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ramp-it-up · 4 months ago

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Knock You Down: II

Summary: James Bucky Barnes is an avowed bachelor and one night stand artist. But when he meets you, he finds out that sometimes love comes around, and it knocks you down. Bucky has to answer some hard questions on date #2.

This is a follow up to Part I

Word count: 3 K

Pairing: Art Dealer (mob boss) Bucky Barnes x Reader

A/N: This fic was in part inspired by Seb Stan's latest pics and this press run 🫠, and partially inspired by an old song by some problematic people, lol. This is the result. As usual, I am Basil Exposition, so this is broken into parts.

Part III will be posted on Sunday, 10/13. I think it will be the final part. 😓

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. Read at your own risk. Slow burn, cursing, mutual pining, daydreams of: oral sex (f receiving), marking, edging, & overstimulation. High potential for phone sex? Narrowly missed masturbation; a pet name in google translate Romanian; voice kink; drunk messaging/calling; Bucky has you under surveillance; AAAAngst. The heat is ramping up, but still no sex!

I no longer have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post! 😘

I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

———-

Bucky woke with his lips tingling for want of you.

After your first date, sleep had been elusive. His thoughts of you led to a physical condition that he was used to taking care of right away, one way or another.

He decided that only you could solve his problem.

You had him as hard as a rock and Bucky knew that your soft curves were both the culprit and the cure

In his dreams, he had been eating you out, the smell in his nostrils a mix the your natural scent and perfume on your wrist as he went down on you. He couldn’t actually taste you, but he just knew that you were delicious.

Knowing that he would be distracted all day, Bucky tried other means to work out his frustration. He got up, worked out, and concentrated on not being a simp.

Unsuccessful.

At the stroke of 8 am Bucky sent you a good morning text and inquiring about your sleep. He hoped that your dreams were as full of him as his were of you.

Bucky chuckled as he pressed send. Good morning texts were not in his repertoire, quite the opposite. He was a pro in dodging follow up texts from his conquests.

After 10 minutes, he put his phone down, because he realized he was staring at it waiting for your response. In the shower, the stream of cold water was meant to calm the lava in his veins at the thought of you still asleep in bed. He needed to stop thinking of waking you up with his head between your legs because then his erection would never go down.

Back in his bedroom, Bucky saw that you had responded. His heart was in his throat at just the notification of not just a text, but an image sent on his screen. He had to sit down.

I had sweet dreams.

Image sent from Y/N

The image was a pic of you in your bed, hair tied back and no makeup. The morning sunlight on your skin was everything and the soft smile on your face looked so kissable.

It appeared that you were wearing a tank top. He could see your neck and the tiniest bit of cleavage, but it was enough to have him raging hard again.

The highly rational urge to mark you up as a punishment for torturing him came to him like a bolt of lightning.

God, the thought of punishing, maybe edging you all day, or better yet, having you beg him to stop making you cum as he overstimulated you sent his hand to his dick under the towel, but his other hand was reaching for your contact.

He groaned when he realized what he was doing. One hand had to stop. He wasn’t going to do this.

Bucky unhanded himself and sighed as your phone rang, then his stomach dropped as he realized you probably wouldn’t pick up.

“Hullo? James?”

Your morning voice. The fantasy of how to wake you up took hold again.

“G-,” Bucky cleared his throat, but it didn’t help much.

“Good morning Frumoasă.”

Damn, his voice. Yeah. You had a voice kink. You felt the urge to ask for a picture of him.

And you knew where that would lead.

The rest of your day depended upon not revealing how much of a slut you were for him already, so you decided to crack a joke.

“Fumosa? What does that mean? You calling me fugly or something?”

Bucky laughed, and the sexual tension was broken. You were so fucking charming. He was definitely feeling you.

Bucky wanted to do so much more than to just be physical with you; he wanted to just be with you.

“Far from it, Y/N. Frumoasă means beautiful in Romanian. Ești foarte frumoasă. You are so beautiful.”

You could hear his smile as he replied.

“Hmmmm. Well. Good morning to you too, James. And thank you.”

Bucky smiled at his bedroom wall, reclining on his unmade bed, not caring that he would be late for work. But he was the boss, so it didn’t really matter. He wanted to hear that moan-hum thing you did again, so he repeated himself.

“Ești foarte frumoasă.”

You were shook. When Bucky spoke in Romanian, his voice lowered an octave or two. It left you squirming.

You stifled another moan and Bucky shifted, his towel moving again.

This phone call was getting dangerous.

“James…”

His heart beat double time when you said his name, as if you were asking for so much more than just his attention. One word from you and he would would make you see stars over the phone.

Damn, he was hard as a rock.

“Yes?”

The way his voice broke over that one little word left you speechless, trying to make a wise choice of words. Now was not the time for phone sex, no matter how much you wanted his voice to talk you through it. This man had you caught up, but you were trying to chill.

“See you in a few days.”

Bucky smiled again. You were constantly changing the game, a Queen to his Knight. But he was determined to capture you.

“See you in a few days frumoasă. I can’t wait. Have a great day.”

—

After that, you two stayed away from phone calls, subsisting on texts and anticipation for the next four days.

But you couldn’t get away from thoughts of Bucky, especially since Nat showed up at your favorite coffee shop that morning. She claimed that she lived nearby while hinting that Bucky liked you a lot. You just smiled and tried to be enigmatic, not the blushing schoolgirl that you felt inside.

Hungry for more pictures of you, Bucky followed you on Instagram. You didn’t habitually reveal a lot of skin, but what he could see of you made him want more.

You noticed his follow, (accompanied by several gossip rags) and took note as you blocked them and made your page private. James Barnes gave no fucks who knew about you. You smiled all day long at that knowledge.

On Wednesday, he noticed that you posted girl’s night out, apparently to celebrate your friend Sydney’s engagement.

You looked good, skin glowing, body giving, and those brown leather pants making him dizzy just by staring at them through a screen. He knew he’d be feral if he saw them in person.

Bucky fantasized all evening about you coming home to him that night.

When Bucky liked the post your heart rate increased and you felt like you were in a race.

“I’m winning!”

You whooped it up with your friends and ordered another bottle. That’s when you saw Sam out of the corner of your eye. You invited him over for drinks, much to the delight of your friends.

Your drunk text to Bucky when you got home and the following exchange had him grinning as he went to sleep that night. Friday evening would be interesting indeed.

You woke up Thursday morning, wondering why you had a picture of a shirtless Bucky Barnes as the lock screen on your phone.

Your eyes almost fell out of your head as you opened your messages and saw this exchange:

Hey James. I want to fuck your voice. Especially when you speak Romanian. 🫠

But I can’t fuck until date number 3 sooooo

*Voice memo from James

*Voice memo to James

Image sent from James

Thank you Daddy. 💋

You are welcome, Frumoasă. 😏

You threw your phone.

You called him Daddy????

And you told him about the three date rule.

You were out of control.

You immediately sent him another message.

Good Morning, James. I apologize for last night. Please, burn your phone and destroy all messages from me. Have a nice life. 🫣

Good morning, Frumoasă. Last night was harmless fun. 😉 Have a wonderful day. See you tomorrow evening.

You grinned because although you were embarrassed, he was right. And also because he was a chaotic, but harmless gentleman. He just gave you what you asked for and didn’t take advantage of the situation. And his left arm tattoo sleeve was sexy as fuck.

What a man.

——-

When Steve and Sam caught him staring your picture during an auction that morning, Bucky just grinned as his best friends razzed him. He realized that you were worth it as he serenely endured them busting his balls.

Later that day Sydney sent you some very interesting articles about Bucky Barnes and his business and called to check up on you. Your heart sank as you assured her that you were okay and thanked her for being a friend.

There was a different vibe for you now; James Barnes might not be the perfect guy. But you tried not to overreact.

Everything that was posted online wasn’t necessarily true.

You decided to exercise to clear your head, but lo and behold, when you looked to your left at SoulCycle, there was Steve Rogers, Bucky’s best friend. You managed to dodge a conversation by rushing off to work.

You were looking forward to your date, because James Barnes had a lot of explaining to do.

—----

When Bucky picked you up on Friday, you opened the door and quickly retreated to get your coat and purse as soon as he entered.

“Hello James,” you said from across your living room.

Buck couldn’t put his finger on what shifted, but something had. He raised his eyebrow at you as you stood out of his reach and he felt the chill in the air.

“Hello, Frumoasă.”

He didn’t hide his admiration at your dress as he bit his bottom lip, positive that he could probably just flip up the hem and slip his… Bucky forced his eyes back to yours.

Damn, he looked good in the brown suit and black crew neck shirt. His eyes were everything on those colors. You noticed him checking you out and you looked down at your mustard dress.

“I hope this is okay. I wore this to work. Got out a little later than I expected. Billie, my assistant, and I were setting up for the opening tomorrow.”

Bucky smiled.

“You look amazing. And I can’t wait to see the exhibit.”

You cleared your throat.

“About that. Are you sure you want to come?”

Bucky narrowed his eyes at you.

“...Yes. We agreed when I conceded to your price on Monday. What’s going on?”

“Oh, nothing, we’ll talk about it later. Are you ready to go?”

Bucky let you have whatever space you were needing at the moment.

“Lead the way.”

You chose the venue of this second date, a Harlem Renaissance exhibit in the eponymous borough. Bucky remained the perfect gentleman, taking your hand as he helped you into the car, but keeping his distance as you rode uptown.

If it were not for his all consuming stares and the desire in his eyes, you would think he wasn’t attracted to you. But you couldn’t let your libido have you make a terrible decision. You were deep in thought the entire ride to Harlem.

—---

You were in awe of the exhibit as much Bucky was in awe of you. You caught him admiring you instead of the art more than once, but you just smiled and launched into a conversation about the pieces, discussing the merits of the exhibit.

“That’s very astute. So good. Beautiful and smart.”

Bucky’s proximity to you during your banter was not helping your resolve. His voice in your ear cooing praises was making you weak. But you had to be strong. When he took your hand again as you walked to dinner on Frederick Douglass Boulevard, the thousand butterflies which had taken residence in your stomach on Monday afternoon fluttered their wings.

Damn. He had you down bad.

After you were seated, Bucky tried to break down the wall that you’d seemed to throw up between you.

“Alright, Frumoasă. Tell me. What is going on in that beautiful brain of yours? You’ve been in your head all night.”

You looked around, trying to avoid those perceptive blue eyes of his, and noticed that the rooftop terrace seemed to be deserted except for the two of you. You had been so caught up in your inner turmoil that you hadn’t noticed the surroundings.

“James…”

He was staring at you again, mouth open, and that tongue darting out to lick his lips.

“Yes, Frumoasă…”

“Did.. did you reserve this rooftop just for us?”

Bucky smiled and leaned back, clearly pleased with himself. He took a sip of wine before he answered.

“I may have called in a favor of the owner.”

“It’s Friday night! That is quite the feat.”

“Someone as striking as you deserves to be surrounded by beauty. Always.”

You shook your head at him.

“I’m serious James. I’m not your type. We come from two different worlds. You can have anyone you’d want. What would you want with me?”

Bucky sobered up, sensing your anxiety. He moved his chair closer to yours.

“I never make a promise that I can’t keep. And I don’t string women along. I try to make sure that everyone knows what it is with every encounter. Most women know that what happens is a one time thing.”

He stared at you with the ocean depths that were his eyes.

“And I hope you understand that you are not most women. Remember what I said Monday night?”

You nodded, remembering the rush of feelings and wild thoughts.

“That was the first of many dates. I haven’t been on a second date in�� I honestly don’t know how long.”

You digested what he was saying, really wanting to like him, and more. But you had to clear the elephant from the room.

“Speaking of honesty. What do you really do for a living, James?”

Bucky looked at you strangely.

“What do you mean? I-”

“James. You have one chance to tell me the truth.”

Bucky digested the look on your face; he knew you were serious.

“It seems that you have read some things. Or someone has said something to you.”

You shrugged and said, “Both.”

You were anxious and relieved that he didn’t insist on the lie.

“Okay. Then.”

He sighed and looked at you carefully with those eyes, giving you a minute. After he told you the truth, there would be no going back.

