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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 7 months ago

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Winter's King 13

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, cheating, violence, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are a maid to the Duke of Debray, a lord of the Summer Kingdom. That is, until the king of Winter appears with his particular air of coldness. (Medieval AU)

Characters: Geralt of Rivia

Note: Ahhh! I almost own a house.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The queen struts down the hall, the white satin limning her figure. She is shameless as she passes soldiers but she needn’t worry for their judgments. You peek up at the few errant eyes that follow her, though many pass without even a glance in her direction. Servants course through the corridors, busy with preparations for the morrow’s departure.

You think of asking Queen Jazlene whether now is not the best time. If she should be more concerned with her venture north. Of all she’s acquired of the queen’s former possessions, there is not a fur among her chests. Nothing more than a trim of squirrel or rabbit along a collar. The summer kingdom does not warrant the need. And certainly, you think, the king must be equally busied by the pending journey.

As ever, your duty keeps you silent. You do not know better than a queen. You bide her whims, not your own. You follow the soft whisk of the robes hem and your mind wanders in your stead. You think of the dark gardens and the king’s words.

‘Should I remain any longer, I might give it all up.’ He must be eager to return home. You can’t help but harbour your own impatience. For all you’ve heard of the Hinterlands, you cannot picture them well. You want to see them yourself. It is the only time in your life you really ever longed to see something entirely unfamiliar.

The queen stops and the soldiers on either side of the door shift, alert at her approach. The do not look welcoming. You wring your hands behind your back. What can you do but let the queen proceed?

“Let me through,” she demands, “I must see the king.”

“Your highness,” the rusty-haired soldier drawls, “he is not receiving--”

“He is my husband,” she sneers, “I am the queen.” She points to herself, “I give you orders, sir. Not the reverse.”

The other man huffs and tilts his head to the other as if to say, ‘don’t bother’. The first soldier raises his elbow to hit the door beside him.

“Your highness, you have a visitor,” he calls through.

“A visitor?” Jazlene scoffs and steps forward, grabbing the handles of the doors to try to force her way through. “I am more--” She shakes the doors as they offer resistance from the other side. You can see clearly through the crack between them that they are latched within.

The metal grinds inside as the lock is slid out of place. The queen blusters through as a dark-haired man stands by the left door, watching behind her as she blows in like a storm. You pause in the doorway, uncertain if you should go further.

The king sits at the table of his receiving chamber, maps unfurled and kept unrolled by heavy ornaments. He has one arm on the chair and his other hand against the tabletop. He watches his wife with his golden eyes, his lips straight and unamused. The man who opened the door, watches with a crooked grin.

“Husband, I have come to see you. As we have much travel ahead, I figured it was the best time for us to--”

“The best time?” King Geralt ponders flatly, “we ready for the ride north. We must anticipate the remaining rebels and assuage lingering acrimony. We must also account for the snows that will meet us in the Hinterland. This campaign has kept me long and the winter will be there to greet us.”

“Let the servants trouble for it,” she insists.

The man by the door flutters his fingers at you, “in?” He mouths.

You blink, uncertain. You step inside hesitantly and step to the edge of the other door. He pushes the left one shut and turns to watch the interaction with glee.

“You should trouble for it,” the king reproaches, “you should act as queen and so you should think of your people.”

“Husband, do not presume to educate me. I have had tutors all my life. I understand these things. I was borne to be a lady, to mind a castle--”

“A castle not a realm,” he shakes his head, “this is no banquet.”

“Ugh,” she huffs, “what has gotten into you? Last night--”

“It is today,” he insists over her, “I am occupied.” He shifts his chair pointed and frames an area on the maps with his large hands. “Jaskier,” he calls, “come, we must determine our way through Hare’s Pass.”

“Your highness,” the man jaunts forward bouncily and as he nears the table, he pulls out a chair, “Queen Jazlene, please, have my seat.”

The king looks at his companion with a deathly glimmer. The lord in his cornflower jacket is unbothered by the distaste aimed in his direction. He smirks back defiantly.

“Thank you, sir,” Jazlene simpers and sits with her back straight and her chest pushed out, “I think I’ve forgotten which one you are.”

“Lord Jaskier,” he intones, “I held the capital while the king claimed his beautiful wife.”

She giggles and runs her hand along the front of her robe, “oh, how valiant, sir.”

“Jaskier,” the king growls again, “put your mind back to the road--”

“We have it figured, your highness,” the lord rebuffs, “surely you should enjoy this time you have in one place with your wife.” Jaskier takes another stool and sits at the table, “I should very much like to know this summer queen better. You secret her away--”

The king sighs. His fingers tap in irritation on the table. He sits back and throws his hand up.

“I see you are no help, as usual,” the king snips.

“And you are tedious,” the lord smirks again. “My queen,” the man sits forward, his attention on Jazlene, “I traveled the summer lands once before. You see, I fancy myself a musician and as a young boy, I would play for the courts. I never ventured to Debray but I was at Harlowe. It is closeby.”

“I know Harlowe,” Jazlene brightens, forgetting her mission for talk of herself. “Yes, I went there often for their harvest fairs. Were you there when Lord Edmund was still alive?”

“Ah, yes, I believe he wasn’t there long after I left for the next county,” Jaskier artfully feeds her self-importance.

“He was a good man. Of the few my father respected,” she mourns with her hand to her chest. She shakes her head and pauses with a sullen sigh, “maid,” she snaps her head up, “bring wine for us.”

“No wine,” King Geralt counters swiftly.

“We have a guest, husband, surely we should entertain him according to etiquette. In these summer lands, we offer sustenance to our guests,” she argues.

“Bring warm milk then. You needn’t be glazed over with wine on the morrow--”

“I am the queen and I am grown, I will have wine,” Jazlene waves her hand at you tersely, “maid!”

The king glances at you. You stand in indecision. You can defy neither but in that moment, you must choose one or the other. His golden eyes drift over to the queen and back to you.

“Go, fetch wine,” he relents.

You bow your head and spin to set off on the task. Your thankful to escape the tension that floods the room. You can sense that the queen’s intrusion is unwelcome and yet that lord ignores the king’s mood. Almost as if he means to agitate him.

You weave through the disarray of the corridors down to the kitchen. Barrels of pickled foods and crates of dried goods are stacked, waiting to be loaded onto carts for the distance ahead. The king must still think of feeding his army, and now, a royal retinue.

You claim a bottle of wine amid the hectic furor and some goblets. You’re out of breath as you return to the upper floors and slow yourself to regain composure as you approach the king’s chamber. You’re let within without obstruction. Just the maid.

You cross to the table and set the goblets upright, then the heavy bottle. Jazlene ahems and taps the brim impatient before you can uncork the bottle. The neck moves away from your reach as Lord Jaskier snatches it instead. He opens it easily and pours the queen a cup as the king leans heavily on an elbow. As you glance over, you meet his golden eyes and quickly shy away. You see he is not happy. You thought by Jazlene’s measure, thing’s might have been improving.

You take your place by the wall. The king sighs. He does that a lot, as if he means to say something but will not. Lord Jaskier slides a goblet towards him.

“Drink and let loose, your highness, you can’t be surly upon the road,” Jaskier chides.

The king does not move. He glares at his company then looks at the ceiling. Queen Jazlene slurps loudly.

“How charming you are, my lord, a wonder his highness likes you so much,” she chirps.

“A surprise to me as well but I think my loyalty more tolerable than my other traits. Yet, you’ve yet to the king bellowing the most bawdy ballad. He is particular lively after a battle,” Jaskier winks at his liege tauntingly and receives nothing in return. “Mm, how about a game? The king is fond of those. How about it, then?”

The lord lifts his cup and holds it before his lips, watching the king in his cantankerous glower. Another sigh as he sits forwards and tilts a hand indifferently.

“If it keeps you from chattering,” the king mutters as he clears the heavy ornaments and rolls the map up. He focuses on that as Jaskier pulls a pouch free of his belt.

“This is one he taught me. The old king before him was fond of it too. The mind’s of rulers, hm?” Jaskier explains as he loosens the tie of the bag and pours out similar pieces to the ones in Geralt’s purse. “Have you played it?”

Jazlene keeps her hand on her cup. The king continues to clear the table, pushing aside the cup meant for him as he shifts the bottle off another map. He stands and gathers the rolled parchment. He approaches you.

“Bring these to my bedchamber,” he bids under his breath.

As you take them, your sleeves brush his and his fingers drag along the fabric of your dress. He stares down at you, his breath fuming like a hearth. You hug the maps and he backs away, returning to the table. You take your order and find your way through the east door into his bed chamber.

You set down the maps on the chest near the foot of the grand bed. His sword leans against the frame, tall in its sheath. You stop to admire the thick handle and its well-hewn grooves. It must be heavy.

You tear your admiration from the weapon and return to the receiving chamber. Jaskier reviews the rules as Geralt rolls his fingers against the armrest, bored by the explanation. You resume your vigil and stare at the wall.

Pieces are dolled out, dice are counted, and the round begins. The king is let to have the first turn. He plays the same as he did against you. It must be some strategy. The queen is prompted to have her go but she is silent. She hums and stares down at the table. Jaskier whispers behind his hand, drawing your gaze.

“Let her play her own turn,” the king insists, “isn’t any fun playing against two of you.”

“Your highness, I was only doing my duty as a royal advisor,” Jaskier returns playfully. “By all means, my beautiful queen, I am certain you are as a clever as you are elegant.”

Jazlene preens in the praise. She drinks some more wine then rolls a dice, seemingly without thought. Several of her pieces are plucked up by both king and lord. She pouts.

“Wait, what happened?” She mopes.

“Rules,” Geralt grumbles. “Jaskier, go on then, take my bronze.”

“I know your tricks,” the lord replies, “I will not fall for it. I’ll have your silver.”

Jaskier rolls the diamond dice and groans. The king takes his silver instead.

“You’ve switched out the dice, certainly,” Jaskier accuses.

“You whine about chance,” the king rebukes and rolls, taking even more silver from his advisor. “And again.”

He gestures to Jazlene and her brow ripples. You can see she doesn’t understand. She will want to use the square dice then, she might have the iron back that she lost. She uses the slightly rounded die instead. Jaskier is already counting her gold.

“I don’t understand,” she crosses her arms, “this game makes no sense.”

“It is your first attempt,” Jaskier assures her, “you will get better.”

“It’s boring,” she sits back and drinks more wine.

Jaskier has a swig of his own as he rolls. He claims his silver back from the king and some from Jazlene. She shakes her head and waves you over with her hand. You can see her goblet is empty as you near. You lift the bottle to pour as the king has his turn. He loses a few iron but doesn’t seem to mind.

The queen’s turn comes and you linger, examining her pieces. Your lips move slightly. Square, square, square. Your eyes flit up and find the king’s watching you. Oh no.

“Wine, maid,” Jaskier clunks down his cup with a hollow noise.

You move around Jazlene’s chair as she snarls under her breath. She rolls the triangle die. Her gold is all gone. She slaps her hands down and you rescind the bottle before you can pour as Jaskier’s cup wobbles. He laughs at the queen’s dismay and she sweeps away her pieces and dice before she can lose.

“It isn’t fair! I don’t understand.”

“If you don’t understand, ask. Do not be impetulant,” King Geralt reprimands. “You make a mess like a child.”

“Do not speak to me as one,” she spits back. “I am not!”

“Your behaviour would suggest otherwise,” the king says.

“Now, now, perhaps it would be fairer with a forth, eh? Trios always do prove imbalanced,” Jaskier intones.

As you go to pour the wine, you are suddenly pulled off your feet. You land in his lap and nearly drop the bottle. You hug it close as you notice the king lurch, sitting straight, only to stop himself on the edge of his chair.

“Eh, do not handle the maid as such,” he demands. “She serves the queen.”

“She may join us, yes? The queen could have an ally. We will play as pairs.”

“Let the maid go,” the king grits.

“Oh, do settle,” Jaskier unhooks his arm from around you. You stand and let your nerves settle, steadying your hands to pour the wine. “You are no fun, your highness.”

Jazlene giggles, “oh he certainly is not. So dour,” she sounds like Lady Rezlyn in that moment. Often the duchess would throw barbs at her husband shamelessly. “Even his games are dull.”

“You needn’t play,” King Geralt shoves his chair back and stands, “it was not my suggestion.”

“She is right. You are much too serious,” Jaskier remarks.

You leave the wine and back away. The air is thick. You feel as if you should go but cannot without dismissal. The king roils hotly as he exhales loudly.

“Far too serious,” Jazlene trills, “he hasn’t time for any sort of fun, has he? He must attend his kingly duties and yet, he neglects his husbandly ones.”

The king lets out a growl. He sneers at his wife as Jaskier’s laughter subsides. The lord looks alarmed as he peeks between the royal couples.

“Mm, suppose it is time I see to my own luggage,” he rises.

“No, stay, drink your wine,” King Geralt insists brusquely, “you and the queen can have mine,” he grips the goblet by the brim and shoves it towards Jazlene as the contents slosh. “You will find me attending my dour kingly duties, should you think to recall your own.”

The king spins and stalks off, hands in fists, and bulls through the doors. They slam behind him and make you jump. You blink at the wood as your heart pounds. For as much as the queen wants her marriage to improve, she is hardly helping herself.

“Ah,” Jaskier sits with a tut, “he can be a touch sensitive, can’t he?”

Jazlene laughs, though you hear the nervous rattle in it, “can’t he?”

#geralt of rivia #dark geralt #dark!geralt #geralt of rivia x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #au #medieval au #the witcher #winter's king

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lavenderchqn · 5 months ago

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𝑃𝐴𝐼𝑅𝐼𝑁𝐺 —

lyney x f!reader

𝑆𝑌𝑁𝑂𝑃𝑆𝐼𝑆 —

Second year of university should've been everything you thought of it - more studying with human interaction sprinkled throught... What it definitely wasn't supposed to be was an investigation saga where one of your friends goes missing out of nowhere

𝑆𝑇𝐴𝑇𝑈𝑆 — ongoing | 𝑇𝐴𝐺𝐿𝐼𝑆𝑇 — closed

𝐺𝐸𝑁𝑅𝐸𝑆 —

social media au, modern au, college au, acquaintances to friends to lovers, mystery, slow burn, fluff, angst, comedy

𝑁𝑂𝑊 𝑃𝑅𝐸𝑆𝐸𝑁𝑇𝐼𝑁𝐺:

— tabletop troupe cuties | — beverage gang

𝑃𝑅𝑂𝐿𝑂𝐺𝑈𝐸 — MANY MOONS AGO

⤿ tabletop troupe cuties | ⤿ beverage gang

#lavv.masterlist #lavv.redlines #genshin impact smau #genshin smau #lyney x reader #lyney smau

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ananxiousgenz · 5 months ago

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MORE MALEVOLENT COWBOY AU GUYS!!!

welcome back to yet another chapter in this glorious little au of ours!! @percymawce-arts and I have been suuuuuper busy behind the scenes writing and like. we have some absolutely killer ideas that we cannot wait to share with you!! so enjoy this sad little scene for now <3

TRIGGER WARNINGS: alcohol consumption/drunkenness, fighting, references to murder, references to child death

and for tagging, @izel-reblogs @ellamenop and @platypus-with-interests I hope yall enjoy this just as much as you have with the rest <3

The moment he entered the cabin’s sitting room, John knew that something wasn’t quite right.

The shadows were all wrong. At this time of day, the sun usually cast soft shadows into the sitting room that left the table and couch awash in warmth and golden light. But the shadows were harsh, stark, cutting through the couch and leaving the table shrouded in darkness. As if the world itself knew that something was wrong. And something was wrong.

For one, Arthur was slumped over the table in the far corner, shoulders racked with either laughter or sobs, John couldn’t tell. For another, there was a bottle of whiskey clutched in his right hand, more than half empty. There was no glass in sight.

John hooked a finger over the bandanna covering his face and pulled it off, hanging it quietly beside his hat on a rack near the door. As he did so, he stared long and hard at Arthur, studying him, debating whether he should approach him. In a relatively short time, John had already seen a great many things from Arthur: bravery, conviction, intelligence, compassion. Drunkenness, however, was a new one, and he had no idea what to expect from Arthur with half a bottle in his system. It didn’t look pleasant.

After a long moment of chewing on his thumbnail, John decided he was more concerned about Arthur than afraid of him (but only by a thin margin, he realized) and took a step in his direction. He tried to step lightly, but the damn floorboards decided right then would be the perfect moment to creak beneath his feet. Arthur’s head snapped up the moment he heard the noise, clearly not drunk enough to lose touch with his instincts. John froze, like a gazelle suddenly caught in the gaze of a lion.

“John? Izzat you?” Arthur slurred, eyes darting sightlessly across the room.

“Yes, Arthur, it’s me,” John replied, forced to exhale in order to speak. He hadn’t realized he wasn’t breathing before that moment, and now that he was he tried to keep it level as he inched closer to the table, little by little.

“Oh,” Arthur sighed, and he sounded almost disappointed. “‘S funny,” he mumbled through tears (there were streaks of them running down his red cheeks and his eyes were puffy, he’d been crying for a while) as he took another swig of whiskey. “Thought you were someone else.” He clutched the bottle to his chest the way one might hold a precious child.

Despite himself (or, perhaps because of the nerves) John chuckled, “Might I ask who?”

