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vunblr · 4 months ago

Text

What if...?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+ only. Smut. Unprotected sex. Dirty talk. Slight Angst.

Summary: Bucky navigates his insecurities and guilt from his past as he grows closer to his new neighbor, a nurse.

Word Count: About 8.4k.

I want to make a revision on this one, I just forget to.

She knew exactly who he was the first time they bumped into each other when she ran toward the stairs of her apartment building, and he suddenly emerged from them, lost in thought. He wasn’t wearing his gloves, and the glint of metal was pretty noticeable when he reached out to grab her elbow to prevent her from falling backward. The touch was brief, since he retired his hand promptly when he was sure she would not fall, his blue eyes revealing something akin to regret.

“I… I’m sorry,” he stammered, in a low voice as he retracted his hand, tucking it into his jacket.

“Oh, don’t be,” she responded, the corners of her lips lifting just slightly as she waved her hand dismissively. “I should’ve been more careful. The elevator’s out, and I was in such a hurry… ugh. We always tell the kids not to run in hallways and stairs because accidents can happen, and here I am-" She cut herself off, realizing she was rambling, and gave an embarrassed smile. “Anyway… hi. I’m Y/n, I just moved in yesterday.” She extended her hand.

He reached out, and his grip was firm but gentle. “James Barnes, but most people call me Bucky.”

Her eyes lingered on him for a moment longer, and as she straightened her nurse uniform, she bit her lip. Handsome. The cute wrinkles that creased the corners of his striking blue eyes, were the kind that hinted at a man who had both smiled and seen more than his fair share of hardship, and it was hard not to notice. His body, the epitome of perfection. She mentally slapped herself for staring. “Well, Bucky, I’m running late for work, so I need to go, but I’ll see you around. It was a pleasure to meet you.”

He nodded, watching as she hurried down the stairs, her uniform swaying slightly with her steps. He stood there, rooted to the spot for a moment longer than he should have, replaying the soft smile on her lips.

The days after that encounter passed in a blur of awkward run-ins. Each time, she greeted him with the same soft smile, and each time, Bucky found himself lost in thoughts he hadn’t allowed himself in years.

It started with a polite nod, maybe a smile here and there, but soon, their brief encounters turned into casual conversations. Small talk about their days, the weather, even little jokes about the state of their shared building. He found himself looking forward to those moments, however fleeting they were, because it felt so easy to exchange a few words with her, how her laughter always seemed to come just when he needed to hear it. He’d often catch her gaze lingering on him a second too long before she looked away, and it was enough to make him wonder if maybe, she felt the same pull that he did.

-----

One evening, as they both stood waiting for the elevator, she quirked a brow at him. "You know, Bucky, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were following me." She teased.

He blinked, caught off guard, but the playful glint in her eyes made him relax. He let out a small chuckle. "Well… I could say the same about you." She laughed, and once again, the sound made him feel almost normal.

His therapist had been telling him for months that he was isolated, and that he needed to socialize, form connections. She had even suggested dating, but every time he tried, it hadn’t gone well. The interactions felt awkward, forced, and he often found an excuse to leave early, or worse, sometimes he didn’t even bother with an excuse, just walking out of there without a word.

There was something about Y/n that set her apart, mostly the ease with which their conversations flowed. He wasn’t the type to talk much, often keeping things curt and to the point, but she had this way of making the silence between them feel comfortable, never pushing him to share more than he wanted. He didn’t have to try so hard to keep up with standard appearances. But the pull toward her wasn’t just about feeling comfortable, he wanted her.

He caught himself watching her more often than he’d like to admit, she was exactly his type, soft and curvy in all the right places. He couldn’t help but wonder what it would feel like to touch her, to run his hands over her body, feel her warmth beneath his fingertips. But every time he got close to asking her out, fear crept in, locking the words in his throat. Fear of rejection, of being too damaged, of her seeing the parts of him he was ashamed of. It always stopped him.

Tonight felt different, though. There was something in her playful approach that made the fear feel less suffocating, less overwhelming. The elevator doors opened, and as they stepped inside, Bucky turned to her, his heart hammering in his chest. He could barely believe he was about to do this.

"Y/n?" he asked, his voice lower than usual.

She glanced at him. "Yeah?"

He swallowed hard, feeling the moment's weight as he stood before her, and almost panicked. This wasn’t something he was used to. He could fight in gruesome battles, survive impossible odds, flip a fucking armored truck with a tug of his arm… but asking someone out? That felt like a whole different battlefield. It was terrifying in a way those other things weren’t.

For a moment, he almost backpedaled. His mind scrambled, desperately searching for something else to say, some way to deflect his intentions and change the subject. But nothing came. He was stuck. He’d already opened his mouth, and there was no way to retreat now without looking like a fool.

Taking a deep breath, he jumped.

“Would you like to grab dinner with me sometime?” The words came out gruffly. For a second, the doubt crept in, making him wonder if he’d just made a mistake.

Her eyes widened in surprise before lighting up, and the smile that spreaded across her face, eased the knot on his stomach.

“Oh, I’d love to. It’d be fun to do something outside the building for a change. We run into each other so much, that I actually thought about asking you to hang out, but you always seemed rushed, like you couldn’t wait to leave. I’m glad that’s not the case.” She leaned in slightly, her voice dropping to a playful whisper. “You know, we can be neighbors and friends. There’s nothing in the building rules against it.”

Bucky blinked, his heart sinking at the word friends. He forced one of the practiced, uncomfortable smiles his therapist suggested. Friendzoned -a term he’d only recently discovered- wasn’t exactly what he had in mind, but he hadn’t spelled it out, either. Of course she thought he was just trying to be friendly, he hadn’t given her a fucking hint of his real intentions. He hadn’t flirted, hadn’t made even the slightest move to swoon her.

The old him would’ve had no trouble conveying his interest. He would’ve been smooth and confident, knowing exactly how to charm her and make his intentions clear. But he wasn’t that guy anymore. He hadn’t done this in decades, and the rules seemed to have shifted in ways he didn’t fully understand. Hell, he had shifted. He sighed.

"Um..." he started, tentatively. "I... just want to be clear," he continued, rubbing the back of his neck, "I meant it... as a date. Not just neighbors or friends grabbing a bite."

For a moment, she didn’t respond, still processing what he had just said. And then, something clicked. Heat crept up her neck as her smile turned more thoughtful. He wanted to spend time with her not because they lived in the same building or happened to bump into each other, but because he was interested.

"Oh. Sorry, I didn’t realize… I mean…” she stumbled with her words, “I didn’t know you meant it like that." She has had her fair share of men in her life but being honest with herself, in a million years, she wouldn’t have guessed someone like him would be asking her out. Not Bucky, the quiet, handsome, brooding neighbor with the sharp jawline and the weight of a thousand untold stories in his eyes. For months, she had brushed off the little moments between them as neighborly interactions, and nothing more. It had been easier that way. Safer, maybe. But now, standing here, the truth of his intentions was undeniable.

Her smile softened, "I’m glad you clarified." she finally said. "And yeah, Bucky. I’d like that, a lot."

Bucky gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, as if he’d been holding his breath and had just now allowed himself to exhale. A faint smile crept onto his lips, one that actually reached his eyes, softening the hardened edges he usually carried.

"Great," he murmured. "I’ll, uh, figure something out."

They shared one last look before the elevator doors opened, and as they stepped out, his heart was still racing but this time, it wasn’t from fear.

------

The first date had been simple, almost quiet in its ease. He brought her flowers, a small, hesitant gesture that made her eyes light up. They went to a bistro and talked about life, interests, and the kind of things you only share when you feel a certain sense of safety with someone. Bucky never said more than necessary, but she learned to read the way his eyes softened when he listened, the faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth when she said something that caught him off guard. It was easy and comfortable as their previous interactions, and yet, in the back of his mind, there was always the whisper: do you even deserve this?

The second date was at the small café on the corner of their building. There had been more laughter this time, the conversation flowing easily. As they sat across from each other, their knees brushed under the table. It was subtle, almost unintentional. When it happened again, neither of them moved away.

They walked back in a comfortable silence. When they reached her door, she turned to face him and for a moment, the space between them felt heavier, thick with the weight of everything unsaid.

His hand hovered just near her lower back, not quite touching, but close enough that she felt the warmth of his body through the fabric of her dress. For a brief second, she thought he might pull her closer to break that last sliver of space between them, but he didn’t. His hand lingered for just a moment longer before falling away.

Bucky’s gaze dropped briefly to her lips, and his brows furrowed slightly before looking away, almost as if chastising himself. His old-fashioned upbringing, perhaps, held him back and kept him from making the move she half-expected, the one she wanted.

“Goodnight,” he said quietly, his voice rougher than usual. His tired eyes lingered on hers just a little too long, as if he were still debating, still fighting the pull to act on the desire he was clearly feeling.

She nodded, trying to ignore the flutter on her chest and to respect his boundaries, even though her hands itched to reach for him, to pull him closer and start what he wouldn’t. “Goodnight, Bucky,” she replied softly, her own voice betraying the emotions swirling beneath the surface.

They stood there for a heartbeat longer, the short distance between their doors now feeling like miles. He gave her a small, almost hesitant smile, then turned toward his own apartment, the silence between them somehow louder now.

By the time the third date approached, Bucky’s nerves were starting to get the better of him. He didn’t want to ruin this. The cocky Sergeant Barnes -the man who hadn’t yet turned into a walking nightmare- would’ve laughed at him. That version of himself had been bold, self-assured, the type of man who could sweep a woman off her feet without a second thought. He’d have taken the lead with ease, knowing exactly how to handle the situation. But that man was long gone, buried beneath the weight of all he had done, all he had become.

Before leaving for the date, he poured himself an imperial pint of asgardian ale. Just enough to give him a buzz, to take the edge off. Standing there, glass in hand, he caught his reflection in the window and sighed. Could she see it? The darkness? The scars left behind from being Hydra’s puppet? And even if she didn’t... how long until she did? You don’t deserve this, the voice whispered again, unrelenting.

------

That night, after dinner, they found themselves in her living room, two untouched coffee cups growing cold on the table beside them. The dim light softened the space around them, creating an intimate cocoon that made their conversation flow effortlessly. Yet, beneath the easy chatter, Bucky’s doubts lingered. He couldn’t shake the feeling that any move forward could shatter the delicate balance between them.

He’d been raised with a sense of propriety, a rhythm to follow when it came to courting. There was a dance to it, an unspoken set of rules about when to advance and when to hold back. The trouble now was figuring out how much to let himself move forward, how far to let this go before the weight of his past dragged him under again.

As their conversation naturally ebbed into silence, he noticed her gaze flicker to his lips, lingering just a bit longer than usual. His pulse quickened. She was giving him a sign, even if she hadn’t meant to. For a brief moment, he hesitated, but the look in her eyes, and the ale still running through his system urged him forward.

He leaned in slightly, their knees brushing, and the warmth of her body drew him closer. His hand hovered near her arm, and she responded getting closer, her lips parting ever so slightly as if inviting him in without saying a word.

Slowly, deliberately, he closed the distance between them, as his heart pounded in his chest. The kiss was meant to be soft and chaste, but all restraint flew out the window the second their lips touched.

His hand slipped to the small of her back, pulling her closer, the kiss growing hungrier, more urgent, as if months of longing were unraveling in that single moment. With a gentle, almost teasing flick of his tongue against her lower lip, he urged her to open her mouth. She complied, parting her lips as she allowed him in, and things turned molten. His tongue slid against hers, and the heat between them spiraled when she let out a quiet, breathless moan. The sound sent a jolt of desire pushing him further. His metal hand remained firm on her back, pulling her as close as possible, while the other slipped into her hair. She responded eagerly, gliding her fingers up his chest and tangling in his now messy bun, tugging him closer as if she couldn’t get enough. The kiss was all-consuming, urgent and messy, as months of tension finally broke free. Eventually, they slowly pulled apart, heavy breaths mingling in the charged air between them. His gaze dropped to her lips, now swollen and flushed from their activities, and he felt the undeniable pull to dive back in.

Then he noticed it. His vibranium hand had slid down to her waist and was gripping harder than he intended. Much harder. He swallowed and looked at it, realizing what he did. His hand, still gripping tightly, could had harm her. He sighed, as frustration and self-reproach tugged at him, unable to find a balance between his longing and his fear of hurting her.

She caught the sigh, and her eyes followed his downward gaze until they landed on his hand, still gripping her waist. And then it clicked, she understood. It wasn’t just the pressure of his hand; it was everything behind it. The strength he was constantly aware of, the control he had to maintain, the fear of hurting someone he cared about without meaning to. It wasn’t just about this moment, it was about everything he carried with him.

Instead of pulling away, she did the opposite. She shifted slightly, pressing closer into his hand, her body language reassuring him. With that small gesture, she was telling him she trusted him, she wasn’t fragile, and she wasn’t going to break. He didn’t need to hold back with her.

He exhaled softly, and a question bubbled up, one that had been lingering in his mind for far too long. “Have you ever thought how things would have been if we had met under different circumstances?” His tone was quiet, almost tentative, and the weight of the topic felt heavy in the intimate space between them.

Her brow furrowed slightly. “Different how?” she asked, leaning in a little, her eyes searching his.

Bucky took a breath, and his gaze drifted again as if he were caught somewhere between the past and the present. “I mean… if I hadn’t been…” He trailed off for a second, a shadow crossing his expression. “If I didn’t become what I am. If I’d been just… me.” His voice was low, barely above a whisper, as though speaking the words out loud might break something fragile between them.

She stayed quiet, giving him the space he needed, her hand resting gently on his arm, a subtle reassurance.

“I think about it sometimes,” he admitted, his eyes were still distant, fixed on a point somewhere beyond her. “If we’d met before all the... before everything.” His lips pressed into a thin line, guilt flickering behind his blue eyes. “Maybe in another time, I could’ve been just a guy. Someone who didn’t have…” He paused, his metal hand still against her back. “Someone that wouldn’t have been so messed up. Someone normal and approachable.”

Her heart clenched at the weight of his words. “Bucky…” she started, but he shook his head slightly as if to wave off her sympathy.

“I don’t know,” he continued, quieter now. “Sometimes I feel like I don’t deserve…” He cut himself off, jaw tightening.

Without hesitation, she entwined their fingers, squeezing gently. “You do deserve this,” she said firmly, her voice unwavering as she met his gaze. She wasn’t going to let him retreat into the dark place where his self-deprecation lived. “You deserve to be happy, Buck. You’re a good man.” She sighed and shifted beside him, resting her head against the couch as she considered his previous words and then an idea popped up.

“Let’s see… if I had been born before 1920, I’d probably still be a nurse.” Her lips curved into a small smile as she looked at him sideways, eyes gleaming in the dim light. She watched him closely, seeing how he would react, her heart thumping just a little faster as she waited. “I’d have enlisted to work in a field hospital. And… who knows, maybe we could have met there when you were serving.” She let the thought linger in the air, light and playful, hoping it would lift the heaviness that had settled between them.

Bucky’s brows lifted slightly, and he tilted his head, with a faint smile tugging at his lips. He shifted closer to her without even realizing, his hand still resting lightly on her waist. “You would’ve been responsible for making sure I was fit for duty,” he mused, his tone was a little lighter now as if the idea of an alternate history didn’t seem so bad. “Keeping an eye on me, seeing my injuries, maybe even patching me up yourself.” He added with a playful edge, allowing himself to immerse in the scenario.

She grinned, shaking her head, eyes twinkling as she imagined the scene. “Oh, from what I heard about you, I doubt you would have visited the hospital very often, Sarge,” she teased, nudging his knee with hers playfully, a grin tugging at her lips.

Bucky chuckled, as his thumb began tracing slow, soothing circles on her back, a gesture she was growing fond of. “Probably not,” he agreed, leaning in slightly, his voice dipping into something softer. “But I would’ve noticed you from afar. Even if I had no reason to be there, you would’ve stood out.”

“Oh? Why’s that?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. Her fingers absentmindedly brushed the back of his hand, a smile playing on her lips as she waited for his answer.

Bucky glanced down at their intertwined hands, his rough, calloused fingers brushing against her softer ones. He looked back up at her. “Because you’re beautiful,” he said simply as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

She blinked, caught off guard. “Beautiful, me? Pfft!” She laughed softly, with a playful spark in her eyes. “But... now that I think about it, pin-up girls were a thing when you were serving, weren’t they?”

Bucky leaned back into the couch, pulling her with him, wrapping his arm firmer around her waist, a slow grin forming at her words. “Yeah, well, nurses were definitely included in the ‘interesting’ category too,” he teased. His eyes flicked down, tracing the curves of her body as his hand tightened slightly around her waist, making her feel self-conscious. “Especially ones with curves like yours.”

She let out a soft chuckle, shaking her head, but before she could say anything, Bucky continued, his voice lower now, a bit more serious. “You’d have been popular among the guys in camp, you know. They’d have been lining up, falling over themselves to get your attention.” He paused, his gaze flicking back to hers. “But trust me, I would’ve noticed you first. And I wouldn’t have let anyone else have a shot.”

Her cheeks heated as she tucked her legs beneath her, giving him a playful nudge. “Oh, so you would’ve asked me out?” she teased.

Bucky turned slightly toward her, the hand resting on her arm sliding down slowly, his fingers brushing her skin in soft, teasing strokes. “Oh, I wouldn’t have just asked,” he said with a smirk. “I’d have made sure you had no reason to say no.”

She felt her heart quicken at the subtle heat in his voice, the playful edge giving way to something more intense. Her breath hitched slightly, and she bit her lip as she gazed up at him. “Is that so?” she murmured, her voice soft, a bit more serious now. “And how would you have done that?” She leaned in a little, her shoulder brushing against his, her warmth radiating into the small space between them. “How was the game back then? Brought flowers? Invited me to dance?”

“Both, probably,” he murmured, resting his hand on her thigh, grazing the fabric of her dress with his thumb in slow, deliberate motions. “Flowers, because they’re classic... and dancing, because it’s intimate.”

“Well,” she whispered, leaning her head toward him, lips just inches from his ear, “I guess I would’ve let you court me, Sarge. Tell me about a date with you.”

Bucky’s hand tightened slightly on her thigh, the pressure just enough to make her heart race. His stubbled cheek brushed against hers as he leaned in closer, his breath warm against her skin. “Saturday night,” he whispered, his lips barely grazing the shell of her ear, sending a shiver down her spine, “dinner at the Officers’ Club, followed by a slow dance... and then back to my quarters for a proper goodnight kiss.”

Her breath hitched, her pulse quickening as the warmth of his breath and the weight of his words settled between them. She could feel the tension thickening in the air, her voice trembling slightly as she teased, “Only a kiss?”

Bucky smirked against her skin, hovering his lips near her ear. “Maybe more than just a kiss,” he rasped, low and full of promise, “but only if you wanted it too.”

She arched an eyebrow, curving her lips into a teasing smile. “Hmm, I dunno, Sergeant Barnes... things were done more properly back then, right? No sex before marriage, and all that stuff?”