“I’ll give you the cliff notes version:

When we moved to America when I was 10, my dad Jimmy fell into the family business, which was crime. He always expected me to take it over, training me from a young kid. Steve and I grew up together. Nat and Sam came along later. I dove in deep as soon as I was old enough and brought them with me, thinking that's what I wanted."

Bucky shook his head at his own miscalculation.

"It took five years to realize that it was no way to live. When my father died seven years ago, I could finally see a way out. I started the art business because it really is what I love, and I can divest myself of any connection to illegality be completely legitimate in a little over three more years.”

You sat back and crossed your arms. His explanation was too neat and tidy.

“You have a timeline to be done with crime?”

“I know it’s hard to believe, but yes. I had a ten year and a five year plan. I’m working the plan with the help of my friends. And I’m doing it for them as much as for me. And if I'm thinking about a future with someone...."

Bucky reached over and took your hand as he stared at you.

"I'd be doing it for my own family as well."

You wanted to melt, but remained strong, pulling your hand from his.

“So you’re saying you aren’t a dangerous man? That I won’t be putting my reputation, my employment, and my life on the line by dating you?”

Bucky sat back as you posed your questions. He had never had to consider them before. He had never ‘dated’ anyone before. He just got what he wanted and they were safe because he never saw them again.

But now that what he wanted was you, and for far more than a one night stand, he was terrified.

“Y/N. I told you. I won’t lie to you. Yes. I am still a dangerous man. And yes, being associated with me can be dangerous. But I want you, Frumoasă. And I will stop at nothing to protect you."

You saw the ferocity of his emotions and you thought of all of them these past few days.

“Nat, Sam, and Steve. Those weren’t coincidences. Were they?”

Bucky gave you a wry smile and dropped his gaze. His voice got soft, as if he were chastened.

“No. They weren’t coincidences.”

Suddenly, you felt stifled, that there was no air avaiable. Even though you were outside.

“I- I need to think. I want to go home.”

“Come. I’ll take you.”

You rose and stepped away from Bucky.

“No. I need some space. I‘ll call a rideshare…”

“Nonsense. Nico is outside. He will take you. I can call Steve to pick me up.”

You looked up into Bucky's sad eyes.

“O-Okay.”

You fought the urge to bury yourself in his arms, and in a few minutes, Bucky put you in the car and you were rolling toward Brooklyn before you realized it.

——-

It wasn’t until you were in your tank top and sweats on your couch having made your head hurt with all of the thoughts for an hour, when you realized you never ate dinner and were starving.

You sighed and picked up your phone.

In just about another hour, your favorite takeout was on its way, comfort for a tumultuous evening. When you answered your door, your stomach flipped at the delivery person clad in white t-shirt, grey sweats, and a backwards ball cap.

You smiled at Bucky.

He grinned back.

“So. Is this date number three, orrrrr?…”

You rolled your eyes at him.

“You can drop the food off in my kitchen. This way, James.”

You glanced at him over your shoulder, the heat in your gaze unmistakable.

Bucky smiled and thanked the heavens as he followed the sway of your hips into your home.

——-

Please let me know if you like it! 😊

Next part here.

#ramp-it-up falloween 24 #falloween #kinktober #kinktober 2024 #seb stan #sebastian stan #Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x black!reader #bucky barnes x plus size reader #art dealer!Bucky Barnes #mob boss!bucky Barnes #Art dealer! Bucky Barnes #mob boss! Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes smut

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adascore · 1 year ago

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The Golden War

pairings: alexia putellas x lyonnais!reader

warnings: swearing. for culers the ‘22 uwcl final ig. jona is kinda mean in this.

author’s note: this is the same reader from my ‘one for the money, two for the show’ fic of the lionesses!captain. reader is basically ada hegerberg lolsies :) will be turned into a series.

masterlist

•••••

Turin, Italy - May, 2022

''The final has been dubbed as a duel between you and Alexia Putellas, do you experience it as that?''

The Lyon captain fought the urge to roll her eyes at the question, despite having expected it. ''It is a final between Barcelona and Lyon, nothing more than that.'' She answered, diplomatically- the way they had rehearsed it.

''Lyon is the underdog coming into this final- FC Barcelona has been unbeatable so far. What do you need to do in order to beat them tomorrow?'' Another reporter asked, a pen ready in his hand to take notes.

There was a slight change in her expression as the question left his lips, the man succeeding in poking through her stoic expression. ''Well, we have never lost to Barcelona- I don't know if you remember 3 years ago or even last year,''

Lyon had comfortably beaten the Spanish club in 2019. In that Champions League Final, Y/N had become the first player to score a hattrick in a UWCL final. Their last meeting had been in 2021, in the pre-season, where Lyon had won 3-2, the Lyon captain again putting one in the net.

''We have won this competition many times. There was football before Barcelona, and it was being played by us.''

Her last sentence of the quote had struck a nerve with the Barça captain.

''She acts like she has already won the whole thing.'' Alexia remarked as she read a transcript of the press conference.

Patri and Mapi glanced at one another, a knowing look in their eyes. ''Technically, there is nothing wrong about what she said, Ale. How many times has she won this competition now? 6? 7?'' The defender said, not having a problem with the opposition's words.

''She's just pissed that everyone is talking about us now.'' She ignored Mapi, continuing berating her opponent.

The rivalry between the captains of the two top teams had been something made up by the media, seeking a female counterpart to the famed Ronaldo-Messi rivalry. Both Alexia and Y/N led Europe's premier clubs, won the Champions League, captained their national teams, and earned the Ballon d'Or. This fueled incessant comparisons.

Alexia and Y/N hadn't given it much thought at first. There were also many differences between them; Alexia is a midfielder, while Y/N is a striker. Despite their similar ages, their careers took diverse paths. Alexia remained in the Spanish league, while Y/N gained experience across various countries.

Over time, an unexpected shift occurred. They began caring about each other's achievements. Yet, they knew the comparison wasn't fair.

Despite being younger, Y/N dominated women's football for longer, winning the Champions League seven times – twice with Wolfsburg and five times with Lyon. In contrast, Alexia secured one with Barcelona. Neither had won anything major with their national teams, though she had come close with England a few times. Furthermore, on the accolades side of things, Y/N led with a repertoire that most players could only dream of.

For a long time, it hadn't bothered Alexia. She had watched in admiration as the younger player became the first recipient of the Ballon d'Or, a huge step in women's football. Y/N's advocacy for the sport also didn't escape the Spanish player.

However, her admiration had turned into envy.

The turning point came in the 2019 final against Lyon. She had observed the way the English striker had celebrated with her entire team- how the Lyon squad immediately ran to her once the whistle blew and how Y/N bathed in all the (rightly deserved) glory. Alexia wanted that for herself. For years, Y/N had been the nail in Barcelona's coffin, scoring the goals that made sure they couldn't continue in the competition- in the captain's opinion, the striker had made a joke of her team for years, even if she didn't meant to do that.

Their interactions over the years were limited to polite handshakes before or after matches. Occasional encounters outside the pitch were rare and brief, seldom extending beyond a few sentences.

Alexia's surprise peaked when Y/N congratulated her on winning the Ballon d'Or through both private and public Instagram messages. Despite her reservations about comparisons and rivalry, receiving praise from someone she admired as one of the best in the game left Alexia with a positive feeling.

''No, I think she's just not a fan of being referred to as an underdog.'' Patri defended the Lyon striker.

This explanation didn't sit well with Alexia, evident from the displeasure on her face. ''Whatever,'' she retorted, looking forward to settling matters on the field that Saturday.

Saturday, May 21, 2022

Excitement, adrenaline, nerves, and tension permeated the tunnel of Juventus Stadium as Alexia, tightly gripping her pennant, stood at the front of her lined-up team, awaiting the opposing captain.

The sudden hush among the Barcelona team signaled the arrival of their counterpart. Turning around, Alexia frowned at her teammates' fascination with the approaching striker.

This is not the time to be fangirling, she thought to herself, as she saw most of her players' eyes following the striker's figure.

As the two top players faced each other, uncertainty lingered about whether they should exchange greetings. Y/N broke the silence, deciding to offer some acknowledgment. ''Hey, you alright?'' Her charming English accent filled the air.

''Yeah, and you?'' Alexia almost cringed at her own quick response, not giving her brain time to think.

''I‘ll see in about 90 minutes.'' The younger one grinned.

I'll wipe that smirk off your fucking face, Alexia said in her mind, not a fan of the confidence the striker was oozing.

Ten minutes later, the referee blew the whistle, signaling the start of the highly-anticipated final.

Lyon applied intense pressure right from the start, managing to create two goal-scoring opportunities within the first three minutes of the match.

However, the audience were offered their first initial glimpse of the rivalry in the 6th minute of the game.

Y/N positioned herself strategically, eyes fixed on her teammate readying a precise pass to her. The ball zipped across the pitch, and in a heartbeat, both Y/N and Alexia were locked onto winning it for themselves.

The striker, a master of timing, surged forward. Simultaneously, the midfielder closed in on the target. The collision was inevitable.

Both players fell with a thud, groaning at the contact with the ground. Despite the force of the clash, they both showed resilience as they wanted to use the momentum to their advantage.

They were momentarily entangled, fighting for control of the ball. It was a brief display of the rivalry that had brewed between them.

Y/N rose swiftly from the turf, eyes filled with determination. The collision had only fueled her competitive fire. With the ball firmly at her feet, she accelerated away from the mess, leaving Alexia behind.

The crowd erupted in gasps and cheers as Y/N, now in open space, scanned the field. Seizing the opportunity, she unleashed a powerful strike from well outside the box.

Time seemed to slow as the ball sailed towards the goal. Panos's desperate dive was in vain as the ball found the back of the net. The roar of the crowd echoed through the stadium, a symphony of cheers and applause for a goal that showcased the skills and spirit of the Lyon captain.

A fleeting scowl crossed Alexia's face, frustrated at the missed opportunity.

Y/N turned on her heels as the net rippled, ready to embrace her teammates who were rushing to her.

''Vamos!'' She roared, the Spanish word escaping her lips like a battle cry.

Yet, she found herself face-to-face not with the familiar sight of Lyon jerseys but with the intensity of Alexia's determined gaze.

Her expression froze for a quick second, confusion adorning her features. Y/N's eyes widened in realization, and for a brief instant, the two captains locked eyes in an unspoken exchange.

The celebration continued around them, teammates engulfing Y/N as they screamed with delight at their captain's prolific opener. The air was filled with jubilation, but within the chaos, the tension lingered between the two captains, adding an intriguing layer to the unfolding drama on the pitch.

The match unfolded further, Barcelona grabbing a few opportunities of their own, but not being clinical enough to score an equalizer. The Spanish squad remained calm, showing no signs of panic in their play, despite being behind.

Selma and Melvine played a great one-two with each other, and the young defender shot a beautiful cross towards the box. Anticipating the trajectory of the ball, Y/N skillfully pulled away from Leon, who undoubtedly had the impossible task of marking the striker.

The ball connected with Y/N's forehead, falling perfectly into the mesh. The scoreboard illuminated with Lyon 2, Barcelona 0. The narrative had shifted as the favorites stomped the ground in frustration, while the ''underdogs'' celebrated another goal from their captain.

The first half flew by. Y/N managed to assist Catarina to make it 3-0, but Alexia found the back of the net to get one back.

3-1.

The second half saw more scoring opportunities for Barcelona, but no one managed to finish the job.

After contact with Martens, Griedge cited experiencing a cramp and asked for treatment- a request that the Barcelona side was not having. Y/N, understanding the frustration of time-wasting, especially when behind in a match, stood aside.

However, the Lyon captain didn't appreciate the scolding she received from the opposition's coach. ''Tell your player to stop the comedy, what a shit job!'' Jonatan exclaimed to the English captain, who observed the scene from the sideline.

Y/N didn't budge, paying him no attention, knowing it was all tactics. She gave an unimpressed look toward the referee, who had been observing the one-sided interaction.

The official ran up to them, pulling a yellow card from her pocket and holding it in front of the manager. ''Step back, please. Don't talk to the opposition.'' she instructed him.

The match eventually resumed. In extra time, Paredes almost managed to pull off a header, but it went flying over the post.

In the last minute of the game, Y/N teamed up with Eugénie to score a last-minute beauty, but the volley slammed against the post.