“‘S’name was Parker.” Arthur sniffled and then stared solemnly at the tabletop, picking at a loose splinter of wood with shaking hands. “M’old partner.”

“Oh,” said John, halting in his motion towards Arthur. His fists clenched, his hackles rose and he was beginning to suspect he wanted no part in this conversation. He was about to turn tail and leave when Arthur started talking again.

“He was a good man, y’know. Reallll…. tough. Strong. Kind, too. Lot like you.” He nodded emphatically to himself, as though confirming information someone had questioned the truth of. As though he was proving something to himself.

John swallowed. “I’m sure he was.”

“Saved my life, way back when. I was…” Arthur waved away a painful memory with an unsteady hand and made a faint sputtering noise. “Back in Boston. I was jus’ drunk all the time. Made the stupid-ass decision to head out here. Thought it would be easier to die in a cattle stampede or from th’ heat or s’mthing.”

John still wasn’t sure where this was going, but it was the most Arthur had ever willingly shared with him about his past, so maybe he wouldn’t leave just yet. He, slowly, quietly, pulled out a chair on the other side of the table and sat down.

“‘Was drunk and in debt at well near every bar in town,” Arthur continued, a small smile spreading across his face as he had another swig from the bottle clutched in his hand. “Was fixin’ to get myself killed by debt collectors sooner than by the drink, I reckon. Parker found me one night. I was… inna bad way. Real bad. He said I looked like… like I’d hit bedrock, and–,” Arthur chuckled mirthlessly. “‘Course he was right. He was always right.”

Arthur went quiet for a moment as a few more tears escaped his eyes. He wiped them away roughly on his forearm and sniffled again.

“And?” John prompted gently after a long moment.

A cruel laugh tore its way out of Arthur’s throat, making John flinch. “And you killed him.”

Arthur’s gaze rose from the table to look John dead in the eye. There was a vicious fire burning in that dark and stormy expression, like a bonfire, barely contained. It left John frozen in place again, his breath caught in his throat and any words in his defense stuck along with it.

“You shot him, f’r nothin’.” More laughter bubbled out of Arthur, along with tears. “F’r a mission that didn’t even exist! Just bam–,” Arthur mimicked shooting himself in the head–, “gone. Dropped like a… like a fucking ragdoll!” Arthur doubled over suddenly, dropping his head into his free hand as giggles made it impossible for him to speak properly. “You, you killed the man who saved my life! Made it worth living again!”

John got up out of his chair and slowly began backing away. “Arthur, I-”

“You killed him!” Arthur yelled, lifting his head from his hand. The laughter was gone, now, and had been replaced by fire in Arthur’s voice that matched his expression, fueled by the whiskey and grief he had already thrown onto it. John opened his mouth to say something else, but abandoned that plan to duck instead as a half-full bottle of whiskey was hurled at his head. He managed to dodge it in the nick of time, watching as it sailed over his head and shattered against the cabin wall behind him with a crash. Glass fell in pieces to the floor and whiskey stained the wall dark, dripping and slowly soaking into the wood like blood into fabric.

Arthur’s eyes were wide and wild as he stumbled out from behind the table towards John, who was beginning to wish he had never even returned to the cabin in the first place as he continued backing away, nearly tripping over what little furniture they had as he went.

“You… you fucking… He’s dead, he– she’s dead. Gone, just like him. They’re dead, and it’s all because of you! It’s all… your fault…” And for a moment, John could have sworn Arthur wasn’t talking to him, the way he whispered it, his voice laced with a pain that John had never heard from him before. “All your fault…” he said again. But then the anger was back, the expression burning like fire in his eyes as he scowled at John. “All your fucking fault! Fuck you, John!” Arthur shouted, spitting the words out like snake venom as John felt a wall begin to close in behind him.

Behind the panicked, animal fear of the moment, John’s mind caught on something in Arthur’s drunken rambling. She. Gone just like him. They’re dead. He was no longer just talking about Parker. A woman, perhaps? An old love, a young flame put out too soon? Or… or a girl. A child re-emerging from the fog of Arthur’s mysterious past. Someone who had died… because of John? Or someone else? It didn’t make sense. John didn’t hurt women or children as a personal rule, a piece of his early life that the cruelty and anger of boarding school and Larson had never been able to fully scrub away. So then who was Arthur blaming for her loss if not him?

“Arthur, who the fuck is she?!” John finally snapped, words finally coming unstuck in his throat as his back was pressed against the wall. Arthur stumbled forward and furiously grabbed a fistful of his shirt, the sour smell of whiskey on his breath completely overwhelming this close.

“She deserved better than this, you selfish–,”

“Arthur, please. I don’t even know who you’re talking about, would you just tell me-”

“You killed her too!” More tears were sliding down Arthur’s face now. At such a close distance, John could see them glinting in the dim light as he was yanked forward by his shirt.

“Who, Arthur? Who did I kill?!”

“FAROE!”

“ARTHUR, WHO THE HELL IS FAROE?!”

It was like a gun had gone off in a crowded saloon. Arthur’s mouth closed so quickly that John almost swore he heard a tooth crack with the motion. Both of them were breathing heavily, and Arthur stared at John with an expression that melted from one emotion to the next like wax off a candle. From confusion to recognition to a look of such agonizing horror and grief that John’s heart broke at the sight of it. Arthur released John's shirt like it was a hot iron burning his hand and took an unsteady step backward, mumbling an apology about alcohol and short tempers, and John could see the beginnings of a fresh wave of tears bubbling up in Arthur’s eyes.

That name. Faroe. It clearly touched a nerve with Arthur, some old hurt he had never quite healed from, some loss that had never scarred over. It almost seemed to… scare him. John had never seen Arthur Lester so clearly terrified as he’d been in that moment, when the fog had cleared and he’d realized what he’d said. It made the hair at the back of John’s neck stand on end, made his jaw clench and his breath catch in his lungs. Anything that could scare Arthur like this… John couldn’t even begin to imagine what it might be.

Arthur swayed back and forth for a moment, a dead, brittle branch rocking in a great wind, until he finally snapped, falling gracelessly to the floor with a broken sob. John reached out, whether to catch him or comfort him he didn’t know, but stopped short. He had never been soft or gentle, never good at providing comfort to people who needed it. Never been comfortable with people crying or being vulnerable, but…

For Arthur, he would do it. He didn’t quite understand why, but it was the fact that it was Arthur Lester, a crumpled, sobbing mess on the floor before him, that convinced him to slowly lower himself to the floor beside him, listening to the choked sounds of his agony with a bleeding heart of his own.

Even then, John still hesitated to reach out. Connections only caused pain, he’d learned that the hard way. But he just couldn’t help himself. As much as he liked to be aloof and mysterious and pretend he was above human connection, he cared far too much for the people around him. For Yellow, Noel, Oscar, even Larson, in some fucked up way. For drunken, angry, grieving Arthur. It was the thing that always ended up getting him in trouble. But for Arthur…

John reached a careful hand around Arthur’s shoulders. “I… I’m so sorry, Arthur.” Even if he wasn’t sure what he was apologizing for, it was true. He was sorry Arthur had gone through something so painful, sorry that he was hurting now. Sorry he couldn’t fix it. Sorry he’d killed Parker.

To John’s surprise, Arthur leaned his head into his shoulder almost immediately, shivering with the force of his sobs, following the offer of comfort like he’d been starving for it. He smelled like cheap whiskey and salty tears and clung to John like he was an anchor in the white-water rapids of his grief.

It didn’t come naturally, at first, comforting Arthur. John’s spine was ramrod straight and his arms were stiff, his expression schooled carefully into something mildly pained but mostly indifferent. But Arthur took what he could get, clinging and sobbing and squeezing despite John’s stoicism. But the closer Arthur got, the more apparent it became that their bodies would fit together better if John just moved his leg here, held his arm here, shifted Arthur’s leg this way. The longer Arthur stayed, the more courage John’s hands had in moving, gently massaging the back of Arthur’s neck or running his fingers through his hair, stroking a light line up and down his spine. The same soothing motions he used for Akke, the ones he’d probably learned from a mother, somewhere, once upon a time. Some instinct buried deep in his subconscious, an instinct to care. Finally resurfaced by seeing Arthur Lester in need of it.

Eventually, Arthur had ended up halfway in John’s lap, legs thrown across John’s in a tangled sort of side saddle. His eyes were pressed into John’s neck, the last of his shuddering cries fanning across the skin there. John had graduated from soothing touches to soothing sounds, shhs and I knows and you’re alrights whispered into Arthur’s auburn hair. They’d been rocking back and forth, back and forth, slowly for the past long while. Finally, Arthur’s cries became hiccups, became shuddering breaths, until their little cabin was quiet again. There was a bluebird singing outside, somewhere.

“Arthur..?” John whispered, tentatively. Arthur inhaled sharply, his frown deepening. John held him tighter.

“Please don’t ask,” Arthur managed, near silent. “Please don’t–,” he hiccuped, on the verge of tears again, and John resumed his gentle ministrations in his hair, shushing him.

“I won’t, Arthur,” he soothed. He let his lips fall to the crown of Arthur’s head. Not a kiss, but something intentional nonetheless, punctuated by a puff of warm breath against his scalp. “I won’t ask.”

#malevolent #malevolent pod #malevolent podcast #malevolent fanfic #malevolent fic #malevolent cowboy au #when the land was godless and free #an eldritch being and his wet cat #tw alcohol #tw fighting #tw murder #tw child death #masked

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inthewychelm · 1 month ago

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@steddie-spooktober day 16 - "Would you please stop trying to scare them?"

Part 1 of my Necromancer AU, 790 words, Rated T

Steve has a new coworker, who is a bit…odd. The man just popped up suddenly out of nowhere, or at least according to Robin who was working the night Eddie applied. He started a month back, and Steve suspects he has some type of amnesia. That seems like a more logical explanation for the strange way he speaks than the theories Robin likes to bring up.

Steve likes the way Eddie talks, he thinks its cute and endearing. So if he indulges Robin when she claims that Eddie is a time traveler, it's only in jest. Especially because they rarely if ever get to work a shift alone anymore since Eddie started.

He's wiping down the sticky tabletops watching Eddie begrudgingly deal with a child at the coolers. He always looks like he's in pain while dealing with customers, but he is surprisingly charismatic despite his attempts to thwart positive reactions.

"God, I don't get you sometimes." Robin says as she blocks his view. Eddie is growling at the retreating child and their parent as they both look over her shoulder.

"I don't either," He sighs and leans forward against the table. "But he's cute."

Robin snorts at his response. Steve finds himself grinning and unable to disagree with her obvious disgust. Eddie is really odd, but he's just a normal guy. Maybe he's a little too into fantasy and D&D, if the eccentric way he speaks is anything to go by.

"If you're a freak," She mumbles. Steve flicks his rag at her arm, and she acts shocked by his retaliation. "Anyway, I'm clocking out for the night. So have fun with your boy." Robin's voice gets singsong-y as she punctuates her teasing with a wink.

Steve hits her with his rag again as she walks away.

He returns to the counter when he finishes wiping down the dirtied and unattended tables in the store. Eddie already has another customer when he joins him. He's scooping out ice cream for a young girl dressed in a sparkly fairy costume, and Eddie is squinting at her like he doesn't trust her.

"Here is your cottoned candied ice cream, tiny gremlin." He says as he passes over the cone. She giggles in delight, squealing a little bit as she takes her order in both hands. Eddie leans forward to whisper, "Do not return, your trickery is not welcome here, changeling. If you return, your demise shall not be so…sparkly."

Steve cringes, not this again. He sneaks a look at the mom to see if Eddie offended her, but instead she's grinning along with her daughter and placing a dollar in their tip jar.

"Thank you, Mister Teddy." The young fairy waves as they walk towards the exit. "Bye, Mister Teddy."

Eddie just growls in response, which is hidden under the bell above door announcing their leave.

"Would you please stop trying to scare the children?" Steve asks, hip checking his coworker who appears to be sulking.

"That was no child, Steve. It was in fact a fae come in disguise as a happy child, do not be fooled by it's cute appearance they are quite nefarious." Eddie warns. Then his shoulders slump, he leans against the counter defeated. "'Sides, the young one did not fear me, no one fears me anymore."

Steve struggles to hold in a fond smile while Eddie sulks, but he's adorable. Despite his mean attitude and messy appearance, he is very charming. Kids seem to love him, and parents who might object to his performance are endeared.

"S'cause it's October, man. Everyone thinks you're getting into the Halloween spirit." Steve reasons. Eddie cranes his neck in consideration.

"All Hallow's Eve?" Eddie questions, his head is bent at an angle that can't be comfortable and his wide eyes stare directly into what feels like Steve's soul.

"Yeah, I guess? Y'know, candy, costumes, commercial consumerism for all ages."

"You are telling me that these fearless mortals have turned a sacred holiday of which the veil thins between our world and the netherworld, a night of fear and terror lest you be taken by some demon or worse, and… turned it… into some sort of…" Eddie pauses, disgust written all over his face.

"Night full of cheap costumes and excessive partying? Yep, capitalism at it's finest." Steve adds on, his last statement being pulled more from Robin's rantings about the bastardization of Paganism or whatever she called it. In his opinion he enjoys getting a night to get dressed up and dance with someone cute, but Eddie doesn't need to know that.

"Huh," Eddie looks away while taking in this revelation. "How vile, I bet it was those foul Catholics with their disgusting morals and judgey gods."

#steddie #steddie fic #steddiespooktober #stranger things #my wips #tried my hand at making a lil divider. thought the skull ice cream was cute #this is just the intro of my legacies au. which self indulgent yadda yadda. hopefully the full fic will be finished in time for this weeken #this part is rated teen and up. i have not written the rest but it could go any direction so no guarantees?#full fic will be post on ao3 when i finish tho

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thetravelingtyper · 7 months ago

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On The Same Page pt 6(Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader Bookshop! AU)

Stuck in by the rain, you, Simon, and Sam receive important news over dinner...

Part 5, Part 7, Masterlist

Image from GIF by tana-the-dreamchaser

Simon followed you up the stairs like a shadow, his steps even but quiet. If not for his hand seeking yours you would have thought him a ghost. He seems to seek you like a moth to starlight and you find yourself relaxing with his close presence. You reach the door at the top of the stairs and push it open to be met with the smell of a simmering spice. You perk up instantly and call out for Sam. His curls pop out of the kitchen and seeing your entwined hands he smiles.

“Are you making what I think you are making?” You ask hopefully, eyes softened towards your friend. You step into the living area and release your hand from Simon’s. He abides by it but lingers close to you, choosing to take in his surroundings.

The vibes of the apartment are, well, eclectic. Amongst the thriving house plants, SImon can see little bits of you and Sam. The worn love seat a dappled plum color, a plush leather couch, and, he looks at the floor and chuckles, a fox in a sweater welcome mat. You move to the kitchen after asking Simon to make himself comfortable. He nods and moves to the loveseat, taking your backpack off and setting it to the side before taking a seat. He observes further as you step into the kitchen to talk to Sam.

On the coffee table, there is a vase of sunflowers, the TV stand is an old steamer trunk, and lining the far walls across from the door are books. Upon four shelves is a library’s worth of books and Simon stands and approaches them. Upon further expectation he cracks a smile, the inner panel of the bookshelves are painted the same as the ceiling of the bookstore. A rough hand comes up and he traces the spines of some of the leather-bound books. There are books of all kinds roughly categorized by genre. Littered amongst the shelves are other things, among them, Simon finds things like a cow teapot, a Union Jack mug holding pens, leather-bound notebooks, a dragon beanie baby, and something else that pauses his searching.

On a desk in the middle of the two sets of shelves is a collection of mechanical parts. The smell of gun oil and steel pulls memories from service and he leans down, turning on the desk lamp to examine it closer. In the middle of the desk is a typewriter. The carriage is set aside from the body of the typewriter and the smell of oil gets stronger. He looks around the table and finds a myriad of cases, some big and others small, mostly belonging to what he assumes to be typewriters.

You pop your head out of the kitchen to call for SImon but you find him engrossed in his examination. You smile, unsurprised at his curiosity, most visitors are drawn in by the book before stumbling upon your workstation. You step out of the kitchen and call to him. He looks up and turns to you in question.

“Dinner is ready.”

You say it with a growing grin as Sam had made enchiladas in a Tex-Mex style you missed. Simon looks back to the disassembled typewriter once more before he approaches you and follows you into the kitchen. If the living area was eclectic the kitchen was more so. Along the walls of the modest space hung pictures of every kind. Along the side wall, under a window was an old dresser or antique buffet that held a beaten-up record player. Along the wall were art prints, old diagrams, and book posters. On the buffet, next to the kitchen table was a collection of tabletop books, big glossy things meant as eye candy. He huffs a laugh at the selection: fox photo collections, Jules Verne releases, and typewriters.

He turns his attention to Sam who is already sitting at the table, three places set for you guys to eat. Even the cutlery and plates are a mix of wild colors and subtle finery. You move to the stove where a baking dish holds something excellent smelling. Grabbing some oven mitts (fox chefs of course) you take the dish and set it on some ceramic pot holders on the table.

“I hope you like enchiladas.” You say it with a pleased expression before shooting Sam a nostalgic smile. You motion for Simon to sit and he does before you take the seat next to him.