He let out a low chuckle, his hand already inching higher up her thigh. “You’re absolutely right,” he agreed, his voice taking on a teasing edge. “I would've waited until our wedding night…” His hand slid beneath the fabric of her dress, fingers grazing the soft skin of her thigh. “But that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t have thought about it. Every. Single. Day.” He leaned in again as he whispered. “How you’d look... how you’d feel... imagining all the ways I’d finally get to touch you.” His breath was warm against her skin, the words heavy with tension.

“Is that so?” she murmured, her fingers sliding up his chest, gripping his collar just enough to keep him close. “You think you could’ve waited?”

His hand tightened again on her thigh. “I would’ve tried... but I don’t think you would’ve made it easy.” Bucky’s playful tone faded into something more serious, his voice dropping to a husky murmur. “Would you have let me… let me have you like that?”

She swallowed, gripping his shirt tighter as she looked up into his eyes, feeling the pull of him in a way that left her defenseless. “I-” her voice faltered, but she managed to find her words. “Yeah, Bucky... I would’ve.”

Bucky’s metal hand, firm but tender, climbed from her waist tracing a slow, deliberate path up her spine. He then reached for the little buttons at the neckline of her dress, being both careful and bold as he unfastened them, one by one. Each undone button revealed more of her skin to his darkened gaze, and the way he looked at her made her feel exposed in a way that went beyond the physical. “I would’ve taken care of you,” he murmured, his lips brushing her collarbone. “Made sure no one else got close to you.”

Her body leaned instinctively toward him, craving the closeness as her free hand ran up his arm, tracing the firm muscles beneath his shirt. “No one else would’ve mattered,” she whispered.

With a swift, deliberate motion, the hand on her neckline slid down and snaked behind her, grasping her ass and pulling her fully into his lap. She gasped as her hips pressed against his, feeling exactly how much he wanted her. “Every night,” he growled, his voice rough with need, “I would’ve made sure you were mine.” His eyes were ablaze with raw desire as his grip tightened, holding her firmly against him.

Her pulse raced, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer until there was no space left between them and his mouth crashed into hers in a searing kiss. His other hand slid higher up her thigh, teasing the edge of her underwear, fingers brushing the soft skin. A soft moan escaped her lips, muffled by the kiss, and when he broke it, his lips found the curve of her neck.

“So only one kiss, huh?” she chuckled in a breathed tone, and her voice trembled with anticipation as her hips instinctively rocked against him.

Bucky inhaled deeply against her skin, trailing hot kisses down toward her chest. “Well, I would've kissed you every chance I got but believe me, that wouldn’t have been enough...” His words were thick with promise, his breath hot against her skin. He pressed his erection harder against her, slipping his hand between them, and tracing her slick heat over her underwear with his fingers. The breathless gasp that escaped her was all the encouragement he needed. “… that wouldn’t have been fucking enough.” he whispered against her skin, his voice low and filled with hunger, as his fingers moved with purpose, leaving no doubt about what he wanted.

She bit her lip, her voice soft but laced with playful intent as she fed into the fantasy they were weaving. “Well, if we had ourselves a little house with a white fence, I’d have waited for you to come home every day in a frilly apron,” her eyes locked onto his, a teasing smile tugging at her lips as she added, “with nothing underneath.”

The image she painted made Bucky’s breath hitch, and his grip tightened around her ass. His eyes nearly rolled back, with his imagination spiraling into wild possibilities. “Damn.” His voice was laced with lust. “If I could’ve had you waiting for me like that,” he murmured, his hand gripping her tighter, fingers digging into her skin as his restraint began to falter “I’d have come home early every damn day just to take advantage of you.” His lips brushed the swell of her breasts, the heat between them spiraling as his imagination ran wild, and he pulled her impossibly closer while teasing over her soaked panties.

Her gaze flicked from his lips back to his darkened eyes. “Oh yeah?” she challenged, her voice a sultry whisper. “Right there on the kitchen table?”

Bucky’s smirk deepened, the raw desire in his eyes nearly swallowing her whole. “Hell yes, right there on the kitchen table,” he growled, his vibranium hand gripping her ass harder, possessively. “I’d bend you over it, flip up that little apron, and bury myself inside you until you screamed my name for the whole damn neighborhood to hear.” He confessed without a hint of remorse or shame.

Her body reacted instantly, hips pressing hard against the teasing hand hovering over her clothed pussy. A soft whimper escaped her, almost desperate. His hand answered her need by slipping her panties aside, slowly sinking his fingers into her pussy, stretching her with deliberate, agonizing precision.

She let out a shaky breath, her playful tone faltering as her body betrayed her. “How kinky,” she managed to tease, biting her lip as she met his gaze, her voice barely steady under the growing pressure inside her.

Bucky inhaled sharply, savoring the way she responded, his hand moving with more purpose now. “Kinky enough to have you blushing for days,” he growled, his teeth grazing up to her jawline before dragging his lips slowly up to brush against hers. His fingers kept sliding deeper inside her with slow, deliberate strokes. “And when the milkman came the next morning…” The hand on her ass squeezed the supple skin harder, pulling her even close against him, while the other continued its relentless torment between her legs. “...you’d be so sore from the night before, you wouldn’t even be able to stand straight. Couldn’t look anyone in the eye without blushing, remembering just how loud you screamed.”

She moaned at his statement, totally immersed in the fantasy. “That sounds… so good, Buck.” She managed to say, her voice trembling with want. She bit her lip again, locking eyes with him and starting to ground herself shamelessly against his fingers, the pressure building quickly inside her. “But... would you only fuck me at the kitchen table when coming back? What about… other creative places? Like the back porch, under the shade of the bindweed?...”

Bucky's eyes closed as her suggestion sparked a flood of heated thoughts. “Hell, yes," he growled, his voice thick with desire. He pushed his fingers deeper inside her, and his thumb circled her swollen clit, drawing a sharp gasp from her lips. “I’d lift that sexy little apron right up, spread your legs wide open, and fuck you right there under the bindweeds," he murmured, his lips brushing her ear, each word laced with promise. "And you'd moan my name, scream it, while everyone else thinks we’re just having a quiet afternoon tea."

The combination of his filthy words and the relentless pressure of his fingers sent her body trembling with anticipation, her breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps. "Bucky…" she moaned softly, her hands tightening their grip on him, desperate for everything he was giving her. Her hips bucked uncontrollably against his hand, her breath hitching as his fingers curled inside her, hitting just the right spot and sending waves of pleasure radiating through her body. The pleasure built inside her, tightening, coiling until every nerve in her body felt alive.

He felt the signals and growled, moving faster now, each stroke deliberate and calculated as his forehead pressed against hers, his breath coming out in ragged bursts. “I’d had make sure no one could ever touch you the way I did,” he muttered, his voice low and possessive. "Every inch of you, mine." He punctuated the last words with hard, rhythmic rubs at one side of her clit and that was all she needed for the climax to hit her, a wave of intense pleasure crashing through her. Her moans turned into soft cries as she buried her face on his neck, her body trembling violently as his hand continued to work her through it, prolonging her ecstasy.

When her body came down from her high, Bucky slowly withdrew his fingers. Panting, she looked at his gaze and saw the raw, unbridled desire burning in his blue eyes. Without hesitation, she leaned in, her lips finding his stubbled jaw, trailing soft, hungry kisses down his neck, nipping and sucking against his skin while her hand wandered lower and lower on his abdomen, finally unbuttoning his pants with deliberate slowness, venturing inside his underwear.

The moment her fingers brushed against his cock, he tensed and groaned. “W-wait,” he rasped, his voice thick with need and restraint. His hand held hers firmly, keeping her from going further.

Her brow furrowed slightly in confusion, her lips still hovering near his neck. “Why?” she murmured, “I want to make you feel good too. You deserve it, Bucky,” she whispered, her words full of tenderness and desire.

Bucky let out a low, shaky breath with a hint of frustration. He knew he had to come clean. “I want it too, trust me,” he muttered, strained. “But it’s been so long... too long. If you touch me now…” He trailed off, swallowing hard, the unspoken words hanging in the air. “Let me lead,” he whispered. He leaned in to kiss her, deep and slow, pouring all the pent-up desire into the kiss.

She sighed softly, pulling back just enough to reach for the hem of her dress, slipping it over her head in one fluid motion. The fabric lifted away from her body, leaving her sitting in only her bra and panties as the dress was tossed to the side of the couch.

Bucky’s gaze darkened as he took her in, his hands instinctively roaming over her bare skin. But then he groaned again softly, almost painfully, pausing as his grip tightened around her waist. “What happened to let me lead?” he rasped; his voice was thick with restraint.

Her breath hitched at his words, and she parted her lips to respond with a half-hearted apology, but before she could, his hands were already sliding down her body, reclaiming control. His fingers traced her bra straps, slipping them off her shoulders with excruciating slowness. “I need to do it my way,” he murmured, his voice was a low growl as he leaned in, brushing her ear with his lips. “If you don’t behave... this ends before we even begin.”

The meaning of his earlier words hit her then. He wasn’t just leading to take his time with her; he was fighting to keep from losing control, from coming right there in his pants. Her teasing grin faltered, replaced with a softer expression. “Oh,” she whispered with understanding. “I didn’t realize…” Her fingers gently grazed his cheek, guilt creeping into her tone. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to push you.”

Bucky tensed slightly at her touch, inwardly cursing himself for letting his vulnerability slip. His masculine pride stung. Great job, Barnes. Way to cool the mood. He forced a smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes, and leaned in, pressing his forehead against hers in an attempt to brush off the tension. “It’s alright,” he muttered, but the strain in his voice betrayed him. His fingers dug into her hips just a little, steadying himself. “I just... got worked up faster than I expected.” He exhaled shakily, trying to ease the tension. Then he started to move.

As his fingers worked at the clasp of her bra, his touch slow and deliberate, and he broke the silence with a low murmur, his voice thick with desire, yet laced with a hint of vulnerability. “You know… I liked you from the moment we bumped into each other on the stairs,” he confessed, meeting her gaze. “I still remember the way you looked at me, even after I knocked you off balance and grabbed your arm. No gloves, metal hand out in the open… but you didn’t flinch.”

When her bra fell away, his gaze dropped to her exposed breasts, and a low groan rumbled in his chest. His flesh hand cupped her gently, his thumb brushing over her nipple in a slow, teasing motion.

“I loved how your uniform looked on you then,” he continued, his tone growing huskier as his metal hand slid to the small of her back, pulling her closer. “I still do. Every time I see you in it, it makes it hard to focus on anything else.”

His thumb continued its slow teasing, but then his expression shifted, a flicker of doubt crossing his face. His voice dropped, a hint of regret slipping into his words. “I wish I’d asked you out sooner. The old me… he would've handled this better. Would’ve known exactly how to...”

She cut him off before he could finish, her fingers threading through his hair as she pulled him closer. “Stop,” she said firmly, her tone was soft but unwavering. “The moment of ‘what if’ has passed. I don't want the man you used to be, Bucky.” Her lips brushed against his jaw, her breath hot against his skin. “I want you. Not someone I never knew.”

He closed his eyes for a moment and then opened them fixing his gaze on hers. She wasn’t looking for the version of him with the effortless charm and swagger. She never did. She wanted him, baggage, scars, and everything else.

A slow, shaky breath escaped him, tightening his grip on her as a flicker of vulnerability passed through his eyes. “You don’t know how much that means,” he muttered, brushing his lips against her jaw, then down to her neck. His movements were soft at first, but as her hands gripped his shoulders, urging him on, the hesitation melted away.

His mouth found hers again, kissing her hard, moving his hands with more confidence again. “I’ve wanted this... you,” he rasped, his breath hot against her skin. “For so damn long.” She responded with a moan, her body arching into him as he took full control.

He groaned, unable to hold back any longer as the tension between them reached its peak. He gently shifted her off his lap, laying her down on the couch, his hands lingering on her hips for a moment before he stood. His breath was heavy, and though his chest tightened with familiar insecurities, especially about his arm, he pushed forward.

His fingers moved to the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head. As the fabric fell to the floor, his eyes darted to her face, half-expecting some flicker of hesitation or doubt. Instead, her gaze roamed over him, dark with desire as her eyes took in the hard lines of his chest. “Damn... you’re perfect.” Her voice came out breathly and soft. Swallowing hard, Bucky quickly slid his pants and boxers down in one smooth motion, kicking them aside. Now fully bare before her, he stood there, chest rising and falling as her gaze lingered on him. He could see her eyes focused on his size, her lips parted as she let out a soft, breathless sound. The way she looked at him -no hesitation, only hunger- made his insecurities, the doubts about his scars, his arm, everything, to retract to a far corner of his mind.

Without a word, he climbed on top of her, positioning himself between her legs. His hands trailed down her sides, gripping her hips firmly as he pulled her closer. Slowly, he guided his cock to her slick entrance, teasing her folds as he coated his shaft with her wetness. A low, rumbling groan escaped his lips as he playfully rubbed the tip of his cock against her clit, the pressure sending jolts of pleasure through her body.

She reacted instantly, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she writhed beneath him. “Bucky…” she moaned softly, tilting up her hips toward him, aching for more.

He moved slowly, sliding inside her inch by inch, and paused as soon as he was fully sheathed, giving her a moment to adjust. Her body clenched tightly around him, a gasp escaping her lips as her nails dug into his shoulders. Her breath came in shallow, uneven bursts, the sensation of him filling her was completely overwhelming. The tight heat of her body had him teetering on the edge, but he held back, determined to give her time.

He pulled back slightly, then pushed forward again, slowly and deliberately, testing her response. Her breath hitched, and her thighs trembled around his hips with each thrust. She bit her lip, eyes fluttering shut as she struggled to find her breath.

“Fuck, Bucky,” she whispered breathlessly, her voice barely audible but heavy with surprise and awe. “You’re… big. I’ve never... God!”

Her words sparked something deep within him, the mixture of vulnerability and pleasure igniting a fire he could barely contain. A low growl rumbled in his throat as his control began to slip. His hands moved to the back of her thighs, gripping them firmly just beneath her knees, then in one swift motion, he lifted her legs, spreading her wider as he started to thrust deeper, hitting spots that made her eyes fly open, a strangled moan escaping her lips. “Bucky… oh my God,” she gasped, her voice trembling as she struggled to take all of him.

Encouraged by her reaction, Bucky picked up the pace, his thrusts growing harder and faster, losing himself in the haze of lust that overtook him. He pulled her thighs higher, spreading her wider, driving into her with relentless force. Each thrust was deeper and rougher, and her moans quickly turned into desperate, breathless cries of pleasure.

The sound of her moans, the way she cried out his name, only fueled him further. “You like that?” he growled, his voice low and ragged as he thrust into her again, deeper, harder. Her slick heat gripped him tighter with every movement, making his pulse race. “Look at me, Doll. You like it rough?”

Her body arched beneath him, her hands scrambling for something to hold onto as the intensity of his thrusts tore through her. “Yes! Bucky… fuck! Don’t stop,” she moaned, her voice breaking as he kept his relentless, punishing pace.

“Oh, I won’t stop,” he growled, pulling out of her with a slick sound, only to flip her over onto her stomach in one swift motion. His hands gripped her hips roughly, pulling her ass up and positioning her on all fours before she had time to catch her breath.

Before she could process the shift, Bucky slammed back into her, filling her completely. She gasped, her fingers clutching at the couch cushions as he drove into her from behind, his pace unrelenting. “Is this what you wanted?” he rasped, his flesh hand sliding up her back before grabbing a fistful of her hair, pulling her head back slightly as his hips pistoned against her, thrusting deep and hard.

She let out a scream of pleasure as he pounded into her. “Yes! Oh God, yes,” she cried, her voice hoarse, her body helpless under his rough control.

Bucky grunted with each powerful thrust, his grip on her hair tightening, his metal hand digging into her hip, guiding her back onto him. The angle allowed him to go even deeper, kissing her cervix with every push of his hips. Her moans only spurred him on, the rhythm of their bodies frantic and primal, skin slapping against skin.

He released her hair and grabbed both her hips, yanking her back onto his cock with force, losing himself in the haze of lust. “Come for me,” he growled, his hand coming down on her ass with a sharp smack, making her gasp.

Before she could recover, his hand slid between her legs, his fingers finding her clit. He circled it with firm, deliberate pressure, his voice rough as he leaned over her, thrusting deeper still. “I want you to come all over me, Doll.” The moment his fingers found her swollen nub, her body responded, hips bucking involuntarily as her breath hitched. The pressure building inside her hit its peak, and with a loud, desperate moan, she shattered beneath him, her body trembling violently as she came hard.

The feel of her tight, wet heat spasming around him was too much for Bucky to handle. He let out a guttural moan, his hips slamming into her as his own release took hold. “Fuck,” he growled, his voice ragged as his body tensed, and he came hard, spilling thick, hot spurts inside her. His hips jerked involuntarily with each wave of pleasure, the intensity of his orgasm hitting him harder than he’d expected. He gasped, his forehead falling to her back as he rode out the aftershocks, his cock pulsing inside her, still surrounded by the tight, wet heat of her body.

The sound of their heavy breathing filled the room, the intensity of their release left them trembling, bodies slick with sweat. Bucky stayed inside her for a moment longer, his fingers lazily circling her clit, drawing out her pleasure as her body continued to spasm beneath him. But as the haze of bliss began to fade, his mind started to catch up with his body, and a flicker of doubt crept in. Had he been… too much?

Slowly, he withdrew from her, and the cool air was a stark contrast to the heat of their bodies. His hand slid up to her shoulder, gentle, almost tentative. “Are you okay?” His tone was low and uncertain.

She turned her head slightly, pressing her cheek into the cushion as her hooded eyes found his. “I’m better than okay,” she murmured. “That was... perfect, Buck.”

He exhaled, feeling the tension in his body ease a little, but his mind refused to quiet. What if she was trying to play it cool after being on the receiving end of nearly 80 years of pent-up frustration?

Sensing his unease, she shifted, sitting up on the couch. Her hands cradled his face, gently brushing her thumbs against his skin. He looked almost miserable for someone who had, minutes ago, been nothing short of a god of intercourse.

“You didn’t hurt me, Bucky,” she said. “I meant it when I said it was perfect. Stop overthinking. It was the best I’ve ever had.” Her cheeks heated as she realized the weight of her words, but she didn’t back down. “I mean it,” she added, her voice softening as her gaze dropped for a moment. “It really was the best I’ve ever had.”

The tension in his body slowly began to melt away as he absorbed her words. His breathing steadied, and the storm of doubts in his mind started to quiet. He looked down, feeling a pang of guilt for letting his insecurities creep in precisely in that moment. Running a hand through his messy hair, he shook his head.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I didn’t mean to ruin the moment. I just... I get in my head sometimes.”

She gave him a gentle smile, brushing her fingers on his scruffy cheek again. “You didn’t ruin anything, Bucky, not even close. If anything, the only thing you’ll have to atone for... is setting the bar pretty high.”

Bucky’s lips curved into a small, almost shy smile. He exhaled deeply, feeling the weight on his chest finally lift. Without saying anything, he reached up, gently cupping her cheek, brushing softly over her skin in a silent gesture of gratitude.

They stayed like that for a while, wrapped in the comfort of each other’s presence. The silence between them wasn’t empty; it was full of understanding, unspoken promises, and the certainty that, somehow, they were exactly where they were meant to be.