The piercing sound of the referee's whistle resonated through the stadium, marking the conclusion of the final. Lyon emerged triumphant for a record-extending 8th time.

Overwhelmed by her own emotions, Y/N fell to the ground as the whistle echoed in her ears. It didn't take too long for her teammates to rush up to her, colliding in a chaos of hugs, kisses, and jubilant shouts.

They had done it again, proving once more why all the records were tied to their name.

''Y/N, you're a fucking legend!'' Lindsey yelled in her ear, kissing her cheek multiple times.

As her teammates slowly got up from their celebratory cuddle with the ground, they formed a protective circle around their captain. Hands reached out to help her rise from the grass, and she found herself enveloped in a symphony of gratitude.

Eventually, she shook off her glorious daze, a wide grin etched on her face.

Y/N turned her attention to the defeated Barcelona players, spread out across the field with tears and disappointment staining their cheeks. She approached them, offering a helping hand to those still on the ground and sharing comforting words. Acknowledging the effort they had brought, she assured them that they gave her team a greater fight than the scoreline implied.

Before the Lyon squad embarked on their victory lap to greet the traveling supporters, Y/N's gaze fell on a heartbreaking scene. Across the field, the Spanish captain, Alexia, was cradled in a comforting embrace by a Barcelona staff member as tears streamed down her face.

Y/N hesitated, caught in a ''should I or shouldn't I'' moment with herself.

She chose to make an attempt to resolve whatever tension had built up between them.

Tears glistened on Alexia's cheeks, a testament to the intensity of the match and the dreams left unfulfilled. The Barcelona staff member, offering solace in the face of defeat, glanced up as Y/N approached, and let go of her.

''Alexia,'' Y/N greeted her softly, putting her arm around the Spaniard, ''thank you for the great battle.'' She hadn't prepared what to say, because what do you say against someone you feel like you are supposed to hate? What do you say against someone you've been constantly compared to for over a year?

To the striker's surprise, Alexia reciprocated, feeling an arm on her lower-back. ''Congratulations, you deserved the win. You played phenomenal.'' The midfielder told her, a forced yet genuine small smile making a way onto her face.

''Don't let this hurt you. You are literally one of the best players I have played against- your team is amazing. Use this, like in 2019.'' Y/N advised her, not particularly caring if the opposing player would take it or not.

''We will. I hope we can play many more finals. You make me- you make us grow.'' Alexia stuttered.

Y/N nodded. ''I hope so too. It's been fascinating to see the growth you guys have made these last years.''

The stadium now bore witness to a quieter exchange between the two captains. Almost every camera lens and watchful eye fixated on them.

As Y/N and Alexia exchanged words of mutual respect, their moment of shared understanding was abruptly disrupted by the Barcelona coach.

''Congratulations on the win, Y/N.'' He acknowledged briskly, his gaze quickly turning toward Alexia. His extended hand to her seemed more like a formality, but Y/N accepted it.

Almost forcibly, he placed a hand on Alexia's shoulder, a non-verbal cue that spoke volumes. ''Come on.'' He declared, his tone leaving little room for negotiation and they were off to wherever he needed her to be.

Alexia casted an immediate glance back at Y/N, a mix of emotions played across her face- gratitude for the moment, and frustration at its abrupt end. She hadn't responded to her words yet.

As the Spaniard was led away, Y/N's eyes lingered on the departing figure, a tinge of melancholy in her gaze.

The brief encounter had sparked a momentary connection- a bridge attempting to break through the perceived rivalry and show praise for a strong opponent. However, Jonatan's swift intervention acted like a pair of scissors, cutting through the threads that held that connection.

In Y/N's mind, Alexia had seemed appreciative of the opportunity to have a genuine conversation. She figured there must have been a good reason for her to have been pulled away like that, especially by the head coach.

The Barcelona captain had reacted with a hint of irritation when her coach suggested to the Lyon player to remove her arm from Alexia's shoulder. She tried asking Jonatan why he had coaxed her away, but she didn't receive a proper answer.

The whole thing had left a bitter taste in her mouth. The potential for a more extended, sincere exchange was cut short, leaving Alexia with lingering frustration. There was a desire to understand Y/N beyond the competition, but it was cut short.

She hoped her last glance had worked as a silent acknowledgment of what could have been.

#woso x reader #woso imagine #woso fanfics #alexia putellas x reader #woso fic #alexia putellas fic

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xjulixred45x · 14 days ago

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Hello and may i ask if its okay to request, if so? Can you do ROR x reader?

Poseidon (romance or yandere) With Reader who's like Amphitrite from the greek Mythology. Maybe like a long drabble/fic, in their 1st meeting?

In Greek mythology, Amphitrite was the goddess of the sea and the wife of Poseidon, the god of the sea. She was also the mother and Queen of sea life like fish, seals, and dolphins. Amphitrite was originally a Nereid, or sea nymph, and the eldest of the 50 Nereids. one of the 50 (or 100) daughters (the Nereids) of Nereus and Doris (the daughter of Oceanus).

Reader known for being "shy" and doesn't like being caught. She's afraid of being married because she's heard stories about how most of gods treat their wives/partners. She's independent and gentle but not a pushover & has a protective/brave side (only to her family and sea life). She prefers a quiet life and is content as long as she is treated well.

In how their 1st meet: (though you can change some of these if you like) When Poseidon was looking for a marriage partner. Poseidon first laid eyes on Amphitrite while she was dancing at low tide with her sisters on the isle of Naxos. He immediately fell in love with her and asked for her hand in marriage. Amphitrite, heard of rumors of him and She's quite fearful of his tempestuous nature, refused his advances everytime they met and she tried to fled from him.

(Thank you in advance)

oh, i absolulty LOVE when the fandom uses Amphitrite as Poseidon s/o, its just scratch my brain just fine.

Poseidón x Amphitrite! Reader

Genre: Headcanons

Reader: female

Warnings: Poseidon can be a warning himself (he is trying, okay?), Reader is scared of him so she runs away, some Angst with comfort.

• Doris and Nereus were known for having a prolific offspring, having in their repertoire very strong sons and beautiful daughters, ocean nymphs known as Nereids. Some had a specific purpose, others simply enjoyed the life they had in the ocean, and very few really did not want to attract attention, given their status and natural beauty.

• However, as with everything, there are exceptions. That was the category that she, Amphitrite, fell into the most.

• Don't get me wrong, Amphitrite loved exploring, messing around with humans, and dancing just as much as any of her sisters, however, she was painfully aware of how complicated it was to be a nymph in the Greek pantheon. If any nymph caught the attention of a god, she ended up either cursed or turned into some animal or plant. There were no happy endings for them out there, not with the gods.

• And even if they could survive to marry a god, there was no guarantee that it would be a happy marriage in the long run, just look at the kind of relationships the gods had with each other. Zeus and Hera, constantly arguing every time a new demi-god appeared on earth. Or Hades and Persephone, who couldn't even spend the whole year together. Who would choose to live through that suffering on purpose?

• Because of that, Amphitrite decided to spend time with her sisters instead of potentially exposing herself to the band of vultures that were the gods of Olympus. Even if the idea of finding someone for herself didn't sound bad (on the contrary, it sounded nice), she wouldn't allow herself to be trapped in a Golden cage.

• Unfortunately (or fortunately, however you want to look at it), she had no idea of the issues that were being discussed on Mount Olympus, specifically, regarding a certain god.

• Poseidon, the tyrant of the seas, seemed more angry and unpredictable every day. Even if Zeus and Hades knew how to prevent things from getting worse, that wouldn't always work, they couldn't keep an eye on him all the time. They had to find a solution to their problem, right now.

• Fortunately, Hades had been studying his little brother's behavior very closely, and he noticed that there was a pattern, he always stopped the storms in a certain area, near the island of Naxos.

• An area which was known, where several of Doris and Nereus' daughters could be seen dancing. It was a kind of custom that they had every time they were on the shores of that city. And it seems that Poseidon was quite interested in that (or, rather, one of Nereus' daughters)

• This could be a golden opportunity to solve the problem, and at the same time, finally get Poseidon a permanent companion, who, somehow, would keep him in line.

• Hades and Zeus discussed it, and decided to put this idea into action. Telling Poseidon that they were going to Naxos to settle a “matter” with Nereus and since it was his domain, they needed him (neither brother missed how Poseidon seemed more interested than usual in a diplomatic interaction)

• They even had the “luck” that when they went to Naxos, there were several of Nereus and Doris’ daughters, as always, dancing on the shores.

• Much to Nereus’ surprise (while Zeus and Hades were rather amused), Poseidon didn’t seem interested in getting involved with whatever his brothers told him, at that moment, he just focused on watching the Nereids. Or, rather, one specific one, Amphitrite.

• Yep, she was, the woman who had caught his brother’s attention, the one who was able to make the feared tyrant of the seas calm for the first time in how many centuries. They knew they had to act now, or they might lose this opportunity. However, Zeus was the one who decided to bring it up with Nereus.

• He briefly explained the situation, that Poseidon could use a partner, and that it would be of great help to them if Nereus would be so kind as to introduce him to his daughters. Obviously Nereus wasn't going to try to argue with the god of the universe, even if he wanted to plead for his daughters, he gave in, afraid of the repercussions.

• A part of Poseidon wanted to strangle Zeus for his stupid ruse, but on the other hand, he played along without much thought, almost as if he was eager to choose the "lucky" nymph who would be his wife.

• Amphitrite saw all this happen before her eyes, a part of her wanted to run away on the spot, but she had the slightest hope, the smallest one, that the god of the seas wouldn't choose her as a partner. But that hope didn't seem very big, not when she could feel the tyrant of the seas staring at her, very intensely, as she walked to her father's side.

• Amphitrite wanted to be calm, she wished she wasn't so scared, after all, he hadn't done anything wrong yet, right? But Poseidon's name alone made even the bravest tremble, it was like a sign that, whatever this god's intentions were, it wouldn't end well for her.

• And that was what she felt, when Poseidon, without hesitation, pointed at her at the moment of choosing between her sisters, she felt her heart sink, how it was difficult for her to breathe air, she had to get out of there, think about it, but she had to be FAR AWAY—

• Before anyone could stop her, Amphitrite jumped into the water at the shore, and swam out to sea at full speed, to everyone's surprise.

• Obviously, Poseidon isn't happy with this. Almost offended by the nymph's behavior, he seems to make the seas even more unstable in his search.

• On one such day, Hades appears to try to appease him, after all, what kind of image will he be giving to his future wife, if his response to an inconvenience is to throw a tantrum?

• Hades tries to make Poseidon see things from Amphitrite's point of view, so that he doesn't scare her so much the next time they meet. When it seems that Poseidon understood enough, Hades gives him another piece of valuable information; Amphitrite's location. Poseidon left in such a big hurry that it didn't even occur to him to reproach his brother for not telling him right away.

• Amphitrite, meanwhile, only dedicated herself to collecting the snails within reach, staying out of sight thanks to some sea rocks. Not really knowing what to do next, only praying that Poseidon would lose interest in her soon so she could return home.

• However, she didn't expect to start receiving company.

• At first, it was just some small sea animals, like crabs and turtles. They approached her as if trying to cheer her up, make her feel better. Then other animals started coming (as the tides rose), like sea horses, fish, etc.

• Amphitrite didn't really know what to do at first, afraid that they would betray her to the gods, but the animals didn't seem to have hostile intentions, on the contrary, they made her forget for a moment why she was there.

• However, Amphitrite wasn't naive. While she was petting a dolphin on the shore, still covered by the rocks of the sea, she decided to ask a question in the air, about whether this was his way of saying he was sorry. No answer.

• Okay, it seems that he is not very talkative (at least they have that in common), time to try another topic.

• Amphitrite complimented the appearance of the dolphin that demanded her attention on her lap, also highlighting his playful attitude. This time there was a response, even if it was brief, about how additionally, they were intelligent.

• They stayed like that for a while, Amphitrite pointing out both the positive and negative aspects of marine animals, it was strange, even knowing who was answering, she no longer felt the same fear as before when being near him. Is he really the same god? The same one who caused storms, earthquakes and tsunamis, was also talking to her about the fauna of his domain? It was something unbelievable.