You all begin to eat without much fuss, conversation passing in softer words between you and Sam while Simon chimes in every once in a while. However, after about 15 minutes in, Sam pauses as if remembering something.

You see a look pass over his face before he reaches behind him and picks up a letter off of the counter behind him. He offers it to you and you recognize the handwriting.

“Sofia was here earlier, she looked urgent and dropped this off mentioning for you to read it. Something about a collaboration of some kind for a release over here. She wouldn’t give me more details than that before she was rushing off to her next appointment.”

“Huh,” You work on prying the envelope open gently, “she would normally call.”

Sam shrugs but watches with curiosity as you pull out a typed document. The paper at first touch is heavy, almost a thin cardstock, and the smell of ink and paper is crisp. There is even a wax seal holding the paper close and you want to roll your eyes. The sneaking familiarity seeps into your bones as you swipe a finger under the seal breaking it and unfolding the paper. When you read the heading your stomach clenches. It was from your old company. Something in your demeanor must have changed as you lean back in your chair feeling suddenly winded. Sharp eyes turn to you and Simon and Sam both stop eating.

“What is it? Sam asks with concern, leaning forward in his chair. Simon next to you frowns as your eyes skim the letter, your shoulders getting tenser and tenser. At the end of the letter, you bite your lip before slowly closing the letter and handing it across the table to Sam without a word. He about tears it open and reads it himself.

“This is bullshit.” These are the first words out of his mouth and he tosses the letter onto the table. You don't reply, instead pushing your almost empty plate aside and putting your head in your hands with a sigh. Simon’s hand finds your knee under the table instantly and you eye him through your hands. There is exhaustion in your eyes, one that is familiar to him. You move to lay your head down with a sigh, leaning towards Simon naturally for comfort.

“What is it, Dove?” He asks, voice low.

“Read for yourself.” Is all you offer and he does so, reaching a long arm for the letter before reading.

The letter begins with a ‘greetings’ in a faceless text. Following are niceties and a “wish you are well’. One that you wanted to scoff at, given your last encounter with your previous publisher. He continues over the unnecessary and gets to the meat of the letter.

… due to the raving success of your last book under our services, we have decided to do a release tour and event of James’s new book under your direction. We have already reached out to Sofia for contact with you. Given both books' American popularity, we expect such a collaboration to benefit not only you but also White Owl Publishing. We expect James’s arrival in London this Sunday. If you have any questions please reach us at…

Simon frowns and looks at you.

“When the hell did James start writing?” Sam asks you but you just groan and pull yourself up, a hand reaching under the table to squeeze Simon’s in silent thanks. Something serious settles over you,

“I don’t know. Maybe when he started sleeping with the CEO’s daughter.”

You bite it, voice sharp as a knife. The woman was an accomplished author under her fathers' direction and specialized in YA and new adult romance novels. You used to hold a lot of respect for her when you first joined the company but she soon, after learning of your specialization in children's literature, became downright dismissive. That dismission partnered with a giggly fascination with James, turned you away from her and towards the more quiet of the other authors and editors. However, given her status as the CEO's daughter, there was no escaping her influence, thankfully Sofia was always with you, and due to your focus on children, you didn't have to interact with her much. Other than events like the Publisher’s Gala, and well you know how the last one turned out.

After the gala, you had learned from one loyal person, a fellow children's author named Sarah that the affair had been going strong for months. She hadn’t known until a drunk Sabrina had bragged on his arm at an after-party that faithful night. She called the moment she discovered your plans to leave and wanted you to know.

Back in the moment, you debate your options. Given the publication’s no doubt about you after the Gala, you couldn’t risk saying no to this. Why they wanted to associate with a ‘failure and second rate nobody’ you didn't know. You look to Sam, his family's business was now connected with one of the largest publishers in America, and you weren't going to risk their skins because of disgust and fear. A silent resolution lit up your face, Sam, seeing this, grins.

“You're going to go with this.” It's not a question out of his mouth. A shaky smile hits your face at that. Simon just looks to you, something about your determination makes him want to smile. His hand turns to entangle with yours under the table and you look at him, taking this as his support.

“Johnny will want to knock some heads” His voice surprises you and laughter bubbles out of your chest. It quiets down to giggles a moment later and you pull your plate back to you. He wasn't wrong. A few tea times after meeting the man you had told the Scot the story of why you ended up in London. His brows furrowed and looking at you he cursed.

“Cheat? On a prize like you lass? Need me to do him in?”

You mention this to Simon in a giggle. He smiles.

“Good man, Johnny is.”

He runs his thumb over your knuckles and you breathe out as your heart skips a beat, tension draining from your form as you take another bite before nodding in agreement. Simon gives you a small smile before he turns back to his food with a hum, but his hand remains in yours through the rest of dinner.

---

After dinner, you stand up to collect the dishes. Sam gives you a look before shooting up to race you to the sink. You beat him by a foot before splashing him with cool water. He chuckles at you, eyes brightening at your mirthful expression. You hear the sound of a chair and Simon stands. Sam looks at you with a grin and a raised brow before he pulls himself into a stretch.

He looks at Simon and then back to himself.

“I may have a shirt and some sweats if you’d like to change Simon.”

The taller man moves around the table and pauses, looks down at his jeans, and gives a nod. With the confirmation, Sam winks at you and leaves the kitchen for his room. You shake your head fondly before going to wash the dishes, but a hand stops you. Simon is next to you then, the proximity quickening your heart once again.

“I’ll do ‘em,”

is a statement and he nudges you aside gently with his large frame. You realize then just how big he is. While you were by no means tiny, Simon was tall. Sam was easily 6’ but you had to tilt your head to look up at Simon. He started dutifully washing plates without any more comments so you studied the side profile of his face. With a strong jawline cut with a few scars, your eyes focus on his eyes, focused and quiet as he works. The action, so domestic, calms something in you. While you loved being with Sam, you missed being with a partner sometimes, the attraction and the comfort. You loved Sam like a brother and that came with the typical roommate squabbles sometimes, you laugh mentally. You missed James some though despite everything. Having another person to hold was a human element absent in your life.

But, your heart murmured, there is Simon.

You sigh inwardly, your heart skipping a beat as you envision his smiles. They lit up his face in a way that took the weight of his service, the exhaustion, off his shoulders for even a brief moment. He had seemingly been open, but respectful about some sort of feelings towards you, and you cherished his careful support.

Your hand on his arm pauses Simon, and his eyes flicker down to yours in question. Without much thought your hand traces what is exposed of his forearm, fingers swirling around the inked skin, you linger a moment. Then, with a steady exhalation from Simon, your hands follow up his arm and over the sleeve, feeling the strength of his bicep Simon stills. His other hand reaches for the hand towel and setting the plate down he pulls back from the sink and turns his attention fully to you.

You look engrossed in your study of him, like a jeweler over a diamond or precious stone. You lift for a moment seeing the towel and step back, allowing the man to dry his hands before he takes the next step to follow you. Your eyes widen in realization when your back hits the side counter and Simon steps comfortably, naturally even, into your space.

Your breath catches in your throat when he raises a hand to your face, it ghosts over your cheek before, heart pounding, you lean into his palm. It is rough, worn from years of work, but it's warm, and something deep in you preens at the touch. Honey eyes find yours, widening a moment as you lean in, before lowering in reverence. Here you were, he thought,

“Sweet thing.”

It comes out in a whisper and your heart clenches. You close your eyes, raising a hand against his, cherishing the feel of the touch. His heart stutters then when you reopen your eyes and give him a sweet smile. Your hand runs down his arm and the other wraps around his abdomen and you close the space between the both of you with an embrace. His arms drop in surprise, but as your head comes to rest against his chest, they soon engulf you in the scent of leather and smoke.

With your ear against his sturdy chest, you can hear his heart pick up, you smile to yourself then, happy the effect is mutual. Simon inhales the scent of old books and baked goods and hums, the sound reverberating through you. He chuckles before setting his head on yours just enjoying the feeling of you in his arms. You mutter something and he questions you with another hum. You repeat it a bit louder.

“Want dessert?” The question incites a chuckle from him and his arms loose to look down at you. Something swirls in his eyes, warm like syrup, and his lips quirked up in a smile.

“Sure, Honey.” The two syllables of endearment are languid and you bask in them like a noon sun. His eyes flicker down to your lips a moment and your breath catches, but the sound of footsteps alerts you to Sam. You know him well enough, he doesn't want to interrupt so you smile at Simon and run your hands up his arms before stepping out of his grasp. Sam enters a second later with a bundle of clothes. His eyes are lit up and after glancing at you he grins at Simon.

“Here you are, Mate.” He gives a mock British accent and hands the bundle to Simon. You then pat the taller man's arm.

“Guest room is down the hall, Sam will show you. There's a bathroom too. I hope you eat cheesecake?”

You ask him and he just nods before Sam motions to him to follow. Simon gives you one last glance then heads after Sam. Once both men are out of the kitchen you grasp at your pounding heart as your stomach flutters. You felt giddy, a childish wonder in your heart at the affection. Simon was so warm and you felt safe in his arms. You hum to yourself as you pass to the fridge, opening it and examining the inside.

Beside produce and leftovers sat your quarry, made a day or so ago. There sat a glorious strawberry shortcake cheesecake, made by you. Albeit there was a slice missing courtesy of Sam but the cake was an absolute unit. You pull the covered dish out carefully as Sam pads into the kitchen alone. He leans against the counter as you work and regards you.

You hum more as you work, relaxing further in his presence, reaching to grab three plates. You then cut modest slices for each of you before sticking the rest of the cake back in the fridge.

“You’re thinking too loud Sammy.”

You then turn to him, a knowing look on your face. What surprises you is the serious look on his, Sam’s arms are crossed as he leans. You set the plates on the table before approaching your friend.

“What’s wrong?”

Green eyes turn to you, dark as English ivy, and they flicker down to you.

“I think James means trouble.”

It is all he offers. You sigh, taking a seat at the table. You think a moment. You wondered why your manager, Sofia wouldn't have called you, but this seemed like such a sudden onset by your old publisher. Given her sudden rush to leave you wondered where this put Sam’s family. Hearing your story the small publisher was happy to take both you and Sofia under their wing. White Owl Publishing was small, but they had cherished new classics under them. Your eyes flick up to meet Sam’s.

“We can’t risk your family’s reputation. Not after everything they've done for me and Sofia.”

Sam’s jaw clenches and you are taken aback a moment when his muscles tense. Sam had always been the most level-headed person you know.

“I don’t give a shit after what he’s done to you.” It is firm, Sam stands taller at the statement. You think back to the firm grip on your neck. Showing up at Sam’s door with tears streaming down your face, the choked sobs. It was the first but not the last time the man had laid hands on you. Weeks before the gala was marked with a possession like no other by James. In hindsight making up for his affair but you didn’t and still don’t understand why Sam triggered it.

“I should have knocked his teeth in the first time he touched you.”

Sam’s voice is even but you can sense the rage simmering. You get up and go to him seeking to comfort him but you jump when you see the form of Simon at the entrance of the kitchen. Your surprise has Sam turning as well, the simmer broken.

“He grabbed you, Dove?” Simon’s voice is ice. If you thought Sam was simmering rage, Simon has the look of a soldier. His eyes are dark and his lips are up in a snarl, but he is collected, with a refined rage, trained to kill. You gulp. You nod slowly.

“In the past month or so before the gala, when I found out he was cheating. James got possessive.” You say it calmly but there is a bubble of anxiety, black and vile, in your stomach. You try to shake it off, but the shadow of the experience hangs over you. Simon, fresh from the shower steps into the kitchen, hands open in an offering. Sam watches as you glance at Simon before stepping into the man’s embrace, something in his chest settling with firm contentment.

Simon on the other hand wraps you in one arm and uses his hand to smooth down your hair. He rocks you slowly and you melt in his arms. You calm in his arms, staying a quiet moment before running a hand over his shoulder and reluctantly pulling back. You look up to Simon with a shy smile,

“The cake will get warm.”

He lets you go slowly and follows you and Sam to the table. He takes the same seat and is met with a heavenly smell. The smell of vanilla and strawberry draws his eyes to the masterpiece in front of him. Sam offers him a smile before taking a large bite out of the cake that makes you giggle. You look at Simon before taking your own, albeit more modest bite. Simon follows and is met with heaven. Strawberry bursts on his tongue as the combination of heavy cheesecake and fluffy shortcake mix into a powerful combination.

“Fucking hell Love.” Is all he offers and you laugh, not expecting such a reaction from the stoic man. Your laughter is music to his ears,

“Glad you like it, Simon.”

He could get used to the sound of his name rolling off your tongue.

End Chapter 6

Taglist!

@ghostlythots, @tapioca-milktea1978, @cmbghost, @nexthyperfix

#cod mw2 2022 fanfic #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #soap and reader #simon riley fluff #fanfiction #simon 'ghost' riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x you #on the same page #Simon riley x you #Simon riley #cod mw2 2022 #john soap mactavish #Protective ghost #Protect

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valiantstarlights · 1 year ago

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[The Proposal AU] The Bachelorette Party

Previous Chapter: The Babymaker Blanket

I told @valeriianz I imagined Corinthian being the stripper character in this AU, and this is me having no self-control because I just started writing about it as soon as I said it. 😂 (Also tagging @voukkake because this AU is inspired by her art. 😊)

The song playing at Dream's bach party is Pony by Ginuwine because it's the most stripper-y song I could think of rn 🤷‍♀️

CW: Stripper Corinthian, strictly hobsexual Dream, tabletop games, and as a treat, seductive Dream (towards Hob) 😏

"Bye, Hob!" Jo calls as she drags a very confused Dream behind her. "We're going to see Cori for Dream's bach party!"

Dream hears a crash from the kitchen as Hob rushes towards them, still holding a potato peeler, looking wild-eyed and frantic. "You're going to see Corinthian? For Dream's bach party?"

"That's literally what I just said," Jo says as she starts to put on her shoes. Dream just stands between them, baffled at Jo's flippancy while Hob looks increasingly apprehensive. "You gone deaf or something?"

"Absolutely not," Hob says. "Dream--"

"--is allowed to have a bach party organized for him even when you declined to have your own," Jo continues. "And besides! I wanna get some calamari from The New Inn after. We'll be back soon." She glances at Dream and smiles innocently. "Or maybe it's just me and Gran who will be back soon."

Dream turns to Hob. "Corinthian?"

"He's a part-time stripper," Hob says.

"A very sexy one," Jo adds. "He might make you rethink marrying my brother, actually."

Dream doesn't know who this Corinthian fellow is, but he definitely, definitely thinks he's not going to cheat on Hob with him. Even if he and Hob aren't actually a real couple.

"I doubt it," Dream says to Jo. "I am quite set on marrying your brother." To Hob, he says, "I will be back soon, my love. Do you wish for me to get you anything while we're out?"

"No," Hob says. There's an intense look in his eyes that Dream doesn't know how to decipher. "I don't need anything else. I just want you to come back home to me."

Dream...doesn't quite know how to handle that, but he's pretty sure the tips of his ears are getting redder by the second.

Jo makes a retching sound. "Both of you are disgusting, but I'm still taking Dream to his own bach party. Now come on! Even Gran is already there!"

"I'll see you soon, love," Hob tells him, and leans forward to place a gentle kiss on his cheek. His eyes are dark, and more than once Dream sees him glancing down towards his lips.

He nods mutely, wishing he had the courage to reciprocate--for pretend purposes, of course, since Jo is considered part of the audience they're trying to sell their romance to--but in the end, he does nothing and just puts on his shoes before turning around to follow Jo out of the house.

Corinthian, it turns out, is the flirty waiter from the welcome party.

"I thought you were a waiter," Dream says as Corinthian slowly stalks towards where he's sitting in the middle of the stage, sexily taking his shirt off. Around them, people (mostly the women of the town) started hooting and hollering as Corinthian's muscled upper body is revealed, and he bodyrolls a little to the music, one hand on the backrest of Dream's chair.

"I can be anything you want, dreamboat," Corinthian says huskily. Dream cringes at the nickname, but allows Corinthian to dance nearer. "No? Too on the nose?"

"Quite," Dream says. "Do you really have to do this entire routine?"

Corinthian shrugs, but even that looks seductive when paired with his half-lidded eyes. "It pays the bills better than being a part-time waiter."

Dream sighs as Corinthian starts grinding and humping the air in front of his face. Dream understands that he must endure this for the sake of wedding traditions, but the music playing over the speakers irritates him, with the hook sounding like someone saying 'bleugh' over and over again.

"This doesn't do anything for you?" Corinthian asks. When Dream shakes his head, he chuckles but still very professionally continues his routine. Dream blanches as Corinthian moves his pelvis closer to Dream's face--still not making physical contact, but definitely too close for comfort. "A pity. 'Cause, not gonna lie, dreamboat, you're pretty cute."

Dream lifts his left hand where Hob's fake engagement ring sits prettily on his ring finger.

Corinthian just lifts both his hands up in a peaceful gesture, then starts unbuttoning his trousers and swaying side to side, his long legs straddling Dream's thighs. More hoots and cheers as Corinthian unzips and teasingly runs the tips of his fingers over his bulge.

"Noted," he says, as the song keeps 'bleugh'-ing in the background. "But feel free to spank me anyway. It'll get me extra tips for the night."

