seclusion, the serenity, the sirens... it was exactly what he needed. But traveling that far on foot would take ages. He needed a horse. He was a day out from the nearest town, he supposed he could start over and be there by noon tomorrow. He had enough coin saved up from playing to buy himself a descent mare.

He watched the sun's light fade out through the branches in the forest and decided to set up camp for now. He was still full from the badger he had drank from earlier, so he focused on building a fire.

It was funny: there were many things about vampires that he discovered were false, and others that held true. Sunlight: not a problem. Sure he'd grow a little more pink than normal if he stayed out too long, but that's what sleeves and hats were for. He could still see his reflection, thank the gods for that. He doesn't think he could live forever without seeing his own pretty face. Silver didn't burn all too badly, in fact the pain was almost nice. A satisfying sting that dug into his skin and left a small welt.

Then there were the things that were completely true. Garlic was awful. Vampires had an enhanced sense of smell and the potency of the vegetable damaged the sensitive nerves, and if it were to be consumed, it would act as a poison. So basically, he was allergic. Oh well he was never a big fan of it anyway. Vampires and werewolves really did hate each other. Enough said. Gods he hated those snarling fucks. He hasn't aged a day since his turning, and his skin grew paler. He definitely felt more lively at night, and his canines were sharper that the average human's. Despite all of this, no one has suspected him of being a vampire, to the best of his knowledge.

By now the sun had set, and the remaining orange of the sun's fleeting light melted into the purple of dusk. Between the leaves above him he watched as stars danced into view. The warmth of the fire kissed his chilled skin as he let his thoughts wonder. And just as always, his mind immediately went to Geralt.

They had just finished setting up camp for the night. Geralt had gotten a few deep gashes from the minotaur he had finished slaying, and sat silently as Jaskier patched him up. He didn't seem to be paying much attention to Jaskier's chastising words.

"You know bard, I would much prefer your singing than scolding right now."

Jaskier scoffed, "Oh would you now? That's a first." He held the needle in his hand close to the fire to sterilize it some before sewing the wounds shut. "Any requests?" he asked, his tongue poking out between his lips as he focused on threading the needle.

"Hmm. Maybe a new one?" he asked, watching as he brought the tool closer to his skin. Jaskier chuckled at that.

"Ohoho that's rich. Normally when I try to compose a new song you tell me to shut it."

"I'm not right now," Geralt stated. That made Jaskier pause in his movements, looking up to meet his eyes. They were still black from the potions having not wore off quite yet. He swallowed thickly.

"Right. Well then, I can, uh, come up with a new one," he said. He was still looking into his pitch dark eyes, feeling himself get lost. He was pulled back out when Geralt grunted and asked, "What?"

Jaskier cleared his throat. "Nothing. It's just that, ah, your eyes look very nice right now," he admitted with a hint of a smile. Geralt tilted his head, a frown etching it's way onto his face.

"What?"

"Yeah, I can see my reflection perfectly. They've never looked more lovely," he recovered. When Geralt let out a snort of amusement, he let out an internal sigh of relief. He couldn't let himself slip up like that again. As he continued stitching him up, he started singing about his latest battle.

Geralt closed his eyes, listening to his voice raise through the air over the crackling of the fire. The dim glow illuminated his features and cast shadows under his jaw. Jaskier didn't dare let his gaze linger for too long.

"There, all better!" he chirped, standing up to stretch. Geralt examined the fresh scar stretching across his chest before he laid down in the soft grass.

"Look at the stars," he said. Jaskier tilted his head up to do so, letting out a soft gasp. They were absolutely beautiful. He had never seen so many of them, all twinkling and dazzling in the night. The sky itself was a swirling array of colors, full of royal blues and purples with a touch of light blue and green. "Come. Lay down, you deserve to rest." He did as he said, laying next to him. They simply laid there, looking up at the sky, content in saying nothing.

It was Jaskier who broke the silence. "Y'know, one day I bet you'll have a constellation up there." Geralt raised his eyebrows with a hum.

"Oh really?"

"Yes, all the greatest heroes and legends end up there eventually. And with all the monsters you've slain, there's no doubt in my mind you'll join them," he said honestly. Geralt was quiet, not knowing what to say to that. Another bout of silence had fallen over the two. This time, it was Geralt who interrupted the quiet, surprisingly.

"Have you ever considered making a song about the stars?" he asked.

"Uhh, no not really," Jaskier admitted. "But now I think I might."

Geralt turned to look at him, tearing his gaze away from the universe. "I'd like to hear it when you do." Jaskier's lips upturned into a breathless smile.

"Alright."

Amarant wiped away his tears at the memory. He reached for his lute, and began his star song. He let all of his emotions surge forth in a beautiful melody. A rustle from the brush startled him, and his hand stilled. His enhanced vision allowed him to peer into the dark, and he scanned for the source of the noise. He could barely make out the outline of a dark horse and relaxed. He went back to his singing, and the creature wandered closer. He smiled as he played, seeing as it enjoyed his music. He sucked in a sharp breath upon seeing it step into the light.

She was tall and stout, with a shining black coat that glistened in the firelight. Her mane was long and wavy, and her tail draped to the floor, looking as soft as spun silk. But what really drew his eye was the grayish blue horn atop her head that held a pearlescent glow.

His knowledge of unicorns was limited, but he knew they could be dangerous if spooked. They were incredibly loyal creatures once they formed a bond, but the chance of ever seeing one in person was incredibly low. He supposed they acted like a normal horse personality wise, but that was just speculation. He slowly set his lute on the ground. The unicorn tossed her head with a small whiny, pawing the ground with her hoof. He held his hands out in front of him in a cautious gesture.