• Eventually, Amphitrite decided to face the elephant in the room. She asked him if this was his way of convincing her to accept him as a husband, if so, what assured her that she would not be a trophy wife? What assured her that she would not have a miserable existence?

• The other side of the conversation was silent for a moment, when Amphitrite was losing hope, finally the god spoke.

• He told her some things that she had not noticed, things that he noticed when he saw her(several times) in Naxos. How she cared so much about her family, how she liked to collect seashells and shiny things from the shores to make ornaments after dancing, how gentle she was with the creatures. It was something he could never understand, but it brought him peace to see her.

• Amphitrite didn't know what to say, this was something she genuinely didn't expect, not from the tyrant of the seas at least. Maybe, just maybe, she could try this, maybe she could take the chance, maybe things could be okay, with him.

• If we talk about the relationship after these events, it's much better than many think.

• I say this because every time Poseidon says he's married, you can feel a general aura of concern for the woman, which, while very effective in annoying the tyrant of the seas, the only one who can prevent it from turning into carnage is Amphitrite.

• She has a comfortable life, not only because of the aspects of being royalty and ruling one of the three domains of the Greek pantheon alongside her husband, but she is generally enjoying this kind of life.

• Amphitrite and Poseidon have good communication (ironic given how it was their first time meeting), so while Amphitrite has luxuries and comforts, they are also adapted to her tastes.

• Her crown, for example, was made by herself, with a mix of starfish, pearls and shells. Poseidon gave her as a wedding gift a specific area of his palace so she could be with her favorite sea creatures. And, above all, Amphitrite could come and go as she pleased, dancing with her sisters in Naxos, touring the coasts of Greece, etc.

• (I like to think that Amphitrite also enjoys dancing in the palace, sometimes Poseidon just shows up and stares at her in the doorway)

• Poseidon is someone difficult for everyone to read, but Amphitrite is probably the only one who knows what he is thinking (and vice versa), which makes it of UTMOST IMPORTANCE that she attends her brothers' events with him (neither of them wants to go, but there is no option. They either leave early or make an excuse together to stay with the sea animals).

• Fortunately, the seas are much calmer and less deadly now, but be careful, not all of Amphitrite's charm can retain her husband's character. Although a part of me says she prefers it that way.

Shares, reblogs and comments are very welcome!

#headcanons #fem reader #record of ragnarok #record of ragnorak #record of ragnarok x reader #shuumatsu no valkyrie #shuumatsu no walkure #shuumatsu no valkirye #shuumatsu no valkyrie x reader #snv x reader #ror x reader #ror poseidon #ror poseidon x reader #snv poseidon #snv poseidon x reader #snv #ror

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theidiotwhowritesthings · 1 year ago

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IS THERE A VERSION OF JOEL MILLER I WOULDN'T FUCK?

[a case study in how thirsty i am for this man.] [aka fic recommendations]

Unfortunately, in my extensive research on this topic, I have found some pretty damning evidence against my sanity.

dad's best friend!joel miller x fem!reader

Your Summer Dream [masterlist] by @swiftispunk It is a scientific fact that if you place Joel Miller on a beach he becomes 100x hotter. I don't make the rules, I just report them.

Creep it Real! by @swiftispunk I am a puddle. I melted and I'm a shallow pathetic puddle. Cowboy and Angel. I just hnnnnnggggg. I need him to ruin me pls dear god.

*I'm realizing if i include all the DBF!JM i read this will get very long, very quickly, and i think i have revealed enough of myself on this blog to highlight my very obvious daddy issues

**speaking of daddy issues...

stepdad!joel miller x fem!reader

Don't Be Cute, Be Nasty by @cockslutpadalecki i'm pretty sure this was the first stepdad!joel miller anything i read and it awoke something in my soul. it's always fun to reach new levels of my daddy issues and BY GOD was this just 🫠

Bad Girl [part i of many] by @seventeenpins he walks in on her while she's watching stepdaddy porn and good lord it gets filthier and filthier in the best kind of way.

boyfriend's dad!joel miller x fem!reader

Lost in the Dark [masterlist] by @iamasaddie i expected to be a slut reading this but then it made me an emotional slut out of nowhere i am obsessed. there is nothing i love more than being drawn in by my thots only to be hit by an emotional bus out of nowhere.

Thigh's Out AU [masterlist] by @toxicanonymity not only is this a boyfriend's dad AU, but said boyfriend's dad is a hot and slutty. just like i like my dilfs.

father-in-law!joel miller x fem!reader

Pink [masterlist] by @netherfeildren holy fuck. that's all. just holy fuck. this altered my genetic makeup.

Help, I'm Stuck! by @nosesitter spoiler alert: he takes her wedding ring off before dicking her down and I-- 👀 send help.

***i didn't think i had a lot of significant other's father!joel miller in my repertoire, but i had to stop myself again from listing them all on this one otherwise we'd be here all day. shit, i'm learning things about myself 🤡

dark therapist!joel miller x fem!reader

Session 1 by @elvinaa i think this only highlights how badly i need an actual therapist (as does this entire list actually).

sleazy gas station clerk!joel miller x fem!reader

Meet Me in the Back (1) & The Night is Dark Enough ... (2) written by @atticrissfinch It does not bode well for me that this version of Joel Miller made me so fucking feral. In no way, shape, nor form should a sleazy gas station clerk make me feel this way AND YET HERE WE ARE.

tattoo artist!joel miller x fem!reader

Honeyed [masterlist] by @softlyspector This one absolutely hits too close to home for me, but that's probably why I'm so obsessed with it. My touch adverse yet touch starved ass ate this up and left no crumbs😌

chiro!joel miller x fem!reader

Say Yes to Heaven by @pascalisbaby i thought the medical side of my brain would cringe at the doctor/patient dynamic but as it turns out my depravity knows no bounds 🥵

frat dad!joel miller x fem!reader

The Old College Try by @proxima-writes i didn't even know this was something i needed in my life until it came into my life. blessings🙏🏼

ceo!joel miller x fem!reader

Sex on Fire [masterlist] by @macfrog i don't think i need to harp on what that sugar daddy vibes do to me🤤

mafia!joel miller x fem!reader

Divine Dynasty by @cavillscurls Remember when I said putting Joel by a body of water makes him 100x hotter? The same applies to a Mafia AU. I can't explain it. I have no sound reasoning to support my claim other than "he hot tho".

pornstar!joel miller x fem!reader

I Know it When I See it [masterlist] by @bageldaddy 🔥🔥🔥 that is all.

maintenance man!joel miller x fem!reader

Maintenance Man [masterlist] by @gracieispunk toolbelt. say less.

slasher!joel miller x fem!reader

Slasher [masterlist] by @toxicanonymity i thought for sure, FOR SURE, this would be blind, pure, detached smut that i could enjoy with no emotional ties whatsoever. and then all of a sudden i'm feeling things??? he just loves his mom so much😭 mama's boy wants to be happy. JAIL. real jail for murderer joel miller. horny jail for me. and audacity jail for toxic b/c how dare you make me feel things for a serial killer😩

as i said previously, the evidence speaks for itself. i have yet to find a version of joel miller i could not immediately fuck. i'm actually planning (i have a lot of plans and no time smh), to go through all these on my recommendation blog w/play by play commentary so everyone can know just how unhinged i am for this guy.

but now!! you guys have a syllabus for my insanity!!

now, excuse me while i go find a therapist (a real one, not a hot/dark joel miller version of one) (although beggars can't be choosers right?👀)

dividers by @saradika

#joel miller x female reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us #tlou fanfiction #fic rec

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 9 months ago

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just a girl 1

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as possible cheating, low self-esteem, noncon/dubcon, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: you move in with your sister when your luck turns for the worst.

Characters: Walter Marshall, possible Andy Barber

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself💜

It isn't your proudest moment. You don't have many of those. There is little remarkable about, nothing of note, nothing admirable. You might stand a bit taller than most but it's rarely given as a good thing.

You never expected much of life. You resigned yourself to living in the shadows. In particular, you knew you would always bet outshone by your sister's light. You can't hate her for it; it's your own shortcoming. Besides, no one can hate Riannon, she's just that nice.

You are dark smear on the family name. It's why you didn't even think to ask your parents for help. You didn't even ask your sister, she offered, insisted really. You could never deny her and in this instant, you couldn't afford any other option.

It’s just for a while, you keep telling yourself. You’ll find a new job and a place soon. For now, you’ll just stay out of the way. It isn’t very hard; you take up much more room than your few possessions.

You keep yourself holed in the guestroom as you settle into your second day. You have your laptop on your thighs as you scroll the job boards. You have the experience but you expect your reference would be any good. You didn’t exactly end on cordial terms. Starting from square one, though the industry isn’t exactly even ground for men and women alike.

You hunker down to search through the various postings within your purview. Every classification is ticked off, even the years, it’s just that little note about contacting your previous employers that makes you nervous. Well, you at least have to try.

A knock comes at the door as you edit your cover letter once again. You sit up and close the computer. You slide it aside and get up. You cross the room and crack the door open. You sister smiles from the other side.

“Am I making too much noise?” You ask as your music plays music from its tiny speaker.

“No, no, not at all. Um, so you know Andy is out of town for the day so it’s just us,” she rocks, “and there’s a barbecue down the street so... I thought you could get to know the neighbourhood.”

You look down at her, the offer catching you off guard. You were prepared to spend the whole day hidden away and poring over job listings. Even when you had your own place, you tended to spend most of your own time inside.

Still, she is doing you a huge favour and it would be rude to say no. You shrug, “okay.”

“Great, I have some potato salad I'm bringing,” she chirps.

“Uh,” you look at her blue checkered capris and pristine white blouse, “should I change?”

“It’s up to you. I'm just going to get packed up. I’ll meet you in the kitchen.”

Her excitement is palpable. She probably expected you to say no. You don’t want to let her down again. You’re tired of that feeling.

You close the door as she bounces away and you retreat to search through your still unpacked suitcase. Your clothes hang over the sides. You pick out a band shirt and a pair of dark grey jeans. You don’t have any shorts and you know your repertoire of dark colours only draws in the sun’s fury, and like of the vaunted HOA, but you don’t have many options.

You emerge with a pair of converse in hand and head into the kitchen. Rhiannon snaps the lid onto a big bowl as she beams up at you. You don’t understand how you share the same blood, she’s so different than you. Where you’re tall and gangly, she’s small and dainty; where your dour and reticent, she’s bright and bubbly. Your parents even kidded that you must’ve been switched at the hospital.

“Ready?” She asks.

You nod and look down at yourself.

“If you want to borrow a skirt or something, it’s pretty hot out.”

“It’s fine.”

You don’t take her offer as any comment on your choice, only genuine concern. If it was your mom, you would know it was more than that. To be fair, your mother is very direct with her critiques. Besides, even if her clothes would fit you, you don’t want to risk ruining any of her things.

“Alrighty, well, Marge will kill me if I’m late again,” she sings and sweeps around with the bowl. “It’ll be nice to get out, huh?”

“Mhmm,” you grumble and follow her down the hall to the front door.

She steps into her wedged sandals as you sit to pull on your converse and lace them up. You stand and get the door for her as she prances towards it. She thanks you and you trail her out. The sun hits you like fire. It’s so hot, though you think some of the heat comes from your own self-consciousness.

As you catch up to your sister at the bottom of the steps, you slow down to keep from outpacing her shorter legs. Even with her platformed soles, she’s still ahead shorter than you. You turn down the sidewalk as you shy away from the strange faces headed in the same direction.

“You want me to carry that?” You offer.

“Hey, I might be small but I can handle a salad,” she chirps.

“I know, I wasn’t--”

“I’m teasing. It’s fine, I got it,” she assures you as she hugs the bowl to her stomach, “I just want you to have a good day. Don’t think about everything else, okay?”

“Mm, okay,” you keep your head down as you slink next to her jouncing steps, “sorry, I'll try not to be too grim.”

“Whatever, you’re awesome,” she nudges you with her elbow, “you just be yourself and I know you’ll find some good friends around here.”

You try to smile but it hurts. She always sees the best in others, even when it’s not there. You keep pace with her and turn up another curated lawn. The walk is perfectly laid and the blossom tree sways overhead.