Dream doesn't like the way Corinthian winked when he said the word 'tips,' but what he says next is even worse. "And hey, I promise I'll try my best not to cum when you do. Your fingers look so pretty I want to choke on them."

"This is sexual harassment," Dream says futilely as, with a single rip of the fabric, Corinthian tears his trousers off completely and throws the ruined clothing towards the crowd, where Grandma Johanna successfully catches it one-handed.

"Spank me," Corinthian says to Dream as he starts to gyrate in front of his face again, this time while running his hands over his abs and pecs. "Before they inevitably peer-pressure you to do it."

"What?"

Right on cue, a large beefy guy in the crowd yells, "Spank him!"

"Smack his ass!" an old lady's voice adds. Dream recognizes it as Grandma Johanna's friend Betty's voice.

"Give him a proper lap dance, Cori!" Jo shouts.

Corinthian helpfully turns around and bends over, looking over his shoulder coquettishly as he gives Dream quite the view of his toned legs and shapely buttocks. His black thong doesn't really leave much to the imagination, especially when he's bent over like this. "Go on, dreamboat," Cori says, smiling widely and lasciviously. "It's a show. But if it makes it easier for you, spank me like how Hob spanks you."

And. Of course, Dream thinks. Of course it's a show. This entire trip is a show, and he's supposed to be acting like his life depends on it. Because it does. His life--everything he built for himself away from his toxic parents, depends on how well he acts like the beloved fiancee of this small town's golden boy.

Dream imagines Hob, with his lazy morning smiles, and his strong arms, and his capable manner in the workplace. If Hob ever spanks him, it would be because of something Dream had done. Something unforgivably naughty. If Hob ever spanks him in a sexual way, it would be like--

Dream lifts his dominant hand and strikes Corinthian's ass like how he imagines Hob would spank him if he had been a brat all day. It's easy to imagine, because Dream often feels like a brat, especially when he orders Hob around unnecessarily, asking him to get complicated coffee orders and making him work overtime even when Dream is fairly sure he can get the work done by himself. It's just, Hob is so competent and amazing at what he does, and surely two heads are better than one. And if Hob sometimes unbuttons his cuffs and rolls his shirt sleeves up, exposing his forearms--

The sound echoes throughout the room, and Corinthian's small moan of "oh fuck," and "Daddy," is lost as the crowd goes absolutely wild.

"Hey," Hob says as Dream enters his bedroom. He's sitting on the bed with his back against the headboard, open book held in one hand. He doesn't look like he has made much progress. "Welcome back."

"You shouldn't have stayed up," Dream says as he looks at the wall clock pointedly. It shows that it's well past midnight. He and Jo just got back, with Grandma Johanna returning hours before they did.

Jo had dragged him over to The New Inn to get her calamari and, as luck would have it, it turns out that tonight is game night at the inn--a fact that Johanna definitely knows--and Dream was roped into playing Cards Against Humanity and half a dozen other tabletop games with names like Carcassone, which was probably inspired by the French city with the same name, and Tsuro, which means 'route' in Japanese.

(Jo called him a nerd when he took out his phone to get the English translation of the game's name.)

(And yes, apparently, Corinthian also part-times at The New Inn during game nights, where he becomes the DM to a group playing Dungeons and Dragons. Dream was mortified when Corinthian saunters up to him and leans over to whisper in his ear, "Fancy seeing you here at my other workplace, Daddy Dreamboat.")

(He's pretty sure Jo and everyone at their table heard everything.)

"Yeah, well," Hob says, which isn't much of an answer at all. "How was your party?" he asks, when Dream takes off his coat and hangs it on a coat hook behind the door.

"Exhausting," Dream replies honestly. He didn't think Jo would have that much energy in her body, but apparently, he was wrong. She must have drank more than ten cups of coffee before they went out today.

"Yeah?" Hob says, his voice sounding strangely tight.

"Yes," Dream says. "Your sister has too much energy and the appetite of a blue whale. She must have eaten three family-sized plates of calamari by herself, and beat me thoroughly at Sheriff of Nottingham. It's a pity The New Inn doesn't have Scrabble, or I would have decimated everyone at the table."

"Oh," Hob says, and now he sounds relieved. Dream is too tired to parse out what the tone of his voice meant at the moment, but he will definitely be examining it at a later time. "Yeah, no. I can't beat Jo at Sheriff of Nottingham either. She always knows when I have contraband cards."

Dream huffs a laugh as he goes to the ensuite, keeping the door cracked open a little as he changes his clothes and does his nightly routines. "I managed to smuggle golden apples past her tonight, and she accused me of trying to start a war, which was very nice of her."

"I'm glad you enjoyed yourself," Hob says from the bedroom. "Game nights at The New Inn are really fun."

Dream hums and starts washing his face. "I saw a game that looked promising on the shelves, but the owner wouldn't take it down for us to play because Jo already borrowed too many."

"What was the game?"

"Betrayal at House on the Hill."

Hob laughs a full-bellied laugh at that, and the Dream in the mirror blushes and ducks his head at the sound. "Of course it's Betrayal," Hob says. "Remind me to bring you to the New Inn next game night, and I'll play with you."

Dream's hand pauses as he applies his night cream on his face. He knows Hob meant 'I'll play with you' in an innocent way, but the note of warm laughter in his voice made the chill from Dream's bones melt entirely.

It's a sensation he did not feel even when Corinthian explicitly told him he wanted to choke on his fingers while dirty dancing in front of him.

He hurries to finish his nightly routines.

"So?" Hob asks, when Dream had been quiet for too long. "You interested?"

He is, but perhaps not in playing the horror-themed game they're currently talking about. Still, he says, "Yes," and is glad that his voice does not shake, even when his hands do as he arranges the creams and serums in his travel toiletry bag. "The game looks very intriguing."

"If you like that, then I think you'll love the other dark or horror-themed games available at The New Inn. Like Nemesis, which is...a lot, or Gloom, which I think you'll win every time. Or, hey, maybe they still have Unspeakable Words. It's not quite Scrabble, but Jo will agree to play because she adores the little Cthulhu minis."

Dream re-enters the bedroom just then, clad in Hob's old university shirt and his own side split shorts, and watches as Hob's Adam's apple bob as he takes him in. "Will you play with me?"

Hob blinks and his eyes lift from looking at Dream's legs to his face. "Wha--huh?"

Dream smiles. "All the games you mentioned," he says, then crawls into bed--not seductively, he doesn't think he can quite manage that, but slower than usual. More intentional. "Will you play all of them with me? Teach me all the rules and go easy on me?"

"Yeah," Hob says, and shifts a little to make more space for Dream on the bed. Or perhaps to shift the fall of the blankets over his covered lower half. Dream unconsciously licks his lips. "I'll...yeah."

"Then I'm looking forward to it," Dream says. Then, with the courage he lacked earlier that evening, he leans closer and kisses Hob's cheek. "Good night, Hob," he says, lips brushing against Hob's stubble, their breaths mingling together.

"Good night," Hob replies belatedly, when Dream is already lying in bed and has turned on his side so he's facing the windows. He turns off the lamp on his side of the bed and says in the dark, "Sweet Dream."

Dream smiles and subtly nuzzles against his pillow--Hob's pillow, which smells like Hob, and pretends that he's actually resting his head against Hob's strong chest.

He falls asleep with a small smile on his face.

#the proposal AU #dreamling #the sandman #my writing #good job my thumbs

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freetobeeyouandme · 7 months ago

Text

Chapter 9: The Party at the End of the World

It's an early update today because I'm on a train (and might not have time later)! In this one Mike makes some bad decisions, the party goes to a party, and- oh! Someone gets murdered.

Tags: M, Graphic Descriptions of Violence, Fantasy AU, Canon Typical Violence, Canon Typical Horror, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn

Summary:

Mike Wheeler hates High School, so when he almost dies and falls through a portal to another world, he’s not going to complain. Especially not when that world does not only have swords and magic but seems to work exactly according to the rules of his favorite tabletop role-playing game. But his euphoria might be short lived because the party of adventurers he falls in with turns out to be the target of an evil god and the fate of the world might rest on their shoulders. So, exactly like his games of D&D. Except the wanna-be Paladin soon realizes that being a hero is much harder in real life than it is in-game. - Or, Mike gets isekai’d into a world where D&D is real.

An excerpt and taglist below the cut:

Excerpt:

The morning of the carnival feels chaotic and unstructured compared to the week and then some they’d spent on the road. Hop forgoes their training, and instead he and Mrs. Byers head into town bright and early to find whatever empty rooms might be still available to rent for the night – the one and only time they will do so on this journey because they need somewhere safe to store their things while they attend the festivities. Will and Dustin head out with them to get everyone costumes; it’s a masquerade after all.

They plan to rendezvous at the southern gate at lunch time, which gives the rest of them plenty of time to take down camp and do whatever else they please. Now that he has free time Mike isn’t sure what to do with it, though. He tries going back to sleep after the others leave for town, but finds the day too light already and his internal clock disturbed enough that he can’t. Lucas practices with his own sword after breakfast, so for a moment Mike joins in. But he’s not in the mood for sparing, and without Hop there he doesn’t feel compelled to, so when they’re done going through fighting stances and Mike’s arms begin to feel heavy he calls it a day. Lucas doesn’t protest, just quietly continues on his own.

Mike does what he can to help Max and Jonathan take down the tents, then wanders around aimlessly. He ends up slipping between the trees and away from camp, searching for the small creek they had passed on their way there yesterday. After three days of non-stop running through the woods trying to make it in time the clear water is a welcome sight: Mike has reached the point where he is turning into his mother in regards to his personal hygiene. Dry sweat clings to his shirt and his skin, his hair hangs heavy with grease, and there’s no way the sharp, unpleasant smell that had begun to hang over their camp isn’t what his sister had called teen boy stink. Sure, the rest of them had slacked as much as him, but since they have some time off Mike might as well try to get rid of some of the discomfort – the old fashioned way, since Prestidigitation is not a Paladin spell.

The creek isn’t particularly deep, which makes washing his hair difficult, but Mike kneels at the edge of the water, tries not to flinch at how cold it is, and gives it his best. Lathering up his skin is easy, even though the water makes him shiver, but trying to get the soap to foam in his hair is more difficult. Mike gives up when some of the suds run into his eyes, quickly washing off and drying himself with his undershirt. Then he soaks the shirt and tries to scrub out the worst of the sweat. He doubts he’s really successful, but the soap they’d bought in Loch Nora has a fresh, lemon-y tang to it that at least makes his nose feel better.

He only realizes his mistake when he sits, with a bare chest and a wet shirt, in the chilly early spring air. The day is clear and the sun shines onto his little spot in the woods, warming him, but the goosebumps that had broken out while he washed up don’t retreat. He hangs the undershirt over a low bough to dry and pulls on his tunic for some warmth, then sits down against a tree to wait. He hopes the shirt will be at least mostly dry by the time he has to head back to his friends, but he fears it won’t be.

For a long moment the woods, now no longer interrupted by his splashing, settle into a quiet hum around him. Mike feels himself nod off, then jerks awake when the bushes on the other side of the creek part to reveal a deer. It looks like the proverbial deer in the headlights when it spots him sitting a few feet away from the water. For a second the two of them look at each other and when Mike remains still and seated, the animal carefully approaches the creek. Mike hopes the water has washed away his dirt and soap so that drinking from the creek wont make the deer sick, but the animal seems to be happy enough to lap at the small stream, so he guesses it can’t taste too off.

He and the animal share a peaceful moment – and then the underbrush rustles, again, and it shoots off, startled.

A thin, red cloaked figure steps into the little clearing with Mike, one hand raised as if she wants to plead with the deer to stay. But the animal is already gone.

El pulls down her hood. “Sorry.”

Unofficial Tag List (aka you interacted with my posts about this fic, please tell me if you want me to not tag you in the future (or want to be added)): @smalltownwheeler @wheelerpilled @wrong-energy @foodiewithdahoodie @doggo9 @gardenfairie @beelikesbyler @beverlysclown @yickarus @sourdough-el @hessolivagant @hesquietoday @oldfashionedmorphine @total-serene560 @bylersrise @hawkinsunderground @generalstorecashier @snixx @camel-casing @bylersbear01 @turningsoft @casatoan @maru-chu @mid13s @goldentrunks @bunnybylerfangirl @willbyersenthusiast @letterstomichelangelo @drowninginideas @fluffyfangirl @artsyna @absolutelynotyouidiot @bymarara @unknowmiau @are-you-reddie @elherself134 @longtallglasses @kennahjune @easilyentertained99 @bylerschapter @eli-being-silly @bylerina

#byler #will byers #mike wheeler #stranger things #cleradin #byler fanfic #kingslayer fic

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mirrorsmoonlight · 11 months ago

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☆ ~ you can buy my love but you don’t want it

pairing: treech x gn!reader summary: you rent a boyfriend to experience what it’s like to be in a relationship (and to spice up your summer), despite not being big on them. in the end it wasn’t you who caught feelings. warnings: modern au, second person, fluff to angst?, treech acts like a bf cause that’s what rent a boyfriend’s do (but he kinda quickly falls for the reader), one of the longest i’ve ever written

summer break contained warm temperatures and frizzy hair from the humidity. it also turns out, that boredom is something that’s stretched through the days of the long summer. and to perish that boredom you wanted to do something exciting, and if it wasn’t exploring new countries and hanging out with friends, it’ll be something that is out of the ordinary.

after finalizing the decision, you clicked that button that sealed your fate. feeling a rush of adrenaline rush through your veins. tomorrow is the day, and you’d made sure to pick your best looking outfit for this occasion. but not for the man that’s going to be stuck by your side, but for you.

the wind blew warm air onto your face as you stepped out the door, taking a second to admire the beautiful view; the sky a bold blue with clouds lounging in the sky, the ultimate laughter coming from the families and friends, and the beautiful greenery swaying and shining with healthy limbs.

your feet created a rhythm against the pavement soon after as you began to make your way to the meeting place - which was only 10-15 minutes away - with your tote bag hanging on your shoulder. only when you’d finally arrived, did you see him, standing infront of the restaurant looking as gorgeous as he had in the picture.

his head shot up at the sound of your footsteps, pausing for a bit before a smile plastered itself on his face. “hey, (name) right,” he held his hand out in a polite handshake after you nodded, clasping your hands together after shaking it, “my name’s treech if you’d forgotten already.”

you smiled, his warm attitude and welcoming smile killing your nervousness and causing you to relax, “it would be a shame if i’d forgotten the name of someone as captivating as you. plus i would say it’s pretty unique, you don’t really see a lot of people with that name.”

a laugh left his lips at your teasing, before hitting you with one of his own remarks, “and it would’ve been a shame if you’d arrived just a few minutes later. the food looked a little too good that it almost made me forget who i was here for.”

fondness was the only thing present on your face despite you rolling your eyes, “well now that i’m here you won’t forget, cause today will be the best day (date) of your life.” watching the smile not once disappearing as he shook his head, before using his free hand to grasp the handle of the door, holding it open so you could go first, “well then we better get to it then, shall we?”

the restaurant was fancy, pristine hardwood floors and flawless white walls boxing in the squared tables and chairs made of mahogany. as he talked to the hostess you scanned your eyes to every corner, eyes shining with facination, not even realizing that you were now being led to the table if it wasn’t for the grip on your hand.

the table was against the window, allowing the sun to beat down onto the people inside. it was also dressed in a white tablecloth, protecting the tabletop from dirtiness and stains. treech paused, making sure to pull out your chair for you to sit down before taking a seat in his own.

“so what do you want to do after we’re done eating,” his attention was wholly on you as he asked, leaving you abit startled yet you quickly shook it off.

“i was hoping that we could buy some ice cream at the truck near by and walk on the beach together,” you hands busied themselves with unraveled the silverware from the napkin. placing them on the table, before spreading the napkin over on your lap to make sure you wouldn’t dirty your clothes while eating. “then we could stroll the shopping strip nearby.”

you looked back over at him, surprised at seeing that the whole time he never once took his eyes off of you.

the lunch was filling - making you convinced you might not even have room for such ice cream you’d mentioned before - and delicious, the aroma wafting out of the door as you both walked out. as he strode back up to your side he gently removed the tote you were carrying onto his own shoulder, before reattaching your hands together, both of you walking in silence.

you led him to the ice cream truck that was just a few blocks over, turning to him to ask him what he wanted as you ordered. only having to wait a few minutes before one of the employees came back with your order in hand. once the ice cream cones were secured, you carefully handed his to him, setting a slow pace as you walked the direction that would lead you to the beach.

it didn’t take that long to get there, but the both of you were almost done with your ice cream. nonetheless even with the cone in hand, you made sure your shoes were off, holding the insides of it with just the tips of your fingers. no chatter being created between the two of you, just the sounds of the waves crashing against shore and the seagulls that flew overhead accompanying you two.

eventually as the trail of footprints on shore grew longer, the remainder of the ice cream became shorter; nothing but crumbs harboring its place on your fingertips.

so you looked towards the horizon, the sun shining like a lightbulb in the sky as you admired the beauty of it. and noticing your focus was averted away from him he quickly pulled out his phone, aiming the camera towards you before quickly snapping a few pictures.

a grin lighting up his face, knowing that the sun could never compare to the beauty he saw in you.

the sand was stubborn, sticking onto your feet like a second skin. and when relief was finally found, more crawled up and held their place leaving you frustrated. and noticing this treech abandoned his effort of doing the same to come to your rescue; picking you up in bridal style even though you loudly verbalized your protests.