"Easy girl." His footing was careful, bringing him closer to the beautiful creature while still keeping a respectable distance. "My aren't you gorgeous," he said in awe. She hesitated before closing the distance between them. He let out a breathy laugh of disbelief and brought his hand up to pet her head. "I-I can't believe this... What on earth did I do to possibly deserve being graced with your presence, hm?" he questioned. He got no response. "Perhaps my life is finally getting back on track."

After petting her for another minute or two, she shoved past him not so gently and stood by the log he had been sitting on. His lute was propped against it, and she dipped her head down to inspect it. He nervously made his way over, neither wanting to scare her away or harm his beloved instrument, and carefully picked it up.

"Ah, so you like my tunes. Perhaps you'll stick around," he mused, and got a soft neigh in agreement. He couldn't help the smile that appeared on his face. "Say, what's your name? An animal as lovely as you deserves to have a beautiful name. How about Ember?" he asked. She let out a snort in apparent disgust. "Ok so that's a no... "Galaktyka?" He could tell he was closer that time by her silence, but still not quite there. He tried different names, getting varying degrees of disscontempt. He thought about how he was playing his star song when she appeared, and he lit up. "Gwiazda?"

She threw her head back, whinnying with excitement that rubbed off on him. "Gwiazda it is!" He settled in for the night, feeling much better than he had earlier. He wasn't sure if she would still be around by morning, but regardless it will have been one of the greatest things to ever happen to him.

He awoke in the morning to the feeling of soft nibbling at the back of his neck. He began to stir, a few tired giggles slipping out at the tickly feeling. His eyes fluttered open and met a pair of large blue ones. Before he could let himself be startled, be remembered the previous night.

"Good morning beautiful girl!" he greeted happily. She gave soft snort in reply and tried to press their foreheads together, causing Amarant to duck to avoid her horn. He chuckled and stroked the side of her head before standing up. "I don't suppose you plan on sticking around," he joked as he packed up his camp. There weren't many things to gather, so he was done rather quickly. He gave her one last pat before he went on his way. To his surprise, he wasn't alone.