Dividers by: @strangergraphics

#bucky barnes x curvy!reader #bucky x curvy!reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky smut #bucky barnes fic #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes #fatws bucky #bucky barnes fanfic #the winter soldier x reader #winter soldier x female reader #winter soldier fanfiction

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pathologicalreid · 9 months ago

Note

heyyy!!! I just wanted to say I really love your work and this is my first time sending a request so sorry if it’s not very specific 😭💕

If you’re still doing requests, I was wondering if you could do a fem reader x Spencer Reid where it’s similar to your cryptic pregnancy one, except Spencer is at home with her when she’s in labour without realising, and she’s just in a lot of pain and it all of a sudden gets worse and she’s just in the bathroom shouting for Spencer, he comes in and eventually works out what’s going on, readers sort of in denial? Maybe the ambulance doesn’t get there in time so Spencer has to help her give birth? Lots of fluff and hurt/comfort :)

Also completely fine if your not comfortable doing it, but again really love your work and hope you have a great day 💕 :)

three's a family | S.R.

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: fluff content warnings: cryptic pregnancy, traumatic birth, precipitous labor, hospitals, medical inaccuracy (its just me and google against the world), takes place after 9x7 "gatekeeper", surgery, near death experiences, periods, home birth word count: 3.16k a/n: anon i'll be so honest with u i wasn't sure if i was gonna write this but then i learned what precipitous labor was and i was like "i would not wish this on my worst enemy... i'm going to force it on y/n" BUT please keep in mind that there is a .000012 probability of this happening to you (i did the math) this is the wildest thing ive written to date i think

“I’m going to try a bath,” you murmured over to Spencer, wincing as you dragged yourself out of bed, walking at a turtle’s pace to the bathroom, hoping the warm water would soothe the cramps away.

Your period came and went as it pleased; it was just your luck that it decided to give you debilitating cramps on your one day off. Padding on the tile floor behind you, Spencer leaned against the doorframe to the bathroom, “I could run to the store and get a new heating pad.”

Sticking your hand under the tap to check the temperature, you plugged the drain once you found it to be satisfactory. You shook your head, “No, it’s fine.” Your original heating pad must’ve gotten lost somewhere in the depths of your storage closet, but you didn’t have the patience to look for it. You could manage just fine without it.

“Will you let me know if you need anything?” He asked, leaning forward to press a comforting kiss to your forehead.

Nodding, you hooked your thumbs in the waistband of your pajama pants and pulled them down, watching as Spencer pointedly flicked the bathroom fan on – something you often forgot to do.

You lasted about thirty minutes in the bath, not only was the water beginning to grow lukewarm, but if anything, your cramps were getting worse while submerged in the water. Grunting, you reached over and tugged the plug from the drain, watching as the water drained, you managed to pull yourself to a squat before you felt stuck.

Aunt Flo really had it out for you this month.

Burying your face in your hands you accepted defeat and called out for Spencer, reaching up and trying to stand again, but only succeeding in knocking over several shampoo bottles. “Spence!” You tried again, white-knuckling the edge of the bathtub as you bowed your head. A creeping feeling that this wasn’t your period was beginning to rise.

You listened as your husband made his way up the stairs, turning the corner into your room, and opening the door to the ensuite. Moving quickly, Spencer dropped to a crouch in front of you, cupping your pained face in his hands, “I don’t think this is your period, angel.”

Clamping your lips together to prevent yourself from crying out, you simply nodded in response. How awful was it that you were going to die, naked, in your bathtub?

Spencer wiped tears away from under your eyes – you hadn’t even realized you started crying. “What does it feel like, darling? What else could it be?” He asked, voice urgent but gentle as he tried to stop you from panicking.

As you shook your head, you couldn’t focus on anything else besides your breathing as another pain rose up through you. “It’s like a cramp, but with more pressure,” you said, depending on the bathtub and Spencer to keep you upright as your legs shook beneath you. “Like something’s pushing on me, kind of like I have to shit.”

Reaching behind him, Spencer dug through one of the drawers in the bathroom vanity before retrieving the handheld mirror that you used when you cut his hair. Before you could ask what he was doing, he placed the mirror at the bottom of the tub, just beneath you. “I think you’re in labor,” he announced, breaking the news to you.

“There’s no– fuck,” your voice broke off as you dropped your head onto Spencer’s shoulder, breathing through what was apparently a contraction. “I’m not pregnant,” you insisted as your symptoms started to make sense. You had been in labor all morning.

Nodding to himself, Spencer quickly kissed your cheek before standing up and making sure you were stable before stepping to the side.

You frowned as you looked up at him, “Where are you going?”

He didn’t go far, opening the linen closet and piling towels into his arms, “I’m getting towels to put in the tub beneath you, and then I’m going to call an ambulance.”

“You want me to give birth in our bathtub?” You asked, furrowing your brows quizzically before letting out a low whine as another contraction hit.

Stopping what he was doing, Spencer dropped down to you, running the flat of his palm up and down your back as he gently reminded you to breathe. “Did you want to change positions?”

Immediately, you shook your head. You already had an insurmountable task ahead of you and you saw no reason to add to that task by trying to move. “This is fine. Squatting is good, right?”

Nodding assuredly, Spencer smoothed your hair away from your face, “Gravity can help the baby descend the birth canal, and some people even say that the position can increase the pelvic diameter.”

While you were currently less concerned with the diameter of your pelvis and more concerned with feeling like your body was being split open, you continued going through the motions as he called for an ambulance, trying to explain the situation to the dispatcher.

“Have you been timing your contractions?” Spencer asked, tilting his head at you curiously as the dispatcher spoke on the phone.

Releasing a groan, you gripped the ledge of the tub, “I didn’t know they were contractions!”

Relaying that information over the phone, Spencer dropped to his knees in front of you, “Okay, I’ll do it. I’ll take care of it.” He continued to reassure you, taking one look at your desperate expression before ending the call with the dispatcher.

He understood that you were vulnerable right now, and you didn’t want that broadcasted to a stranger on the phone. If you weren’t so preoccupied with remembering to breathe, you’d be more grateful. After a contraction ebbed away, Spencer stood up.

“I have to go unlock the door for the paramedics,” he told you, keeping a wary eye on you. “I’ll be right back,” he comforted you as he took one last look at you before tearing out of the bathroom.

In record speed, he returned to the bathroom as promised, “It’s bad,” you cried, the pressure on your pelvis becoming insufferable.

Crouching in front of you, Spencer studied your face before he spoke carefully, “I have to check your cervix.”

Despite his carefully chosen words, your lips still parted in shock, “You have to what?”

“I’ll use my hand to measure how dilated you are, and then… we’ll go from there,” he told you, nodding almost imperceptibly. At this point, you weren’t sure who he was trying to reassure – you or him. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” you answered instantly, “indefinitely.”

You bit down on your lip as you let Spencer check you, understanding entirely why people choose to get epidurals – this was horribly uncomfortable. “On the next contraction, you need to push, okay?”

For just a moment, your breathing faltered as your scared eyes met his, “Spence, wait,” you pleaded.

Smoothing your hair back, your husband did everything he could to comfort you, “What is it, love?” He asked, his voice soft.

“I’m scared,” you confessed, voice cracking ever so slightly as tears flooded your lash line.

He leaned forward to gently kiss your lips before pulling away to press his forehead to yours, "I've got you. You're going to be fine. You're both going to be fine."

You could see his carotid pounding, and somehow the fact that he was secretly as scared as you was more comforting than the words that came from his mouth. As you pushed, you focused on everything that Spencer was saying instead of the pain. Don’t push for more than eight seconds. Remember to breathe. Your body will know what to do. I love you. I love you. I love you.

By the time Spencer was saying something about the head, your hearing had gone muffled. “You’re doing so well, baby,” you made out his voice and nodded dazedly. “You’re wonderful. I’m so proud of you – just a little more,” he cajoled.

Taking a moment to breathe, your ears and eyes focused as shaky breaths filled your lungs.

“I’m sorry I can’t be more helpful,” he murmured, dropping a kiss on your bare shoulder as he comforted you, continuing to keep you upright.

You shook your head, sniffling as your eyes screwed shut, “You’re perfect. Don’t stop. Keep talking,” you begged, needing something to focus on other than the pain.

“There’s about a point zero four percent chance of you getting pregnant and not finding out until you’re in labor,” he told you, hoping that the information would help you wrap your head around what was happening to you. “One to three in one hundred people have a precipitous labor,” he continued to speak as you pushed, and you wondered what the odds of you squeezing his hand so hard that you did damage were.

Against your better judgment, you looked down to check your progress, “Holy fuck,” you said breathlessly. You weren’t entirely clueless, you knew that once you got past the shoulders the remaining pushes would be easier. You also found yourself grateful that Spencer knew what he was doing – this was, after all, the second baby he had delivered.

You bore down, determined to get the baby out while Spencer untangled your hands, bringing his own down to catch the baby. Out of breath, you panted heavily as you started to feel lightheaded. “Done,” Spencer said quickly, “it’s done. I have him.”

Carefully, Spencer held the baby along the length of his forearm, rubbing the tiny newborn’s back. “Come on, come on, come on,” he muttered under his breath, and it dawned on you that the baby wasn’t crying.

At the realization, your legs finally gave out from beneath you, watching with wide eyes as Spencer tried to clear your son’s lungs. White hot tears streamed down your face as you whispered, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” You took a gasping breath as you silently pleaded for a cry, “I didn’t know,” you sobbed, guilt building a pit in your stomach.

With bleary eyes, you looked on as the baby finally spluttered and let out a wail. “There you go,” Spencer cooed softly, his own voice stiff with emotion as he cradled the baby and handed him off to you.

You were still sobbing as you held the baby to your chest, “I’m so sorry,” you continued to babble, watching as Spencer briefly disappeared into the bedroom before returning with a blanket and wrapping it around the both of you. While holding the baby, your vision started to blur around the edges.

Watching you intently, Spencer cupped your face in his hands, “I love you.”

Nodding, your face crumpled before you responded, “I love you too.”

When the paramedics announced themselves, Spencer called out for them, not wanting to leave your side. The two of you focused your attention on the wriggling baby in your arms.

He was premature – too little to stay with you in the recovery room. The NICU doctor had estimated that he was born at approximately 32 weeks, meaning he’d likely need to spend a few weeks in intensive care. “I want to see him,” you said insistently, looking over as Spencer as he fussed over you.

“You just had abdominal surgery,” Spencer responded simply, as if that was meant to clarify everything for you. He continued fluffing your pillow, which wasn’t entirely productive considering you were lying on the pillow.

As it turned out, you had experienced what was called a precipitous birth, or a rapid birth. It tended to be dangerous, and the fact that you did it in your bathtub only heightened that danger. You reached your arm out for Spencer, “c’mere,” you muttered, trying to get him to stop fretting. “Did you listen to anything that the doctor just said?”

Spencer nodded in understanding, “Lots of rest, no physical exertion, IV medication for now-“

“Did you hear the part where he said I was going to be okay?” You asked, raising your eyebrows at him curiously, you watched as he took your hand in his and sat on the edge of your bed. “I’m going to be fine,” your voice was determined, you had a few small incisions on your abdomen from the surgery to repair a tear in your uterus. “Thank you for looking after me,” you whispered.

Your husband gently smoothed your hair back from your face, “I should’ve noticed it sooner.”

Using all of your strength, you squeezed his hand comfortingly, “You were incredible,” you assured him. “If it weren’t for you, neither of us would’ve made it.”

He shook his head, “Don’t say that.”

Raising your eyebrows, you cocked your head to the side, “It’s true. I couldn’t have done it on my own, I’m so, so thankful for you, my love.”

You had passed out in the ambulance as a direct result of blood loss, so you were brought to a trauma bay as soon as you made it to the hospital. Once they were in the ER, the baby was taken to the NICU, leaving Spencer with a lot of decisions to make.

When you woke up in the recovery room, the first thing you did was ask about the baby.

Spencer, of course, had been up to see him. The nurses claimed he seemed like a fighter, and Spencer knew the survival odds of a 32-weeker, so he turned his attention to you. Every other option had already failed, so the next option was a laparoscopy. Your husband admitted that while it seemed extreme, the very last choice was a hysterectomy, and he didn’t want to make that decision.

Furrowing your brows, “When can I see the baby?” You asked, not entirely sure how to refer to the infant just yet. It wasn’t until then that you realized you needed to name him at some point – your son.

“Once your blood pressure goes up,” Spencer told you with an authoritative tone. “You lost a lot of blood in the ambulance, but the blood transfusions will bring your blood pressure back up.”

Tilting your head to the side, you glared at your husband, “And is this rule from a doctor with a medical degree or a doctor whose name is on my marriage certificate?”

In response, Spencer shrugged, sitting in the beige armchair at the side of your bed, “That’s a secret I’ll never tell.”

You rolled your eyes dismissively, “Will you go see him?”

He leaned over the edge of your bed, taking your hand in his. “I can, will you be alright on your own?”

Nodding almost imperceptibly, you squeezed his hand affectionately, “I just don’t want him to be alone.” You whispered as tears pricked your eyes, you took your free hand and waved at your face, “god, what’s wrong with me?”

“A sudden drop of estrogen and progesterone immediately following birth causes mood swings. Nothing is wrong with you, your body is acting naturally,” Spencer explained patiently, dropping a gentle kiss on your lips.

You sighed before melting back into your pillows, “At least something about this feels natural,” you responded. Your brain felt like a spinning top, while your body felt like you were being weighed down by an elephant in a commercial for COPD medication.

The fact that the NICU nurse informed you that your son had a ninety-five percent chance of living a completely normal life did nothing to calm your nerves. He’d have to stay in the NICU for a few weeks and you tried to convince yourself that the extra time to prepare for him to come home would be good for you, but the idea of leaving him alone at the hospital – save for a small army of doctors and nurses – put a pit of dread in your chest.

Spencer had the forethought to warn you about the tubes and wires that he was hooked up to, ranging from oxygen to a feeding tube. “He’s been undergoing red light therapy to be treated for jaundice, but you can hold him for a while if you want to,” the nurse told you, leading the both of you through the NICU as Spencer steered your wheelchair through the hospital.

Your breathing hitched when you finally saw him, this tiny stowaway that had been growing inside of you for the last several months, and he was just so little. While you were still in your own room, you had convinced yourself that you’d hold him, but now you weren’t so convinced.

According to the sign in his room, he weighed three pounds and ten ounces and was sixteen inches long. He was sound asleep in an incubator, a small hat on top of his head, “Spence,” you breathed.

Behind you, your husband placed a comforting hand on your shoulder, “I know.”

“Did you want to hold him?” The nurse asked you gently, looking over at one of the machines that he was hooked up to.

Genuinely, you didn’t know. “Is… is that okay?” You asked, wiping your sweaty palms on the blanket draped across your legs.

The nurse gave you a knowing look, “Even better than okay, it’ll be good for him to have that kind of contact from both of his parents.”

Frowning, you watched as it took two nurses to break him out of his acrylic prison before they carefully placed him on your chest, making sure you were okay before they stepped back. Your movements were stiff at first, you had never held a baby this small before, but you eventually remembered to breathe and gently cooed at the baby in your arms.

Spencer crouched down next to you and started to ask the nurse a bunch of questions that he had likely been holding in for hours, but you just kept your eyes on the sleeping baby. He was too small to open his eyes, but everyone assured you that he’d get there.

The nurse stepped out to give you some privacy, leaving the door open just in case you needed something, “This doesn’t seem quite as difficult while I’m holding him.” You knew there was a steep learning curve ahead, but with a newborn on your chest, the pit in your heart dissipated.

“That’s called oxytocin,” Spencer said, sitting in a chair, eyes fixated on the infant in your arms.

Humming, you skimmed the pad of your thumb across your son’s tiny back, “He looks like you,” you observed quietly, they had the same nose.

Your husband smiled softly, “You can’t possibly tell which parent he takes after yet,” he informed you.

“And yet, I know he looks like you,” you insisted softly, and Spencer didn’t push back. “You look like your daddy,” you whispered to the baby, “he was the first one to hold you, you know?” You looked over at Spencer, “he’s been my superhero for four years, and now he gets to be yours too.”

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canihaveacalmtime · 4 months ago

Text

Illegitimate child, that's how people always view you, the youngest prince/princess because you didn't inherit the golden hair from the king, your father, like your other siblings.

For over 10 years of existing, dealing with the servants gossip, your family's looks and low living conditions for a royal member, you just decided that maybe it's time to make a change so that you can soon leave this place. Maybe move to a faraway land or another continent to settle down, hoping that you'd never see any of them ever again.

You begin your moves by showing the servants their places, begin treating yourself so that you don't always look dead whenever you go out of your comfort zone, you also start to dress up more good looking so other nobles won't bother you during gatherings or big parties and over all, showing them their position and how they should treat you.

Despite the fact you may be a bit over-do your moves, you treat them back and be nice, you play fair and that's how other nobles begin to reach out to you, reach out to the person they misunderstood and you did gained a few close friends over time.

Your family noticed your changings as they begin trying to open up to you more but whenever you try to reply to their reach outs, your inner self refused. Maybe it's because of those neglected traumas, because they isolated you somewhere far away from the main castle, maybe because everything is just so new to you so you didn't know how to react or because, you just can't and don't want to connect to them again.

After all, you will leave soon, with the money you gained from a few business doings, heading out for a change of life, ripping the royal title off of yourself.

One evening, you were informed by one of the servants that your father wants you in the main castle for a family meeting so you try to wipe the tiredness you're having and attended. Your family told you that you're not an illegitimate child but a blood by blood royal member as for your hair, it was the enemy kingdom doing. To the past you, hearing this would be a huge change but to you now, does that even change anything? Does their apology even worth anything anymore? No, nothing will change.

"No matter what you say, I'll still leave soon. You won't have to deal with the stain of the imperial family no more." As you leave with a light smile, your brother tries to hold you back but you just lightly shove him off and left.

1 week before your leave, your family seems to be bothering you much more than you intended. How your big brother would visit you every hour of the day, how your older sister would being you hand-made desserts and tea that used to be your favorite, how the queen and king would willingly step inside the dirty tower, your deemed home, to convince you to move back into the main palace as you refuse every offer they gave.

That late night, the night you leave, as you are packing up nearly finish, your sister burst into your room without alarming, telling you that your mother has got injured by an assassinate attempt and that the queen needs you by her side. You are debating, you want your freedom now but you may be bad but not a monster so even if inside you screams 'don't go', you gave in and follow your sister to the main palace, maybe if you trust your instincts and turn around to see how your sister smiles at you, maybe you will have a change of choice.

Maybe if you didn't doubt yourself too much, you wouldn't have gotten trapped inside your new room now in the main palace. The mages did a really good job on preventing you from escaping the room, now that you are completely in their hold, they can show you that they can be the family that you deserved.

Stop crying and hurting yourself, they can't stand seeing you in such a state. If you don't, they have no other choice but to using 'restraints' on you and I'm sure, you wouldn't want that to happen.