“what’re you doing,” you held onto his shoulders as you laughed. “doing what a boyfriend would do, obviously,” he smiled down at you with such a genuine smile it made your stomach fill with butterflies, a pink hue beginning to spread across your face.

luckily, his long strides across the sand let you arrive to the dry cement faster. him gently setting you down on the bench before taking the spot next to you to dust his sand covered feet.

your eyes were trained on his figure for a good few minutes before you hid your face in your shoulder, not wanting him to see the effect he left on you after what he just did.

the next stop was the shopping strip like you’d promised, the streets not full but not bare either. neither of you decided to stop and browse through the stores, choosing that this would be a great time to just aimlessly walk together hand in hand.

but time went by quickly, the sky now a dark purple - soon going to fade into a black - with stars beginning to pop out of their hiding places. and just as time trickled away the strength in your feet did the same; the soles throbbing from the journey you’d had. so, you stopped at one of the benches that were along the path, resting for a bit. only for a few moments later treech announcing he was going to pick something that he’d saw on the way.

you nodded, too tired to object to what he’d plan to do. so while he was gone you observed the people around you, trying to distract yourself. when he’d returned you noticed he held something behind his back, heart rate speeding up in what you didn’t know was adrenaline or excitement.

“since the day will end soon, i wanted to give you one last gift,” your attention was caught, tiredness leaving your body for a blissful minute. he pulled the mysterious gift from behind his back and presented it to you; a perfectly wrapped bouquet of faded pink tulips in his hands.

“treech, you didn’t have to,” you shook your head as you looked at him but a thankful spark was in your eyes. “i wanted to,” he sat down next to you before handing you the bouquet, watching you for a moment, “you were probably the best fake partner i ever had.”

you chuckled before leaning in to hug him, “thank you treech, it means a lot that you even put the effort in doing this last minute.” his hand gently soothed your back, rubbing circles into it before pulling away, “well as much as i enjoyed the day it’s probably time to get you home.” you looked at him for one last moment before nodding, gathering your stuff.

when you arrived at your place you felt disappointed. spending time with him probably being one of the most memorable things that would happen all summer. but you knew that what you had was only temporary. you knowing that even though you loved it, you couldn’t love it forever since both of you were in different places in your lives - you not focused on wanting a relationship.

you turned towards him as you stood infront of your front door, ready to say your goodbyes. “i’m glad i chose you,” your shining eyes focused on his own, “if it was someone else i probably wouldn’t have enjoyed it as much as i had.”

he nodded before stepping closer to you, one of his hands cupping the back of your neck. and recognizing what he’d planned to do, you gently placed your hand on his chest, “i didn’t pay for a kiss?”

“you don’t need to,” he shook his head before pausing, waiting for you to consent first. and once the smile popped on your face and you began to lean in, he took the opportunity, kissing you like it would be the last time.

and once you pulled away, he let you go. watching as you strode up the steps. the last thing he saw before you disappeared was your beautiful smile that you shot over your shoulder.

a/n: i wrote this in just a few hours because i wanted to post it before it was 2024. so i wanted to say Happy New Year’s Eve or Happy New Year’s, depending where you are!

#🪓. lumberjack #🕊️🐍. tbosas #ballad of songbirds and snakes #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #tbosas x you #tbosas imagine #tbosas x reader #tbosas #treech tbosas #modern au #the hunger games #the hunger games x you #the hunger games x reader #hunger games imagine #district 7 #treech x reader #treech x you #treech imagine

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caffetato-the-caffeinated-potato · 1 year ago

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Masterpost

Hi, I'm Caffetato, and I am very normal about fictional characters <- She said like a liar

I draw a lot, and all my art can be found under the my art tag

I also write sometimes. You can find my fics under the my fics tag, or just check out my AO3

Also I have a Youtube now! (No content on it yet, but soon-!)

Asks are always welcome! It's always fun having the chance to infodump to someone!

Fandoms: -RoTMNT -Ninjago -My Adventures With Superman (and superheroes in general, honestly) -Dungeons and Dragons -Epic: The Musical

Other Masterposts:

Tabletop Turtles (RotTMNT D&D AU)

Headcanon corner:

I like coming up with original designs for characters in various fandoms I'm in, incorporating stylistic choices and little details that make them personally fun for me to draw, even if they aren't exactly canon

RoTMNT Donnie | Mikey | Leo | Raph (Art/designs are kinda old but we ball)

Ninjago Jay | Epic: The Musical (Odysseus art coming soon!)

#masterpost #Let me know if I missed anything!

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lunearobservatory · 1 year ago

Note

Hello, in the tags of your post you said to ask you about your DND au, please tell about the DND AU

OH MY GOD. Okay. OKAY. I have so many race class combos, and even a pretty decent storyline? The story is batshit and rly loose rn, so for now I will share the race class combos for the fellas i Do have, not all of them have subclasses but most do

PLEASE if you dont see ur favorite guy here OR you want to hear more about ur favorite guy in the au in general. ASK ME ABOUT UR FAVORITE FELLA PLEASE. I have extensive notes its insane

California - scourge aasimar, (cringefail) bard/bladesinger wizard

Texas - minotaur, barbarian

Florida - summer eladrin elf (?), wild magic sorcerer/arcane trickster

Lousiana - tiefling, circle of spores druid

New York - human, ascendant dragon monk

Gov - porcelain warforged, oath of conquest paladin. Made by PA

Pennsylvania - human, battlesmith artificer

Alaska - firbolg, fey wanderer (antler faewild gift)

Colorado - human (afflicted), drunken master monk

Rhode Island - lightfoot halfling, swashbuckler/battlemaster

Connecticut - forest gnome, swashbuckler/fighter

Massachusetts (half brother Maine) - half wood elf (human father), artillerist artificer/clockwork soul sorcerer

Maine (half brother Massachusetts) - wood elf, beastmaster ranger

Kentucky - centaur (mountain pleasure horse) nature cleric

Michigan - water genasi, circle of waves druid

Ohio - fire genasi, wildfire druid

New Jersey - tiefling, soulknife rogue

#oh no you caught me on my bulllllssshhhiiitttt #if you ask abt someone and also want me to try and draw them?? ask me that too also #yea!!!#lune talks #welcome to the tabletop au #wttt #wttsh #ben brainard #welcome to the statehouse #welcome to the table #when ppl ask me things

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stabbyfoxandrew · 7 months ago

Note

whichever wip has the least amount of asks please! 🫶 I hope all ur wips agree with u this week 🫡

WIP Wednesday (4/24) | Mafia Front Restaurant AU (Part 147)

During the third round, Neil finally draws a joker. The first he’s seen since the game began. It’s a welcome and much-needed addition to his side of the table, so he drops it beside his set of jacks and discards.

“Explain.” Andrew demands before the card hits the tabletop.

“Oh. Jokers are sort of like an add-on.” Neil says, casually looking over his hand at him. “They can only be played when you’ve got something else on the table. Fifty points.”

“Alright, now you’re making shit up.” Andrew accuses.

“I’m not. That’s how you play.”

“You didn’t mention it earlier.”

“It hadn’t come up yet.”

“Ah,” Andrew nods. “Omission. My favorite way to lie.”

Neil smiles. “I don’t have a favorite.”

“What if you had both jokers?” Andrew asks, squinting at Neil.

“You can’t add fifty plus fifty? How did you get through college?”

Andrew blows. “I mean, can I put a wild two between them and call it a joker?”

“Nope. Not how it works.” Neil says, taking great pleasure in frustrating this man. The goalie pinches the bridge of his nose and exhales.

“This is a stupid game, but I am going to win.” He announces, then he taps his chin with his finger and points at Neil. “How do I do that?”

“Be the first to hit five hundred points.”

“We will be here all night.”

“Wasn’t that the plan?”

#this one and vampdrew were tied but this one was agreeing with me more so here you go! :D <333 #aftg #andreil #Mafia Restaurant AU #WIP Wednesday #🕊️#answered #nervousdemeanor7

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upontherisers · 1 month ago

Note

ok listen i just think dip from this prompt list is just peak song of the summer au … dealer’s choice but that one immediately jumped out at me 😇

you're right, this is peak song of the summer. again, million apologies for taking so long. this isn't quite the premise of the prompt but i got caught in mahalia's issues.

“I don’t wanna see your tits—”

“I do,” Curt says, waving his hand in front of Will’s face in case Mahalia’s under the impression that her tits aren’t welcome at the function.

“Thank you, Curtis,” she replies, and pulls her knees into her chest with a sly, raised brow. “Nothing you haven’t seen before, Veal. Last chance too, unless you’re really after that girl from Camp Taylor — what’s her name again? Daisy? Debbie?”

Will sniffs. “Her name is Dottie and I’m not doing this with you.”

“She has a boyfriend, y’know, that redhead who broke his elbow at flag football a few years ago. That’s your competition?”

Flicking his thumb at a crack in the wooden tabletop, Will tongues at a back molar and doesn’t look at Mahalia. She’s treading into dangerous territory and she’s doing it on purpose, but he hurt her feelings when he said what he said and she doesn’t know how not to make him pay for it. One squirm, that’s what she’s looking for — at the first sign that he regrets saying anything, she’ll back off.

She takes the silence to look around the table. Buck’s twirling a toothpick in the corner of his lip, Brady’s on his phone, and Curt’s scratching his neck, avoiding eye contact; Bucky’s the only one who doesn’t look away and he’s the only one who she wants to. Those eyes betraying the storm inside his still body, the angle of his jaw as he smacks on his gum like he’s determined to out-annoy their friends. She wants to flinch at him, to remind him that she doesn’t let people stare for this long unless they have a problem, but what good would that do?

All week, he’s taken her hits with nigh Catholic-levels of repentance, other cheek turned like he’s got the text open in front of him. He still won’t tell her why he was at St. Paul’s before he picked her up from Irving Medical or how long he was there, or if he prayed. For absolution or for me? she’d wanted to ask. Instead, she let Dr. Bacon pick the story out of her like pulling teeth and say all sorts of things about guilt and being the bigger person.

Bucky wouldn’t know regret if it bit him on the nose, but the other thing she’s trying out along with a newly prescribed worldview. Actions and words, that kind of stuff.

“You should come,” she says to Will, “and show the newbies your tricks.” He gets a lot of shit for cheerleading in college; it stops once you see him pick up two counselors at once.

His eyes narrow — he’s skeptical, she gets it — but she gives him a smile that’s mostly teeth and keeps her mouth shut. She still has other things to say to him, like I’m sorry I stopped calling back, this is me trying, and the Sisyphus comparison wasn’t really necessary, was it? but it doesn’t seem like the time. After a moment, he nods and now she can log onto her Zoom session with Dr. Bacon tomorrow and tell him all about her self-reflection skills and get a good grade in therapy. Just don’t ask how I’m sleeping.

Well, enough about her! “What about you, Egan? You comin’?”

“Is Hazel gonna be there?”

“Jack should beat your ass for that,” she says, and he nods in sober agreement as Buck chuffs with amusement and Curt marvels at the gall.

“For what?” Cros asks as he plops a tray down at her elbow, Rosie sitting next to him.

Brady perks up from his slouch, tucking his phone and hands into the front pocket of his lifeguard hoodie. “It’s Penny Pond Night.”

Cros’ fork stops halfway to his mouth and sends grains of rice all over his plate. Rice with a fork, really? “Tonight?”

“What’s tonight? asks Rosie.

Curt waves him off. “It’s a senior counselor thing.”

“We can still explain it to the man,” Buck says, and as Brady and Bucky answer Rosie’s questions — a few counselors from the otherside of the lake, a small party, a five minute walk, about nine o’clock, who knows, bro — Mahalia picks at her lunch. It’s lukewarm now and she’d be such an asshole to go into the kitchen for the microwave in the middle of service, but her appetite at present shrinks as she scrapes the wet breading off her chicken patty and nibbles at the meat. The watery ketchup does nothing to help.

Why does she have to work on everything at once? Why must it be leg and mind and hunger instead of first, second, third? That way, she can deal with the message from Bucky burning through her phone screen where it’s tucked against her thigh in her bike shorts without having to remember to take her meds with breakfast. It would be so nice to have a summer focused on food before she has to check-in about it with her shrink every week, and Bobbie might have a breakdown but Mahalia needs to heat this or it’s not getting eaten and—

A foot knocks hers under the table. As Brady rises, a bowl slides across the space his tray had previously occupied, coming to a stop next to Mahalia’s Powerade with a final push. It’s fruit, strawberries and green grapes unsullied by cantaloupe or — God forbid — honeydew. Bucky’s looking at her when she glances up from sorting out her remaining edible fries, and he tilts his head at the bowl. The foot knocks into hers again and she wants to tell him to cut it out, she wants to thank him.

Brady’s back soon enough with a brownie wrapped up for later, a bowl of Cocoa Puffs, and a plate with a steaming hot chicken patty, a slice of cheddar cheese, and a hamburger bun on the side, which he hands to her without breaking stride as he re-enters the conversation. Bucky nods at him, thank you; he shrugs his shoulders, no problem.

She pops a grape into her mouth and thinks of guilt and churches.

#mail call #poet tag #mahalia summerton #lake harding #mahalia x bucky #some easter eggs: yes dottie is dot woods and malarkey is the redhead who broke his arm during flag football #mahalia ended it badly with veal as well so like. everything she says is the wrong thing #my writing #it's not that long but i put a read more just in case

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tar-maitime · 6 months ago

Text

joy, or relaxation, or simple pleasure

Rating: G Characters: Maedhros | Maitimo, Fingon | Findekano Additional: modern AU, first meeting, meet-cute WC: .75k

For @russingonweek Day 1 - Light Prompt - Family

“Hey - you’re Maedhros, right?”

Maedhros turned from where she was trying to sort through a makeshift lost-and-found, to see a man roughtly her age whom she thought she recognized as Fingolfin’s oldest son. “Yes, that’s me. What did you need?”

Inwardly, she dearly hoped it didn’t have to do with some familial crisis - but given that they hadn’t even been at this “family getaway” to celebrate Grandpa Finwe’s eightieth birthday for two whole days yet and her father had already said some regrettable things, she wasn’t terribly optimistic.

“Oh, nothing really. Just to say hi - I don’t think we’ve really met. Fingon Vanyaran, nice to meet you.” He held out his hand and Maedhros reflexively shook it, noting that he didn’t seem fazed by her using her left hand. “And to ask if you needed any help; it seems like you’ve been run off your feet since we all got here.”

Maedhros blinked in surprise. She hadn’t realized anyone had noticed. “Well, I’ve been sorting out the things I know belong to my brothers, and there’s a pile over there of stuff I couldn’t figure out.” She gestured. “If you want to look through for anything that’s yours or your siblings’, you’re more than welcome.”

Fingon smiled agreeably and started sorting; the pile he created had mostly blue paraphernalia, but a few random white items as well. “So how are you liking the vacation so far?” he asked at length. “I’d hope you haven’t spent all of it cleaning up after people.”

“Not literally, no,” Maedhros agreed. Once her brothers hit a certain age, she and her mother had formed a united front and refused to be their maid; her current task was more for stress relief than anything else. “Figuratively, well...”

She trailed off, searching for the proper words, and Fingon diplomatically supplied, “Your father is...interesting.”

Maedhros huffed slightly. “You can come right out and say that he took it too far earlier. With the bit about your side of the family not being real family because your dad and Finarfin are his stepbrothers.”

“Well...”

“The only explanation I can offer,” Maedhros added, “is that he hadn’t had coffee yet. We usually try to keep him away from volatile topics until the caffeine kicks in and gives him a filter.”

“That wasn’t really what I meant,” Fingon cut in. “I was talking about how he took apart the toaster and the garbage disposal and made a trash-eating robot. To be honest, I didn’t really mind that he said we weren’t family. I was hoping you’d agree with him.”

Maedhros let Tyelpe’s baby toy slip from her suddenly slack grasp. It bounced against the tabletop and began to emit an irritating, off-key tune before she automatically swatted it silent. “What?”

“Well, because...so that I could ask you out,” Fingon said, all in a rush, and then looked as though he wished he hadn’t.

That expression was the only reason Maedhros wasn’t convinced she’d heard him incorrectly. “What?” she repeated, just in case.

But instead of saying something that would make much more sense, Fingon squared his shoulders and assumed a determined expression. “I was thinking about asking you out,” he reiterated. “On a date. If you were interested.”

Ah. That brought them to the next question, then. “Why?” Maedhros was aware that, presented properly, she was a catch: pretty, professional, and put-together, and very good at making people forget about the missing hand. But she hadn’t exactly been bringing any of that to bear on this trip; she hadn’t been thinking of impressing anyone that way.

Fingon shrugged. “I wanted to.”

“You wanted to ask out the girl from the large, unruly, frequently rude family headed up by your step-uncle,” Maedhros said disbelievingly. “The girl currently picking through her relatives’ stray belongings - literally single-handedly - because this is her idea of taking a break from wrangling the aforementioned insane family?”

Fingon gave her a grin that somehow managed to be a bit reproachful. “I want to ask out the frankly gorgeous girl with truly stunning levels of competence who’s probably the main reason no one’s maimed anyone else yet on this trip. That’s you, by the way.”