"I'm just going to warn you now, I don't know what will happen if townspeople see you, but I can't imagine it would be good. And it's not like I can put a hat on you," he wondered aloud. She nipped at his sleeve to get his attention, and he watched in amazement as the horn vanished before his eyes. "Huh, problem solved. Now if you're going to come with me to the coast, which let's face it, you probably are, am I right? I'll need to buy a saddle and some feed. You're not too picky for plain oats, right?" The rest on the journey to the town was filled with more one sided conversations just like this. As was the rest of the journey to the sea.

~~~~

After about two weeks, they made it to the coast. Amarant sat atop Gwiazda as the vast expanse of blue stretched over the horizon. For the first time in forever it seems, things felt right. He leaned forward and patted her neck before pressing onward. Together they moved down the rocky cliff towards the shore until they reached the sand. The fine earth shifted beneath her heavy hooves, kicking up slightly with each step.

He took a deep breath through his nose, enjoying all of the fresh and earthy scents. Salt and dead fish mixed together to create an unpleasantly pleasant smell. The kind where you commented on how bad it is, only to take another whiff. He wondered to himself if he would enjoy fish blood as much as he enjoyed seafood. The tide pools were teeming with life, which would allow him to be able to feed whenever he needed. He would no longer have to worry about townsfolk catching him with their livestock.

Amarant dismounted Gwiazda, standing beside her as he took off his boots. He dug his feet a little into the sand, enjoying the feeling. It was soft and comforting. They walked closer to the water, watching the waves crash along the shore. Amarant purposefully walked so that his feet were in the water. The cool sea washed over his feet, sometimes up to his ankles, before retreating. The frothy foam barely had time to absorb into the sand before another wave brought forth more.

Ahead of him he spotted a cave at the bottom of a cliff, far enough away from the shore that it would remain dry during high tide. "I think we found our new home, girl," he said, patting her side. She tossed her head with a small neigh in agreement. After settling in and unloading his belonging into the cave, they went out to watch the setting sun. Amarant found a tide pool close by and sat on the edge. He kicked his feet gently in the water, dipping a hand in every once in a while and skimmed the top with his fingers. He watched the small ripples trailing after his hand, disturbing the peace.

Gwiazda was laying on the beach next to him, rolling in the sand. She was obviously enjoying herself as well. He watched as the fading light glistened on the water, spotting something in the distance. In a flash, it disappeared, followed by a splash. Who knows what it was, the ocean was full of creatures, and even more monsters. The sun was now resting on the horizon, beginning its journey to the unseen. Darkness would soon be upon them. That was when it was safest to hunt, and he was so very hungry.

A sudden voice startled him.

"You can't stay here." He jumped, turning to look at the owner of those words.

"Why? Is someone else living in that cave?" he asked.

"Well no-" she started, and he cut her off

"Then I see no reason to leave."

"You really shouldn't be here you know. It's not safe for sweet little boys so close to sea," she purred, propping herself up on her elbows at the edge of the tide pool.

Amarant scoffed, "Oh yeah, and what are you? An expert?"

She tilted her head in amused annoyance. "Considering I live here, yes I am." She raised herself up and sat on the edge of the rocks, putting her long shimmering tail on display. He couldn't help but stare.

"Didn't your mother ever tell you? Staring's rude." Amarant quickly tore his gaze away from her scales, only to find he had to tear them away from her bare chest. Not daring to look anywhere else, he locked eyes with her.

"My apologies, it's just- well, it's very beautiful." She gave a genuine smile before turning it into something more sly. More sinister.

"Why thank you," she said, and scooted closer. "We sirens are known for our beauty. Everything about us from our scales to our voices is exquisite. It makes it easier to lure our prey." She leaned in, "Does it scare you?"

"No." He easily held her gaze as she snarled, her spines sticking out of her back quivered.

"Why not? Do you not think that I could pull you under the water and keep you there until you drown?"

Amarant smirked, "I know you can, and I've no doubt that you've done it many times. But I've met many monsters. If anything, it's you who should be scared." She let out a laugh.

"What could you possibly do to me? I didn't see you unpack any weapons, and a human could never overpower a siren." She took a moment to look him over. "Especially not one who looks so... soft." She stroked a hand across his cheek as she spoke. Amarant put his hand atop hers.

"What makes you so sure I'm human?" This caught her attention, a spark of intrigue flashed across her pupils.

"If you're not human, what are you?"

Amarant figured, what the hell, it's been a while since he had a good night of fun. Not to mention he's never slept with a siren, and he very much wanted to change that. He gripped her arms, tugging her towards him a little roughly, but still playful enough to be flirty. She let out a giggly gasp as he growled and bared his sharp teeth.

"Guess." She stared at him with wide eyes before pulling him in, lips crashing together in a heated kiss. He returned it with the same amount of passion, gently guiding her down until they were both laying.

That night they spent it on the sand underneath the stars. The cool breeze brushed against their heated skin. She had transformed after crawling out of the water, and their legs were tangled together as she laid her head on his chest. His hand traced idle patterns on her back as he hummed. She looked down at him, "You're a singer?"

"Yes, and a good one if I say so myself. And I do," he joked. "Though I'm sure it's nothing compared to you."

She smiled, "Yes well, you're only human," she teased.

"I'm Amarant by the way," he said.

"Aquaria."

He looked into her bright blue eyes, "Pleasure to make your acquaintance."

Amarant hoped this would be the first of many nights. Thankfully it was. They didn't put a label on what they had. It was a relationship based on sex and the occasional friendly conversation. She had told him what it was like underneath the waves, the beautiful cities and sea life, the terrifying depths and monsters. In return, he told her about his travels and about the people on land. He even told her about Geralt, from their meeting up until their unfortunate departure. Aquaria offered sympathy and comfort. They made quite a few songs together, though there were some notes that he just couldn't hit. She was a good friend, and he enjoyed her company. Sadly, not everything lasts forever.

They were sitting on a rock in the cave, braiding Gwiazda's mane and tail. The seasons were beginning to change now. The leaves were warm vibrant colors instead of the lush green of summer, and they were starting to fall to the ground. Aquaria looked out of the cave's mouth with a heavy sigh.

"What's wrong love? You need me to fetch you a pail of water?" Amarant asked. Sometimes she got too tired or cranky when she was out of the water for too long. She shook her head.

"Thank you, but no I'm fine. It's just, I'm going to have to go soon," she said. Her voice was low, a sad weight clinging to her words.

"Oh." His face fell just the slightest. He knew all along that this would happen, but he wished it wasn't so soon.

"The water's getting cold, and me and my choir are are heading south for the time being. I'm not sure we'll be coming back." She looked over and him, and he quickly dried his eyes from the forming tears.

"Yes well, I hope you have fun, it sounds like it's going to be lovely." She reached out a hand to cup his face, forcing him to look at her. "Don't be sad, it was fun while it lasted. And besides, a vampire and siren could never make it work. Not really." He chuckled and met her eyes.

"Maybe not, but it made a damn good song."

"Indeed it did. One of my favorites."

"It also seems to be one of the town's favorites too." They shared a sweet, chaste kiss. When their lips parted, she asked, "Can we sing it one last time?"

"Of course," he answered.

"When a monster of the night Leaves his cozy cave. After the light of day Slowly fades away.

When a creature from the deep Rises from the sea. Up upon the sand Out of waves she creeps.

Ooooh his teeth graze her scales, She tries to pull him under. Under the waves, With her siren song.

He fights the growing urge To plunge his fangs into her flesh. So he stops short of his quest And pauses in his feast.

Upon the beach they lay Next to a dim cave. A deadly love Destined to kill.

Hurt by people And hurt by scorn. Hurt by witchers, Now they're left to mourn.

People love hard, But monsters love harder. You better hide darling, Before you become a martyr.

Hurt by people And hurt by scorn. Hurt by witchers, Now they're left to mourn.

Because monsters hate hard But people hate harder. You better hide darling, Before you become a martyr.

Hurt by people And hurt by scorn. Hurt by witchers, Now they're left to mourn.

A forbidden enchanted love Of magic and monsters. A beautiful siren And her charming vampire."

It was their song, meant for each other. It was all true: no matter how compassionate a monster or beast could be, the villagers always wanted them dead. But as soon as you put something to music, they all suddenly changed their tune.

"You need to go out more. Meet other people and share your music."

"I do that," Amarant most definitely didn't whine. She placed a comforting hand on his chest.

"I know, but you barely leave the cave. It's not good for you."

"Need I remind you that the sun hurts?" he raised an eyebrow. She rolled her eyes fondly and pinched his cheek.

"I don't see you complaining about it when we go swimming."

"That's because we're together," he said. Her smile turned a bit sad.

"I'm sure we'll meet again. It's a small world after all, and I doubt you'll die anytime soon," she teased.

"True. But I'll miss you all the same."

"And I'll miss you too." They kissed once more. When they broke away, she reached behind her back for her bag. She put it in his hands, and there was a substantial weight to it. When he moved his hands he could hear the soft jingle of clinking metal.

"I want you to take this. Buy yourself that lyre you were talking about." He opened the satchel and gasped. It was full of gold coin, some still covered it moss and wrapped in seaweed.

"H-how..." he trailed off.

"There's quite a few shipwrecks, and you'd be surprised at just how much coin gets lost at sea."

He looked at her, love and adoration clear in his eyes. "Thank you. Thank you so much," he wrapped her in a warm hug. "Every time I play it, I'll think of you."

"You better hurry before the shops close," she said. He hopped up, bag still in hand.

"Yes, of course. Gwiazda!" he called, and she trotted over. She mounted her in one swift easy motion. He held out his hand to help Aquaria up, but she remained where she sat. She gave him a look. "Oh," he said in realization. This was goodbye.

"We both know it'll be easier this way," she admitted. He nodded, knowing it to be true but not liking it anymore than she did.

"'Til we meet again," he said.

"Until then," she sighed heavily. She rose up, walking over to him. He leant down to share one final kiss. He rode out of the cave and into town, knowing exactly where he needed to go to buy the instrument. He was lucky that the small ocean side town had such a place.

He returned to an empty cave.

It was sadistically humorous, he thought, how everyone he had truly cared for left him in some way.