Rhiannon is welcomed through the open gate by one of those blonde women she has her book club with and you shuffle in with your hands in your pockets. You feel the woman’s harsh gaze and peek up. She looks at you the same way your mother does. Her name is Marge and her friend is Callie and there are dozens of the Stepford-like figures posted throughout the yard.

“Come, let’s put your salad out,” Marge insists.

Rhiannon looks at you and you chew your cheek, “go, I'll be fine.”

She looks reluctant but you’re already walking away. You ignore the smell of sausage and beef rising from the barbeque and the splash and laughter of children from the pool. You aren’t going to find any friends here. That much is clear. Housewives and little kids, you don’t really fit the bill.

You find your way to the far end of the lawn and stand by a tree you might just blend into. Or maybe you might bury yourself in the rose bushes. You pull your hands from your pockets and hook your fingers into your belt loops, swaying as you watch a bumble bee hover over the grass.

“Foo Fighters, huh?” A low drawl brings your head up as a man approaches with a beer bottle in hand.

“Um, yeah,” you look down at your shirt, tugging on the hem.

“You go to a show?” He asks as he stops near you, drinking from the bottle as he waits for your answer.

“Never been to one,” you cross your arms, “but I listen to them.”

“Ah, yeah, well, they put on a hell of a show,” he wiggles the bottle as he talks, “lot more fun than these things.”

You look up the yard towards the mingling of voices and sound. Despite your efforts to hide in a corner, you must have stuck out like a sore thumb. Shoot, maybe he thinks you’re trespassing.

“I came with my sister,” you point and shift towards the party, “sorry, um, Rhiannon. I didn’t... I was just looking at the roses.”

“Not my party,” he scoffs, “I don’t care.”

“Oh,” you blink and look at him. He's about your height, dark curly hair, and vibrant blue eyes. His dark beard is thick and stubble prickles along his neck. He wears a plain white shirt and jeans; the bare minimum. “Right, er, well...”

“Not a bad idea, hiding behind a tree,” he remarks, “but you're missing the key ingredient.”

He stops and stares, crooking a brow as if you should know what he means.

“Alcohol,” he raises his bottle, “they got a keg even. Probably the only good part about these bull—these things.”

“I don’t drink,” you mutter, “but thanks.”

You put your head down and stare at the grass around his shoes. You don’t know why he’s bothering you if it isn’t to make you leave. Obviously, you don’t belong.

“Never too late to start,” he snorts and stays as he is.

You don’t know how to make him leave you alone so you say nothing. The bee dips into a tulip’s mouth and you turn to watch it. Maybe he’ll take your silence as a hint.

#walter marshall #dark walter marshall #dark!walter marshall #walter marshall x reader #drabble #au #just a girl #series #night hunter #defending jacob #andy barber

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househrt · 4 months ago

Note

Seeing as you have an amazing repertoire of house md fanfictions in your collection, would you happen to have any good ones where House is vulnerable or submissive? Asking for a friend.

YES here's a selection (I didn't know if you meant vulnerable or submissive in a sex way or a not-sex way so I gave you both, though turns out most of my fav vulnerable!House fics are hurt/comfort so that's the bigger list) below the cut bc this post is long

submissive/vulnerable in a Not Sex way:

Unintentional touches from Wilson made House realize just how touch-starved he was, but he’d be damned if he ever showed it. Wilson catches on and cares for House when he starts to spiral.

"You don't take personal da -" Wilson begins, scoffing, and then does the math. "Oh, shit. House." House spends the first anniversary of his father's death on Wilson’s couch.

House has a particularly bad pain day and hasn’t been able to move for over twelve hours. But just as he thought, his day would go like this, with cramps tormenting his leg and him laying helplessly in bed in his own pee and puke, Wilson suddenly appears at his apartment and helps him to get through. Because even if Wilson doesn’t have to take care of House, he wants to. And sometimes a comforting hug can be more effective than a large dose of morphine…

House finally registered two hands holding his face so softly it was like they were afraid he’d break. He wasn’t just staring at the bathroom tiles anymore, either. Now there was a body in front of him; rumpled shirt, slacks, dress shoes. A familiar tie he remembered hating. He hadn’t even heard the front door open. He held himself back from yelling. It’s not as if he didn’t want Wilson here. Christ, House thinks he’s the only person besides maybe Cuddy who he’d tolerate at that moment. But seeing him ached. — aka what if it was Wilson who showed up at the end of 6x22? and also what if there was even more pining and near missed kisses?

After the events of One Day One Room, House makes a drunken confession. Wilson turns to Chase for advice.

“What?” Wilson muttered with as much annoyance and exasperation as House expected at that hour. Briefly, he wished he could twirl around his cane to give his hands something to do. Too bad it was a whole two parking spaces away from him. “Come get me.” Wilson sighed deeply. “Where are you? It better be a ditch or something. Are you drunk right now? You sound sober enough to drive yourself home.” “I’m in the hospital parking lot.” A long moment of silence passed. Well, it would have been silent, but House heard Wilson shuffling around. Hopefully getting his ass out of bed and getting back to work. “House, I’m tired.” Or: Sometimes, accidents happen.

What happens after House tells Cuddy he's not okay.

A brain-eating amoeba has swept the halls of Princeton-Plainesboro, moving impossibly fast and striking seemingly at random. As House investigates, he realizes that this disease does not have a natural cause. There are two geniuses living in Princeton: one a cranky misanthrope with dubious morals in love with his best friend, and the other a mad genius who has developed an obsession with Gregory House. Wilson and House leap into action to find a cure, but the mysterious James always seems one step ahead... and he will stop at nothing to catch House's eye.

Unrelenting by l57371 [I hit the limit of links lol]

The pain is too much, Wilson tries to help.

submissive/vulnerable in a Sex way:

Maybe the reason Wilson lets House spend all his money is because he likes it.

^ this is tagged "Accidental (sugar) Baby Acquisition" and that's all you need to know

Gregory House had the bad luck to present as omega in a country where omegas had little rights. After his first heat ended, he was chemically sterilized. This is over thirty years later.

#asks #fic recs #house md #malpractice md #hatecrimes md #james wilson #hilson #greg house #my posts

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oathkeeper-of-tarth · 8 months ago

Note

what do you think is funnier: Selûne rifling through her list of clerics to set her daughter up with someone Appropriate bc she knows Aylin is a huge lesbian and will go helm over greaves as soon as she likes a girl (and setting up a meet cute once she picks Isobel) or Aylin coming home to the astral sea like MOTHER I HAVE LIT UPON A MATE MOST GLORIOUS and Selûne's realization she has been privy to some incredibly private prayers recently that have indeed been about her daughter

This ask is hilarious and I love it. I am adding "helm over greaves" to my repertoire immediately.

Now I'm imagining a secret third option where Selûne is getting a bit frustrated and sad that her daughter is sort of stuck in a rut, being entirely too serious and duty-focused to the exclusion of allowing herself actual good things and worldly/mortal experiences, stubbornly erring on the side of the divine and such. Maybe this is her twentieth recent moon-blessed meet-cute setup attempt and they just keep not clicking, and Selûne would never push things because free will and all that, you know? But alas, an awful track record for the goddess whose portfolio once used to include love and marriage! Then going all divine proclamation "AYLIN MY BELOVED DAUGHTER MY MOST LOYAL KNIGHT I HAVE A LOFTY DUTY OF GREAT IMPORT FOR YOU" and she sends her to yes, sure, watch over this entire super-devoted region and long family line, but have you seen that sweet and very talented cleric who seems lonely, too? (Sune eating holy popcorn in the background.)

Man, all this just makes me realise I crave some fluffy shenanigans with these two. Yes, their storylines are super steeped in tragedy and bittersweet and doomed mortal/immortal stuff but there's also so much hilarity potential there. Starting with, but not limited to, "the god I am a cleric of is my mother-in-law". And then maybe throw in some courtly love knight/lady trappings in there. Delicious.

You've reminded me of swear i was born right in the doorway which is a really funny fic that has a bit of Selûne going "Isobel you're very nice but please stop praying about my daughter to me". Also gonna drop a quick shoutout to Five easy steps to successfully kidnapping your very own peasant wife! (um, actually, she’s an angel?) which is a newly posted one that seems to be deliberately going in those romcom-y tropey directions and I dig it. I hear there's only going to be one bed at the inn! Hard to beat that.

#oathkeeper replies to things #matchmaker selune lmao what a thought i love it #dame aylin #isobel thorm #selune #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #aylin x isobel #fic rec

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sotwk · 8 months ago

Text

Cinder Girl (Fíli x unnamed OC)

Summary: The Crown Prince of Erebor faces the dilemma of losing his heart to a lovely yet humble palace servant.

Word count: 2.4 k

Content: Fluffy, tropey romance and comfort, Durins Live AU, post-BotFA, class division, love confession, Pining Prince Fíli

Rating: General (no warnings apply)

To Read on AO3: Link

Dedication and Inspiration: Thank you to the Anon who inspired this concept long ago by sending me this message! <3

Also for my friend, @guardianofrivendell, a true Fíli aficionado with an incredible repertoire of fics of our beloved Dwarf Prince. You probably don't remember, but this fic fulfills the "Love Confessions" request you made from my Valentine Event in 2023! Better late than never? Welcome back! <3

Cinder Girl

The Reclaimed Kingdom of Erebor

Third Age 2945

What to do, what to do? The proper thing, of course. The decision should be that simple, and it usually was so for Fíli.

Except now. Except when it came to her.

The young dwarf lord tugged on the beaded braid of his mustache and leaned forward in the cushioned bench on which he sat. He made a motion to stand, only to plop back down again with a frustrated grunt. He had been dithering that way for the last ten minutes, at least.

And he had spent twice as long sitting there, only half ashamed of allowing himself to enjoy the sight that surprised him when he returned to his chambers following a day-long council meeting.

I am just looking, is all, Fíli reminded himself, desperate to excuse his poor manners. He knew the right thing to do would be to gently wake her, assure her that she was in no trouble, and allow her to discreetly exit the room she should never have been caught in.

Surely this was a sign. A gift from Mahal himself, to force his stubborn, weak arse into action. Yet there he was again, he who was hailed as the Lion of Erebor, one of the bravest warriors in the kingdom, just sitting there stupidly, staring as he always did, because he could never find neither strength nor courage to do anything else in the presence of this dwarrowdam that stole the very breath from his lungs.

Even as she lay there on the lush fur rug by the fireplace, in a cozy warmth that likely had lulled her to sleep, her presence paralyzed him. She was that very rare gem, found only once in a generation, exquisite in itself without need for cutting or polishing, or settings of gold, or other fine stones to accompany it.

"Beyond beautiful," Fíli thought, and his chest filled with both longing and wonderment of how utterly she had ensnared him with so little effort, with such little awareness of the effect she caused.

She had dazzled Fíli the moment she cast her first smile and first spoke his name, and from then on the prince was blind to all others. When she laughed, Fíli finally understood why his brother Kíli constantly acted the fool just to earn that sweet sound from his own lady’s lips.

And so Fíli neglected to mention the titles that accompanied his name, and as a result he was able to enjoy hours of conversations with the newcomer from the Blue Mountains, basking in her uninhibited laughter and open stories and playful touches.

But the ruse would not last even a month. When she finally discovered that the new “friend” who had welcomed her to Erebor was actually King Thorin’s heir, next-in-line to the throne of Durin, an invisible wall rose between them. She never laughed in the same way around him again. She remained friendly and kind, yes, but every action toward him was suddenly restrained by prim courtesy. Their once animated conversations were dampened by measured, cautious responses. Even her beautiful smile was dimmed by a strange sadness, as though the knowledge of his royal identity disappointed her.

"Please, you don't have to…" he said, when he once tried to stop her from bowing to him as they passed each other in the hall.

"It is only proper, my lord," she murmured, keeping her lovely eyes lowered to her feet, only doubling Fíli's frustrations. "I bid you a good day, Prince Fíli."

And she hurried away with her cleaning pail in tow, before Fíli could offer to help, before he could muster up the nerve to invite her to dinner, which was why he had come down to the servants’ hall in the first place. All he had succeeded in doing was send the tongues of the palace domestic staff wagging.

Eventually Fíli's despair grew heavy enough that he sought Balin's counsel, daring not to broach the topic with the one person who could completely relieve him of his fear: that no future was possible between the Heir of Durin and a dwarf not only from a different clan, but without rank or advantages.