#calmwrites #yandere #yandere drabble #yandere scenarios #gn reader #platonic #platonic yandere #platonic yandere x reader #platonic relationships #light angst #yandere family #soft yandere

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zvdvdlvr · 1 month ago

Text

Do I Look Scared? + Silco

Synopsis: You’re Silco’s bodyguard. Nothing more, nothing less. Until you heroically take a bullet for him.

You and Sevika had grown close during your time working for Silco. So close, in fact, she considered you blood: and having a bond so tight in a world so cruel meant everything. Tonight was one of the only slow-paced nights at the bar, which gave you the rate opportunity to snatch a bottle of bourbon and have a ‘gossiping session’ with Sevika about the scandals, murders, and secrets you’d encountered on the job.

“I’m not telling him anything,” you say with finality as you pass the bottle to the other woman. “Emotions only get into the way of the job.”

Sevika clucked after taking a swig of the alcohal. “Yeah, but have you considered that he reciprocates your affection?”

You scoffed. Tracing the edge of your bloodstained finger with your blade, you let your head thunk into the wall behind you vibrating with bass from the music below. “No. He does not. Besides, I do not care at all. I do my job and I get paid,” you explain. Sevika shoots you a glare over the rim of the bottle. “It is better this way. Everyone I get close to dies or leaves anyway,” you drawl, grasping the neck of the offered bottle.

From across you, the other woman sighed. “You meed to pull your head from your ass and see what’s right in front of you. If you don’t make a move now, there will be a day you can’t.”

“Sev,” you say. “I don’t care about anything except my money.”

Sevika lets you shove the bottle into her chest as you check your watch and stand up. You’re on your way to get paid, no doubt.

As you make the trek to Silco’s office, Sevika shakes her head. She knows you’re lying- you do care about Silco. But she also knows you want to remain as detatched from everything as possible so it’s easier for you to leave when you make that decision. Sevika just wishes you knew that Silco doesn’t let his eyes stay glued to just any bodyguard.

Oh well, she thinks, letting her eyes flutter shut.

“Good morning,” you greet.

Silco looks up and watches you slide into your designated spot on his couch. “Good morning, y/n. I imagine you are mentally prepared for the meeting later?”

A sly smile pulls at your lips that pulls at your one dimple. “I’m prepared for anything, Silco.”

The man told his head up and leans back in his chair. “I know,” he says. He can’t count how many times you had jumped into action to protect the Eye of Zaun. Too many times have you put yourself in front of bullets to prevent them from reaching their tatget and each time grew harder for Silco to tolerate as he grew more amd more fond of you.

Though he had the solace of knowing none of the bullets had ever buried themselves in your flesh, his fear was that one day you would be hit. Fatally.

“I understand you are aware of the repercussions of your actions,” Silco spoke to the three of trenchers in front of you.

You stood beside Silco, to the right of him with your hands at your side. The group in front of him had broken the deal Silco had offered- choosing to disregard his warnings of provoking the other dealers under Silco’s protection. An exhausting, stupid, and uninteresting experience overall, you conclude boredly. Until-

Click. Your left eye twitches as you focus your ears for the-

Click. Again. Realization flashes in your eyes at the same time the third gun cocks. “Guns,” you bark out, stepping forward with your gun drawn.

You fire two bullets at the two mutated men on the left as you shove Silco down behind the wooden chair. As two bodies fall, it seems at least ten more burst through the doors of the abandoned building chosen for the ‘meeting’. “I’m hungry,” you mutter absently as you drop three more lackeys. You duck under the fist of a stocky man. You sweep his feet from under him and bring your steel-toed boot down onto his head without glance as you send a bullet straight into another woman’s head.

“Are you seriously thinking of food while my life is in danger?” Silco asks dryly.

You scoff. “Do I look scared?” You leap at a pair of legs and bring down the lackey. Holding his body in front of you as a shield, you easily take out the last four shooters. Dropping the body riddled with bullet holes, you rush to Silco.

“No,” he answers quietly. “You don’t look scared.” He lets you pull him to his feet and examine him closely. “Y/n.”

You are still determining if the bloodstain donning his leather jacket is his or not when he steps closer to you and hesitates before placing his hands on your face. You feel his thumb rub gently at the dripping blood from your face as his eyes search yours. “Boss?”

“You… Y/n, I don’t know how to say this,” he starts. His feather-light hold on your complexion tightens as his breath shakes.

“Am I fired?” You ask, dread filling your face as you attempt to step back.

“No, y/n, you-“

On your right, you see movement concealed by the table. As you reach from your gun, you realize you missed one of the lackeys. “Fuck,” you curse, wrapping one arm over Silco and falling to the ground as the random fucking machine gun the idiot lackey somehow acquired fires. You shoot, but miss and hit the wood.

Silco groans under you, arms tight around your waist. You don’t realize his lanky legs are wrapped around your legs as you wrap your arm over his head for protection.

For a split, weak second, Silco’s eyes close as his limbs tighten around you for the illusion, that maybe you could be his and he, yours. You smell like gunpowder, the jasmine and saffron perfume you always wear, and the familiar iron fround in blood. Silco hears his ears ringing but if that’s the price he has to pay for your hand in his hair, then that shall be what he pays.

Silco is still zoned out when you flinch violently on top of him. You squirm to the other side and tighten your hold on him like a boa constrictor on it’s prey- and even though Silco is used to being the predator, he doesn’t mind. And then finally, he stops hearing the gunshots and his ears stop ringing. And when his ears stop ringing, a… longing fills his senses as you pull your protective hold from his head and roll off of him.

“Are you okay?” You ask, sitting up with a wince. “Silco?” You wince as you sit up, grabbing his chin and turning his head back and forth looking for blood or injury.

“I’m fine,” Silco answers. “Let’s go.”

As he brings himself to his feet, he gathers his senses and pushes his disappointment of not having your touch down to the bile in his stomach for the acid to dissolve. When you are not immediately at his side, he sees you sway on your feet and press sharply on your side.

“Y/n.” His voice is uncharacteristically quiet as he watches your chest heave as you fumble to put your gun into it’s holster.

“I’m fine,” you tell him. “I need to get you-“

“Y/n.”

Silco easily beats your limp with his long strides and pulls your hand from your side. Thick, dark blood stains your hands and bleeds into your shirt. “You cannot think I would not find out about this,” Silco informs you with a reprimanding tone.

You throw your hands up and immediately wobble. Silco reaches out to steady you as you answer: “As long as you are safe, I couldn’t give two shits if I got shot between the eyes,” you rasp. “This is what I’m paid to do,” you remind him.

Silco’s lips press into a thin line. “Do not ever say something so careless about yourself again.”

You look at him in confusion as he wraps your arm over his shoulder and takes a step forward. “Okay.”

Silco finally scooped you into his arms and started the trek to The Last Drop- which, was luckily only one block away. “Keep your eyes open,” he told you.

If you weren’t so lightheaded you would have thought he cooed at you. “Okay, boss.”

“Tell me something, y/n,” Silco said, glancing down at your crumpled form. He felt his jaw tighten as your face screwed up in pain as Silco took a step. He felt guilty for jostling your injured body around so much. “Tell me anything.”

Your breathing has slowed considerably. “I…” your hand reaches up to trace the curve of Silco’s nose as you fail to gather your thoughts. “I used to dance. Ballet. My mama… she was a dancer. My papa was a fighter. When I told my pa I wanted to start boxing like him, he told me I had to dance if I wanted…” you yawn and feel your head grow heavy. Your arm is too heavy to lift. Normally, that would bother you but you’re in Silco’s arms. “If I wanted to be ‘swift as a fox and precise as a snake’.”

Silco’s hard eyes soften. He quivers as you run you knuckles over his chest. “Do you still talk to them? Your mama and papa?”

“Nah,” you drawl. “Papa, mama, and Derri are dead. They… I don’t want to talk ‘bout ‘em.”

“Who’s Derri?” Silco asks.

You answer despite your ‘I don’t wanna talk about them’. Silco feels his heart beat irregularly as you burrow into his body as he carries you home. “My brother.”

Silco stays quiet. When you don’t elaborate further, he looks down and sees your eyes closed. “Y/n. Y/n!”

You blink owlishly. “Silco.”

“Hi.”

“Hey,” you reply. “My side hurts really bad and you’re carrying me. That’s not… Am I fired?”

Silco turns the corner to the main street and sees the familiar sign. “No, y/n. I would give you anything- even a job- should you ever need it.”

“I’ll be okay, right?” You ask, blearily examining Silco’s eyes for any sign of lies.

“Do I look scared?”

Blinking, a small smile pulls at your lips at the words you spoke earlier. “No,” you yawn. “You don’t look scared.”

You can’t hear Silco’s next words because you are too preoccupied with falling unconscious.

Silco shifts in his seat when he hears you cough. It’s when you try to pull your hand from his does he open his eyes. His mouth opens and he feels a wave of relief crash into him because you’re awake. “Hello, y/n.”

You shoot him a wry smile and attempt to sit up. When Silco wordlessly pushes your fatigued body back to the bed, you decide it better to lie till and be a bad bodyguard. “I am so sorry. I shouldn’t have-“

“What? Shouldn’t have done your job flawlessly and get yourself injured saving my life? Y/n, darling, do not apologize for things that are my fault,” he tells you, his thumb stroking your knuckles. “Forgive me if I’m reading the situation wronf, but… I care for you. More than necessary. I will be here for you unless you tell me to walk away and leave you to your life. But believe me when I say: thank you. Thank you y/n, but never do that again.”

You blink. “Silco,“ you begin with a raspy voice. “Slow down… for my sake. Just, be here. Or,” you shrug. “I know you probably have work to do. If you want to leave and work on that, I won’t be offended-“

“Let me be here for you.” Silco finally asserted.

You just smile and look down to see his nimble fingers tenderly tracing your veins and occupying himself with you. “Okay.”

#x reader #jules writes 📓🖊#female reader #fluff #x female reader #arcane #arcane silco #silco #silco x reader #silco x you #silco fanfic #silco x oc #arcane league of legends

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bumblesimagines · 7 months ago

Text

Curiosities

Part 2

Request: Yes or No

Summary: King Aegon keeps his word and uses his power as the king to get what he desires. His decision flips (Y/N)'s world on its axis.

Pronouns: He/Him/His, M!Reader

TW/CW: Typical GoT/HOTD warnings, mild slutshaming, implied homophobia (the Faith), mentions of child exploitation/abuse, mentions/implications of sexual and physical abuse toward sex workers, mentions of child/teen-adult relationships, takes place in S2 and while it doesn't follow the latest episodes as of currently beware of spoilers