~~~~

Geralt was dealing with a lot of emotions. Emotions a witcher shouldn't have, yet he felt all the same. He truly was heartbroken at hearing of his bard's passing. Yet he didn't want to believe it. He was feeling incredibly guilty and angry at himself for driving Jaskier away. He made sure that he would not make the same mistake with Ciri. He saw much of Jaskier in her, funny enough. The two loved to talk, rambling on about anything that crossed their minds. They were bright and cheery, and their smile could light up a room. It was even able to warm his once cold heart.

Now he was angrier, less willing to engage in conversation with Ciri. She definitely picked up on it. He could smell it on her; the concern, the sadness, the fear for his well being. He kept assuring her he was fine, but the fact that he was doing so just proved he wasn't.

He worked more often now, taking fewer and shorter breaks between jobs. Ciri told him to slow down, to pace himself. He told her he knew what he was doing and didn't need to be mothered. She just scoffed and told him it wouldn't be the worst thing if was. She definitely reminded him of Jaskier, and it hurt.

They were on their way to their next hunt when Ciri spoke up. "When are you going to admit you're not okay?" she questioned. His head whipped around to look at her.

"I'm fine," he insisted through clenched teeth.

"You clearly aren't though! I know witchers aren't good with emotions, but I also know he was your friend. It's not healthy to keep it all in like this," she said.

"Well it's worked for me before. And it will pass. In time," he added.

"You know as well as I do that that's not good."

"Hm." And that was the last he'd say on the subject. Until she would inevitably bring it up again. However their attention was preoccupied as they approached the nest of sirens that had been bothering seemingly everyone in the nearby town. Singing at all hours of the night, letting no one rest, and drawing a few people away from their families and into the water where they drowned.

They both shoved cotton in their ears to be protected from their songs. Geralt could easily spot the signs that they had taken root in the river and readied his sword.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you, Witcher," came an unexpected noise from above. In the branches of a close tree, a siren laid wrapped in the entangled vines stretched across the limbs. Her large wings were spread out, basking in the sun the top of the canopy provided. "Me and my family have done nothing wrong."

Geralt slid his sword back into its hilt seeing that she was capable of reason. "The villagers seem to think otherwise." She had to laugh.

"Don't they always?"

"You've lured men and women down to the river to drown them," he deadpanned. She gasped in mock offense.

How rude to throw such accusations at me, I've done nothing of the sort!" There was a beat of silence in which Geralt looked extremely unamused. "Okay I can't say the same for the others, but it's what we're meant to do."

"What will it take to make you all leave without having to kill you?" he cut to the chase.

"Well I think just saying that will do the trick," she said, and both Geralt and Ciri could hear the tinge of fear in her voice. She flew back down to the water, propping her elbows on the bank. She rested her head in her hands, studying him. "You're Geralt, aren't you?" she asked. The questioned seemed to grab his attention.

"Yes. How did you know?" his voice was gruff one warning.

"I heard stories from a dear friend. He speaks quite fondly of you." She smirked to herself when she saw his entire frame stiffen as he took a step closer.

"What-" his voice was barely audible, so he cleared his throat and tried again. "What's his name?"

She studied him before deciding it was safe to talk. Amarant. Though it's not his true name, just what he chooses to go by," she explained. Geralt's heart leaped at the prospect of Jaskier still being alive.

"Thank you. You don't know how much it means to me." He bent down and shook her hand. "But you and your choir better find a new home before another witcher shows up and isn't as merciful," he warned. She nodded and swam off downstream.