Balin remained silent while Fíli laid out his entire predicament--during the prince’s impassioned speech, and a long while after. Too long, so much that the thoughtful calm Fíli usually admired in his sagacious old cousin only set his teeth on edge.

“I must say this is troubling news to hear indeed,” Balin finally spoke, tugging thoughtfully at his beard.

“Troubling?!” Fíli exclaimed. “How could you already deem it as such when you have not yet met her? What matters her lack of status when she is the sweetest and gentlest soul to ever bless me with her company?! That is, until she decided she could no longer tolerate my presence,” he amended glumly.

“Calm yourself, boy.” Balin chuckled between sips of his ale. “You have only ever raved this passionately about very few things before, and never about a bonnie lass. For a moment I thought I might actually be speaking to Kíli.”

“That isn't close to either the comfort or counsel I was hoping for, Balin.”

“Harrumph. That is because I have neither of those things for you, lad! What you need is to be slapped back into your senses!” Balin shook a stout finger at the dwarf-prince. “Have you so little knowledge or faith in your Uncle that you could not bring this matter straight to him?”

Fíli drew back, eyebrows lifted in bewilderment. “I thought he would scoff at the frivolity of it, before declaring my desire for her as unsuitable.”

“Because the girl is common?” Balin snorted when Fíli nodded. “It would wound Thorin so deeply to hear this, that I shall not even bother repeating your words to him.” He reached across the dinner table to grip Fíli’s arm. “Your Uncle risked his life, risked everything to take back this Mountain for you, my boy. To give you the future that he felt you deserved. Do you think that future is all about gold?”

Balin smiled and slapped Fíli gently on his slack-jawed face. “It is about choice, and freedom. The freedom to chase whatever dreams you wish. Go and speak to Thorin. It appears there is much he needs to clarify about his expectations of you as the realm’s prince and his heir.”

Fíli had genuinely intended to heed Balin’s advice to discuss things with his uncle. But after failing to quickly gain an audience with the chronically busy king, he let his nerves conquer him yet again, as he put off pursuing that conversation. And so day after day passed with him stuck in the plight of his own making… leading at last to that evening, when the source of his agony literally lay right before him inside his own chambers, demanding to be dealt with.

The more time passed with him just sitting and staring at the sleeping chambermaid, the longer each minute seemed to stretch, and the more ridiculous Fili felt in his inertness.

Just when his frustration came to its peak, and he felt unable to tolerate himself any longer, the prince rose quietly and stepped towards the figure on the fur rug.

A pounding knock barely gave him any warning before his chamber door swung wide open and Kili barreled inside. “Did you not say you were starving, brother? What is taking you so--??”

Kili stopped short, his wide-eyed stare darting between Fili and the lady that had stumbled to her feet, disheveled and disoriented. It was impossible to tell who looked more mortified by his arrival.

“Have I… am I interrupting something?”

“I am so very sorry, milords!” the maiden blurted out. “I didn't mean to, I---I am so--!” Her ashen face suddenly colored by the violence of her embarrassment, she grabbed her cleaning pail from the hearth. The contents rattled inside the metal bucket, so badly did her hands shake as she gave a hasty curtsy to the royal princes.

“N-no, no wait, please… h-hold on for just a moment--” Fili began, when his tongue finally came unstuck from the roof of his mouth, but it was too late. She rushed across the room and straight out the open door without ever lifting her gaze off the ground.

“Brother, I am sorry, I didn't know--”

Fili brushed aside the apology and scrambled past Kili to fly out into the hallway. Panic had broken through his earlier paralysis and suddenly he could not move fast enough, his body acting beyond the constraints of his judgment.

He called after her; the sound of her name and his footsteps chased her down the empty corridor. But to Fili's dismay she did not stop or even slow down, and just as she was about to turn a corner and descend the stairs leading from the palace wing, a desperate shout escaped containment, partially strangled in the tightness of his throat, but still too loud to be ignored.

“I love you, all right?! I love you!!”

The frantic clatter of the metal pail ceased, and all Fili could hear against the ensuing silence was the roar of his pulse beneath his ears. In several strides, he closed the distance to come before the maiden. She stayed rooted to the spot and motionless, apart from the heaving of her bosom as she chased her breath.

“This was not how I wanted you to find out.” The calm in his own voice surprised Fili, as did the confidence that drove his words. “But I also do not wish to take it back. Hiding from the truth has gained me nothing but pain.”

“I appreciate your candor, milord, and I regret your pain.” She continued to address him, but her eyes remained firmly lowered towards her hands, white-knuckled in their grip around the pail handle. “But what am I to do with these fine words you offer? How can a peasant be worthy to receive the affections of a prince?”

“Worthy?” Fíli repeated in distaste. “What causes you to believe that you must be worthy to--?”

“You are the future King of Erebor.” She spoke loudly over him, as though she had not heard him at all, or was determined not to. “The blood of Durin the Deathless runs in you! I am just a nobody from a Broadbeam village in the Blue Mountains--”

“I was born in such a village, same as my father!” Fíli cut her off with matching fervor. “And you are certainly not ‘just a nobody’ to me.”

Something in his words finally reached her, for at last she raised her bowed head ever so slightly, just enough for her gaze to meet his, and the tears that shimmered in her eyes wiped away the last of his hesitation.

“We are not different, ghivashel. Not in any way that matters.”

Her smile that bloomed at that word, one that proclaimed her more precious than any treasure in Erebor, revived a light in him that had gone out in the long weeks of her absence.

When Fíli reached out to relieve her of the cleaning pail, she did not resist. Grasping her wrist, he rested her open hand upon his. He swept his thumb back and forth all across her palm, over the red scrapes and dirt-streaked calluses that made her all the more beautiful and admirable in his eyes.

“Not long ago, I spent each waking day with my face smeared in soot, my arms and hands burnt from the blaze of forge fires, aching to the bone after hours of back-breaking labor.”

He pushed up his tunic sleeve to show her: the patches of discolored skin from old burns, the countless scars that littered the entire length of his arm, almost to his elbow.

“But I would always go to bed happy, and proud of my honest living, of the smith that I was.” He shook his head and corrected himself. “The smith that I am. Whatever titles and additional duties I may now carry as a consequence of my inheritance, I am still that same soot-covered dwarf.”

He sealed her hand between his two and lightly kissed the fingertips that peeked out from the cage of his palms.

“All I ask is for a chance to show you that,” he said softly. “With the hope that you might come to love what you see in me. For I have already, absolutely, fallen in love with everything I see in you.”

Her silence filled the entire length of the passageway, all the way up to the high ceilings. Under the crushing weight of its persistence, Fíli’s hope started to falter. But as the fear of his failure to convince her started to creep in, his grip all the more tightened around her hand. He couldn't let go. He did not know how he could ever let her go.

“From the first day we met,” she finally spoke. “I already loved everything I saw in you…Fíli of the Blue Mountains.” She tipped her chin up and squared her shoulders, face set with resolution alongside her gentle smile. “I think that love can bring me the courage I need to let the other side of you, Prince Fíli of Erebor, into my heart as well.”

Fíli’s entire being swelled with such relief and unbridled joy he thought he might catch flame. His arms found themselves around her waist, drawing her close to his desire to demonstrate the feelings he had restrained for too long.

Alas, a sudden and deafening crash rang through the hall to cut off Fíli’s eager quest. “Sorry, sorry!” yelped a guilty voice in the shadows.

Fíli groaned, then chuckled, and settled for another chase kiss upon his lady’s hand.

“Would you care to have dinner with my brother and I?” he asked her, nodding in the direction of the ruckus as Kíli struggled to straighten up the decorative suit of armor he had knocked over. “An unrepentant snoop he may be, but I can assure you he is otherwise harmless and actually quite pleasant company.”

“It sounds like a wonderful start to getting to know the rest of you,” she said, eyes bright from their shared laughter, free of even a speck of her earlier doubts. “Because I very much would like to know everything, Fíli. To discover and delight in every wonderful bit of you.”

“And you shall have that,” Fíli vowed, brushing his thumb over the curve of her cheek, over an ashy mark of the fireplace cinders that had brought her back to him. “You already do have me, but I shall also endeavor to give the whole world to make you happy.”

“You are already the whole world,” she declared, and rose on her toes to do what he could not, sealing their confessions with a sound kiss.

For more SotWK Fanfiction: Fanfiction Masterlist

Other useful links:

Introduction to SotWK

Headcanon Masterlist

#sotwk fanfiction #Fili #Fili x OC #unnamed OC #the hobbit #tolkien #Fili fanfiction #Erebor #sons of durin #lord of the rings #dwarves of erebor #the hobbit fanfiction #anon asks #anon request

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sequinsmile-x · 1 month ago

Text

In the Age of Him

Ivy, as it turned out, was maybe a little bit too much like Emily.

AKA - the one in which Emily and Aaron's daughter dates her college professor

-x-

Hi besties,

I won't lie, I had a bit of a menty b today at work and came up with the idea of this whilst listening to The Manuscript by Taylor Swift on repeat. Was listen to that song on repeat the cause or a symptom of my menty b? That is for you to decide.

(By the way, I do recognise the irony of me writing this when there is also a Emily/Professor Hotch fic in my repertoire)

As always, let me know what you think!

-x-

Warnings: Age gap relationship/inappropriate relationship

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

Ever since Ivy was born, everyone always told Emily that she was just like her.

It had grown with her little girl. From her looks and their same shaped nose, to her wilfulness when she was a toddler, to her intelligence and aptitude for languages, to her desire to push boundaries when she was a teenager. Sometimes Emily looked at Ivy, the awe she felt whenever she looked at any one of her children blooming in her chest, the flowers of it taking up space where her lungs should be, and she’d wonder if she was looking at who she could have been if life hadn’t been so hard on her when she was so young.

Emily found herself missing Ivy, missing all of her children, now they had all moved out. Jack had gone to Harvard like this father and then moved back to DC once he’d graduated. He lived with his girlfriend across town, and Emily had a feeling that one day soon they’d make grandparents out of her and Aaron. Ivy was in her third year at Georgetown. She was studying Arabic with a minor in Classics, and had a confident I know everything and can take on the world attitude that only a 20-year-old could. Violet, the baby of the family, a title she hated now she was 18, was travelling. She was in Europe, turning one gap year into two, and having the time of her life.

Emily missed when her children were small. When they needed her and there wasn’t anything she couldn’t fix with their favourite sugar-filled cereal and a cuddle. She missed when she could help them make a decision, when they’d actually ask for her opinion, and she didn’t have to bite her tongue and know it was the best thing she could do.

Ivy had come home with a bag full of laundry and a smile on her face as she told her parents she was seeing someone. They were happy for her. Delighted that she’d moved on from the heartbreak of her high school boyfriend who had dumped her a few months earlier. Their happiness was, sadly, short-lived when they found out the person she was dating was none other than her Classics Professor. A man named Stephen Hodges who was almost 30 years her senior.

Ivy, as it turned out, was maybe a little bit too much like Emily.

“You know what I keep thinking?” Emily asks, her tongue peeking out to lick at her lower lip, a sigh shuddering through her chest as she turns to look at Aaron. “If my mom were alive, she’d say this was karma.”

Aaron can’t help but smile before he shakes his head at her, “What are we going to do?”

She reaches for his hand and squeezes it, bracing herself as she gives the answer she knows he’ll hate, “Honey, we’re not going to do anything.”

His smile slips away, turning into a frown she so rarely saw in their home, one she could count on one hand the number of times she’d seen at all since he retired, “Our daughter is dating her professor, her 48 year old professor, and you’re suggesting we do nothing?”

“Aaron, I hate this as much as you do” she says, squeezing his hand again, hoping she could press understanding from her skin into his, “But if we push on this, if we make our opinion on it clear, we are pushing her towards him. We have to…act like this is just another boyfriend.”

He shakes his head, “He’s her teacher. It’s…we should call the college. Tell them what he’s doing.”

“And if we do that we all but guarantee she’ll marry the asshole,” she says, “We need to be supportive, and when it all goes wrong and she gets her heart broken,” she shakes her head and sucks in a breath at the thought of her little girl hurting. Aaron tugs her closer, wraps his arm around her shoulders to hold her, his irritation at the situation melting away in the fire of her maternal instincts, “When that happens, she’ll come to us. And we’ll support her then too.”