“I...”

From somewhere in the distance, a crash resounded, followed by yelling. “Let’s get through this birthday reunion nonsense first. If everyone’s still alive and not in the hospital at the end of it, I’ll think about it.”

She took off towards the commotion, Fingon at her side. “If I help you make sure nobody dies or gets injured, will that make a stronger case for a yes?” he inquired.

“It couldn’t hurt.” Maedhros tilted her head, listening. “Sounds like one of mine and one of yours. Come on.”

#russingonweek #russingon #maedhros x fingon #maedhros #fingon #female maedhros #eldest daughter maedhros #my stories #modern au

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thesugarclubs-blog · 2 years ago

Text

If You Were Mine - AU Bucky Barnes x OC

warnings: 40's Bucky, pre-war, neighbours to lovers, smut, 18+

word count: 10.8k

WP: https://www.wattpad.com/1316972552-if-you-were-mine-beatrice

Masterlist

Heavy rain poured down as Beatrice stared out her window at the grey New York sky, still bright despite the deluge. Her window was open to the elements and a cool breeze ruffled the chocolate curls that framed her face. She took a sip from her mug, the tea warming her from the inside as she flipped through a book. Sighing in contentment, she was enjoying the ambiance of the day. It was a welcome relief from the usual chaos that could be heard throughout her apartment building.

However, the relaxing atmosphere was short-lived.

A loud banging at her door made Beatrice jump, hot liquid spilling out of the cup and over her hand. She grumbled to herself before standing, smoothing out the wrinkles of her skirt and wiping the tea away with a towel from the nearby sink. Another knock rattled the apartment and she hurried to look through the peephole into the hall, groaning as she saw what stood on the other side. She wrenched open the door and fixed the visitor on the other side with a stern glare.

He was dripping with rainwater, droplets running down his cheekbones and nose and over a set of perfectly pink lips. A puddle was starting to collect around his feet and she could see every damp footprint he'd left from the beginning of the hall to her door, which was directly across from his own.

"Bucky Barnes, the next time you knock on my door like you've got a death wish," Beatrice said dryly, a stark contrast to the soaking wet man in front of her. "I'll make it come true."

Her neighbor rolled his eyes, the baby blue of them electric despite the dim hallway light. Beatrice refused to admit that she could feel the sparks from where she stood.

"Come on, doll, I'm freezing my ass off out here," Bucky whined. "I lost our key."

"Well, that sounds like a big problem for you. I'm sure you can muster the brain power to solve the case."

Beatrice attempted to close the door, huffing when one soaked brown loafer poked out and stopped her progress.

"I know you've got a spare," he continued, raising a dark eyebrow before he smirked. "And you don't want Steve catching a cold, do ya?"

Bucky gestured over his shoulder at his roommate and best friend. Steve stood equally soaked to the bone, his slender frame shivering. He gave her a small wave and the corner of her mouth turned up before she looked back at Bucky. For a brief moment, she imagined what it would be like to punch the stupid, sexy grin off his face.

"Whaddya say, Busy Bea?" he smiled down at her, knowing he'd found her weak spot and won. "Gonna help a fella out?"

Bea sighed loudly as she let both soaked men in. As Steve passed her, shivering like a leaf tree.

"Barnes, you know better than to drag Steve through this weather." Bea scolded the man with the brightest, bluest eyes she's ever seen that she could get so easily lost in, at the same time they belonged to the most infuriating person she's ever met.

The boys took a seat at her small kitchen table as she rummaged through her drawer looking for the key they’d given her to their apartment in case of emergencies. She heard a scoff come from the table and turned her head their way.

“I didn’t drag him through anything. If he hadn’t been picking fights in the first place we’d have been home already.”

She found the key under a mess of papers in the back of the drawer and folded her palm around it as she looked over her shoulder to level Steve with a glare over her shoulder, slowly turning on her heels and facing his shaking form, a perfectly arched brow aimed at him.

"Is that true, Rogers?"

Steve had the good grace to look guilty.

“Honestly, you’re such a knucklehead,” she sighed, walking back over to them and sliding the key across the tabletop.

“There’s still some tea in the pot. Warm yourselves up before you go back,” Bea ordered, nodding to the teapot on the table before leaving the room to grab a couple of towels.

She padded to the bathroom, snatching two fresh towels that were hanging off of the rack. Bea paused when she heard Steve.

"We don't have to get tea. She terrifies me," Steve whispered. "Can we just go?"

Bea smirked to herself. She should terrify him. Someone had to knock Rogers down a peg, and if the guys who were beating the hell out of him couldn't, she definitely could. He always picked fights he could never win. Bucky laughed.

"Bea? Bea terrifies you? She's a pussycat, Rogers. Sit the hell down. Where are her cups--"

Suddenly, something smashed and Bea hung her head. She snarled, storming out of the bathroom. The towels were clutched in her fist like she was wringing his neck. Bucky stared up at her with a big smile as he pushed the broken ceramic aside with his foot so that it was hidden underneath the cupboard. Steve rolled his eyes and got to his feet, heading for the small cupboard where she kept the broom.

"Hiya, Bea!" Bucky chirped.

She glared at him.

"I let you in for two minutes and you're destroying my apartment?!"

"I didn't do anything!" Steve yelped from behind his friend.

Bucky raised his hands in mock defense, a cocky smile still lingering on his face.

"Destroying is a strong word. There was a crack in that cup, I was doing you a favor."

"Barnes, I'll put a crack in those pretty teeth of yours," she snapped as she lunged for him and Steve got between the two. For once, he was stopping a fight instead of starting one.

"Okay, let's just calm down. I'll clean this up, Buck, you sit the hell down. Bea, Buck is sorry about the cup."

"No, I ain't," Bucky sighed as he plunked down in her chair.

Bea shot him a look, teeth grinding as the corner of Bucky’s mouth twitched into a smirk. His eyes shone, crinkling at the corners and the moment he winked, Bea broke.

She glanced away, struggling to hide her smile and Bucky chuckled, something deep and rumbly. As much as she wished it didn’t, the sound set her stomach fluttering.

“Gotcha, sweetheart.”

“I don’t know why I put up with you two,” she huffed as Steve finished cleaning and poured them all a cup of tea, “thank you, Steve. Although if you think you’re off the hook just because you cleaned up Bucky’s mess for a change, you’re sorely mistaken.”

"Aw, come on, doll," Bucky grinned at her, "I did you a favour, you need new cups anyways - half the ones in your cupboard are cracked or chipped anyways!"

Steve shot him a warning look, "Bucky..."

Bea's lips thinned, sure it was just a cup, and yeah, maybe he was right about needing to replace them, but they were her Grandma's cups.

She didn't say anything about that though, the last thing she needed was to give his stupid handsome face more fodder.

“Don’t touch anything else,” she hissed in Bucky’s direction, taking a seat at the table. She wrapped her hands around her mug and took a sip of tea. “I was having a remarkably peaceful day until you two showed up.”

Bucky’s laugh rumbled through the small kitchen. Bea didn’t want to look in his direction- she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction- but she knew there was a twinkle of mischief in those baby blues eyes.

She refused to look up from her cup as his shoes clicked across the laminate kitchen floor, instead intently stirring in a spoonful of sugar. His presence behind her was obvious, a new warmth radiating off his body as Bucky's clothes dried and his mind started to heat up. He leaned down, his hand coming to grip the back of her seat, and let his lips brush the shell of her ear.

"Maybe we can come up with a way for me to make it up to you," Bucky whispered, a grin faint on his lips, and suddenly Bea's nerve endings were on fire.

She pushed down the flare of desire, instead giving him a sarcastic laugh.

"Oh really?" Bea chuckled, tilting her head back to look at Bucky. "Is that what you told Dot? Or Louise? Or Alice? Steve, am I missing anyone?"

She looked across the table at the blonde who had a mouthful of tea cakes.

"Oh, there was Annabelle too," he snapped in the air, crumbs falling from his grin. "And Margar-"

"Alright! Jesus..." Bucky grumbled over top of her, the moment between them broken.

Bea huffed out a breath. “What, did I hit something?” She stood up abruptly, causing the chair to screech in a high-pitched noise as she glared at him.

“Ouch,” Steve whispered, dipping the piece of what was left of the cake into the tea.

She tilted her head, lips in a firm line as she playfully patted his puffed up chest. “Sorry to disappoint you, but I don’t make deals with the devil.”

With that, she walked to the sink and grabbed a washcloth to wipe off the crumbs and spilled tea on Steve’s side of the table, trying her best to ignore the warmth that spread through her body when the brown haired man left a low and rumbling chuckle. Steve’s tiny voice of I’m sorry was at least helpful to get rid of that feeling this time.

''Doll…'' he started. Her head snapped in his direction where she watched him struggle to continue his sentence as if he was at a loss for words. For as long as she knew Bucky, he was always very quick with his wit. Annoyingly so. She couldn't make sense of the feelings he invoked in her. As much as she wanted to hate the reaction her body had because of him, she relished it.

Bea's eyes scanned his face as she waited for his next words. His crystal blue eyes stared back at her, brows furrowed in thought and a slight pout gracing his plump lips. She admired the wet fallen curls on his forehead, the tick of his jaw as he stood there as if his brain were replaying her refusal over and over.

Bucky let out a huff of breath and walked towards her, his figure towering over her. He placed his hands on the counter on either side of her and looked down.

"How about if I take ya dancin' tonight?"

Bea’s heart stuttered, there was no way he could mean…

Determined not to let him see how much he got to her she gave him a smirk. Raising her chin and peering over Bucky’s shoulder she caught Steve’s eye.

“Whaddaya say, Steve? A night out on Bucky’s dime?”

“Doll, you know that’s not what I-“ he retorted but was cut off by Steve’s enthusiastic agreement.

"Oh!" Steve yelped, eyes wide. "Can we go to Blue Note? There's this girl there with hu--"

Bucky clapped his hands together, trying to contain his annoyance behind a big, fake smile while Steve fell silent, cheeks burning at his almost humiliating outburst. Bea knew she hit Barnes where it hurt as he stared her down, his eyes piercing hers.

"Sounds great." He tried to control the growl in his voice. Shivers rushed up her spine. "Stevie? Let's go. Bea's gotta make herself look pretty for me."

"I'll be sure to wear my finest paper bag, Barnes," she quipped as she leaned back in her chair and the boys made their way to the kitchen doorway.

Steve was the first to disappear while Bucky lingered, leaning up against the doorframe. His eyes scanned her body and she held his gaze despite the blush that was growing on her cheeks.

"You're a clever one, doll. What's the matter? Afraid of that old Barnes charm?"

"You're about as charming as a damn roach," she bit back.

He grinned, dragging his tongue across his bottom lip.

"I'll pick you up at 6:00. Sharp."

With a wink, he was gone, and the front door shut. Bea heaved a sigh, slumping down in her chair. She glanced at the clock, already knowing she had an hour to get ready. And that jerk was going to be right on time.

She did what she could with her hair in the little time she had and applied rouge carefully to her lips and cheeks.

Not that she was prettying herself up for Bucky. She liked to look presentable for a night out on the town as it was, and it had nothing to do with the cheeky, charismatic boy next door. No sir.

When Bucky’s telltale knock on her door sounded out at six on the dot, she opened it with a cheerful smile. Only for it to drop when she realised just one of her troublesome neighbours stood on her stoop.

“Where’s Steve?”

His tongue swiped across his bottom lip as his eyes trailed her figure, "has a cough from being out in the rain, so it looks like it's just going to be the two of us, sweetheart"

Bea sucked in a deep breath and swallowed thickly, grabbing her shawl from the hook beside the door and brushing past the tall brooding man, "whatever you’re thinking is going to happen, Barnes, you can forget it. I am not one of those floozies you bring home every night."

When a deep chuckle came from behind her, mixed with the clicking of his shoes as he jogged to catch up, Beatrice had to bite the inside of her cheek to stop herself from smiling. No matter how much charm he poured on, she had to remember exactly who he was. She couldn't let her feelings get the best of her now.

"Oh, believe me, Bea, I've known that for a long time," he mumbled from beside her, a soft smile plastered on his plump pink lips.

When they got down to the street, Bucky held his elbow out to her. Bea looked at it suspiciously, wondering what he was thinking.

"Bea, just take my damn arm - believe it or not, I can be a gentleman."

She hesitated with a huff, before sliding her hand around his arm, "Just this once, Barnes."

The Blue Note was the busiest she had ever seen, couples lingered outside in the cold leaning into each other and most whispering what she could only assume were sweet nothings based on the smiles plastered on the women's faces. A part of her felt a twinge of jealousy watching them. She couldn't deny how nice it would be to have someone but the pure idea of letting a man into her heart made her nauseous.

"You're lookin' a little green behind the gills there Bumble Bea," she heard him say lowly, feeling him nudge her softly, "you alright?"

Bea shot a glare up at him, "I'm fine Buckaroo, lets just get inside it's freezing out here." She looked forward again, ignoring the feelings creeping into her veins like vines.

Bucky opened up the door for them, letting her walk in first with a dip of his head and one arm behind his back, “my lady.”

That eye-rolling boyish grin appeared. She bit back a smile, but it wasn’t enough to hold back the flushness that crept along her neck up to her cheeks. She quickly looked forward again to conceal her reaction as she walked inside with him behind.

She couldn’t let him have that fun.

Inside, the floor was packed with dancing people. Couples entwined, moving to the music that a live band was playing on the stage at the far end of the room.

"Can I buy you a drink, sweet Bea?" His voice rasped close to her ear, making the hairs of her neck stand up and a ripple of goosebumps released on her skin.

"And risk poisoning? No thank you."

"Come on, doll. Be good," His warm breath returned to the side of her neck, making sure she heard him over the volume of the music.

Butterflies fluttered in her stomach as heat pooled at her center. She hated that he had this effect over her.

Bucky Barnes with his smug grin and a jawline that could cut glass.

She swallowed thickly before turning slightly to face him, "I'm not a dog Barnes, and I'm not your doll. You're buying me a Manhattan but I'm comin' with ya."

Facing him was almost a mistake because of the way he was leant in, their eyes were at a perfect level with each other and her legs felt like jello with how he was looking over her. The shiny blue pools of his eyes were almost hypnotizing her, almost all the noise around them disappeared for the few seconds that his eyes flickered over her face.

As he straightened up, his tall figure back to towering above her, a dazzling grin broke out on James' face that had her turning in the direction of the bar and rushing ahead of him to hide the blush that she could feel spreading over her face that had nothing to do with the heat of the dancing bodies around them and everything with the handsome brunette.

Bea straightened her shoulders and, with a confidence she didn’t really feel, stood at the bar waiting for Bucky to catch her up.

He sauntered up to her with his usual easy gait, his hands in his pockets and his goddamn dreamboat smirk fixed on his stupidly handsome face.

“Manhattan was it?” He asked, tipping his chin to get the bartender’s attention.

“You forgotten already?” Bea snarked.

"Nah, I just wanted to hear your voice again. You sound so pretty when you're not calling me a scoundrel." She drew in a breath and held it for a few seconds as Bucky grinned. "With a lemon twist, right?"

She blushed but held his gaze. Bucky definitely took notice as his eyes bounced around her face, almost unsure where to land.

"How did you know that?"

"Saw you drinking one on your balcony last summer." She went to speak but was cut off by Bucky ordering for her. He turned back to Bea as the bartender began to make their drinks. "Believe it or not, but I do pay close attention to you."

"What for? To drive me crazy?"

His eyes ran up and down her body and she felt that familiar heat flood her cheeks again. He looked good, in a crisp white shirt with a stiff collar, dark pants that had been pressed, and his hair was mostly slicked back with a few stray curls sticking out.

"Somethin' like that," he murmured as their drinks were slid across the bar. Bucky handed hers to her and grinned as he took up his own whisky glass, holding it in the air. "How about a truce tonight?"

"That depends," she replied. "Are you gonna do anything to warrant a slap?"

He leaned forward, that cocky smirk ever present on his plump lips.

"I'll be on my best behavior, sugar."

Her eyes narrowed.

"Somehow I doubt that."

“You wound me, Bea. Am I really that bad?” Bucky chuckled, his hand pressed to his chest in faux hurt.

“Not bad, Barnes,” Bea said, taking a sip of her drink with a coy smile. “But I fear that admitting you have a certain charm will only make your head grow, and I’m not sure your neck can take the weight as it is.”

Bucky tilted his head, eyes glimmering with mirth to match the lopsided grin on his lips, and Bea struggled not to reach out and fix the one stray curl that fell over his eyes when he moved.

“Are you saying it’s working? My charm?”

She hummed thoughtfully, “we’ll see how the night goes.”

As Beatrice let her mind flutter to the idea of this night actually being something fun for the two of them, a small blonde skipped up to them and pressed herself between her and Bucky.

"Heya Buck, I was hoping I'd see you here tonight," she twisted a curl around her finger and looked over her shoulder at Bea with a sly smirk, "come dance with me"

Bucky cleared his throat as his eyes flickered from the blonde to the brunette, "Dottie, hi, I uh..." he rubbed his hand over the back of his neck as his cheeks turned pink.

Beatrice cocked her eyebrow and scoffed as she took a large swing from her drink. Classic Bucky, one girl was just never enough. She could feel the heat rising in her neck as she turned away to try and avoid eye contact with him as he stuttered and talked himself into a circle.