Geralt and Ciri continued on their trek across the continent with a renewed vigor. Geralt began to talk a little more, and if you squinted hard enough it seemed as though there was the slightest pep in his step. He stopped acting rash and too bold on hunts, making more sensible moves and efficient kills. Just the faintest glimmer of hope had changed the man completely.

~~~~

Geralt wasn't the only one who had heard word of Jaskier's demise. Yennefer felt conflicted; while she was never close with the man and didn't particularly like him, she knew that he meant something to Geralt. And their bickering relationship full of teases and insults was a fun dynamic to play off of, and she was saddened to hear that he died so young. Humans were fragile beings and she would need to get used to hearing of the deaths of people she once knew.

She was gathering ingredients. Her inventory was growing low, and she needed to build up her stock. She had already been to the mountains and forests, gathering what she needed. Her tiresome journey had lead her to the coast. She would probably stay for a few more days to find what she needs and rest up in an inn.

She sat by herself at the tavern, enjoying her meal in peace. Music flowed through the room as people sang along with a bard in the corner, tossing their coin freely. She rolled her eyes, figuring it would be wiser for them to keep their money for their selves. Whoever was singing did sound good, she'd give them that, but people threw away their coin too easily. I mean, all they do is sing and pluck a few chords, it's not that hard. She tore off a piece of bread, popping it in her mouth to chew.

She finally raised her head, tearing her gaze away from her plate and scanned the room. People sat at tables, enjoying their meals while a crowd formed in front of a makeshift stage. She saw a flash of brown hair and blue eyes. She did a double take, squinting her eyes to peer above the crowd. A familiar lute sat in a chair near a corner, while the man swayed back and forth, strumming on a lyre. His song was sad and sweet, bringing a few patrons to tears. There was only one voice she knew that sounded like that.

Yennefer stood and worked her way through the people until she could see the man fully. Hair grown out to his shoulders, facial hair trimmed into a stylish goatee, and eyes as blue as the sky itself. He wore a flowing cream colored blouse with tights that hugged his body in all of the right places, and topped it all off with a purple hat. He looked different, but it was undoubtedly Jaskier.

He was singing a newer song, but one that she had heard all the same. People humming the tune from town to town, and a bard here or there performing it. She took her time to listen to the lyrics, and I mean really listen. Hearing each struck chord, processing the words and their meanings, watching his expression as he sang. She couldn't tell if the song was about himself or Geralt.

She saw him scan the small group, and it was easy for him to spot her. His nose scrunched you the slightest bit in disdain. She offered a small wave, and he nodded at her in acknowledgement, his hands too busy at the moment.

Towards the end of the song, he locked eyes with her, making sure she got the full brunt of his words as he belted, "A dead bard sings no songs. Dead men tell no tales, And dead witches can't cast spells." Okay, yeah, that one stung.

As he finished, everyone cheered, tossing their coin his way. He bowed, giving his thanks and blowing kisses to women and men alike. She called out trying to get his attention.

"Jaskier! Jaskier!"

His head immediately whipped around at the familiar name, knowing exactly who had said it. He feigned innocence.

"Yes, he was quite good. Perhaps one of the best in our time. This next song is dedicated to Jaskier!" The crowd practically roared their approval. He switched to his lute, putting the strap around his body. "How about O Gwiazda, eh? A star song for the man amongst the stars!"

Yennefer practically had to yell for her voice to be heard. "Why not one of his songs?" This seemed to be a popular idea as requests started flooding in.

He looked around nervously, tugging at his collar. "I-I'm sorry, I don't believe I can hit some of those notes," he started, only for her to interject.

"Nonsense! I think you'd sound just like him," she challenged. The smirk she wore could kill. Oh she was good.

Jaskier was quick though. "Now there's really no need to insult the dead," he joked, earning a few laughs. But as soon as she yelled the words "Fishmonger's Daughter," he knew he lost. Everyone joined her chant, asking him to play. Damnit, it was one of his most popular songs that no one could resist, not even himself. And so he performed. And he did so perfectly.

He weaved in and out of bodies as they all sang and clapped along. He sent a few winks, making a few ladies swoon. When he finished, he declared that he was parched and would take a break. He was lounging with a very giggly brunette when Yennefer approached him.

"Do you mind if I steal him for a second?" she asked. The girl raised a brow and looked her up and down.

"Depends. Do you plan on giving him back?"

"Yes," she assured. "I only wish to speak with him for a few minutes." The girl relented and let him go. She scooted off of his lap so he could stand.

"Don't worry love, I'll be back soon. She's just an old friend and we need to catch up."

"Don't leave me waiting too long," she said. He lead Yennefer outside of the door to make sure no one else was listening in on the conversation. As soon as the door closed, she started.

"You seem to have settled in quite nicely Jaskier," she said, putting emphasis on his name. He however, was persistent in his denial.

"That's not my name."

She tilted her head, "Oh? Then what is it?"

He rolled his eyes, "If you must know, I'm Amarant." He extended his hand for her to shake. "And you are?"

She looked down at his offered hand. "You already know." He chuckled, putting his arm down.

"I assure you I do not."

She sighed, figuring it would be easier to just play along. "Yennefer of Vengerberg."

"Ah yes! I've heard of you, and might I say that you are even more beautiful in person," he said with a flourish. He brought her delicate hand up to kiss it.

"Flattery will get you nowhere Jaskier."

"Look," he said, all charm leaving his voice. "I'm really not who you think I am. And I'm getting quite fed up with being mistaken for him. I'm my own person you know," he said pointedly.

"I would think you were too clever to believe I'd actually fall for that, yet here you continue to lie to my face," she stated. His mouth hung open a bit in shock.

"Okay what do you want you snake?" he hissed. She held her hands up in surrender.

"No need for names. I simply came here looking for ingredients, yet I found something better."

He glared at her, "I don't believe you."

"It's the truth," she said simply. There was a moment of silence before she continued. "Everyone thinks you're dead." Call him crazy, but he could swear he heard a touch of sadness in her voice.

"Good." He folded his arms over his chest, turning away. She touched his arm gently, prompting his to look at her.

"Why?" she asked. He scoffed.

"Must everything have a reason?" he pondered aloud. He turned to her fully. "I needed a fresh start," he said simply.

"I know there's more to it than that," she said.

"Oh there's lots more to it, but you have no right to be disclosed to that information!"

"I know it has something to do with Geralt."

He let out a high pitched, slightly manic laugh. "Oh do you now? Congratulations dear, you just scratched the surface!" He leaned in her face, making a show of clapping his hands in mock praise. "Do you want a medallion for your wit?"

She smacked his hands away, a small frown on her face.

"Not everything has to do with that boar headed idiot," he spat. She could tell she struck a nerve. His voice was full of hurt and hate, his eyes hardened, turning to ice, and his lips curled into a sneer.

"I know he hurt you," she said softly. He scoffed, "He did more than that. He broke my fucking heart."

Yennefer wrapped an arm around his shoulders, pulling him into a hug that surprised the both of them. She whispered in his ear, "If it makes you feel better, you did the same."

He pulls away, shooting her a quizzical look. "I highly doubt that. He got his wish, he's rid of me. The bastard should be jumping for joy," he stated plainly. She gave him a look that he couldn't quite read.

"He's not."

Jaskier couldn't help the slight smile that tugged at his lips. He knew it was probably wrong for him to be happy about that, but he had to admit it felt good. "Nice to know." He pulled her away, holding her at arms length. "Well this little reunion was quite nice, but I have company to entertain. It was lovely to see you again, really, but please leave and don't bother me again. I made a new life for a reason." He started to leave, pausing in the doorway and looked back at her. "Oh, and don't tell Geralt about all this. The last thing I want is to dig up that mess of a past. It's already hard enough to forget about him as it is," he mumbled the last part to himself as the door shut. She was still able to hear however. And one thing was for certain: she was not planning on keeping this to herself.

She had no idea where he was, or when she'd see him again. But she knew that fate would bring the two of them together once more.