These warnings keep getting longer and longer 😮‍💨

Divider from @targaryen-dynasty!

~~~

The members of the Small Council rose to their feet when Aegon strode into the room; uneasy glances and frowns being exchanged when they took in the skip in his step and the wide smile dangling from his lips. He had something in mind, something that most certainly wouldn't do them any good if it came from Aegon Targaryen of all people.

"Good morrow," Aegon greeted them, setting his hands over the armrests of his chair and settling down comfortably at the end of the table. The council members tentatively sat down, dipping their heads in greeting and exchanging more glances. He raised his hand when Lord Jasper went to speak, effectively silencing the man. "Before we begin, I'd like to bring up the subject of taking an official paramour. These last few days have been... hard, to say the least, but I believe my pain has been soothed."

"Your Grace," Alicent began, her eyes fluttering shut in exasperation and chest falling with a heavy sigh. "I believe it's far too soon to be taking a mistress, much less the proper time with war brewing on the horizon. You are without an heir for the moment, so I understand the desire to-"

"This is hardly about heirs or children, Mother." Aegon cut in swiftly, his back pressing against the chair and jaw ticking with a smidge of annoyance. "I want this. I will have this, one way or another. I am merely... informing you all."

Clearing his throat, Maester Orwyle regarded his king with a small smile. "Perhaps knowing the name of your lover will soothe worries, Your Grace. Does she reside in the Red Keep? What house is she from? We certainly wouldn't want to bring any offense to her family during this time. Many fathers are oft' protective of their daughters and would find it insulting for one to become a mere mistress."

"You're in luck then," Aegon grinned widely, his thumb rubbing against one of the many rings adorning his fingers. He took in the perplexed and curious looks on each of their faces, savoring their undivided attention. He swiped his tongue over his lips and reached forward toward his goblet, tilting it toward the cupbearer and listening to the heavenly sound of wine being poured. "For my lover and future paramour does not come from any noble family." He couldn't help but giggle, taking a sip from his wine. "He comes from the Street of Silk."

Silence followed his revelation, each of the council members staring at him in complete and utter shock. His mother moved first, her folded hands unlacing so she could rub the bridge of her nose. Her eyes squeezed shut, lips rolling into her mouth to prevent any unsavory words from spilling out. Lord Jasper reached for his goblet next, drinking every last drink in it and motioning for some more while Maester Orwyle and Lord Tyland blinked at him in astonishment.

"Y-Your Grace," Maester Orwyle stuttered, "The Faith of the Seven views the act of-"

"The Faith views incest, bastardy, and prostitution sins as well, Grand Maester. Yet many of the men sitting at this very table are guilty of at least one of these things. Besides, I am of Targaryen blood and I am the King of Westeros, am I not? My grandsire King Jaehaerys put a law in place exempting those with Valryian blood from being judged, did he not?"

Aegon's smile shifted from genuine into a more daring one, his eyes burning into those of Maester Orwyle and any other council members who felt bold enough to look in his direction. "My word is law."

Alicent's eyes fluttered open and she leaned back in her chair, casting a glance at the rest of the council members. "Think of what you are asking-"

"I've made my decision, Mother." Aegon interrupted once more, smirking at the way she clenched her jaw, and turned his head to study his newest Hand, Ser Criston. The knight straightened up, ever so loyal, and Aegon smiled brightly. Finally, someone who wouldn't object. "I have some orders for you, Ser Criston."

Digging his teeth into the warm loaf of bread he'd been given, (Y/N) walked along the gravelly, muddy road in the direction of the Street of Silk. His breakfast had been a gift from a patron who frequented the brothel, one of the few good things of working where he did. Lavish gifts were expected from nobles who could afford whatever they desired, though they more often than not merely dressed their favorite workers up like little dolls.

The smallfolk could hardly compare but they provided the more necessary gifts; food, drinks, materials. It hardly had anything to do with genuine love or care, and more so the simple desire of holding the gift over his head, but (Y/N) would never be in a position to ignore free food.

Madam Sylvi had long stopped providing him with anything other than a place to bathe and sleep, claiming he was no longer a babe and had to provide for himself just as the rest of the smallfolk. She was a good madam, better than most brothel owners, and she tried to take care of all the women and men she took under her wing, but she couldn't be everywhere at once; and she couldn't kick out every patron that grew bolder or more sadistic.

His eyes dragged away from the light gray clouds rolling overhead as he stepped into the Street of Silk, the sound of pleasure and music filling his ears from brothels accepting patrons. Eager men bustled up and down the street, jeering at those lingering by their respective brothels in hopes of enticing one to come inside. But still, things seemed more oddly quiet than usual, (Y/N) noted, and he soon realized why when he noticed the elegant carriage waiting outside of Madam Sylvi's brothel.

Ripping the bread in his hand apart, he tossed one piece toward the child sitting in an alleyway, his ribs visibly showing throw his thin layer of dirty, ripped clothes. The child sprang to his feet and dug eagerly into the bread, his eyes lighting up with newfound life.

As (Y/N) shoved the rest of his bread into his mouth and quickened his step, he hoped one act of kindness would spare him later. He swallowed down the food, throat itching for water, and stopped by the large double doors where a fellow brothel worker stood by.

His lips parted to question her on the carriage but he winced when he noticed the darkening bruise on her cheek, staring near the corner of her lip and ending near her eye. Hardly seemed like an accident. Alise brushed her fingers over the purple skin, her dark eyes slightly watering and her nose scrunching up in pain.

"Was it Felir again?" He asked instead with a gentle sigh, taking a step toward her and sweeping back some of her blonde hair.

"Always is." She responded with a sigh of her own, dropping her hand down toward her chest where her dress plunged enough to show most of her cleavage, finger hooking to drag it down even further. "He pays too well to be thrown out, though. I hear he's grown tired of his new wife now that she's grown heavy with child. I'm certain we'll be seeing him around more often when the babe comes."

"I'm sorry."

"You mustn't be." Alise dismissed with a wave of her hand. "Be thankful he has no interest in boys, otherwise he'd do a whole lot more than what the Targaryen's done to your neck." She reached out to push back the hood of his cloak and dragged her fingertips over the markings on his throat, an amused grin forming on her face until she winced and touched her cheek again.

"You should rest." (Y/N) told her, giving her arm a delicate squeeze before he pushed open one of the large wooden doors leading into the brothel. The air still reeked of smoke, sweat, and drinks despite the open window but most of the brothel had been cleaned up and ready for another round of patrons. He and the others would be given a chance to rest and eat, although when he spotted the two men in their shining silver armor and long white cloaks, he suspected his day wouldn't be the same as the rest.

The Sworn Brotherhood - better known as Kingsguards - were sworn to never own land, take a wife, or father children so they could fully focus on their duty of protecting the king and the royal family. Of course, they were still men, and despite the sworn promise to remain as pure as fresh snow, most of them were regulars at brothels; but they never sought workers out in their uniforms, much less in broad daylight. It'd be asking for swift punishment.

"Here he is, the man you seek." Madam Sylvi announced with a smile full of feigned joy that only made his stomach drop. She rose from her chair swiftly, the long skirt of her dress swishing with her movements, and she hurried over to him, her arms sliding around his shoulders and head dropping to whisper in his ear. "The King has asked for you, sweet boy. I do not know why but you must mind your step and tread lightly." Her nails dug through the fabric covering his arms.

Aegon.

"The King has ordered your swift removal from this.. establishment so that you may settle into your new apartments in Maegor's Holdfast as his new paramour. He asks that you only take belongings of sentimental value so we may escort you to your new home as quickly as possible. He's asked of us to assure you no harm or insult will come to you for as long as he reigns." One Kingsguard spoke, his voice largely devoid of emotion and stance rigid with alert, but he shifted his weight from foot to foot. He seemed nervous, perhaps flustered. At least he attempted to appear like a Kingsguard whereas his companion blatantly ogled one of the girls until subtly elbowed.

(Y/N) looked between the two men, his fingers curling around the skirt of Madam Sylvi's dress. It'd been years since he'd last clutched to her like a child, but he felt tremendously small under the unnerving stares from the two knights. "Sylvi," He exhaled, tearing his eyes away from the knights to look at her soft features.

"Perhaps it will be temporary, until the anxieties and worries of war pass." She soothed softly but the subtle tremble of her voice gave away her real thoughts. Paramours could be replaced, they often were, but hardly any noble - much less a king - had ever so publicly announced their new lover. "Go collect your things, (Y/N). We mustn't make King Aegon wait."

Madam Sylvi ushered him up the stairs toward the rooms on the second floor where workers without homes to return to slept. His legs moved automatically toward his room at the end of the hall, or rather... his old room.

The idea hadn't settled in fully, not yet. He'd called the brothel home for far too many years. He'd been born in one of the many rooms he walked past; he'd raced up and down the halls whilst playing games; he'd been bathed and clothed and doted on by many in the very place he now had to leave.

"(Y/N)!" A squeaky voice called out, soft footsteps thumping after him. (Y/N) stopped by the door into his old room, hand hovering over the doorknob and head tilting to peer down at the girl rushing toward him. Lyla collided with his leg, her arms wrapping around it and her chin resting over his hip as she looked up at him with glittering blue eyes. "Are you leaving?"

"Afraid so, Ly." (Y/N) answered, opening the door and stepping inside the familiar room. The girl of only thirteen followed him inside, her lips forming a pout. He still remembered when her first flowering had occurred, a sign she'd become a lady. Her maidenhood had been up for auction the following month and a stout fisherman had managed to be the highest bidder. (Y/N) had been the one to clean the blood from her legs and ensure she drank moon tea.

With a heavy exhale, (Y/N) looked over his rather plain room. He'd never given it any thought to decorate it with things from around King's Landing, for many of his fellow workers had sticky fingers and an eye for beautiful things. His bed was big enough to fit his body and his blanket thick enough to keep him warm throughout winter. There were a few potted plants around the room, something he added for some color and life. Otherwise, everything would merely be wood-toned.

"Will you visit?" Lyla asked, seating herself in the middle of his bed and tugging at the ends of her dress as she crossed her legs. Her eyes followed him as he sorted through his clothes and belongings in search of anything he'd miss, only to conclude the single item he considered valuable was the bracelet wrapped around his wrist; a simple gift from Madam Sylvi but one he held dearly.

"I... am not sure, Ly. I will try to, if... if they allow me." (Y/N) responded, kneeling down by his bed and blindly searching until his hand bumped into the small wooden box he kept. He slipped his fingers around it and rose back up to take a seat beside the young girl, lifting the lid to reveal the glittering jewelry hidden within. Lyla gasped softly and shuffled closer.

"They're pretty!"

"Gifts from countless men and women, noble and smallfolk alike. I have collected and hidden them throughout the years for they are of little use to me. But, now that I am leaving... I believe you should have them. Take a few for yourself, Ly, but hide them where no other will find them. You must tell Madam Sylvi that you wish to exchange the rest for coin. It should be enough for your aunt to pay her debts and you'll never have to come here for work again." (Y/N) instructed her, digging through the jewelry until he found a thin silver necklace and clipped it around her neck.

"Truly?" Lyla asked quietly, her eyes shimmering with tears. Her fingers glided along the necklace until they curled around it, squeezing it tight in her smaller hand.

"Truly." (Y/N) nodded, setting the box on her lap and planting a kiss on her temple. His fingers brushed back some of her black curls, a bittersweet feeling bubbling in his chest at the tears that spilled down her round cheeks. An orphaned child so desperate to remain with the last of her family that she'd shown up on their doorstep asking for a job, first as a mere servant and then into something more horrid.

With Lyla's future looking brighter than his, he stood from his bed and took one last look at his room before venturing out into the hall and down to the first floor. The knights awaited him by the doors, the younger one of the two once again distracted by those coming and going. The one who'd addressed him straightened up at the sight of him, his gaze dropping down to (Y/N)'s empty hands and the lack of luggage.

"I have... little of value."

"Very well." The knight cleared his throat. "We must depart for the Red Keep, then."

(Y/N) had never been in a carriage before, and he had to admit it was an odd feeling. Many of the roads leading back toward the Red Keep were bumpy and far from easy to travel. He found himself holding onto the cushioned seat beneath him as his body lurched and swayed with the bumps and light shaking of the carriage, his fingers digging into the soft fabric in a vain attempt at stabilizing himself. How lords and ladies could withstand such dizzying rides was beyond him.

When the carriage finally rolled to a smooth stop and the door on the side opened, the extent of the situation finally dawned on him. He'd never been to the Red Keep; Seven Hells, the only time he'd even stepped on the road leading up to the castle had been on his way to Fishmonger's Square.

But there he sat, in the main outer yard with the loud groaning of the main gate sliding closed behind him. He forced himself to step out of the carriage and out into the yard, the sight of servants, knights, and courtiers greeting him.

"This way, my..." The knight trailed off and exchanged a wide-eyed look with his companion. (Y/N) was no courtier, no page or ward, no lordling with lands and titles. He was merely... a prostitute; a whore as patrons loved to call him and his friends. Everyone around them seemingly came to the same conclusion, their stares becoming scrutinizing or pitiful.

"(Y/N)," He said quietly, tugging his cloak further over his shoulders, suddenly feeling extremely aware of how plain his clothes seemed in comparison to the courtiers lingering around. He prayed the hood covered his neck from prying eyes. "Call me (Y/N), Ser."

The knight nodded, his helmet slipping further down his head with his movements. It seemed the new Lord Commander of the Kingsguard had chosen... a questionable lot for the job. (Y/N) dug his teeth into the tip of his tongue and lowered his head, an action that'd become second nature to him whenever he left the brothel, for drawing attention to yourself in the city was asking to be robbed or killed. It hardly helped him inside the castle, however. Those they walked by stared and whispered amongst themselves, blatantly motioning in his direction while doing so.

(Y/N) saw the look in their eyes, the way they turned their noses up and scoffed as if his mere presence brought a stain to the castle. Nobles believed themselves to be better than those who worked to provide everything they required, and it was that sense of ego that often made them the best customers; for a simple stroke of their ego had them spilling more coin than they could count. Most of them were fools, even with the high education they received, (Y/N) knew this well. Appearing timid and meek did people little favors in Flea Bottom, even less so among the nobility.

Madam Sylvi had been right. He had to tread lightly.

After a long walk through many hallways and staircases, the knights finally stopped before two large oak doors and simultaneously pushed them open to reveal the bedchambers within. "Your apartments... (Y/N)." One spoke rather awkwardly, vaguely motioning with his hand for him to enter. (Y/N) stepped into the room and stopped, blinking at the size alone.

His... 'apartments' were even larger than the brothel if the two floors combined into one. On the far right end elevated by a small platform sat a luxurious-looking bed large enough to fit at the very least five people with a wooden canopy holding sheer curtains at the sides. Near the bed sat a desk with blank papers and a quill ready to be used alongside beautifully carved wooden chests for storage whilst on the opposite side stood a large closet.

In the center of the room, a beautiful rug with flower designs covered most of the floor, long couches and comfortably looking seats atop with a dining table set nearby. Lined along the walls were numerous paintings and shelves, some filled with books and others empty.

His eyes were immediately drawn to the large open window at the left side of the room that overlooked part of the city and ocean, a gentle breeze flowing in from it. Near the window sat a bronze tub on one side and a few more chairs by a fireplace on the other. Extremely extravagant, he had to admit, but far too much for a single person. His old room seemed pebble-sized in comparison.

"I am Ser Corlin and I will be stationed outside at all times if you ever require my presence or assistance. I will follow you wherever you must go and am sworn to give my life for you if needed as King Aegon has assigned me as your Sworn Shield." (Y/N)'s brows furrowed and he whirled around to face the more talkative of the two knights, his eyes flickering to the other one when he dipped his head and left. Ser Corlin seemed a well enough protector, if not a little young.

"Why would I need a... 'Sword Shield'?" He hardly knew what that meant, but based on Ser Corlin's words it appeared to be quite the important job. "I am merely... I am hardly important enough to need protection, Ser."

"You are King Aegon's paramour; the only one of many to be given such attention. We cannot know for sure if any envious past lovers may wish ill upon you or if Rhaenyra the Cruel will attempt to harm you to cause our king further strife." Ser Corlin explained, shuffling aside to allow a few maids into the room. He dipped his head, providing no further information, and shut the door behind him.

"How wonderful." (Y/N) exhaled, hands undoing the laces of his cloak and carefully tugging it off his shoulders. One maid sprang into action, collecting the cloak from his arms and looking over the muddied ends with a thoughtful look. He blinked at her, watching her dip her head similarly to Ser Corlin and slip out of the room. Were they... bowing? To him?

"I'm Laerra," The eldest looking between the maids spoke before motioning to the other three with her. "These are Eliza, Shana, and Marya. We will be primarily tending to your needs: bathing, changing, cleaning, and fulfilling any requests you ask of us. His Grace wished for you to be changed into some of the clothing stored in the closet, if we may?"

"I... am not a child. I can change myself."

"It would be better if we did it for you, My Lord." The round-faced redhead, Eliza, spoke next, a hint of meekness in her voice. The usage of a title made him grimace but if it made things easier on the servants, he'd deal with it, he supposed.

Pursing his lips, (Y/N) sighed and nodded, finding no use in arguing with the customs of nobility. The maids moved swiftly; one of them filled a basin with water and warmed it by the fireplace, another fetched the clothes, and the remaining two began removing his clothes.

They worked diligently and quickly, a focused look passing over each of their faces. Shana scrubbed and dried his skin with a rag she dipped into the basin, getting his skin rid of any sweat and dirt it accumulated during his trip in the city, giving herself a nod of approval when she finished. Eliza scooped his old clothes into her arms and disappeared from his room as Marya and Laerra began dressing him in soft fabrics.

"Imported fabrics and cloths from Dorne and some of the Free Cities, My Lord," Marya revealed when he eyed the white undershirt, the soft fabric rubbing nicely against his skin as they put him in a dark green overshirt. When they slipped gem-adorned rings on his fingers, she added, "Gemstones from Pentos. The King wished for nothing else than beautiful."

"Thank you." He told them, feeling pampered yet suffocated. "I-... You.. may go. I'd like time alone, if I may."

"Shall we bring you some wine? Perhaps some lemon cakes, as well?" Laerra questioned but when he waved them off, they all dipped into a curtsy and ushered themselves out of the room, plunging it into heavy silence that loomed over him like a storm cloud. It was too much, all of it. The room, the clothes, the accessories. He'd had a perfectly fine life in the Street of Silk, despite everything he witnessed and experienced.

(Y/N) tugged the rings from his fingers, scattering them across the dining table, and undid the buttons of his overshirt to pull it off and drape it over a chair. He had little need for such things, for so many layers. He collapsed on one of the chairs and braced his arms over the table, his eyes drifting over to the window. His ears strained to catch the bustle of the city but the wind was all he heard, amongst muffled chatter and footsteps from the hallway outside.

"Gods," He sighed and ran a hand over his face, slumping back in the chair. "What have I gotten myself into?"

(Y/N) hardly had any time to process before the doors swung open and Ser Corlin's voice echoed into the room, "Dowager Queen Alicent Hightower." His lips pressed together tightly, teeth digging into his inner bottom lip and a heavy exhale escaping through his nose. The Gods lacked mercy for him, it seemed.

"Your Grace," (Y/N) greeted, standing up from the chair and bending at the waist when he turned around to face her. Queen Alicent (was she to be referred to as Dowager Queen? There were far too many titles) strode into his room with an air of grace, her dark eyes sliding over to him while her features remained blank.

Queen Alicent was beautiful with long dark auburn hair that'd been tied back and cascaded along her back, big brown eyes that studied him closely, and a slender figure. She appeared youthful, and he had to remind himself she had most of her children before reaching the age of twenty.

"You must be (Y/N)." She spoke softly, her voice soothing and gentle. "I apologize for the sudden intrusion... amongst other things. I am aware my son feels quite fondly of you despite your former job. I must admit I was quite caught off guard when he announced his decision to move you here, into the Red Keep rather than housing you elsewhere as most other nobles do with their... lovers. May I ask what your family believes of this? I cannot say they will be welcomed if they seek riches."

"I was born in Madame Sylvi's brothel. I do not know my father as my mother likely took many lovers a week to know for certain."

Queen Alicent's brows furrowed, her long fingers ghosting over the hand of her hand to begin toying with one of her rings. "Likely? You.. you do not know your mother? How is that so?"

"I was never told." (Y/N) shrugged. "As a babe, I was passed around to whomever had the milk to feed me. My mother never claimed me as her own, but I'm sure she tended to me at one point or another. The women there never cared to tell me who amongst them had birthed me. They were all my mothers, I suppose. I can assure you they'd only approach me for favors if the idea ever struck them."

"Born in a brothel.." Queen Alicent murmured quietly, her skirt gliding along the floor as she drew closer to him, her hand coming to rest along the top of the chair at the end of the table. "Forgive me if it is a difficult question to answer, but may I know the age you were when you began... working?"

"I was eight years of age when frequenters began asking, nine when I began working. It is tradition in most brothels to auction the first time to the highest bidder as most patrons enjoy laying with virgins. I hardly recall the night but I believe it was with a couple from Braavos." His hand moved to grasp the wrist where the bracelet remained, thumb pressing into it at the memory of Madam Sylvi gifting it to him the following day after the couple left. The Dowager Queen paled. "They paid well." He added, though it hardly sounded like much of a comfort.

"You were a child." She exhaled, breathless and her voice dripping with pity. The stone-faced look she'd carried when she first arrived had vanished, her glassy eyes reminding him of Aegon's. They looked so alike in certain lights, he noted, from the furrow of their brows to the curve of their lips. She appeared smaller, younger, without the emotionless facade she'd put up when first acknowledging him.