"Come on Buck," the girl pouted, "you always did prefer blondes," Dottie snipped.

"Uh, Dottie, I'm not sure -"

"Go dance with her, Buck," Bea muttered, "Since you prefer blondes and all."

She turned on her heel and stalked away, aiming for the bar to refill her drink.

"Beatrice," he called after her, her name on his lips. Leaving Dottie planted dumbfounded on the dancefloor he followed Bea to the bar.

"Leave me alone, Barnes," Bea said, knowing it was him who now stood behind her. His clean pine scent clouded her senses.

"Look, sweets. I'm sorry. I'm here with you because I want to and not because I want to dance with other girls. Can you give me another chance, please?"

No matter how infuriating this man was, he pulled her in like a magnet. And she was starting to realize that, that might not be that bad.

Bea puffed out her cheeks and pushed herself up her toes as she leaned onto the bar ignoring his plea. She called the bartender forward with a wave and a bat of her eyelashes. She was going to give Bucky a taste of his own medicine even if she wanted to kiss him with just as much ferocity as she wanted to slap him.

"What can I get ya sweetheart?", the tall broad shouldered blonde rasped as he reached for her glass, fingers grazing her wrist.

"Manhattan with a twist," she smiled.

She watched attentively as the man prepared her to drink effortlessly paying no mind to the brooding brunette that huffed behind her. When the man walked back with her drink she pressed her hand to his before grabbing it.

"Thanks, angel face.", she turned back to face Bucky with a smirk as she sipped on her fresh drink, "Oh I'm sorry Barnes, were you saying something?"

His face was red as she saw him glare at the back of the bartender's head who was already serving another woman down the line, paying no mind to Bucky and the look he sent his way.

It made Beatrice giddy on the inside, knowing that seeing her flirt with someone might have the same effect on him as she felt when she saw Dot throw herself all over him. Even in the low light of The Blue Note and the cloud of cigarette smoke floating around, she could clearly see the tick in Bucky’s jaw. His eye blazed as he took a step then another closer to her, effectively cornering her against the bar as he leaned in and she tried not to take a breath of his cologne in and give herself away. He leaned on one hand and the other pushed the stray strand that was resting on his forehead, her eyes never left his until his tongue swept over his lower lip and her eyes caught the movement.

It felt like they were sharing the same air when he took a deep breath that was seemingly to calm himself, while it only served to knock the breath out of her.

"Please, Bea? I'm really sorry."

His voice was breathy, sweet with the hint of the whiskey he was drinking and it went to her head.

“Are you though?” Bea asked, meeting the ice blue of his eyes with every ounce of glare she could muster. “Or are you so doll-dizzy that you’re gonna get your head turned by every broad that walks in this joint, blonde or otherwise? Maybe Steve had the right idea after all.”

“You got me all wrong sweetheart. I’ve only got eyes for one girl and it ain’t no broad like Dottie.”

She looked him up and down. It was her turn to make him blush. And she did. Bucky bit his lip and she sipped her drink, using the silence to make him sweat a little. She could see it clinging to his brow as his Adam's apple bobbing up and down in his throat.

“Bea, I swear.” He stuck out his hand. “Can I prove it to you?”

She huffed and looked around the smoky bar. Dottie was standing alone, her hands on her hips, waiting for Bucky to come back to her. Bea felt like sneering at her, but instead, her eyes landed on Bucky. He smiled, those beautiful eyes sparkling in the dim light.

“Dance with me?” He asked. “Just one dance, and then you can slap me in the face if you still wanna.”

He wasn’t going to give up, and she knew it.

“Okay. One dance.”

He grinned as she grasped his hand and he pulled her toward him. Her shoe caught on one of the bar stools and she tripped, bumping right into his chest. Her hand pressed against him and she looked up. Bucky was just as red as she was.

“Sorry,” he stammered. “Got a little too excited.”

Bea couldn’t help but smile at the fumble, because the thing about Bucky Barnes was that for every ounce of cocksure smooth talker, he was an adorable idiot in equal measure.

“It’s okay. Just maybe go a little slower on the dance floor.”

“You got it, angel. We’ll sway nice and slow,” he murmured, soft and low as his hands found her waist. “I’ll hold you close, just like this.”

Bea felt herself grow warmer, a simmering heat in her belly as Bucky’s lips grazed her cheek.

“Let’s go then,” she pushes, trying to keep her voice steady despite her pounding heart. “Because right now you’re all talk, Buck.”

Bucky smirked, swiping his tongue along his bottom lip as he gently guided her to the dance floor. Beatrice ignored the eruption of butterflies and stomped them down as she followed. No man, not even Bucky Barnes was going to make her swoon that easily. He had a lot more work to do.

He spun her slowly under his arm before catching her waist and intertwining his fingers with hers. Her free hand landed on his chest and curled into the fabric of his shirt as she bit the inside of her cheek. Coincidentally the band started playing one of her favorite songs "Prelude to a kiss", and she looked up to see a small smile grace the man's lips.

"Let's just say I knew you wouldn't be able to say no..." He whispered, reaching up to brush a chocolate curl off her cheek.

Bea shook her head, finally allowing herself to smile up at him. This cheeky bastard. Their eyes were locked as they swayed to the song, the rest of the crowd seemingly fading away as the tips of their noses just brushed together.

"Bucky" A high-pitched whine came from beside them, snapping both of them back to reality.

"You said you would dance with me," Dottie pouted, eyeing Beatrice as she crossed her arms over her chest.

Every warm feeling she had flooded out of her body as Dot continued to edge her way towards Bucky.

"Sorry Dottie, I'm not looking for any other dance partners tonight," Bucky said, keeping his hold on Bea firm as the brunette kept his eyes focused on Bea.

Dot shot a glare at Bea with a foot stomp, "You promised." She said through gritted teeth, as Bea let out a soft laugh. Dot's eyes narrowed, "Besides why would you want to dance with the loner on Montague St? Didn't take you for a Charity man though you do live with Stevie."

Bucky let out a sigh, hanging his head as Bea let go of him, pulling herself from his grasp. The words coursing through her like a rapid river that only caused more and more destruction as they flowed through her.

"Beatrice," Bucky warned lowly, his voice fading as the anger in her chest bubbled.

Dot's eyes grew wider the moment Bea took a step towards her, "Dot do you understand what the word no means?" She tossed her a pointed look, waiting for an answer.

But as soon as Dot went to open her poorly painted lips Bea opened hers, "Clearly not, so instead of following Bucky around like a lost little puppy dog, why don't you go find someone else to bother? Or are you just that desperate for attention?"

The blonde once again stood dumbfounded, eyes flickering between Bea and Bucky.

Bea tsked as the tension between the three of them grew, "I gotta say Dottie, didn't take you as the desperate type, but yet" she spread her arms out in front of her, "here we are."

"Are you just going to stand there and let her speak to me like that?!" Dot exclaimed raging eyes moving to the brunette behind her.

Bucky chuckled, the sound flowing through her calming the rage, "Like I said sweets, I'm not looking for another partner tonight, and come to think of it probably not for the next night," Bea felt him lean forward, resting his chin on her shoulder, "or the night after that and after--"

Dot stomped her foot and huffed once again letting out a whine as she spun on her heel away from them not giving him the chance to finish the sentence that Bea almost wished was true.

Bea smirked as she saw Dot huff and pout all the way to the ladies’ room. Bucky straightened his back, standing tall as they continued to sway with the music for a few measures.

She looked up at him through her lashes, all rage dissipating when she saw he was already looking down at her. Her cheeks grew warm. Bea felt something else bubble in her chest- this time, it felt like nerves.

“I can see through your little game, Barnes.”

“Game?” A small, knowing smile pulled at the corner of Bucky’s lips. “What game?”

He continued staring down at her as his hands traced absentminded circles on the back of her waist. She could feel his fingers through all her layers and a small shiver ran up her spine.

Bea couldn’t help but smirk back at him. “Yuppp,” she said, making sure to pop the last syllable.

“I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about,” Bucky said and as the music swelled, he spun her out of his arms and back in, dipping her slightly. Bea got lost in his blue eyes, sparkling with excitement as he pulled her back upright.

“Right,” she said, a little more breathlessly than she’d have liked, “You’re just full of surprises aren’t you?”

He laughed, warm breath fanning Bea's cheek and sending tingles over her skin. A smoky haze was filling the room and she blamed that for the sudden lightheaded sensation that hit her like a truck. She barely had time to blink before Bucky spun her around once more, her skirt swirling around her legs as her back met his chest at the end of the turn. She suppressed a whimper when she felt his lips brush the baby hairs at her temple.

"I gotta few things I could still show you," he whispered. "If you'd like."

Bea smothered her arousal with a snort, begging her face to not flare up pink. The music started to fade as she tilted her head up towards Bucky, turning. Her hands slid up his broad shoulders and she felt the muscles ripple underneath when Bucky pulled her body flush with his again.

"Does that line usually work?" she murmured, looking up through her eyelashes.

Not for the first time, she found the dark flecks in his ocean eyes as they focused on her crimson-colored mouth. He swallowed heavily, tongue darting out to lick his lips as his breathing became a little quicker. She could feel the hammering of his heart against her own and for once, Bea realized that Bucky Barnes might not be as sure of himself as it appeared.

"I don't know," Bucky drawled, still searching her face with a soft smirk. "You tell me...is it?"

"It might." Bea inched closer to him until his hot breath fanned over her face.

"Oh, really? Tell me, sweets, what do you want to do now? I'm all yours."

Her breath caught in her throat as a small whimper left her lips.

"Kiss me, you big, annoying boy," She closed her eyes as his lips descended down to hers, adding just the slightest pressure. Her mind reeled with intoxicating thoughts. Nothing could have prepared her for what kissing him felt like. It felt like an explosion.

His lips are so soft was Bea's first thought as their lips connected. Her hands slid up his big, strong arms and sank into the hairs at the nape of his neck hoping to anchor herself as he pushed against her lips. Gaining more confidence and pouring it into the kiss as she leaned more into him while his hands gripped her waist, almost stepping on his foot in the process.

All too soon, the need for oxygen left them both breathless as he pulled back just enough to take a gulp of air but stayed close. So close that their lips were still touching as they caught their breaths, sharing them in the small space.

Beatrice's body was on a high like no other. And it was just one, simple kiss that turned her to mush.

Bucky's smile could melt a glacier as he gently pressed the tip of his nose against hers.

"Whaddya say we get out of here, angel? No more pretending to hate me."

"Who's pretending?" She breathed.

Bea smirked, realizing that her hand was still on the back of his neck. Meanwhile, Bucky's lingered on her waist, moving toward her lower back. He gently pulled her toward him so that her body was flush with his and she was convinced that he could see her pulse in her throat. Her heart was hammering, and suddenly, those two drinks she had felt like two dozen. All thanks to him.

"You think that worked, huh?"

"I can tell by the look in your eyes that it did." He dipped his head, pressing his lips to her earlobe. "And I think we need to deal with this tension between us."

"What tension?"

Bucky's fingers danced up and down her spine and she shivered against him. His low, rumbling laughter rippled through her body like an electric current.

"That tension."

Bucky grinned, his nose scrunching as Bea rolled her eyes. But the smile on her own face matched his and she tilted her head, chasing his lips for another soft kiss.

“Is it too forward of me if I ask you to take me home, Bucky?”

“You had enough of me already, sweetheart? And here I was thinking I was getting somewhere.”

Bea laughed, and her hand wandered down Bucky’s arm to link their fingers together as she pushed up onto her toes and brought her own lips to his ear.

“Take me home where there are no prying eyes…” she whispered.

For a split second, Bucky seemed to freeze. Then, without a word he abruptly squeezed her hand in his and tugged her out of the club. He was so eager to get them home, Bea had to jog to keep up with him, her skirt flapping around her knees.

As they approached the steps to their apartment building, Bucky slowed to a stop, pulling Bea close.

"You haven't changed your mind, have you?" He asked softly, face close to hers.

"No," She wanted to add on a snappy comment, but he kissed her then.

A few cold drops on her head were the only warning before the sky errupted over them in a downpour. They pulled apart in surprise, and then dissolved into laughter, clinging to each other as the rain soaked them to the bone.

Bea tilted her head back, letting the rain fall against her skin, little tiny droplets sticking to her as she lifted her eyes to his. She expected him to be looking up at the sky as well, but instead, he was staring at her. Eyes bright and neon against the dark sky.

"What?" She breathed a smile playing against her lips.

He reached up, pushing back strands of wet curls that had fallen out of place and plastered to her forehead as he shook his head softly, "nothing darling, you just look really pretty right now."

Bea giggled, "I didn't realize drowned rat was your type."

He smiled, that bright smile that always made her warm inside, "no, but you are."

Bucky leaned down and captured her lips with his, drawing her body flush against his toned front. He pulled away and nuzzled their noses.

“Plus, you’re more like a drowned Pomeranian. A lot cuter, with a hell of a bite.”

Bea snorted a burst of laughter escaping her before she pulled Bucky down. She kissed him slowly, dragging his lower lip out between her teeth a bit before releasing him.

“Get me inside and I’ll show you just how much I bite,” she grinned as Bucky’s eyes darkened. He laced their fingers together and began pulling her up the steps and into their building.

The walk down the hall to Bea's apartment was a dripping tangle of tongues and teeth, their hands exploring further with each step closer to the door. Quick kisses turned into long, heart stopping ones that made Bea's toes curl up in the damp leather of her shoes. By the time her key slid into the worn lock, both of them were out of breath and out of control.

Stumbling inside, Bucky grabbed Bea's waist once more. She let out a squeak as she wobbled on her heels and a pair of eager, slightly chilled lips made a trail from her ear to her throat.

"Bucky!" she exclaimed, righting herself by grabbing his shoulders. "You tryin' to kill me? These shoes are a mile high!"

He grinned before pressing his lips to hers once more. Suddenly, Bucky dropped down to his knees and wrapped his hands around her ankle. The skin of his palm was rough through her stockings and she moaned quietly as he looked up, blue eyes blown out with desire.

"How about I help you out, sweet thing?" Bucky murmured, grabbing her heel and lifting her leg into his lap.

His deft fingers made quick work of the straps on her heels, eyes focused on her flushed cheeks and damp skin as he switched from one foot to the other. Every brush of his fingers made the heat in her belly build until finally, she couldn't take it any longer, pulling him up and back towards her bedroom.

When they made it to her bedroom, Bucky shut the door behind him, lit by nothing but the silvery wisps of moonlight that shone through the curtains. She expected another kiss, but he quickly moved behind her, grasping the zipper on her dress as he leaned over to press his lips to her ear. He turned her to face the big full-length mirror that stood next to the window. Bea could see her flushed cheeks, her damp hair that stuck to her head, and her dress was soaked all the way through. Bucky looked gorgeous, water dripping off of his hair and trickling down his face.

"Can I undress you?" He purred. "I always thought about doin' it."

She stood completely still as one of his hands came to slide around her waist, fingers spreading out across her belly. He pulled her toward him, pressing himself against her. She felt the pressure of his cock against her ass and whimpered as his hand travelled a little lower, slipping beneath her dampened skirt. His hands were freezing in comparison to her scorched skin and he gently nipped her earlobe.

"Please, Bea?"

"Yes," she rasped.

Bucky grinned and she watched as he oh-so-slowly dragged the zipper down, watching her watch him in the mirror. It felt like an eternity. Her stomach swarmed with butterflies and her cheeks were so hot she felt like she might combust. She trembled like a leaf.

"You cold, darling?" He asked in that soft, husky voice that nearly brought her to her knees. His lips pressed against the back of her neck as he fully unzipped the dress and began to push it off of her shoulders.

"A little."

He grinned, sucking gently on the spot between her neck and shoulder. Bea whimpered, her back arching as she reached behind her to wind her fingers in his hair.

"We should warm you up, then, hmm?"

Bucky wrapped his arms around her bare waist as the dress pooled around her feet.

Her heart felt like it was going to explode out of her chest, it was beating so hard.

He chuckled lightly when she gasped, his lips grazing her neck as he trailed wet kisses down to her collarbone.

"Don't laugh - you're cold!" She hissed. Even though she was definitely enjoying his attention, he was pressed against her in his still damp, chilly clothing.

Bea spun around in his arms, pressing her hand to his chest. "I think it's my turn now," she grinned, dragging her lips along his jawline, "stay still for me."

She ran her hands down his soaked shirt, tugging on the fabric just above his slacks. The white linen pulled free from his pants and hung loose around his hips. Bea grazed her fingers against the chilled skin of his abs before attempting to work the buttons on his shirt.

Her fingers fumbled, a soft huff of frustration left her lips before she finally gave up and gripped the edges and yanked, tearing it clean from the fasteners. Buttons flew across the room between them as she ran her hands back down his bare chest, sending a wave of goosebumps along his kin.

"Jesus Bea," His voice rasped as she looked up at him through thick lashes, "I liked that shirt." He grinned.

"And I like it better off." She cooed, pressing her lips to his chest leaving perfect lipstick stamps against the toned muscle as her fingers trailed down to his slacks.

Bucky whined and bit down on his bottom lip. “I don’t think I’m gonna survive this if you keep talkin’ like that, sweets.”