~~~~

Ciri had grown into a beautiful and powerful young lady under Geralt's protective wing. She had learned well and came into her full power. The lion cub of Cintra was now a strong lioness. Five years had passed since their brush with the mysterious siren, and that had been the last they had heard any word of Jaskier. Until chance to happened that they came across an old friend in the woods.

"Yen!" Ciri exclaimed upon seeing her, and rushed over to hug her.

"My, look how you've grown!" Yennefer said, looking her up and down. She beamed brightly.

Geralt was slower, more calm in his approach. "It's nice to see you again," he said as he dismounted Roach.

"I can say the same," she said as she walked over to him, greeting him with a warm embrace. They set up camp together, Ciri and Yennefer gathering firewood while Geralt hunted for their dinner. They had a nice meal of rabbit stew, and caught up while they ate. It was getting darker each minute as the sun slipped farther under the horizon. Ciri had gone to bed as Geralt and Yennefer continued to talk over the diminishing fire.

It was far into the night, ensuring the girl was asleep. Roach stood tied to a nearby tree, not giving them much thought as she too drifted off. An owl hooted overhead. She took a deep breath. There was no easy way to put this, but he needed to know.

"I saw Jaskier."

He froze, his cat like eyes bore into her, deciding if she was telling the truth. "What?"

"When I was gathering ingredients from the coast I stopped in Low View. I went to the tavern where I saw Jaskier performing, but he wasn't Jaskier," she explained. She could see the gears beginning to turn in his brain. Finally he spoke.

"Why didn't you tell me sooner?" he asked.

"I didn't know where you were, and it wasn't the right time." She subtly nodded over to Ciri's calm form. He only hummed.

"Thank you for telling me," he said.

"What're you going to do?" she asked, already knowing his answer.