"As were you when you wed King Viserys." (Y/N) spoke carefully, his words soft and knowing. She stared at him, the shine in her eyes growing and full lips parting with a shaky exhale. Queen Alicent's gaze fell onto the stone floor and the tip of her nails scraped against the wood of the chair she held onto, her chest rising and falling with a deep inhale.

"It is the duty that falls on the shoulders of many young noble girls. It was expected of me, and I fulfilled my duty, as you well see." He heard the subtle tremble in her voice, saw the way the corner of her brows dipped with each word; was she convincing him or herself? (Y/N) could hardly tell, but what he did know was that with a simple few words the Queen's true nature had reared its head. She remained a young girl in her heart, despite the years of motherhood and marriage thrusted upon her.

"Duty or not, it did not make you any less of a child, Your Grace." He moved slowly, somewhat cautiously, when he approached her, keeping his footsteps light and his posture relaxed.

(Y/N) studied her face, her reactions, and the way her body responded to his movements with keen, observant eyes. She watched him, her eyes darting down to his arms so he moved them behind his back to ease any worries of him lashing out toward her. He stopped a few feet away, keeping enough space between them for her to relax.

"Forgive me if I speak too plainly or boldly, Your Grace, for us smallfolk hardly ever converse with those above our stations. I assume you have your assumptions about me, about how I make my coin, but I do not just pleasure others."

She shifted her weight from one foot to the next, the way her eyes jumped around the room from item to item telling him she felt nervous, likely uncomfortable with the topic of sex. The necklace resting around her neck held a pendant similar to the seven-pointed star that represented the Seven. For a woman of faith and nobility speaking of sex with someone of the opposite sex whom she had no relation to would be considered scandalous.

"I provide comfort, as well. A willing ear to those who desire to be heard without judgment. I hold many stories, secrets, desires, and hopes that have been told to me throughout many years that will never leave my lips. I value trust, and I would never break another's, even for coin. I had little friends in the city, I doubt I have any at all here," A flicker of recognition flashed in her eyes. "If you find yourself needing a friend, I'd be happy to listen over tea or sweets. I have a feeling I'll be finding myself... quite lonesome here."

"I... I shall keep your offer in mind." Queen Alicent said gently, her fingers curling around her hand and lips forming a tight-lipped smile. She dropped her hands down to the sides of her skirt, slightly lifting the ends and departing toward the doors. She stopped before them and peered over her shoulder at him. "King Aegon has matters he is attending to but I'm certain he will welcome you once he is done. Welcome to the Red Keep, (Y/N)."

#x reader #x you #x y/n #x male reader #x male!reader #house of the dragon x reader #house of the dragon x male reader #house of the dragon x y/n #house of the dragon x you #house of the dragon #aegon ii targaryen #aegon ii targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen #aegon targaryen x reader #alicent hightower #alicent hightower x reader #alicent hightower x you #alicent hightower x male reader

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cherriready · 8 days ago

Text

Silent control

• Aaron Hotchner x Fem!BAU!Reader

• Smut - F!masturbation, power play, authority kink, vouyerism, dom/sub dynamics, public play, forbidden desire

• WC: 1.4k

• A/N: Someone lock me in and throw away the key. Thank you. Please.

How could it be? She didn’t get it. What was the reason behind it all, to torture her in such a way?

"Go on. Come on, continue." He encouraged her, a smile on his face, somewhere between mocking and cruel. He was entirely capable of keeping his tone steady and his eyes on the road.

"From what we just saw at the— ah...!" she gasped as she felt Hotch's free hand on the nape of her neck, gripping it firmly while he held the steering wheel with the other hand.

It was his way of making her understand that she needed to continue their game. She had to pleasure herself while explaining to the rest of the team over the phone the conclusions she had reached at the crime scene.

"Tell them what you've figured out," he ordered authoritatively, tugging slightly at her hair this time.

"Fuck-" she muttered, earning a warning glance from him. "They're his works of art, the Unsub's 'exhibitions.' He leaves them-ahh, like that, becau—because the media attention gives him the validation he craves," she spoke with difficulty, her fingers emphasizing the attention she was paying to her overly sensitive clit.

"Continue," Aaron said, glancing at her briefly. His brown eyes were almost unrecognizable with the darkness they reflected, his pupils fully dilated, taking in the obscenity unfolding in the passenger seat. "Continue, don't make me intervene. You're capable of finishing on your own," he warned in a tone that seemed to encourage her.

Anyone listening would think it was just the Unit Chief encouraging a team member to continue with the Unsub's profile, providing support. The reality that only the two of them knew was that it was a veiled warning.

Either you continue and finish on your own, or it will be worse if you make me intervene.

Under his watchful gaze, she had to speed up the pace, her fingers moving faster, making her bite her lip and close her eyes. He tugged a little more on her hair.

She couldn't give herself away, she couldn't make a sound. If she did, he would punish her when she least expected it, and make her sweet torment even longer. Possibly eternal.

He gave her another fleeting glance, his brow furrowed. He was losing patience.

"That's his signature. Leaving them like that, in that state. They are his works of art," she tried to speak in a stable, normal manner, feeling herself nearing climax. "It's only a matter of time be—before...!"

"Before what?" Rossi asked on the other end of the line.

Hotch released her hair and placed his hand over her mouth as she began to tremble, reaching climax in the seat beside him. "It's only a matter of time before his methodology becomes more violent in order to perfect his art. That makes him more dangerous.

"He'll become more insatiable, and he'll strike again soon," the young profiler added, trying to pull her underwear back up with trembling hands.

Hotch grabbed her wrist, preventing her from doing so. "He'll strike again soon, without a doubt."

The young woman gave her boss an incredulous look as her breath hitched, at his blunt statement.

She knew better than anyone that he wasn't talking about the Unsub, but about himself.

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cherie-doll · 17 days ago

Note

i hope the day is good for you 🫶🏻 (english is not my first language) can you please write a story with cod men, about what would they do when the reader doesnt make it home from the mission - like they are waiting at home for her but she's dead.

thx for submitting love <33

𓆩♡𓆪 Headcanon: They Waited For You

౨ৎ Price, Ghost, Soap, Gaz, Roach, Alejandro, Rudy, Phillip Graves, Makarov, Keegan, König, Horangi, Nikto

Price

He didn't believe it at first, there was just no way... he immediately got to verifying all his sources, even went down to talk to the other soldiers who had been a part of your team

You were supposed to come home, he expected you to come back to him, safe and sound like always but instead of falling asleep and exhausted in his arms like you should've been by tonight, your corpse was out there somewhere missing his embrace

He thought of how he could've prevented this from happening, yes he still blamed himself for anything bad that happened to you despite it not being in his hands, maybe if he could've kept you from going, why did you even feel the need to continue doing this?

There was no one else he cared for as much as he did for you, which truly said a lot of your relationship, but since he met you he felt an overwhelming urge to show love like he'd never done before, nothing else on earth deserved this dedication like you did

He deteriorated rather quickly, the mornings became grim and he couldn't bear to see the sun setting without thinking of how much you loved letting the rays caress your arms and let your eyes take in that golden light, you looked so beautiful in those moments

Ghost

Since he met you, there was finally a stage in his life he could think of purely, sure the relationship wasn't perfect, but this was something he could be reminded of and he didn't have to fight to keep it hidden in the back of his mind, he let the memories emerge to the surface and ponder about them

It had been something pleasant but it had been ripped out of his hands far sooner than he would've wanted, his fantasy that had become a corrupted reality, it makes him want to die, badly, but he always found a way to survive the deadliest situations, somehow he always did; as if he was cursed with immortality

But this? He felt no desperation urging him to dig out of the hole he was sinking into, the walls closing in on him from all sides and he made no effort to push it away, it felt sort of relieving being cramped and paralyzed since he couldn't see the path ahead of him, with you it had become so obvious and clear what he wanted but now there was nothing worth moving towards

Did life always want something from him? Just when he thought he lost everything he could lose, there was always something else being pried out of him, it was painful because it was forcefully taken away just when he was getting attached, when there was no foreseeable evil trying to destroy him there was some good, and you had been the best unexpected thing in his life

Soap

You were like an illusion he had always dreamed of and finally were achieved, a life so dreamy and ideal he thought would never be in his reach, but he had been permitted to have it for a short while with you

Within your time together a love so beautiful had bloomed, it was sweet how sublime it had felt, you had been youthful, still beaming with so much life within you but tragically cut short, those years had gone and went unused

He couldn't find the sense within him to comprehend why it had to be you, your death had been like a cold slap to the face, he had once again become aware of the disheartening reality he lived in, that nothing was secure nor did everything stay the same forever

Well, he knew about the forever part, but did it have to come so soon? He had to gather the strength within him to continue forward and he wasn't even sure of that, there was still so much left unsaid, so much still to be done, and how frustrated he was that it would all be forgotten and left unfulfilled

A sadness like no other would coat his existence, swallow him up and change him beyond recognition, his mind would be invaded by memories of you that will replay until they burned and ceased to exist... the day he ceased to exist

Gaz

All those days that he had spent with you had been the most fulfilling days he had ever experienced, he could remember the warmth of your hand, the weight of your body asleep next to him on the mattress, the security knowing you valued his affection and returned it

He truly felt the happiest with you and he wished to be encased in that happiness forever, but how naive it was of him to think it was possible for even a second, life was always moving and throwing hurdles at us that seem impossible to avoid, it's only a matter of time misfortunes come to us all

By simply contemplating and reminiscing, he felt grief beyond help and any consolation couldn't do much for him, wistful memories came to him and he could not sleep at night, all they did was leave a dark imprint on his mind

His caring nature did not change, he thought with time he could heal and learn to move on, but some things never change, and a sore spot still brings pain when pressed too hard, he would mull over this no matter how painful it was to do so

How he misses to hold you in this moment and kiss you

Roach

The news of your death came like a hard blow to his face, and he was left clutching his chest, eyes watering with tears as he desperately tried to cling onto some comforting memory in his mind

Restlessness follows immediately, even at night sleep does not come to him no matter what he does, the memories you shared seemed to tear him apart rather than anything help him, but he didn't want to forget you either

He knew he couldn't get you back and he had lost you forever in this life, panting and gasping he would awaken from his nightmares, the little sleep he got would do nothing to comfort him, and you weren't there to comfort him, to silently hold nor ease with your voice in his ear

His mind wanted to deceive his heart, make him believe you were somewhere far away but still thinking of him, that he could close his eyes and imaging resting his head on your shoulders, basking in serenity as he lost himself in the waves that lulled him

Alejandro

He was overtaken by bitterness and anger, his better judgement was clouded far beyond reason at the most valuable treasure in his life forever gone, the feeling of longing would become a hole he'd spend his days trying to fill with wrongful acts

All he wanted and needed was your touch to remind him reality was there and not as cruel as he thought, you had still met and loved in your time and nothing could take away what had already been done, he could live blissfully in life knowing you had known each other

But could he be satisfied with that? He could strongly feel the ties that bound you together still tug at his heart, and every year he remembered you, would set an altar for you and fill it with what were your favorite foods and things

He would stare at your imagine, remembering how he once had kissed those lips, stared into your sparkling eyes that watched him endearingly, your face he had held within his hands...

He could never have that back

Rudy

He missed delicately tracing your face, his fingertip raising softly over every curve and line, your silhouette against the wall when you rose that morning, early so you could still say your goodbyes to him and tell him to expect you back very soon, this one wouldn't be too long you said

You had left him a content man, he'd sit around the house and wait, he would take it easy these days because you'd be back soon, but he wasn't ready to withstand the tumult he'd find himself in

His heart had become haggard in the days following your death, he had absorbed every bit of warmth and clung to the last signs that you had left behind, he wished he had been there, to ease your last painful moments before death, how much did that train of thought torment him, day and night it ran through his mind

In sleep, he dreamt of terrible ways you had encountered death, surely, you didn't have a peaceful one, you were healthy and fit to make it, something terrible must have happened but no matter how much he wished to know the cause of your death it wasn't given, most likely for the best to remain unknown

Phillip Graves

He often boasted of having you in his life, it was such a fortunate occurrence when you met that he didn't think it was entirely a coincidence, he loved doting on you and hold you in his arms knowing you were there for him

You had already confirmed the date of your return, but that day came and passed and there was no sign of you, worse yet no message or word had been heard on your part, it was he who had to dig and find out that you had been KIA

It felt like a strong blow to his chest to have you ripped away from him, he knew the harsh reality and danger he was constantly under, he just never imagined it would get to you one day

You shouldn't have paid for his sins or errors, he wished you had stayed out of the battle, but you had your own life to carve out and ultimately it had been your decision

Much time would have to pass before he'd be able to say your name, for the longest time he'd whisper it, as if afraid it'd shatter his reality even more, staying in the air reminding him of what he lost

Makarov

You were forever gone from his grasp, how was he to cope with that? The fire that had warmed his insides, making every act of his be out of love for you suddenly halted, reduced to nothing but ashes and now he was left to sweep the heaps of it

The emptiness growing and knowing there wasn't a piece to fit or make him whole again like you, you were a unique piece, the edges weren't cut with delicacy that an experienced hand could replicate, there wasn't a mold to follow to shape something else into you

You sprung out of chaos and spontaneity with ease, there was a lightheartedness you brought out in him that brought out the best in him, all of it offered to you who didn't greedily take but lovingly returned

He didn't want to believe someone like you could just be taken away from him and have nothing done about it, just when he thought he could be tender he'd return to his old ways, the resentment stronger than ever and tied to his heart, obscuring and consuming him

Keegan

How despairing did this turn out for him, never had he imagined he'd lose you, all that time he had spent training with you, preparing for when the worst could happen and each time you had managed to slip away, always

Except this time you weren't fast enough, he knew those shoulders held up a levelheaded person, who confidently calculated their every move, it was unfair you had been taken

His brows are now furrowed, thinking this just has to be some sort of protocol you're following, faking a death isn't all that uncommon, maybe you were still alive out there, hiding away somewhere for your safety, each day he held the pitiful hope that you'd come back to him, then he'd nurse your injuries and help you stand back up

But moons waxed and waned and you didn't appear, and he couldn't hold the fragments of you close to his heart if you wouldn't be around to reignite them and make them come true again

His palm that had curled, clutching the remnants loosed and he had to give up that foolish dream and accept reality as it was being presented

König

Was it cruel if he wished it was you who had received the news instead of him? He thought it would have been that way, he often joked about the benefits you'd get when he passed, it wasn't supposed to be you to leave earlier than him

Relaxed he was sitting in the armchair until he received the terrible news, his breaths became desperate as he tried to get air into his lungs, he wanted to march down there to the field himself to collect you, to not believe it just yet

Maybe you'd be down there, hiding away in some corner like the sly fox you were and say you had managed to dodge the bullet this time

But he was disappointed with the outcome of things, he hated it when things didn't follow the path he set for them but no one could have controlled the outcome of this course, it had left a profound wound in his heart he wasn't sure he'd be able to heal from

You had parted without saying your goodbyes and now he wouldn't be able to live with that, to live longer still with you in the back of his mind

Horangi

He hated anything that brought the slightest trace of despair, and he dealt horribly with it, he ran on pure serendipity but now he couldn't count on that, was it by being at the wrong place and time you had been one of the lives lost, the most important one to him

He felt the urge to go back to his old ways of numbing out the pain, but he pushed that temptation away, it would only drain his money and everything he had worked for go to waste, he knew you wouldn't have wanted that for him and right now he just wished to keep the traces of you very much alive and present

He wanted to go about his days as if you were still there, the flower you planted, he tried to keep it alive and water it, the way you left your stuff around the house, that way it was easier to transport himself to a time when you were there with him, still at home

The people of the past are hard to forget but he didn't mind, he faced the situation with more determination than he himself expected, he was surprised at the resolve he had come up with

He had loved without regret, and with every passing day he'd be closer to reuniting with you again

Nikto

The only sound occupying the complete silence is the static in his mind, he's just numb, doesn't know what to do, what he should do with whatever emotions he's trying to detect, he must feel something

He was just delivered the worst news of his life, he should be breaking down and crying but he can barely even process the fact that you really are gone, he looses his train of thought every five seconds and can only stare forward as if in a trance he's unable to escape out of

He feels the long seconds drag by but he can't get up from his fixed spot on the chair, it's like a knife has been plunged into his side and pulled out, leaving the gaping wound pulsating softly, but he can barely hear his flesh scream out in pain, he can only feel the blood oozing out, staining his clothes and falling to the floor in droplets as he actively ignores it

He is hurt but can only clutch at it, he can't get up, feels far too comfortable sitting on this kitchen chair staring forward to the wall, elbows resting on his knees

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demonic0angel · 2 months ago

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Another Anger management idea:

Jason is going through his own First Burn, but unlike Hamilton, he didn't do it. The evidence, though fake, is damning. Hopefully, Jason can get Vicki Vale to give up her sources easily, or there will be hell. He just wants his wife back.

(… did you want comfort, bc it’s only angst tbh. Also, I’m assuming that Jazz doesn’t have Shadow, because this would’ve been fixed so fast otherwise lmao)

Part 2, Part 3

Jazz didn’t turn to face him, as she just hugged her plushie, a little plush toy of Red Hood. She sat on their bed and just curled around the toy, her brilliant hair scattering over the sheets and covering her face.

“Jazz, please. Please listen to me. I don’t know how this was taken, but it isn’t real. I didn’t cheat,” Jason said, almost begging. He moved forward to be in front of her so she could face him, but she turned her head away, tucking her face into the plushie and clutching at it.

Not for the first time, he was horrifically jealous of the toy he had won for her.

“Princess, please. I love you,” he said urgently, “I love you so much.”

Jazz shook her head softly, and he could see a peek of her face through her curtain of hair, horribly blank and empty. She didn’t cry, she would not cry while he was here. She was strong like that, and hated showing weakness unless she felt safe. She hadn’t shown such strength in front of him for years.

“I know,” she said, her voice tiny.

It broke his heart in two.

Jason clenched his fists and tried to breathe.

Just a few days ago, Vicki Vale had released news of him cheating on Jazz with another woman. No matter how much he could deny it, the evidence was so damning that he had nothing to say. But he didn’t really have an excuse. He knew he hadn’t done it, but the evidence all pointed towards him.

Even his family were giving him odd looks. Only Jazz’s warnings had prevented her own siblings from brutally murdering him.

There was no alibi he could give, no witnesses to see where he was, nothing to show that he hadn’t done it.

But he really hadn’t done it! He knew, because he had been in the midst of a reconnaissance mission alone. But he had no excuses, because the video was so well done, the photos were so clear, and the information was so detailed that he couldn’t say a word.

“Jazz,” Jason said, his voice cracking as he felt the lump in his throat grow, “I didn’t do it. Please believe me. I promise, I didn’t cheat on you. I swear on my life. I love you, please.”

Jazz still didn’t face him. Her hands tightened on the doll and then she said slowly, “I need time to think. Can you call Dick and Dani please?”

Jason wanted to grab his guns and start shooting up Gotham, or better yet, sink the whole damn continent into the ocean. His rage and frustration was so strong that he almost felt blood leak up through his throat. He wanted to kill Vicki Vale more than ever, but if he did that now, it would only make him look more guilty.

“Okay,” he said comfortingly. He did not reach out to touch her. If he did, he knew she would’ve shut down further. “Do you want me to call Valerie too?”

Dick, Dani, and Valerie were often part of Jazz’s counsel. Dick and Dani would’ve been too nice to immediately leap to Jason cheating, but Valerie was ruthless enough to be a good voice of reason and if he offered, then maybe Jazz would think that he was being honest.

Jazz nodded silently and Jason immediately called them up as he moved to the kitchen to make the calls.

Dick agreed instantly and told him that he would come over as fast as possible. Dani was clearly disdainful of him, but tried to be polite and agreed the moment she knew that Jazz wanted her presence. Valerie cursed him out for a whole fifteen minutes before he could get a word in, but eventually agreed without hesitation when he asked.

Jason hung up the phone when he was done and buried his head in his hands as the soft sounds of Jazz crying alone in their bedroom filled his ears.

The urge to kill Vicki Vale grew more and more tempting.

He didn’t know why he was being targeted. Or how she had gotten such good falsified photos. Hell, he hadn’t even done anything in the last few weeks to deserve this.

He sat there in the kitchen, eyes clenched tight as he resisted the urge to go into the bedroom to pull his wife into his arms and hold her. He wanted to bury himself in Jazz’s hair, hold her tight to his chest, feel her heartbeat and her warmth, and settle her in his embrace as if they could somehow merge themselves into one.