He hates that she’s right, and she’s once again proven how good she is at all of this. He wishes he could go back to the version of her that was holding a newborn Ivy against her chest, overwhelmed with exhaustion and hormones as she whispered that she wasn’t sure she was going to be a good mom for her, and tell her just how amazing she was. She was, and always had been, the mother he knew she would be. And he felt nothing short of honoured that he was the one she had chosen to do all this with.

“You’re right.”

She hums and turns her head to catch his jaw in a kiss, “I so often am,” she says, smiling as she pulls back, “Besides…I’ve been on the other side of this.”

He raises his eyebrows, “You dated a professor?”

“You have always said Ivy is exactly like me,” she says before she blows out a breath, “She was my Russian Literature professor,” she shakes her head at the memories, of everything that had felt so romantic at the time but made her grimace when she looked back, “She was only 20 years older than me though, so Ivy has me beat on that.”

“And your mom…”

“Oh, she disapproved massively,” she replies, “I’m still not sure if she was more horrified by the fact I was dating a woman, or the fact I was dating my professor. But she made her feelings clear,” She looks up at him, her lips pressed together as she shrugs, the memories of everything she’d spent so many years trying to forget climbing up her throat, “And that made me stay with her for longer, purely because I didn’t want my mom to say ‘I told you so,’” she laughs humourlessly, “Which she, of course, got to say in the end anyway.”

He leans in to kiss her cheek and she turns her head to capture his lips. It’s a much needed reminder of what she had now, of what she’d had for so long she had forgotten what it was like to live without it.

“So we keep our mouths shut, be supportive, and hope it’s all over soon?” He asks and she nods, kissing him again before she pulls back.

“Yes,” she replies, resting her head on his shoulder to seek out the comfort he always gave her without needing to be asked. She loved watching her children grow. She was endlessly proud of them. But it was hard. Hard to step back and let them make mistakes because she couldn’t protect them from them forever. “Is it just me, or do you miss the days when the biggest problem we had was the kids not wanting to share their toys?”

He chuckles and kisses her forehead, his nose pressed against her grey hair as he breathes her in, “It’s not just you, sweetheart.”

___

They invite him over for dinner.

Emily has to grasp Aaron’s leg under the table, her nails digging in through his jeans every time he looks like he’s going to react to something Stephen says. He talks about how he’d known Emily’s mother, calls her Elizabeth as if they were friends, not just two people who had once crossed paths at a party. He says Ivy is old for her age. Mature and wise in a way that made him forget about the age gap between them.

The worst part is how Ivy looks at him. Like he’s hung the moon and the stars and she was lost somewhere between them. It takes everything in Emily to stick to the plan she’d come up with, to not let her irritation at the man old enough to be Ivy’s father shine through whenever she spoke to her daughter.

It all comes crashing down only 6 weeks after Ivy told them about her relationship. She calls Emily in tears, says she’d found Stephen with someone else - another student - and that he’d acted like she was the one who had lost her mind. He claimed he’d never said they were exclusive, as if he hadn’t sat opposite her parents just a few weeks before and said how much he admired them for raising such an incredible woman.

Emily rushes home after Ivy says she’ll meet her there, unable to bring herself to go back to her apartment, and she texts Aaron to tell him some of it. He was at home already but said he’d go out to give them some room, a promise Emily can see he’d kept the moment she gets home to find his car gone and Ivy’s parked in its place.

She walks into the house and heads for the kitchen, the light from in there filtering out into the otherwise dark hallway. She pauses in the kitchen doorway, her hand tight around the handle of her purse. Frozen in place by the sight of her eldest daughter sitting at the counter, a bowl in front of her and a box of Cookie Crisp next to her.

“I didn’t know you and Dad still bought this stuff,” Ivy says, not turning to look at her, her voice shaking in a way that tells Emily all she needs to know. Ivy wipes her face with the sleeve of her sweater and sniffs, streaks of make-up standing out against the soft grey material, a grim pattern of heartbreak and regret that Emily knew all too well. Ivy grabs the cereal box, distracts herself by reading the ingredients on the side, her eyes lingering on the puzzle she would have once scrambled to fill out, “I don’t know why I used to be obsessed with it,” she says, putting the box back down before she reaches out for her bowl, pulling it towards her and eating a mouthful of the cereal despite her criticism of it, “It’s just a bowl of mini cookies pretending to be cereal.”

Emily walks over, purposely keeping the distance she knew she’d want, and she stops when she’s in her daughter’s eye line, “I think that’s exactly why it used to be your favourite, honey.”

Ivy hums, and her lower lip trembles. She clears her throat, and the exhale that escapes catches on her ribs, knocking all of them on its way out in a way that hurts, “Are you going to say I told you so?”

“Of course not,” Emily replies, sitting on the stool next to her, “I never would.”

Ivy turns to look at her. She looks for any sign she’s lying, that she’s simply biding her time, and when she doesn’t find it, she nods, turning her attention back to her cereal, pushing floating pieces of now soggy cookie around in the milk. “I…I thought he liked me.”

“He’d be stupid not to,” Emily replies, smiling softly when Ivy briefly looks at her again, a flash of her across her face when she can’t help but roll her eyes, “I’m sorry. I know you liked him.”

“I…” Ivy drifts off and she sighs, shaking her head at herself, “I just wish someone would love me the way Dad loves you. And the way you love him,” she scrunches her nose up, “It’s actually kind of gross.”

Emily chuckles, and she finally reaches out for Ivy, placing her hand on her back in the way she used to when she was tiny. A dot of a thing curled up on her chest that refused to sleep and had never known heartbreak or anything other than love.

“I was 40 when your Dad and I started dating, honey.”

Ivy scoffs, “So you’re saying I have to wait 20 years for the right guy to appear?”

Emily shakes her head, “No, I’m saying you’ve got plenty of time to figure it all out.”

Ivy nods, “Where’s Dad?”

“I sent him out for snacks,” she replies, tucking some of Ivy’s hair behind her ear.

“He didn’t like Stephen.”

She sighs, and she decides honesty is the best way forward, “No. He didn’t.”

“Well,” she says, dropping her spoon, the dull thud of it hitting the bottom of the mostly empty bowl, “He was right not to.” Ivy finally breaks, her face crumbling as she leans forward, her face pressed against Emily’s shoulder. Emily wraps her arms around her and kisses the side of her head.

“I’ve got you, baby,” she says, kissing the side of her head again and rubbing a comforting circle on her back, “I’ve got you.”

“Can I stay here tonight?”

“Of course,” she replies, holding her even tighter, “This is your home. You never have to ask.”

“Can I…” she pulls back and looks at her, leaning into Emily’s hand when she wipes tears from her cheeks, “Can I sleep in with you and Dad?” She asks, her chin trembling, “Like when I was little?”

It takes everything in Emily to not cry, tears pressing at the back of her eyes as she nods and tugs Ivy closer again, “Of course, you can.”

___

“Do we need anything else?”

Emily looks up from the grocery list in her hand to her husband, “Just cereal. Ivy ate all the Cookie Crisp when she stayed with us,” she says, smiling sadly as she thinks of the once again empty bedroom in their home. Ivy had stayed with them for a few days, had commuted back and forth from their home to college, and had avoided her Classics class entirely. Emily felt guilty for enjoying having Ivy around so much, hated that she’d liked the hugs and time they’d had together in recent days, snuggled up on the couch like when Ivy was small watching movies Emily had once sworn she’d never watch again. “I want to make sure we always have some in the pantry.”

It was something they’d once spoken about in hypotheticals. Their hands on her belly as Ivy rolled around under their skin and they spoke about what they wanted to do for her and Jack, and later Violet, and the kinds of parents they’d make sure they’d always be. She’d said she always wanted to be the mom who had her kids' favourite foods in the pantry even when they didn’t live there anymore. To make sure they always felt at home even if they lived elsewhere, that they had a safe space to return to and a sense of familiarity in something as simple as a snack they enjoyed.

Aaron smiles and nods at her and pushes the cart towards the cereal aisle, “We should get some Cinnamon Toast Crunch too,” he says, “That’s Vi’s favourite and she’s coming home soon.”

She hums and pulls a box from the shelf, “It doesn’t hurt that it’s your favourite too.”

He laughs, but it fades when he looks up, his expression melting into a frown she’d used to, over two decades ago, be on the receiving end of. Emily looks up too and feels her shoulders tense when she sees Stephen standing at the other end of the aisle. He has the respect to look sheepish for a moment, his eyes wide and his shoulders tight as he throws a smile and tries to leave, but Emily finds herself moving before she can stop herself, ignoring Aaron’s query of what she was doing.

“Do you have anything to say for yourself?” She says, crossing her arms over her chest as she stares him down, weeks of repressed anger at a man who had taken advantage of her daughter and the way she looked up to him burning up her throat, “Or are you just going to pretend you didn’t break Ivy’s heart. She’s thinking of dropping Classics because of you. She’s loved it since high school and now she might give it up because you decided you wanted to what? Boost your ego?”

“We were never exclusive,” he replies, a smarminess to him she thinks she would have once fallen for, and it makes her angrier, “I’m sorry she got her wires crossed.”

Emily scoffs, and she almost walks away. She turns away from him, but finds herself frozen in place, everything she hadn’t said when Ivy was dating him weighing her down, heavy on her chest and shoulders. She turns back, sure her expression was firmly set in what Aaron always called her I used to be a spy face and she gets a kick out of the flash of anxiety that passes over Stephen’s features, his cool exterior briefly fractured. It bolsters her even further, makes her want to crack it further, to smash his misplaced self confidence to pieces and stamp on it like he’d done to Ivy’s heart.

“I know your type,” she says, stepping towards him, “I know my daughter won’t have been the first student you’ve done this to, but she will be the last. Otherwise, I’ll make sure you not only lose your job, but that you will never work again.”

It takes a moment for him to respond, his shock turning into a smirk that she’s seen on countless men’s faces before, “And how will you do that?”

“You said you’d heard of my mother?” She raises her eyebrow and smiles politely, waiting for him to nod in response, her smile never slipping as his smirk starts to fade, “Well, I’m sure you can imagine the power that the name Prentiss has in this city. I’ve never enjoyed using it but for my kid? I’ll do it in a heartbeat.” She turns away before she can see his reaction, not giving him any room to respond, to say anything and somehow lower her opinion of him even further. She can tell from the look on Aaron’s face as she approaches him that Stephen has walked away, can tell from how her husband’s shoulders relax that the man he’d like to give a piece of his mind to is no longer within hearing distance. She turns and sees the aisle is empty and she blows out a breath before she looks at Aaron, “You heard all of that?”

He nods and wraps his arm around her waist, taking the opportunity to lean in and kiss her, “Every word.”

She smiles and kisses him before she pulls away, her arm looping through his as he starts to push the cart again, “You can never tell Ivy. I don’t think she’d ever forgive me.”

He chuckles and kisses her temple, “Your secret is safe with me, sweetheart.”

#aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #aaron hotchner fanfiction #hotchniss fanfic #emily prentiss fanfiction #aaron hotchner x emily prentiss #aaron x emily #hotchniss #hotchniss fanfiction #hotchniss fan fic

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theelizamanelli · 1 month ago

Text

Kanpai

Fumiko is the first daughter to be born into the Hime clan in over a century. A secret prophecy forces her into the path of imminent danger. After a failed assassination attempt, the Jujutsu elders dictate that she requires more aggressive security measures. How will cheerful Fumiko Hime handle the coldness of her new bodyguard Kento Nanami? Tags: 18+, kento nanami x female oc, bodyguard, enemies to lovers, forced proximity, eventual romance, eventual smut, blood and violence, implied/referenced death, implied/referenced torture, attempted kidnapping link to all chapters link to ao3

Note from the author: Referenced characters from Tengoku, a gojo x female oc fic, you do not need to read this to understand but it is highly recommended. Thank you!

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Chapter Two

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One Week Prior

Kento Nanami

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“I am recommending you for a new mission,” said Yaga, turning a doll over in his hands. “A security detail.”