"Ciri and I leave for Low View first thing tomorrow."

~~~~

It had been three years since Yennefer had been in the tavern. Amarant had first been on edge constantly, always expecting Geralt to walk through the doors. As time passed, that anxiety diminished. Perhaps she would do as Jaskier wished and simply not tell, but he highly doubted that. Or maybe she just hasn't run into Geralt. Or maybe Geralt just straight up did not care. Gods, do not let it be the third option.

Logically, he knew it was only a matter of time before their paths crossed again. It was honestly inevitable, they had done it many times before and it always ended with Jaskier leaving with him, ready to compose some new songs for the White Wolf. Only this time it was different. Geralt didn't want him, and he certainly didn't like him, that much he made clear.

And still, despite his best interests, he hoped he would see him. Wished for it almost every day. To see that familiar face and hear his voice. Longing for what once was. And then he'd immediately turn back around, scolding himself for wanting such a thing. Reminding himself of the hurt he had brought on. Remembering the fact that he was a vampire, and if Geralt knew... He couldn't bring himself to picture such a thing. But he knew what would happen.

The door had been opening and closing all night with patrons coming and going. Amarant had already made a good bit of coin, and he was only really just getting started. He belted out into the small space, singing his heart out and laying his soul on the line.

He didn't know when exactly he felt a change in the air, but he couldn't deny the shift in energy. It didn't take him long until his eyes fell on Geralt. He'd know those broad shoulders and white hair anywhere. His gaze hardened into a glare from across the room. They made eye contact, and Jaskier could see the recognition on the other man's face. After all, facial hair could only do so much to change his appearance. Perfect timing too. He was in the middle of singing I Once Knew A Man, now aiming the song directly at him and adding a fierce bite to his words.

Geralt sighed and watched him, knowing Jaskier was not happy to see him. The song was undoubtedly a jab at him, and he could feel guilt boiling up from years passed. It had been quite a few years since their fight at the mountain top, and he had been kept busy with work and caring for Ciri. They had been on the road for years, and never once heard word of Jaskier. Sometimes he would forget, until they found themselves in yet another tavern with no sign of the joyous bard. He would hear a familiar tune that got his hopes up until he realized it wasn't him. Then the terrible guilt and grief of hearing of his friend's death. His only true friend. And he had ruined it.

And yet there he was, alive and well. He saw another instrument propped against a corner. He recalls Jaskier once mentioning wanting to play the lyre. Good for him. A decent crowd was formed around him, dancing and singing along. His skin seemed to glow under the candle light and he wore a blue shirt with a purple vest paired with a matching hat. His blue pants hugged him in all the right places, flattering his figure quite nicely. He had grown his hair out too, and Geralt had to admit it was a good look on him. His goatee was well kept and accentuated his jawline.

"Are you drooling?" Ciri asked from across the table, her nose scrunching slightly. Geralt immediately jerks his head away wipes at his mouth. When his hand remains dry he shoots the giggling princess a look of annoyance. "Well you might as well have!" she teased and he gently kicked her leg to tell her to stop. She just smiled and watched as Jaskier played. He continued straight into another song, this time a peppy love ballad. Geralt couldn't help the simmering jealousy bubbling in his gut.

Each time he got to the chorus, he glared directly at Geralt. Hurt by witchers... Geralt knew he had been cruel and unfair. He had every right to hate him, but he wished he wouldn't. At least, hate him less once he apologized. His medallion rest warm on his chest as it did every time Jaskier was near. His mouth formed beautiful words, his voice like silk slipping into the air. As he sang, Geralt could see the tips of his fangs peaking out from under his lips.

After some applause and the throwing of money, he rose up with a flourish.

"It seems like we have a special guest in the corner, everyone say hi! I think we should dedicate this next song to him, a little tune we all know and love!" Jaskier's eyes burned with mischief and anger. He knew Geralt hated attention more than just about anything. And Jaskier was nothing, if not petty.

"When a humble bard," he began walking forward as he started the song, and people cleared his path. He was walking straight to Geralt. The witcher kept his features neutral. "With Geralt of Rivia, along came this song."

Fuck.

As the first verse came, he took a sharp turn right before he reached their table and ducked into the crowd, making his way through the room.

"They came after me, with masterful deceit," he stood on a chair, one leg propped up on the back as he sang. "Broke down my lute and they kicked in my teeth!" In a swift graceful movement, he leaned forward and knocked the chair down, easily walking onto the ground. He continued to dance and pull people from their seats. He stopped in front of Ciri, making a show of inviting her to dance, which she eagerly accepted. The look on Geralt's face was priceless.

Of course Jaskier was up on the tables. Hopping from one to the other, taking his time to show off a bit. He had been waiting for this. He's a performer, and he wanted nothing more than to put on a show. The song was nearing its end, and he made his way to Geralt's table. He was there for the last verse. He stood above him while he sang, winking down at him. For a moment, Geralt thought things were good. That he would apologize and everything would go back to normal. But the smell of pent up rage, hurt and resentment told him otherwise.

"Toss a coin to your Witcher O Valley of Plenty, O Valley of Plenty, a-oh Toss a coin to your Witcher A friend of humanity," he finished off by kneeling down in front of Geralt. He made it a point to look in his eyes, to make sure he knew what he did and that he sure didn't need him.

Everyone cheered, and the sound of coin being thrown in the air rang out, clinging on the hard floor. Amarant wore a bitter yet smug smirk on his lips, "Hello Geralt." His chest heaved up and down as he tried to regain the oxygen in his lungs. Beads of sweat were sprinkled across his forehead. And despite the venom in his words, Geralt couldn't help the small quirk of his lips as he looked up at the angry bard.

"Hi Jaskier." His voice was breathier than he meant it to be, but could you blame him? He had thought him to be dead for years and here he was, in the flesh, a mere foot away.

"Sorry, there's no Jaskier here," he said flippantly. Geralt blinked.

"Jaskier I have eyes, you're right here," he softly argued. He didn't come all this way to be dismissed so easily.

"The name's Amarant now. Jaskier died on that mountain top as far as I'm concerned," he looked at him with unamused eyes, lips curling into a sneer ever so slightly. "If that's all you came for, I believe your business is done," he said, gesturing towards the door.

Geralt stared, dumbfounded. "I- Jaskier please, I-I'm sorry," he started. Jaskier cut him off with a cruel laugh.

"It's much too late for apologies now. I have a new life now, one not tied to your name. You have no idea how hard it is to forget someone when people are constantly asking you where they are." Geralt looked down at his lap, avoiding his gaze. Amarant tilted his head. "Then yet again, maybe you do."

He hoped off from the table and started to walk away only for Geralt to grab his hand. The touch was gentle but firm, and Amarant could feel just how much desperation was in that one motion. He turned back around, but withdrew his hand from his grip. Open to hear what he had to say, yet signaling that he owed him nothing and could leave at any time.

"Please Jaskier. Let me apologize," he pleaded.

Jaskier let out a heavy sigh, placing his hands on his hips. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Ciri lingering in the diminishing crowd. She hung back, standing awkwardly, unsure if it was okay to approach them. He clicked his tongue, rolling his eyes and gestured for her to come over. When she hesitated still, he gently guided her back to her seat.