Jason opened his eyes.

He knew what he had to do to clear his name.

He would have to find Vicki Vale’s sources and investigate for himself. He’d be damned if some hack reporter tore apart his blissful marriage with his wonderful wife. And god only knew what lengths Jason would go to for Jazz.

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varpusvaras · 3 months ago

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Roy stands in front of the stove and stares at the soup.

He watches it simmering, the surface gently bubbling every now and then, and he tries not to think too much.

It's been pretty hard, lately, not to think too much, but he has to do it, because if he starts to think, he will get angry again.

Roy can't afford to get angry. Not yet, anyway.

He stares at the simmering soup until it is ready, and he turns the stove off and takes the pan off of it, and he takes the nice bowl out of the dishwasher and starts to ladel the soup in it, because, damn it, he is using the nice bowl for this. Would it be safer to use the less nice ones? Maybe, but Roy doesn't feel like playing it safe and behaving like the nice bowl is above this.

He is getting way too agitated about bowls. Roy stops, breathes in the herbal scent of the soup, and continues to get the soup from the pan into the nice bowl. He then gets the high glass from the cabinet, because the nice bowl of soup needs a nice glass of water to go with it.

He then takes both and makes his way to the bedroom.

He stops at the doorway.

The ceiling is off, because Jason's eyes and head can't really handle too much light right now, but the desk light on Roy's side of the bed is on. Lian is laying on that side of the bed, curled as close to Jason as she can, with a book in her hands. It's one of Jason's, though Roy can't see which one from where he is standing, but the words he can hear Lian softly reading out make it sound very English.

Jason's eyes are closed, but his head is turned ever so slightly towards Lian, and from how he is breathing, Roy knows that he is awake.

It is something that any other time would only make Roy's heart swell with love and happiness, but right now, there is an ugly, bitter taste all over it, preventing him from truly enjoying it.

He clears his throat a bit. Lian turns to look at him over her shoulder, sees the bowl and the glass, and she takes the book and scoots to the edge of the bed.

"Lian."

Lian looks at him little pleadingly, even though by now, she already knows the answer.

Roy shakes his head. Lian turns her eyes down. She puts the book on the nightstand, and reaches to wrap her fingers around Jason's for a second, before she slides off of the bed. Roy steps into the room to get away from the doorway, so she can get past him and out of the bedroom.

"Thank you", Roy whispers to her as she walks past him. He then nudges the door closed and walks up to the bed.

He turns on the desk light on Jason's side of the bed. Jason twitches a little, his eyes flutterin and his brow pinching a bit.

"Sorry", Roy murmurs. He puts the bowl and the glass on the nightstand to have both his hands free. "I'm gonna move you up a little."

It's a familiar dance for both of them by now. Jason hums affirmatively, Roy steadies his back and neck and pulls him up a little against the headboard. Jason's jaw clenches because by now, the painkillers have stopped working and he is more lucid and definitely more aware of everything that is going on with his body, but he wants it this way, because being more lucid means that he can kind of eat on his own.

'Kind of' in this context means that he can swallow without spewing anything on himself, and that is something that Jason is willing to take, even if it comes with more pain.

Jason opens his eyes when Roy lets go off him to pick the bowl back up.

"How're you feeling?" Roy asks. He tries not to ask it every time Jason is even marginally awake, but it's difficult, because every time Jason closes his eyes, Roy can only see him laying there, bloody and still and him looming over his body.

It's been weeks now, and still, Roy can't seem to forget how he had felt back there, when for a one moment, he had thought that Jason was dead.

Jason just breathes for a moment. He has to do it a lot, as he cannot breathe very deeply at all.

"Fine", he says, which Roy deciphers as meaning not worse than the last time you asked. It's good enough, all things considered.

"That's good." Roy gets some soup on the spoon. Jason's left hand is in theory capable of holding onto things, but in reality, it still shakes too much for him to be able to do anything precise with it. So what he gets is Roy spooning the soup for him.

They don't speak while Jason eats. Just the act of eating takes too much of his energy, and he needs to focus to it in order to get it done. It is all familiar by now as well. After Jason has gotten at least some food and water down his throat, Roy will give him his next dose of painkillers, and then talk to him while he falls back asleep.

Roy knows that Jason hates it.

They have talked more than enough of their childhoods at this point. Roy knows all the unsavory details of Jason's story, and right now, at this moment, the ones of his mother, almost always unresponsive towards the end, with Jason trying his best to keep her alive by any means necessary, are at the forefront of both of their minds. Roy knows it.

He also knows that it is the one place Jason never wanted to end up in, and he's been there once already.

It is why he doesn't want Lian to see him right now, no matter how much he adores her. Jason had been alone, back then, taking all the responsibilities of adults when he had just hit double digits in age, and the last thing he wants is to make another kid go through the same. It's not the same, since Roy is there, but it is too close for Jason nevertheless.

Roy has tried to explain it to her, so she wouldn't feel like she's done something wrong. She understands, but with that understanding, has only come the need to help even more.

Roy loves her so much. He wishes that she never has to go through anything bad in her life.

Roy also loves Jason, and while he knows that there is nothing that he could've done for him before, he will never forgive himself for not protecting him now.

He doesn't say that out loud. Not yet.

Jason finishes half of the bowl before he just simply cannot make himself eat more. He accepts enough sips of the water to not be dehydrated and to get the painkillers down. Roy lets him stay sitting for a moment longer, before he lowers him back down onto the bed.

He says other things out loud. Simple things. Simple, loving things, that don't reveal how much Roy wishes to take all the pain from Jason and give it back. He will, eventually, because Roy knows Jason, and he knows that for Jason, saying those things out loud is love as well.

But not yet. Not yet, simply for the fact that if Roy does so, he will have to do as he says, right there, right then, and he cannot yet.

Not yet, when Jason still needs him like this.

Jason closes his eyes, slowly, as the awareness in them dims, and eventually his breathing evens out, as much as the painkillers allow him to not care about everything in him that has been broken.

Roy watches him sleep.

He is happy, now, that he listened to Jason and never told anyone, not even Dick, about them. As much as Roy loves Dick, he is now a safety hazard, a possible breach in this place that Jason has for himself. A place that no one will know to come and look for him from.

That is good. That is exactly what he needs right now.

That is exactly what Roy wants.

Batman will not be able to find Jason. He will not be able to come for him.

No. When the time comes, it will be Roy who comes for the Batman, and when that time comes, Roy will be ready for it.

#takes rhato 25 and implements it outside rhato because I can #'batman can win against anyone if he has the time to plan' well roy is planning to beat him to pulp and bruce doesn't know that #watch the fuck out bats #batman's c minus parenting #dilf roy with his huge biceps and soup save us all #dc #dcu #my writing #DC writing #jayroy #jason todd #red hood #secret marriage AU

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claymoresword · 5 months ago

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We Bleed The Same | Part: 2

Cersei Lannister x Stark Fem!Reader🐺

Summary: On the road from Winterfell to King's Landing, Cersei and y/n find themselves reconciling with both old and new feelings as fate seems determined to tear them apart.

Wordcount: 2.7k

Pairing: Cersei x Reader

Warnings: smut, g!p reader, angst, pregnant cersei, kid fic elements, y/n & cersei's relationship is so not healthy but we move

Note: So we end here. although i do think there's room to expand this story into a full fic but idk if anyone would want that (let me know if you do and i'll consider it) but eitherway hope you enjoy!

ps. this one kicks off with a bit of smut so i'm sorry in advance or you're welcome lol

Loud, unrestrained moans fall from the queen's lips as you cup her breasts. She throws her head back once more, grinding hard against your lap, your length filling her to the hilt.

Cersei's hair flows past her shoulders in tumbles of gold, her chest heaving with every trembling gasp and breath.

Gods, she is beautiful.

Cersei takes her pleasure from you without reserve this morning, as she often does.

Since arriving in King's Landing this seems to be all she has done, anytime the both of you are allowed a moment together undisturbed.

A simple conversation somehow always escalates, and you find yourself in the queen's bed– your hot, writhing bodies entwined.

Cersei halts her movements suddenly, bracing her hands against your breasts as she finally comes undone around your shaft. The sensation of her clenching around your cock makes you groan, your eyes flutter shut for a prolonged moment and you nearly fail to realize Cersei climbing off your lap.

You shake your head at her as she collapses next to you, breathless and full of incredulity, although thoroughly satisfied. You'd let Cersei ride you all day and night if that is what she truly desired.

“I swear, it will fall off one of these days.” You quip in between heavy breaths, glancing at your own member.

You earn a chuckle from Cersei, one low and sultry, her chest is still heaving wildly as she turns on her side to look at you.

“Oh, no we can't have that..” She says in return, her tone aimed to mock, she feigns disinterest as she traced your abdomen with her fingers.

You merely scoff in response, deciding to reach over the queen to grab the goblet sitting on her side table.

You lift the rim up to your lips, taking a sip before eventually throwing your head with the intention of emptying the cup.

Although before you can, you feel Cersei strike you on the chest with the back of her hand, causing you to nearly choke.

“Don't you dare drink it all.” She warns, and you swallow what little wine made it into your mouth before surrendering the goblet.

Your expression twists in annoyance, yet the queen appears entirely unfazed by it.

“You do not need to hit me every time you want something.. Asking politely is what most civilized people do.” You take the jab at her but still, the older woman hardly reacts.

Cersei instead shrugs innocently as she puts the now empty goblet aside, a faint smile tugging on the corners of her lips. “I am the queen. I don't have to ask for anything.”

Your retort dies in your throat as Cersei suddenly inched closer, nuzzling her face into the crook of your neck. You wrap your around her instinctively, holding her close.

This woman drove you insane.

The queen is entirely uninhibited and treacherous, like wildfire; Cersei does as she pleases. Nothing in the mortal world could dream of containing her.

She is maddening, she is cruel, and so damned intoxicating.

You wouldn't have it any other way.

Soon a comfortable silence settles between the both of you, it goes on for long enough that you feel yourself nodding off, but the sound of Cersei's voice prevents you from falling asleep.

“Y/n, I have to tell you something.” She declares quietly, her lips brush against your jaw before she breaks away to look at you properly.

“What is it?” You ask with genuine concern as you meet her gaze. You attempt to search her expression for any cause to worry, but Cersei betrays nothing of the sort.

“I am with child.” She says suddenly, and as her voice reaches your ears you can hardly believe what you are hearing; you pause.

“I am carrying your babe in my belly.” Cersei rephrases, as though you hadn't understood her the first time.

Still, you don't speak, merely letting out a chuckle in disbelief as you glanced at her belly, before placing your palm flat against it.

This only works to frustrate the queen even more. “Say something, you imbecile.” She hisses.

“Are you.. happy about this?” You find yourself inquiring, and Cersei only scowls at you as though it was the dumbest question she had ever been asked.

“Yes, of course I am.” She insists, grabbing your face with both of her hands, forcing you to look at her.

“You are going to be a mother, alongside me, at long last.” As Cersei speaks the words, they finally begin to sink in.

Yet, all you feel is an impending dread.

You are not prepared to be a parent. In truth, you haven't even given the idea much thought at all.

“The Gods have blessed us.” You say instead, and Cersei nods, her pleasant smile proves that she is content with your response.

You let her pull you into her embrace once more, and you hug her tightly in return– keeping your thoughts to yourself.

“A child born from you and I.. they are fated to do great things.” Cersei utters assuredly under her breath, only for you to hear.

═══════════════════════════════════════════

You had spent all that afternoon in the Red Keep's training yard, sparring with anyone who would agree to it.

Knight or squire, it mattered not, you simply needed a distraction from the unpleasantness that was constantly gnawing in your chest.

You are not ready to be a parent, you aren't certain you would be even decent, let alone good at it. but still, Cersei's happiness is what matters most of all.

You have to see this through no matter what.

“Begging your pardon, My Lady–” A voice rips you from your thoughts, you turn around to see a young squire standing behind you.

You watch him quizzically, and the boy stumbles over his words as though only just realizing that he has to explain himself. “The– the Lord Hand has sent for you. He has asked for an audience in the king's solar.”

You scoff bitterly at that. Ned's new duties as hand of the king had resulted in him evading you at every turn.

Always too busy to spend time with you and his own children– but now he summons his sister through a squire and expects you to obey his command without protest.

He is unbelievable.

“Tell my brother that I'm busy here, I'll see him when I can” You insist sharply, scowling just at the thought of entertaining Ned's command right now.

You observed as the squire's face grew pale at your refusal, he advances forward nervously.

“Forgive me, My Lady, he did mention it was urgent.”

═══════════════════════════════════════════

You wince as you massage the knot in your shoulder whilst climbing up the steps towards the king's apartments.

Frankly not giving much thought to what your brother needed from you, or having much care for what he has to say at all.

A hand still on your sword arm, you push the heavy wooden door to Robert's solar open with your back.

The sight that you are met with when you enter makes your face fall.

Robert sits at his desk, Cersei stands next to him whilst Ned remains on the other side of the king.

Your expression twists further in confusion when you spot Catelyn stood by the window, a small child in her arms.

This does not make any sense– she is supposed to be in Winterfell.

“Has something happened?” You ask, entirely afraid of the answer. You turn to push the door closed, in an attempt to delay whatever this is, for as long as possible.

“Y/n–” Your sister by law is first to address you. Catelyn decides to set the child she is holding down before continuing, but before she can get a word out, the little girl sprints towards you, clinging to your leg.

The feeling of her tiny arms wrapped around you makes you stiffen involuntarily. You have never seen this child before, and yet there is something so familiar about her, some sort of inkling that you can't quite place.

“Who is this?” You ask, running your fingers through the girl's hair as she looked up at you giddily.

“A woman came to me, back in Winterfell–” Catelyn begins to explain, advancing towards you, but again, she is not allowed to speak for long.

“That is your bastard daughter, apparently.” Cersei answers your question bluntly, her tone laced with venom.

The look she sends your way causes your blood to run cold, you swallow, shifting uncomfortably. Your instinctive attempt to get the child to release you is to no avail.

The Gods make their japes, at the face of distress, they see fit to mock you.

You let out an uncomfortable laugh, one that causes Cersei to roll her eyes.

“I don't understand.” You utter, in hopes that dismissing it will somehow make it all ring untrue.

“Cat told me the woman that approached her used to work at the brothel.. when she became heavy with your child she had to find work elsewhere– she does not have the means to raise this little girl.” Ned explains, and the situation only begins to sound even more bizarre to you.

“That's.. not possible, I haven't been to any brothel in–” You start but the king swiftly cuts you off.

“Three years?” Robert chimes in, followed by a belly laugh that only makes you want to punch the man.

“Guess how old that girl is.” He inquires, and you grow quiet.

Cersei appears dissatisfied with your silence, she steps towards you in a last ditch attempt to help you and everyone else in the room see reason.

“How could you possibly believe that she is your daughter?” The queen questions openly, glancing at everyone else in the room before settling her gaze upon you.

“The whore is clearly just looking for you to feast her bastard in the king's hall.” Cersei accuses. Her words are harsh but you catch something else within her gaze, a look of desperation and true sorrow– it shatters you.

Ned shakes his head at Cersei's claim, it appears he has made up his mind on your behalf. “My sister's bastard or not, in the north we look out for our own. Whether this child is truly yours is unclear, but we cannot throw her out in the streets.”

You take in your brother's words, although you still fail to speak, it feels as though your voice does not matter in this instance, when things have already been decided.

Robert grumbles as he rises from his seat, evidently through with this discussion.

“Raise her here or don't, y/n. It matters not to me. She is your responsibility now.” The king says as he pushes past you to exit the room.

You watched as Cersei's expression hardened the longer she looked at you before finally averting her gaze in disgust.

“Your Grace,” You try but Cersei merely pushes past you harshly taking her leave as well.

Now you are at a loss. The child still sits by your feet, free of any predicament, entertaining herself by fiddling with the metal tip of your scabbard.

You look between your brother and his wife, and they only stare at you expectantly. You feel there is nothing left to do as you let out a sigh in defeat.

You crouch down to meet your daughter.

As you reach out to lightly pinch the girl's nose, she lets out an adorable giggle that makes you smile, before you look up at Catelyn once more.

“What is her name?”

═══════════════════════════════════════════

A few days have passed since a child had been thrust into your care unexpectedly and Cersei still refuses to speak to you.

Every one of your attempts at begging for her audience has been met with swift refusal.

It seemed the more you tried, the more it worked to provoke her.

The queen has since dismissed you as protector, and appointed another in your stead.

To add insult to injury, she has decided her brother, out of all knights, should take your place.

Cersei knows how to wound you and she does it well. How foolish of you to forget that.

This afternoon you approach the queen consort's bedchambers once again, only to see Jaime standing in front of her door.

You curse under your breath. You had hoped to force your way inside one way or another, but now that task is going to prove far more difficult.

“Let me see her.” Your request sounds more like a demand as you settle in front of the knight.

Jaime regards you with nothing more than a blank stare, looking you up and down before responding. “The queen is not to be disturbed, she is abed.”

You grimace at that before gesturing to your surroundings. “It is not yet nightfall.” You state a plain fact, and Jaime merely shrugs.

“The queen is not to be disturbed.” This time the knight does not bother to look at you as he speaks.

This alone fills you with a blind rage, you grip the hilt of your sword tightly, fighting every urge that tells you to unsheathe it.

Instead of challenging Cersei's twin to a swordfight, you lunge forward with the desire to strike him, but at the last moment, your fist makes contact with the wall next to his head instead.

Satisfied enough with the way Jaime flinches, you turn on your heels, storming off before the knight and do anything to retaliate.

═══════════════════════════════════════════

For most of the late evening you had resolved to spend more time with your daughter.

So far, the little girl has surprised you in more ways than one. You had quickly learnt that she is shy around the other children, albeit not unkind to them. She loves to giggle, and is mostly well behaved– for a three year old.

The first few days with her had you constantly doubting if she was even your daughter at all, but you soon came to accept that your denial is hardly fair to her, none of this is.

You will give her a chance regardless; a place to call home. She deserves a mother, especially if the one that birthed her cannot care for her anymore.

As the hour grows late, you carry your daughter to bed, tucking her under the covers before placing a kiss on her forehead.

The girl grabs ahold of your collar then as she often did to make you stay with her for a little while longer, but sleep swiftly takes over, causing her arm to fall to her side.

You chuckle at the sight, stroking her hair one last time before retreating. “Sweet dreams, little one.”

As you make the move to turn away, the sudden feeling of arms wrapping around your torso makes you flinch.

Soon recognizing the familiar scent of lavender oil, you let out a breath of relief.

You turn in Cersei's arms to look at her, an easy smile appears on your lips as you meet her striking emerald gaze.

Such joy it is to finally feel her close to you again.

Cersei.. your love, your heart.

“I didn't think you would speak to me ever again.” You remark, caressing her cheek with your finger.

Cersei doesn't respond immediately, merely raking her fingers through your hair before harshly gripping a fistful of it, causing you to wince this time for a different reason.

“Do you love me?” She inquires, yet her expression remains unreadable to you.

She aims to make you uncomfortable, and it is working.

“You know that I do. More than anything else in this world.” You respond in earnest, a pleading look accompanies your words.

She nods at that, satisfied enough that she releases her grip on your hair.

Now she reaches down to guide your hand, holding it in place against her growing belly.

“Do you swear to never choose that girl over our child?” The queen demands, swiftly looking at the bed where your daughter sleeps peacefully and then back to you once more.

What Cersei asks of you is bold, it is perhaps unreasonable, even. Yet you don't hesitate with a response.

“I swear it.”

Cersei allows herself to smile then, she finally pulls you in for a searing kiss, one you return eagerly.

She breaks away and her mouth finds your jaw, and soon the shell of your ear before embracing you once more.

“If you ever betray me, I will have you gelded and your cock fed to the dogs.” The queen whispers her threat with a sweet smile, but you know that she meant every word.

“I will not betray you.”

#cersei lannister x reader #cersei x reader #cersei lannister smut #cersei lannister #fem stark reader #stark reader #catelyn stark #ned x catelyn #g!p reader #g!p

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lexsssu · 1 year ago

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Beast (Dion Agriche)

TAGS: Dion/Dragoness!reader, pining, pervy thoughts, breeding, oneshot Ao3 ver. | Ko-fi | Commissions (OPEN)

This place felt…sad.

The towering manse was objectively magnificent and yet an air of gloom seemed to envelop the very air that passed through the exquisite halls. Though perhaps it could be attributed to the unmistakable metallic scent that hung heavily within almost every corner of the estate.

Whether it was the main courtyard, the gardens, or from deeper within, the darkness that settled over the entire structure was like a shroud of death that beckoned victims to fall into the sweet embrace of oblivion. It’s only through luck however, that they can either meet a swift end or a drawn out and miserable one.

Judging from the melancholic or downright pained expressions upon the ghostly specters that roamed the area, it’s safe to say that this was a place of great suffering and tragedy. None of the actual living occupants could see them, most especially that man whose soul harbored an impressive amount of corruption for a human. No matter how many angry spirits clung to him in hopes of dragging his soul straight out of his body in order to enact their just revenge, each death done or ordered by his hand only seemed to further the taint.

It’s almost as if he drew power from the lives he’d stolen.