Kento stood in front of the desk, staring down at him. The man’s face showed no emotion, no gauge on whether this job would prove to be a nuisance or not. Though he had to admit that Yaga’s repertoire of facial expressions was limited.

Kento's eyes narrowed, “Who is the security detail for?” He reasoned that if he would have to spend his free time protecting someone he could only hope it would be a worthwhile client.

“Fumiko Hime,” he stated, turning his gaze upwards.

“Who?” Kento asked, his eyes squinting in response.

“Fumiko Hime,” Yaga repeated, his fingers absentmindedly twirling the doll’s hand, “the only daughter to be born in the Hime clan in centuries.”

Kento sighed, his desire for a person of value slowly dwindled as Yaga continued. Yet another influential family fighting to protect a spoiled rich girl so they can inevitably marry her off to the highest bidder.

Yaga turned his chair towards the window, “There has been a leak, a prophecy linking her and the effective ruin of curses as we know it. We don’t have all of the details but that is my understanding.”

Kento stretched his neck reflexively, his irritation beginning to reflect across his features, “Why is this a problem now?”

Yaga ignored his growing frustration, “Apparently it comes to fruition on her twenty-third birthday.”

“Let me guess. She’s twenty-two?” inquired Kento, acid consuming his tone.

Yaga nodded, turning to face him, “Unfortunately for Hime, there have already been threats to her life. Her Father wants her to be watched in case one of them decides to act.”

“I understand,” Kento swiftly shifted towards the exit, his jaw clenched.

“Kento, I chose you for a reason. Please take care,” Yaga placed the doll on the table before returning to his papers.

Kento hesitated, his fingers grazing the knob. He shook his head slightly and exited the room, venturing back out to the field. He watched as Iyashi trained with Gojo, her kaikens piercing through the air towards him as he dodged gracefully out of their path. Yaga’s words echoed through his mind, what reason he had to choose him - he was entirely unsure.

“I hear you got stuck watching over the princess,” Ino stepped towards Kento, settling in next to him.

“Who?” he replied, his tone tinged with agitation.

“The princess? Fumiko Hime?” Ino responded, angling his body towards Kento.

He pierced him with an incredulous look at the mention of the nickname.

“I don’t know, that’s just what they call her,” he replied with a shrug.

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Present Day

Fumiko Hime

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“A what?” shouted Fumiko, her head whipping towards him.

“A curfew,” Nanami sat in the chair at the island, sipping a cup of tea before setting it back down.

Fumiko scoffed at the proposition.

Nanami continued, seemingly unaffected by her blatant look of disgust, “It will be easier to keep you safe. There are a great deal of horrors that occur at night in this area.”

“Listen, I understand that you have a job to do but you don’t control me,” responded Fumiko, her brows furrowing.

“You are correct. I do not. I am employed to protect you, though. A duty I take seriously,” he raised his eyes to meet hers, crossing his arms. “In order to do so effectively, we will be home by dark every night.”

Her glare lingered on him as she swiped her dishes into the sink with a clatter, a clear indication that the conversation was over.

When she had awoken that morning, Nanami had entered her home without notice. This had only served as a grating reminder that he had recently criticized Fumiko’s observational skills; her track record now appearing to lean in his favor.

Much to her dismay.

Fumiko roughly shoved her shoes on before ripping the bag from the bench, her face tight with frustration. Slipping her headphones over her ears, she threw the front door open.

Tapping her foot impatiently, she turned in his direction, “Are you coming?”

Nanami considered her for a moment before he stood - placing his mug in the sink carefully and striding towards the door.

He braced his arm above Fumiko’s head, gesturing for her to walk through first. A slight pink spread through the back of her neck before she huffed, hurrying towards the elevator.

As they walked through the lobby she noted that he would occasionally sweep the area with his eyes before turning them forward. His face unwavering in its seriousness.

The city appeared particularly calm for the morning, the foot traffic light. Fumiko was grateful for the unexpected surrounding peace. On a normal day she would take these early hours slower. Her frustration had hastened her pace that morning, forcing her to skip out on favored activities.

Her eyes darted towards Nanami, his mouth was tight as he assessed his surroundings. Fumiko was unsure she wanted to share her mornings with this man. She was deeply aware of what he thought of her lifestyle, the short burst of memory flitting across her vision before she scowled - increasing her stride.

Nanami didn’t falter at the change, keeping step with her until they had reached the walkway to the University. Fumiko tightened her hold on the bag before trekking towards the door. Throwing it open, she ventured towards the stairs - careful to hold onto the railing as she ascended.

“Hey, Miko!” yelled a man from down the hallway, waving enthusiastically.

“Good morning!” she replied with a smile before walking into the classroom.

Without looking in his direction she gestured to a chair in the corner of the room, “If you insist on staying, you can sit there.”

Without a reply, Nanami strode towards where she pointed - sitting down and crossing his legs. His eyes trailed around the room, a hand resting on his knee. Fumiko placed her bag on her chair, slowly setting up her desk with a laptop and water bottle.

The door creaked open, a quiet voice echoing through the gap, “Miko, are you here already?”

Fumiko smiled, “Good morning, Isa. Please come in.”

A short, thin man entered the room - his brown hair laying haphazardly. His posture was slightly curved, his face soft and kind. He walked towards the piano that sat on the opposite side of Nanami.

“I was surprised to hear your voice in the hallway, you’re never here this early.” his eyes darted nervously towards the foreboding man who had straightened at his entrance, “You have a guest.”

Fumiko cocked her head slightly before realizing who he was referring to, “Him? Oh, he’s just,” she swallowed hard - desperately grasping for an excuse, “auditing the class for the semester.”

Isamu threw her a skeptical glance before shrugging. He sat down at the piano, beginning to warm up the keys as Fumiko floated around the room. Attempting to tidy the chairs and erase what was left on the board from the previous week.

The day continued, Fumiko instructed on vocal performance and music theory before taking on her private voice lessons with Isa as instrumental. Nanami sat quietly in the corner, never once getting up but simply gazing at her over his glasses.

The last student exited as Fumiko threw her bag over her shoulder, careful to slide her hair out of the way. Her eyes connected with Nanami as he stood straight, walking in her direction.

If it weren’t for the tension in their past, Fumiko would reason that he was an exceedingly handsome man. His muscles were well outlined in the blue shirt, the top buttons undone. Fumiko realized he wasn’t wearing his tie, suddenly remembering how he knelt before her. A blush painted her cheeks as she turned towards the door.

Walking home in silence, Fumiko was careful to stare forward. There were a variety of people rushing about on the streets at this hour. Nanami remained close to her, lingering only a step behind. She noted that men and women stared up at him as they passed, careful to keep their distance. Though disgruntled at the unwanted attention, she admitted that it was easier to make the venture home when she wasn’t fighting traffic in the opposite direction.

“Please help me!” shouted a young girl as she slammed into Fumiko’s legs causing her to jolt - she clutched her small shoulders in an attempt for balance. Nanami quickly stepped to Fumiko’s side, placing his arm across her chest - halting her movement towards the girl.

“Please, I can’t find my Mom,” she frantically reached for Fumiko’s hand, attempting to pull her in the opposite direction. Leaning downwards, she attempted to stretch past Nanami’s arm but was abruptly stopped with a firm brace.

“The police across the street should be able to help you,” he pointed with his free hand towards the marked vehicle parked along the curb.

“No, no, no. Please!” the girl cried, digging her nails into Fumiko’s hand. She jerked against Nanami’s arm at the force, her bag slipping from her shoulder - the weight of it dragging her further down.

“We could help her,” Fumiko's eyes softened at the desperation in the girl's eyes.

“No,” he responded, intently staring at their intertwined hands. “Let her go.”

The girl ignored Nanami, staring directly into Fumiko’s eyes. She noted that they were an odd shade of blue, goosebumps rose along her body at the distress in her features. The girl continued to dart her pupils frantically, intermittently returning to hers.

“Let her go or I will force you to,” Nanami repeated firmly, he had not altered his stance. His arm braced against Fumiko, acting as a barrier whenever the girl would pull her forward.

She continued to avoid Nanami, as if she knew this would be her last opportunity she yanked Fumiko roughly downwards causing her knees to buckle - nearly hitting the concrete.

Quickly grabbing her shoulder, Nanami yanked her behind him. He reached both of his hands towards Fumiko, gripping her hips to steady her. He took a step behind, pushing them both backwards.

“Stupid bitch!” screamed the girl, hurdling herself towards Nanami - her teeth bared.

He continued to reverse, Fumiko reached for his shirt - tightening her grip on the fabric to keep herself from tripping in his haste to create distance between the attacker.

Nanami slid his weapon out from the sling on his back, his remaining hand clutching onto her leggings - his knuckle rubbing against the bare skin on Fumiko’s hip. The girl slashed at his torso causing him to lean back, his blade slid through the air - slicing into her shoulder.

She screamed in agony, frantically reaching for the area where the blood spurted into the air. Without allowing her a reprieve, Nanami struck again on the opposite side causing the girl to fall to her knees. He quickly sliced through her neck, her head catapulting towards the wall - it collided with a sickening thud and rolled along the concrete.

Fumiko’s eyes widened at the sight of her blue eyes boring into hers. She averted her gaze quickly, her head instinctively nuzzling into his back.

She felt his fingers slowly unfurl from her hip, a few moments passed between the two before Nanami spoke, “You are too trusting.”

Fumiko scowled, roughly shoving his back with both of her hands - he stood unwavering.

——————————————————————————————————

The water slid along the ceramic of the sink, a stark red against the white. Fumiko stared down at the puncture wounds along her hand where the girl dug her nails in a desperate attempt to lure her away.

The blue eyes of the decapitated head haunted the edges of her vision, the tips of her fingers beginning to numb underneath the cold faucet. Fumiko shook her head, she sat on the edge of the tub - dripping along the tile.

How easily she would have been killed if Nanami hadn’t been there to keep her from following the child. His last words echoed in her head, if she was too trusting then he was too guarded. She reasoned that if there ever were a moment where she was not immediately inclined to aid someone in need then she should return to her Father’s home to become the mindless bride he wished for.

A soft knock at the door caused her to jump, she grabbed the nearest towel to dry her hands before gripping the knob - inching it open. Nanami’s stoic face appeared in the gap, a green glint of his glasses catching her eye.

“How is your hand?” his gaze trailed down towards where she held the towel.

“Fine,” she responded tightly, pulling the door open and sliding past him.

“Good,” he replied, his footsteps sounding behind her as she neared her room.

Quickly turning towards him in the doorway, she placed one hand on the frame, “Thank you for your service,” she bit out before closing the door in his face.

His muffled response slid underneath the door, “You’re welcome.”

Falling onto her bed, she opened her mouth to scream but no noise came out. She clenched her fists, the frustration beginning to overwhelm her. She rolled over, placing her head onto the pillow and sighing.

A slow vibration came from the night stand, Fumiko reached over and dragged the phone off the edge.

Ren: Haven’t heard from you all day, hope you’re not dead.

Miko: I might as well be.

Ren: Yikes.

A slow smile spread through Fumiko’s lips, she threw the device onto the comforter before pushing herself upwards. The irritation of the day was weighing heavily, she took a deep breath before venturing to the bathroom.

A long hot shower, soft pajamas, and a skincare routine later - Fumiko entered the kitchen. She yanked the fridge open to look for a drink, Yuki weaved in between her legs before stretching. Bending over to slide her hands over her fur, her eyes caught on the soda she had hidden in the bottom drawer.

Fumiko smiled, straightening in triumph as Yuki scurried from the area. Taking a long drink, she slowly turned in the direction of the living room.

Nanami sat on the couch, a newspaper strewn onto the table as the sound of a reporter softly floated through the air from the television. He sipped from a mug slowly turning the page.

Fumiko paused, her eyes grazing his body - a pair of flannel blue pajama pants and a gray shirt.

“You’re still here?” she asked incredulously.

“Yes,” he answered, not bothering to look in her direction.

“Why?” she responded, setting her drink down on the counter.

“I am here to protect you,” his tone laced with annoyance, as if she were a child he was having to explain something to for the hundredth time.

“I am aware of that,” she seethed. “It’s ten at night, what are you still doing here?”

He paused, taking a slow sip of his mug before placing it on the end table, “I live here now.”

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chapter three

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