Her fingers worked at his belt while her lips continued kissing his chest. She left small, chaste kisses along his collarbone, noting the constellation of freckles gathered near his shoulder.

He was so beautiful, and he was putty in her hands. She wanted to savor every sound, every sharp intake of breath - she didn’t want this to end.

Once his belt was off, she undid the top button of his slacks. “Is this okay?” Bea asked breathlessly.

“S’more than okay darling, please,” Bucky said, letting out a whimper when she bent down, squatting and lowering his pants as she went. She knelt in front of him, and stared up through her lashes.

Bucky audibly gulped, lifting a slightly shaking hand to Bea’s cheek. He brushed his fingertips along her cheekbone, breath escaping his lips as he spoke.

“You’re so beautiful Bea,” he murmured, and she flushed, grinning at him.

“Flattery will get you nowhere with me,” she said despite her heated cheeks. Bucky shook his head and brushed her cheek again.

“Not flattery, just honesty.”

Bea rocked back on her heels, helping Bucky take the last step out of his pants. They both giggled when he wobbled, unsteady as the soaked fabric tried to cling to his skin. Goosebumps raised on his thighs and stomach, the boxers underneath nearly soaked through.

"Like what you see?" Bucky drawled, making her realize she'd been sitting there slack jawed for more than a few seconds.

"Maybe," she remarked playfully, running her nails down his thighs. "Or I'm just thinking about what I can't see...can I?"

"Fuck," he muttered breathlessly as his head fell backwards. "Yes. That...that sounds great."

She giggled softly, reaching up to tease the strip of skin above his boxers before starting to work them down his legs. Every inch exposed was hard muscle and smooth skin, making her mouth water. When his cock sprang free, flushed pink and rock hard, she looked back up with the best doe eyes she could muster.

"You ever have a girl put her mouth on you?"

Bucky's head snapped down, eyes wide, and for a moment he looked just like the kid in high school that she first developed this horrendous crush on.

"Christ, Beatrice," he laughed before tracing her bottom lip with his thumb. "Yeah, but none with a mouth like this one."

She stood and wrapped her fingers around his cock, stroking it slowly just to watch his eyes roll back and a curse spill from his lips. Her mouth ghosted along his stubbled jaw. Bucky was usually clean shaven, but she liked to feel a little bit of stubble and wondered what that would feel like between her thighs.

"Get on the bed and I'll show you everything this mouth can do," she breathed.

"You like to boss men around, don't you?" He groaned as she squeezed his cock just a little. Bea chuckled.

"What's the matter, Barnes? Can't handle it?"

"Oh, I can. I just wish we had crossed this bridge a long time ago."

She kissed him, released his cock and shoved him backward so that he stumbled and collapsed onto the bed. Bea didn't waste time in climbing on top of him. She reached back, unclasping her bra and tossing it aside. Bucky's eyes nearly bugged right out of his head the second he saw her bare tits. His brain looked like it was going to explode and she put her hand on his chest.

"Lay back, sugar. I'll take care of you."

He whimpered as her lips began to glide down his chiselled chest, over taut muscle. She flicked his hipbones with her tongue and he squirmed as she teased him a little until he was quivering beneath her, his cock pulsing. Bea pressed her lips to the tip, her eyes locking with his. Bucky was a mess, with big glistening blue eyes, biting down on his bottom lip as his entire body clenched like a fist. She slowly stuck her tongue out and dragged it up his shaft, causing a high-pitched whine to fill the room. Bea giggled and Bucky's head hit the mattress.

"You're killin' me, princess."

"And here I thought you liked to be teased, Barnes."

A deep growl left his chest as he reached down and tucked a piece of damp hair behind her ear, "I'm usually the one on the teasing side, Bea, but I am not complaining," he rasped.

Beatrice smirked, and pumped her hand up his cock, "Good boy," she whispered, pulling the tip between her lips and sucking lightly, pulling a moan from Bucky's lips as he gripped the sheets at his sides.

She hollowed her cheeks taking him further into her mouth, her fingers wrapping around the base squeezing gently the length she couldn't fit. Warmth pooled at her center as the sounds of his pleasure filled the room around them. Sweet praises and soft curses wrapped her in a blanket of lust as she bobbed her head.

"Bea I ain't gonna last long if you keep doing that," he breathed in between gasps of air.

She released him with a pop grinning up at him, "you better try because I'm taking my time with you," Bea flicked her tongue over the tip, running it through the slit and collecting a bead of precum.

"Goddamnit," he groaned his head pressing into the pillow as his hips lifted, "You're going to kill me."

"Maybe," she hummed against him, "but not tonight." She teased before taking him in her mouth again with her own moan that vibrated through them both.

Bea took him deeper, nudging the back of her throat and Bucky’s breath hitched. She slowly pulled off him, sitting back on her heels, a line of spit connecting them before it broke. Bea raised her eyes to Bucky’s, finding them blown out with lust and awe.

He gaped at her, and she smirked. “Finally speechless Barnes?” He blinked, a grin sliding across his lips as he sat up, big hands smoothing over her thighs before gripping them tightly and lifting her slightly. He pulled her forwards into his lap, until she was straddling him.

His eyes were locked on her breasts, and a whine slipped out of his mouth before he asked, “Can I?”

"Can you what?" Bea asked. "Use your words or you're not gonna get what you want. I don't care how many drinks you bought me tonight."

Bucky growled and somehow, she was flipped onto her back, caged in by his strong arms. She yelped as his mouth dragged down her throat. Bea couldn't help but whimper as he hit that spot again, this time sinking his teeth into it just a little.

"Taste you," he whispered. "Please, Bea?"

Bea laughed, and the sound only seemed to drive him crazier. He sounded so desperate, pressing his hips into her thigh and rolling them so that she could feel his cock throbbing against her. His mouth found hers in a desperate and aching kiss and he moaned against her lips.

"Say yes," he begged. "Please say yes."

She broke the kiss, pushing his damp hair out of his face.

"You haven't even gotten my underwear off yet."

Bucky's eyes went wide and he sat on his haunches, grabbing the flimsy fabric with both hands and tearing it with ferocity. Bea gasped, reaching out to swat at him as he laughed.

"Buck, those were expensive!"

"Payback for my shirt," he replied with a grin as he stretched out between his legs, rolling his hips into the mattress. She watched as he placed gentle kisses up and down her thighs and those big blue eyes made her heart skip a beat. "I'll buy you new ones."

Beatrice combed her hand into his hair with a smirk, cocking an eyebrow at him, "you better"

Placing gentle kisses and nips along the skin of her hip bones, Bucky smiled into her, a deep laugh sending a vibration of pleasure up her body, "sweetheart, I will buy you whatever you want," he took a deep breath and pressed his lips to her wet folds.

A whine left her throat and she arched her back, "now who's being a tease..." she quipped.

Bucky circled her clit with his tongue before pulling it between his teeth and sucking softly, "you taste just as sweet as I'd imagined Bea," he mumbled into her skin.

"Less talking," she moaned even though the vibration from his voice worked to drive her crazy.

She felt him chuckle between her legs as her hips rolled against his mouth. Warm euphoria washed over her like sunshine as he ran his tongue through her, circling her clit in small tight circles as if trying to whisper something to her.

Moan after moan spilled from both of them while her orgasm built. Her back arched further off the mattress when two fingers slowly slid into her causing her to gasp and tangle her fingers into the roots of his hair.

"Jesus Bucky," she breathed, feeling his arm hook over her waist, holding her down to the bed.

He groaned into her, sucking on her clit lightly as he pushed his long fingers deeper inside her.

“Oh! Right there, don’t move a damn inch,” Bea ordered and Bucky whined as she swore, keeping his fingers exactly where they were, rubbing over her sweet spot. “Harder Buck, oh Jesus,” she panted as he did as she said, crooking his fingers harder against her and making her legs start to shake.

He chuckled, keeping the exact pace and pressing against that spot. A warm tingling sensation engulfed her lower back and her clit began to pulse in his mouth. Suddenly, her spine arched and she draped one leg over his shoulder, digging her heel into his strong back as she came with a loud cry. Her hips snapped relentlessly against him as stars appeared behind her eyes. Bucky fucked her right through it, his mouth and fingers stroking her gently as she began to come down. When she was a panting, sweaty mess, he finally looked up at her.

"Never heard a woman make those kinds of sounds before."

Her head was too fuzzy to think of a slick comeback for him. He earned this. Her limbs felt like they were made of jelly and she pushed her fingers through his gorgeous dark hair.

"Good boy," was all she could muster.

That sent Bucky into a frenzy. His eyes flashed and he practically leapt on top of her, his mouth crashing against hers.

"Say it again," he begged through desperate and pleading kisses.

"Good boy."

His voice broke.

"Goddammit." He pulled back, staring at her. "I need you, Beatrice. So damn badly."

"How badly?"

"Like sometimes, when you're watering the plants on your porch, I think about bending you over it and pulling your skirt up."

His eyes were nearly black, and he looked manic and consumed with lust. She giggled as she wound her arms around the back of his neck, biting down on her bottom lip. His eyes roamed her face and his chest heaved.

"Maybe I want that."

He practically dissolved in front of her, eyes rolling back as he kissed her again.

"I need to be inside you."

"Then get to it, big boy," Bea finally snipped when she caught her breath, bucking her hips up into him.

A mix between a chuckle and a growl escaped Bucky as he moved his lips down her jaw, nipping the spot just under her ear as he reached between them and lined himself up with her entrance. He continued kissing down her neck, ghosting his lips along her throat before sitting back and catching her gaze.

His eyes traced her features, "are you okay, Bea?"

Beatrice nodded, and cupped his cheek, "I'm okay Buck, please... I need this, I need you" she whispered, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth, letting herself be vulnerable for one moment.

Of course, in a time of passion and lust, this man would take a second to check in on her. He always did have a soft side that came on in moments when it really mattered, but Bea had never thought he would be like that in a moment like this.

Bucky took her words and nodded once, as he slowly pushed himself into her, capturing her lips once more and swallowing a moan as their sounds mixed together. He paused, letting her adjust to him before slowly pumping his hips against her, letting her whine into his mouth.

It surprised Bea a little that Bucky was being so gentle - perhaps she had imagined him to be a more demanding lover or rougher.

Not that she'd ever thought about what Bucky would be like in bed.

Oh, who was she kidding - she'd definitely thought about it. More than once.

"Faster," She whined, "Please, Bucky -"

Bucky growled in her ear, "So demanding," He groaned, nibbling lightly on her neck before pushing himself up.

Without stopping his thrusts, he positioned her legs on his shoulders, grabbed her hips and did exactly as she asked.

"Oh - f-f-fuck!" Bea cried out, her fingers curling into the bedsheets as he angled himself just right, hitting the sweet spot and making sparks fly across her vision.

Bucky groaned, planting soft kisses along her calves as he continued his pace though she only felt him. Her eyes were slammed shut, head thrust back into the pillow. Noises that she wasn't even sure if she was the one making were filling the room around them, the sounds of the built-up tension between them finally crackling like lightning.

Years of unspoken words hung in the air like stars as she opened her eyes looking up at him. His hair was matted to his forehead from the thin sheen of sweat that covered his body. With flushed cheeks and muscles taut, he released her legs, bringing himself back down to press his lips against her own.

"You have no idea how much I've needed you," he whispered against her mouth as her hands rested against his cheeks, holding his face to hers. It scared her to admit that she'd been wanting this too but she had a feeling he already knew.

"Just kiss me again," was all she could manage as the mixture of pleasure and emotions swirled inside of her building with her orgasm.

Bucky crashed his lips down onto hers, their tongues mixing together. He rolled his hips deeper into her, pressing her down into the mattress, his toned body firm against hers softer one.

Bea pulled away from the kiss, gasping, “Bucky! Oh god, please!”

“What Bea? Tell me, sweetheart, what do you need?” Bucky asked softly, trailing his nose along her jaw, pressing a kiss to that spot behind her ear. “C’mon pretty girl, lemme give it to you.”

Bea whined, head angled to the side to give him more room. “N-need to come,” she moaned as Bucky breathed against her ear. “Please, need you - need to come.”

Bucky kissed her forehead.

"You first, angel. I need to feel you, need you to be a good girl for me."

She shivered against him and his hips began to snap faster and faster as Bea began to quiver around him. Her fingernails raked down his back, digging into his skin. She began to cry out and moan louder and louder until her cries were bouncing off of the walls. She felt self-conscious for a second, but once he started hitting that spot over and over again, it didn't matter.

Finally, she crumbled, coming so hard that her eyes squeezed shut and his mouth crashed against hers.

"That's my girl," he moaned. "God, you're incredible. I wanna make you scream like that every day."

She breathed a whine and mumbled something incoherently every nerve in her body still ignited from her orgasm. Bucky brushed his hand over her cheek with a chuckle as his hips continued to snap against hers.

"I've got you, Bea," he groaned, the pace of his hips becoming uncontrolled as he approached his own climax. She could feel his cock twitch inside her, as the sensitive nerves of her spot were hit again over and over.

Their sounds filled her apartment as his hips crashed against hers until finally, he came with a deep moan, burying his face into the crook of her neck. Bea racked her fingers into his hair, tugging gently with a whine as she helped him through the overwhelming pleasure that had taken both of them.

His hips stilled and they stayed there for a few moments, Bucky pressed soft kisses into her skin, whispering praises into her ear with their breath mixing together.

Slowly, Bucky eased out of her, rolling to the side without letting Bea go.

She shifted, nuzzling against him, relishing the afterglow of what they had just done.

"Still hate me?" He asked, smirking as he pressed a kiss against her forehead.

“Not at the moment,” she grinned, giggling when Bucky feigned a look of shock. He kissed her gently, pulling back and opening his mouth but he was interrupted by a knock at the door.

“I wonder who that is?” Bea murmured and disentangled herself from Bucky despite his protests.

“Just leave it doll, they’ll go away.” He tried as she pulled on a robe, covering herself.

“I’ll be right back,” she promised, slipping out of her room.

She tightened the robe around her and found Steve Rogers climbing in through her kitchen window. Bea cleared her throat and watched as his head snapped up and he yelped, falling inside and onto the floor with a grunt.

"Rogers, you know that's a crime, right?"

Steve clamoured to his feet and dusted himself off. He wasn't drenched, so the rain must have stopped. It suddenly occurred to her that she didn't hear it pattering against the windows, but then again, she was too focused on Bucky.

"You know where Buck is?" He asked. His eyes narrowed. "Why's your hair look like that?"

"Like what?" She snapped.

"All messy."

Bea flushed and cleared her throat.

"I was asleep."

"In your makeup?"

"Rogers, what the hell do you want?"

"Bucky's not home, I thought he might have gotten too drunk again and fallen asleep on your couch."

She sighed, not wanting to burst the little bubble she and Bucky had created. She wanted to go back to bed and feel his arms wrapped around her while she fell asleep.

"I left him at the bar talking to some floozy. He's probably at her place."

Steve sighed and she pointed outside.

"Go home, Steve. He's a big boy, he'll be back tomorrow."

"Yeah, okay." He turned toward the window and Bea snapped her fingers. "Use the door like a human being, please."

"Fiiiiiine," Steve groaned.

She watched him head for the door and take one last look at her over his shoulder, his eyes still filled with doubt. Bea went to lunge at him and he yelped, skittering out the door, slamming it behind him. She huffed and went to lock it before padding back to the bedroom.

"Barnes, tell Rogers to stop climbing in women's windows! He's gonna get punched one day!"

When she entered her bedroom, Beatrice found Bucky, with his pants pulled halfway up. He cleared his throat and continued getting dressed with a shy smile. For a split second, a wave of hurt washed over her, thinking exactly the thoughts she had about him prior to their night together, but she did her best to push those aside.

"Where do you think your going?" She faked a pout and wandered over to him, wrapping her arms around his waist.

Bucky groaned and placed his hands on either side of her face, giving her lips a soft kiss, moving to her cheek and ghosting her lips to kiss the tip of her nose, "I'm so sorry sweetheart, you must think I'm awful right now, but I really should get home to check on Steve..."

Beatrice pulled her lip between her teeth, tracing her eyes over his features with a furrowed brow, "seriously?"

He shrugged and pulled her tightly against his body, "he worries when I don't come home..." Bucky whispered, brushing her hair away from her face, "I promise we will talk tomorrow, okay?"

With a small nod of her head, she breathed out and pressed her lips into a thin line, "yeah... yeah of course."

There it was again, that small twinge of hurt and suddenly she felt like any of the other girls Bucky had dared to bring home. Despite knowing that it was true, Steve always came to her on nights Bucky didn't make it home, but it didn't make her feel any better as she walked him to the front door.

Bucky captured her lips one last time, savoring the way their mouths fit together like two pieces of the same puzzle, letting his forehead linger against hers as their noses brushed together, "I promise, beautiful... First thing in the morning, I'm all yours"

With a soft smile, Beatrice bid him good night and watched him linger in the hallway for a few minutes before walking into his own apartment and playing it off to Steve who did in fact sound worried about him. She let herself push away the hurt feelings and enjoy the time she'd spent with Bucky. A side of him she'd never seen before, and one she definitely hoped she'd get to see again.

She flopped onto her bed with a lopsided smile and ghosted her fingertips over her lips, allowing the exhaustion to take over. Beatrice slipped into a deep sleep, with thoughts of her Bucky dancing through her dreams.

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