"It's okay darling, Geralt and I are just going to have a little chat." He wore a soft and kind expression aimed at the girl. She gave a small timid grin, and Jaskier flashed her his charismatic smile to reassure her that everything was fine. Gods did Geralt miss that smile. It could light up even the dimmest rooms and melt the coldest of hearts... After all it had melted his. It had only taken about a week if that before Geralt grew to miss it. The bright flash of teeth after a performance, a sly quirk of his lips when flirting, his tongue poking out between his teeth when he thinks of something funny. It was all so dynamic, just like him. That smile was always something he could rely on. It was there when he woke up after sharing a night in the woods or at an inn, after a successful hunt, followed by a night of drinking and laughter. It was always waiting for him when their paths would meet once more on the road. And it was gone from Jaskier's face as soon as he turned to look at him.

It had been replaced with a truly unhappy look. A frown etched its way onto his face and his brows drew together. From the angle Geralt sat, he could see the glisten of held back tears.

"Jaskier I know I hurt you. Not just with my words but, physically too. I- I know I wasn't a good friend. I was afraid of growing close to someone, so I did what I could to try to distance myself, and in doing so, put you at risk more than once. I really am sorry for everything I said. Not just on the mountain, but before that too. You really are a fantastic bard and a truly good friend. I admit I took your company for granted, and being apart for so long gave me a lot of time to reflect on that."

Jaskier didn't know what to say or do or feel. For years he hated and missed Geralt, wanted nothing more than to slap him across the face before bringing him in for a kiss. He had never felt more torn as he listened to the man speak. This was probably the most words he'd ever heard him say.

Geralt scooted back in the booth, making room for him to sit. Amarant eyed the seat before sitting across from him with Ciri. He didn't know if he could trust himself to hold strong if he were so close to Geralt. If he was able to hear his slow heartbeat close to his ear and smell the sweat and grime that never seemed to wash completely off his skin and hair. So he kept his distance, folding his hands together as he watched him. Steely blue eyes bore into every inch of him. Geralt shifted under the intense gaze, knowing Jaskier had every right and reason to hate him still.

"I don't want to be without you Jaskier."

"You don't want me, you just don't want to be alone!" he argued. Geralt cut in before he had the chance to say anything else.

"At first I thought the same. I'd gotten used to traveling with a companion, and when I found Ciri I thought things would be the same. But they weren't. I still wanted you." Jaskier couldn't help but to snap his head up at hearing those words. For years he had wanted nothing more than to hear Geralt say that. He only allowed himself to be hopeful for a second before he remembered everything all over again and rage filled him once more.

"That's funny, I remember you wanting something completely different! I was such a burden, such a nuisance to you so I did what you asked me. I got the fuck out of your life Geralt of Rivia, and gave you your life's blessing." The witcher flinched at the use of his full name, feeling much like a scolded child. Ciri awkwardly picked at her plate, avoiding looking at either of them but still obviously listening.

"I looked for you, you know. After our fight, but every time I thought I found you, you were already gone."

"Yes well, that's what a traveling bard does. We travel," he deadpanned. Geralt rolled his eyes at the sarcasm.

"It seemed like you were purposefully avoiding me."

"Glad to know my efforts were acknowledged," he quipped with a sneer. Geralt stared at him with something akin to hurt on his face.

"You didn't have to fake your own death." Amarant looked away, mouth hanging open slightly as he thought of what to say. He tilted his head and glanced back at him.

"I have my own reasons, and believe it or not they don't always revolve around you. Now if you'll excuse me," he made to stand, brushing himself off before turning to the door. Geralt followed, and Ciri trailed after him. Amarant made sure to slam the door in his face, but he easily caught it before it could close. They walked out into the cool night, a gentle breeze blew Geralt's hair in his face. He didn't care enough to brush it away.

"Damnit stop following me! Do you have any idea how hard it is to try and forget you?" Jaskier yelled at him. Geralt took a cautious step forward, as if he were a wild animal that would spook if he moved too quickly.

"Then don't." Another step closer. "I really am sorry for everything Jaskier. Now, you don't have to forgive me. But please, let me try to earn you back."

The tears that he had been fighting back finally won, and spilled over. "How? Where do we even start?" Geralt went out on a limb and reached up to cup his cheek, wiping away a single tear.

"How 'bout we start here?" he asked. Before Jaskier could question him, he leaned forward, pressing their lips together. Jaskier was taken aback, eyes wide before they fluttered closed and he found himself melting. He had wanted this for so long. Then he felt Geralt's tongue slip into his mouth, running over his fangs and he remembered why this could never work. His eyes flew open and he pulled himself back. Reacting on instinct, not even thinking, his hand collided with Geralt's cheek with a loud slap.

Geralt didn't even flinch. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have-"

"How dare you," Jaskier interrupted, "Waltz back into my life after eight years and kiss me like I've always dreamed of you doing, thinking it'll fix everything?"

"I know it can't fix everything, but it's a start," Geralt said, holding him by his forearms. His calloused hands felt wonderful against his smooth skin. Damnit why was he making this so hard? Jaskier tilted his head to the side, not wanting to look at him directly. He cast his gaze to the side, seeing the moonlight illuminate his features in a silver glow. "Please, I can't lose you again."

"Geralt, don't get me wrong I wish this could work, but it just can't. You're a witcher and I'm a-" he caught himself. Geralt cocked his head in that oh so familiar way of his. Unmistakable fear was clear on Jaskier's face as he realized the slip up he just made. If he had any blood in him it would've surely drained from his face. He had a sickening feeling in his stomach and he tried to turn to leave.

Geralt pulled him closer, not ready to let go. He lifted a hand and raised his chin so he could meet his eyes. His voice was the softest he had ever heard it. "Jaskier, I know." Terror now replaced by confusion.

"You- what?" Geralt could pinpoint the exact moment when his brain switched from autopilot to manual, trying to piece it all together. "How?"

"Like you said, I'm a witcher. At first I didn't know exactly what you were, scent is normally carried by blood and even though I could smell emotions and a few other small things, I couldn't place your scent. It was a strange, empty kind of smell. Then I noticed little things here and there. And your fangs aren't exactly subtle." Jaskier stood there dumbfounded by all of this new information.

"If you knew, why did you let me stay? Why didn't you kill me?" His eyes glistened, his mouth slightly agape. He subconsciously reached out, fists gripping tightly to the leather armor. Geralt drew his brows together at the question.

"You're my friend, I wouldn't do that. I only kill when it's necessary, you know that, and you posed no threat. When you first approached, I was skeptical, but then I learned better. I know you Jaskier, you're a good and kind man. And in all the time we spent traveling together not once did you try to feed on humans," he said.

"How do you know?" Jaskier asked. He was still afraid. Afraid of losing him again, afraid of himself, the uncertainty of it all.

"Because I just know." Jaskier was silent, not daring to say a word. Geralt's golden eyes shimmered with longing, and he held him closer. He needed to feel their bodies pressed together. "Don't go."

Jaskier bit his lip, looking at him through his lashes. "Okay. I'll stay." Geralt broke into a wide grin, the widest Jaskier had ever seen. "This in no way means you're off the hook," Jaskier made sure to set the record straight. "You have a lot to make up for."

"I know, and I will." He raised a hand and stroked it through Jaskier's hair, a soft smile on his face. "I've missed you."

Jaskier placed his hand atop Geralt's and leaned into the touch. "I've missed you too." Geralt slid his hand down, cupping his chin and tilted his head up slightly. They shared another kiss, this one slower and with more passion. When they pulled away for a breath, Jaskier asked, "So, where are we off to next?"

Geralt smirked, tugging him even closer so he was pressed flush against his body. His arms wrapped around him, hands resting at the small of his back. The moon bathed them in her silver shine. "I was thinking of maybe staying here for a bit. At the coast."

Jaskier was beaming. "That sounds lovely." And so the vampire, the witcher, and the princess settled in a cave on the shore.

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