He wasn’t the only one who attracted the attention of the restless souls. The man’s children who tried to follow in his footsteps also had a trail of bodies before them even before they could be called adults. Even one of his wives, a seemingly spritely woman with doll-like features, took lives as easily as getting rid of unpleasant pests.

In conclusion, this family is as cursed as the land they had stained with rivers of blood over the years.

Much to your surprise however, not every Agriche shared a penchant for senseless murder. One of the eldest living daughters (Roxana) only had a single ghost following her and even then, the ghostly image of the teen boy didn’t seem to want to tear her limb from limb like all the others. Rather, he followed after her much like a puppy who only wanted to keep up with her pace. Sadly, the blonde never seemed to take notice of the boy who bore remarkably similar features with her even as he tried to reach his hand out to touch her.

For she lives within the plane of the living, while he now resided in between life and death, unable to move on due to regrets or some other unfinished business you didn’t know of.

The question is…are you content with staying as a mere observer?

The blonde youth perks up the moment he realizes you can see him, sheer relief brimming from every pore within his spectral body when you speak your first words to him. He is rich with the secrets Lante Agriche fights tooth and nail to prevent from ever seeing the light of day.

A lonely boy becomes lonely no more and a displaced dragoness finds that becoming lost wasn’t too bad when you have good company around you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dion doesn’t dream.

Considering the amount of blood that stained his rough hands, it is better that he only descends into nothingness whenever he rests his eyes, for one could only imagine what horrors lay in wait to torment him for all the atrocities he’d committed. He’s not afraid of the ghosts of his victims, but rather finds it useless to think of flames that had already been snuffed out when they could no longer influence the living in any way.

But then something changes.

He feels a soft, warm touch that gently traces the length of his nose, cups the sharp angles of his face, and even delves into his dark locks. Though his eyes remain closed, his own subconscious supplies him with the image of hands much smaller than his own large ones that poked and prodded at him without fear.

While he would have caught the appendages and mayhaps stuck a knife into anyone who decided to lay their hands upon him, Dion knows that this could only be a dream because who would even dare to caress him so gingerly in the middle of night within the Agriche’s own manor? If anything, he finds his dreamself to commit to memory the feeling of such a gentle touch being bestowed upon him, because rationally he knows that he has no need for softness. In the confines of his own subconscious however, he supposes that he can allow himself this at the very least.

When he wakes up at the crack of dawn, it is to open windows with its blinds fluttering as the morning breeze makes its way to his room, bringing with it not just the familiar scent of iron that seemed to permanently surround the place he’d grown up in.

Though he cares not for flowers specifically, he does have knowledge on their practical uses such as poisons and the like. He also prefers knowing the native flora and fauna of the hunting grounds he’d be thrown into in order to get a better grasp of the terrain.

Blooming honeysuckles make his brows furrowed in confusion despite his stone-cold exterior, confused as to how and why such a scent overpowered the ever present iron tang in the air.

Curiouser and curiouser.

Dion remains oblivious to the shared laughter between a woman with ivory in her hair and a boy whose eyes reflected the deep, bright expanse of the open sky as they watched him stick his head out of his windows to locate the origin of the oddity.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“YOU...”

“...Me?”

Dion feels his body practically burning from the inside-out, his heart beating several miles per minute as he finally gets a good look of the poltergeist that haunts his nights. He remembers the tender touches you press against his skin, the warm caresses that leave him gasping for breath and his loins aching for sweet release by the time he’s released from your clutches once dawn has broken.

He does not need your sweetness.

He has no use for your gentleness.

And yet he craves it.

He has never desired anything.

He has never felt so strongly about anything other than the swish of his blade, the gurgling of his victims, and the blood splattered against the ground as another mark of his martial prowess.

And yet you drove him to become more of a feral beast than he ever was as he now wished for nothing else other than to possess your whole being just as you possessed him without even meaning to.

“...are MINE”

Your surprised squeak is music to his ears, the flush on your cheeks pleasing the beast that sought to have you pressed down on the ground and taken ruthlessly, flooding your fertile womb with his virile seed...

To be continued(?)

#lexsssu writes #the way to protect the female lead's older brother #dion agriche #dion agriche x reader #dion agriche x you #dion agriche x y/n #deon agrece #deon agrece x reader

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micahwrites16 · 5 months ago

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My Love, My Home - Anakin Skywalker

Note: While writing this I imagined y/n as Padme in AotC, but not actually Padme? Like she’s Senator and she’s with Anakin on Naboo, him protecting y/n, but you can picture her however you want. I don’t specifically explain the circumstances of why they’re together, but it’s along the lines of the scene where Anakin confesses, except I write it… a bit differently. Hopefully you understand, lol. It’ll make sense the further you read. Enjoy!

( Also, please bear with me, I’ve never written anything close to this before. Don’t be shy to comment and let me know what you think of it! I’m always open to suggestions. <3 )

TW: really sappy smut, first times!

5.6k words

I always imagined that love was something you earned; something you had to deserve.

Something that I would never be worthy of truly receiving.

And as I watch the Padawan sitting on the velvety, soft sheets of my bed, I feel as though I am shattering my own heart with every second I allow him in my gaze. It’s as if he is reaching his calloused, worn hands into my chest and brushing his fingertips against the rapid beating of it. One more millimeter and he could crush my life without a second thought. And even though he was the one who tore apart my skin, it was his hand preventing me from bleeding out. Sometimes I can’t help but feel grateful, which is a very clear sign that I lost my sanity long ago.

I am in front of him and I do not pull away. I don’t want to.

I have never felt fear quite like it.

Although Anakin’s hand is not quite in my chest, it might as well be. A measly twelve inches separates us, his eyes searching into me farther than I have managed to explore myself. His lips move as words leave them, but I don’t know what. I’m embarrassed to admit that the sight of someone’s lips can distract me so easily. I know those aren’t just anyone’s lips, however.

“Y/n?”

My eyes snap back up to his, his eyebrows scrunched softly in confusion as he waits for me to answer.

“Hm?”

“Force,” Anakin laughs and shakes his head, resting his elbows on his knees. The laugh isn’t of amusement, that I can tell. “You aren’t even listening to me.”

“What? Yes, I am. I just have a lot on my mind. Keep talking. I promise I’ll listen,” I reassure him. He laughs again, the sound not warming me like it usually would. His head falls into his hands, his teeth shining as he smiles. “Anakin,” I urge, “come on. I’m listening, I swear.”

“Are you?” He turns his head to look up at me, his smile gone and something swirling madly in his eyes.

“Yes.”

“Alright. Then, what did I say?”

I pause for a moment, searching my brain and hoping that I subconsciously picked up his words. It’s not that I was ignoring him on purpose, that’s never the case. I was just preoccupied with other strange things happening inside of me. “You know what, never mind. It was nothing, anyways.” Anakin stands up quickly from my bed and I rise with him. “It’s late and you should sleep. I’ll be in the bedroom across from you.”

“No,” I grab his arm softly through his Jedi robe as he moves to walk away. I’m not letting him run away this time. “Don’t do that, Ani. Just tell me what you were saying. I can tell it’s important.”

His eyes lock on where I am touching him, his lips parting slightly. He seems frozen, lost in something that I cannot grasp. Suddenly, Anakin’s eyebrows furrow again, ripping his arm away from my hand. His eyes meet mine again, fire and so many other emotions stirring in them. “No. You don’t do that, y/n.” Confusion washes over me, the slightest bit of hurt emanating from his face and bouncing off my heart. His voice quiets, a darkness along with a familiar softness coating his words. “I am in agony and you don’t even seem to realize.” Anakin steps closer to me, his neck craned so he can meet my eyes. He’s so close and I am frozen. I feel his breath against my lips, his gaze against mine.

“Ani..”

“Can you not see how I am feeling? How I am practically begging on my knees for you to even look at me?” His voice is so low and I think my brain is short-circuiting and force, all it would take is the slightest movement for his nose to brush against mine. “You are the one instance I allow myself to feel anything at all, y/n. I couldn’t stop myself if I tried. And every moment that I am not with you, the worse my agony gets. It’s as if I am being torn apart. You are in my very soul, tormenting me. Every beat of my heart is throbbing for you, and I feel helpless.” He sounds so wounded, so seeking. “What can I do? I will do anything you ask.”

I am not usually at a loss for words. The thoughts in my head are cloudy and I feel dazed, almost as if my brain is trying to protect me from hearing what he is saying. I would rather die than allow that. Before Anakin, I had never let myself get attached to anyone or anything. I have duties that force me to be strong, independent. But he has sucked me in, and if I were to rid myself of him, he would take a large part of my person with him.

He looks into me like he’s searching for something, anything, and the pounding in my chest is increasing with every second of it. How are we both so blind to each other? He says that I do not see his feelings for me, yet he doesn’t see what I feel for him, either.

“I will get on my knees and beg for you, for any part of you, if that’s what you would like. Any part of you that you allow me to have I will worship. I already do.”

I have never felt the need to touch him more than I do now. I want to give him everything he’s asking for and more. I want to give everything that I have, everything I am, to him. I’ve been wanting that for far too long.

But I can’t.

“Anakin, we can’t do this,” I say quietly. I want to, I scream internally. I want to so, badly. “I’m Senator and you’re about to be a Jedi. We would ruin everything.” Nothing in his expression changes and I feel as though I am not doing a great job of convincing him, or myself.

“So you do feel something.” The corner of his mouth twitches just the slightest bit and I immediately curse myself for giving him hope for something that I can’t give him. “I don’t care about any of that. We can keep it between us and now that I know you feel anything, even the slightest bit for me, I will not stop. I won’t be able to. I will die trying to earn anything you will give me.”

He hesitantly reaches his hand to cup my the side of my face, his thumb stroking softly over my cheek. Am I dying?

“Don’t hide from what you feel. Don’t hide from me, because I cannot take it. I do not deserve you, I know that. But I will spend the rest of my life trying to. Don’t allow stupid, worthless rules to get in between this. In between us.”

Any resolve that I had before has now been thrown out the window. His voice is so gentle and pleading and an exact mirror of something that has been lurking inside of me since the last time I can remember. His thumb that is caressing my face is bleeding into me, filling my blood with a mixture of overwhelming fire, softness, and need.

“Anakin..” I close my eyes, fighting off my desires the best that I can. If I give in, everything will be destroyed.

“I won’t let anything happen to you, y/n. I will not let myself be your ruination.”

I want to fall. I want to lose myself in his deep, promising, dark blue eyes and never resurface. The longer I feel his touch the more I know that I am gone and I am not coming back.

And as I come to the realization that I will never be safer than where I am right now, that I will never be with someone who makes my heart pound as much as Anakin does, I lean closer.

I’m so close to him that I can see every individual blonde eyelash, every slight and rapid movement of his eyes as they flicker from my eyes to my lips. The only thing I see is Anakin. The only thing I know is Anakin.

Everything around us is still, as though even time has paused for us. The only sound is our soft breathing hitting each other’s lips, the crickets halting their chirping and leaving us in a loud bubble of quiet. He brushes his nose against mine, my breath hitching in my throat and my chest rising and falling harder with every second. Every action from him is small and hesitant, testing how I react.

My hand reaches forward, resting on the plane of his chest. He responds by snaking his fingers into my hair, tilting my head just the slightest bit, and causing my lips to brush against his just the smallest amount. A warm tingle flows through my body as I meet his eyes again. This time, there’s a question in them.

As an answer, I seal my lips against his.

I’m enveloped in a world of tenderness and warmth that I have never known before. As he just barely moves his lips against mine, I feel my heart shifting inside of me, flowing through the movements of my mouth. The first few moments are gentle, discovering. The next few are devouring.

He kisses me as if I was the last thread of life he was holding on to. As if I was the only light in a galaxy of darkness. In a planet of complete, utter beauty and peace, I have never felt so overpowered and overwhelmed. His lips are soft, searching into the deepest part of my soul.

He was wrong. I am not tormenting him, he is tormenting me.

Anakin tilts my head further, his tongue tracing my bottom lip and begging for entrance. I greedily let him in, wanting him to know places of myself that no one else has ever discovered. He sweeps in, tasting, caressing, and destroying me from the inside out. I trail my hand from his chest into his hair, my tongue now tangling with his, begging for as much of him as he now has of me.

A low groan rumbles through his throat, and I feel a fire inside of me that I have never known so intense than at this moment. His other hand grabs my hip, both of us stumbling back so he’s against the wall.

Anakin, Anakin, Anakin.

Anakin is now all that I know, and now that I have him, I don’t think I will ever be able to let go.

He kisses my lips until they’re swollen and pink. Until the room is no longer filled with silence, but the sound of his soft rasps and my small whimpers that I cannot stop from leaving.

Anakin’s hands are everywhere. My waist, the curve of my hips, my thighs, my hair, the sides of my face. It’s like he’s taking every bit of me insatiably, almost like he’s afraid I won’t let him do this again. This is all I’ve ever craved, Ani. This is everything I will ever need.

He groans again as I nip at his bottom lip, the sound stirring something deep inside of me. A fire is burning, and I don’t think it will ever be stopped. His lips move from mine to my jaw and down to my neck, sucking and tasting and torturing. I press my chest against him, needing to feel more. Needing more.

“Ani,” I moan, his mouth latching onto my collarbone. He lifts his head, his lips just as puffy as mine. He’s so, so, heartbreakingly beautiful.

“Tell me what you need, y/n. I will give you anything you’ve ever wanted. Anything at all.” His breathing is heavy, his chest rising and falling harshly. “You have every,” he kisses under my ear, “single,” he kisses my throat, “inch of me. I am forever yours.”

His pretty words fuel me like nothing else. I’m sinking, falling into an endless abyss of emotion and ruin, of beginning and end and nothing at all, but everything at the same time.

“Everything. All of you,” I beg, and I can’t seem to care that I do. For no man, for no person, I beg. But Anakin Skywalker makes me want and crave things stronger than I ever have before.

My tone isn’t lost on him, his head dropping to rest on my shoulder. “You can’t say things like that, y/n. You destroy me.”

“I mean it. Don’t reject me now, Anakin.” My voice drops to a whisper, vulnerability hitting me harder than I would like to admit, “Please.” I am yearning for a touch that can only be fulfilled by him, and by the madness spiraling in his eyes, I can tell he feels the same way. I brush my lips against his, communicating something that I can’t say with words.

His head rises from my shoulder, his eyes softer than I have ever seen them before. They’re bright and shining with a million unspoken promises that I could adventure in forever. Comparing them to the moons and the stars that surround us would be an understatement of the complete and torturous beauty that they hold, and the fact that they are focused on me makes my intestines swirl and my stomach warm.

“I will never hurt you,” Anakin breathes, his fingers tracing the edge of my jaw. “I adore you more than you could ever imagine.”

My breathing comes out shaky, my legs trembling softly. I have never wanted to hide as much as I do now, to shy away from the intrusion of Anakin searching into me so deeply. I am scared to my core.

But, I also don’t think my heart has ever been in safer hands before.

“I believe you,” I murmur against his lips. Something passes through his face, an emotion deeper than I can understand, yet.

“Will you let me take care of you, then?”

“Yes.”

Anakin immediately scoops me into his strong arms, holding me like I am glass in his hands. He kisses my forehead tenderly, walking over to my bed and dropping me on it softly. I watch intently as he steps back, me following his every move as he works to take off his belt. His eyes are burning into my skin, but I don’t care. I am mesmerized by every inch of that he uncovers. He has sucked me in and now I am forever locked in the depths of Anakin Skywalker’s heart.

He unravels the many layers of his Jedi Robe until the tanned, sculpted plane of his chest is revealed. I drink him in like I am dying of thirst. I can’t bring myself to be ashamed of my eagerness. How can someone be so perfect? I would be irritated if I weren’t absolutely overcome with adoration and desire for this boy.

He walks forward, climbing onto the bed and hovering over me. I absorb every detail of his bare skin, the small, old scars that litter his chest and abs, the newer ones that stand out more than the others. Every detail is beautiful.

“If you keep staring at me like that y/n, this will be over before it even starts.”

My eyes snap back up to his, my cheeks warming at his insinuation and the fact that I was so obvious. “I’m sorry,” I mutter. My stomach squirms uncomfortably, a mixture of scorching heat and fluttering butterflies making me blush further.

His lips curl into a familiar smile, full of soft amusement. “Don’t be nervous,” he says gently, reading my expression. “I’m just as anxious as you. More, even,” He connects our lips again, the heat inside of me flaring. “I’ll make you feel good, I promise,” he assures me and rests his hands on the side of my hips. “You are everything I have ever dreamed of.”

I bring his lips against mine again, this time more urgently. I need him so badly I feel like I am going to burst into a million pieces. His hands eagerly explore every curve of my body, his fingers fumbling with the zipper on the back of my black dress, revealing that he might truly be as nervous as I am. “Is this okay?” Anakin asks as he slowly unzips me.

“More than okay,” I murmur against his lips, greedily attaching my mouth back to his. I touch every bit of his naked skin, feeling every possible thing that I can. Anakin pulls away as he slips my dress down, his eyes devouring me as more skin is uncovered.

“Force, you are so beautiful. So unbelievably perfect.”

I shiver as he brushes his fingertips against my collarbone, down the valley in between my breasts, across the rest of my torso, and pausing on my thighs. His eyes lock onto my black lace panties, and the amount of heat in his expression makes me want to run away and climb on top of him at the same time. His pink lips are parted and there’s a small blush that lines his cheeks and neck, causing him to look more ethereal than he usually does.

Anakin leans his head down, gently sucking on the skin of my lower abdomen. I gasp softly, my fingers running through his short curls as he continues mapping my skin with his lips. He looks up at me as he slides his hand beneath my back, finding the clasp of my bra. I nod, him immediately unclasping it and slipping the straps off of my shoulders.

I see the exact moment his eyes turn from bright, shining blue into pools of darkness as he looks at my completely bare skin. He curses under his breath, the sound hitting me deep in my core. His lips quickly move from my abdomen to my breasts, locking onto the sensitive skin of my nipple. I feel as though I could burst right then and there.

“Akakin,” I whimper, the stimulation he’s giving me affecting me more than I thought was possible. He kisses and sucks and worships me with his mouth, every flick of his tongue and movement of his mouth sending me higher than I’ve ever been. An overwhelming wave of need washes over me and out of pure instinct my hips push upwards, causing me to grind my softness against his hardness. He groans abruptly and I decide then and there that I will be trying to earn that sound from him for the rest of my life.

He starts grinding his hips against mine as he torments my sensitive skin with his lips, noises leaving both of our mouths relentlessly.

More, more, more, I need more.

It’s almost as if he hears my thoughts, him pulling away just for a moment to fumble with his trousers. He doesn’t even bother unbuttoning them, instead ripping them open and causing a couple of the buttons to fly off. Neither of us cares. I pull his lips back to mine, helping him pull them down. He quickly throws them across the room, leaving both him in only his briefs and me in only my panties.

“Need you,” he rasps, “so badly it hurts.”

“Then take me, Anakin. I’m all yours.”

“Oh, fuck,” he whines as his hips buck against mine.

I’m on fire. I’m engulfed in flames, my body pulsing and thrumming with desire that has been boiling inside of me for far too long. I reach for his briefs, pulling them down quickly.

Oh, Force.

I must have said that out loud. A grin appears on his lips as he watches me stare at him, absolutely dumbfounded. He must have been sculpted by a god. Sparks of straight lava go off in my lower stomach,something inside of me tightening. Despite that, worry shoots through me.

I can’t handle that.

“You can take it. I know you can. I’ll be so gentle, I promise, y/n,” Anakin says softly. How can I possibly burn even hotter than before? “I’ll take such good care of you.”

Anakin’s POV:

I have never been in so much pain–so much pleasure–one time in my life. Desire is coursing through my blood, causing every inch of my body to ache. To ache for her.

As I hook my digits in her panties, I watch every shift in her expression. If there were even the slightest bit of doubt or regret, I would never forgive myself for making her feel that. As much as I have dreamt of this, fantasized about every small thing we could do, the last thing I would want to happen is for me to make her uncomfortable. I couldn’t stand myself if I did.

But as I look into her eyes, I don’t even see the slightest bit of hesitation. I see desire that is just as intense as mine, passion, and trust.

I pull her down her panties slowly, forgetting how to breathe. I’ve forgotten how to function.

So insanely perfect.

During the nights when want coursed through my mind, when I would think of her at the latest hours and in the naughtiest, sinful ways, I never could have imagined her so breathtaking. I was never even close.

I must be in heaven.

Hell, likely.

Her chest rises and falls quickly, the sight of her full breasts and peaked nipples sending me into complete overdrive. I trail my eyes lower, making sure to drink in every bit of skin. I spread her legs slowly, my gaze locking on to her bare core.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Hold it together.

I run my hands up her thighs, not looking away from the sight of her open wide for me. For me. I kiss the inside of her thigh, moving closer and closer to where I yearn to be.

“So pretty. So fucking pretty,” I murmur, kissing higher and higher.

“Anakin- Ani, please.” She hooks her fingers in my hair and I almost lose it. Her voice is so pleading, so soft, so full of heat. Please. She could ask me anything like that and I would do it. If she asked me to kill a whole army of men I would do it and I’d do it gladly. Fuck the Jedi code, she is what I obey now.

“Please what, y/n?” I ask lowly as she pulls me back up to her face, my body hovering directly over hers. My nose brushes against hers, our breaths mingling together. I can feel the heat radiating from her core against me and I genuinely have no idea how I haven’t completely lost it yet.

“You. I need you, now, Ani.” She grinds her hips up against mine, her drenched cunt brushing against my cock. I make a broken noise, my head falling against her shoulder. I’m gone. Absolutely gone.

“Anything. I’ll give you anything,” I pant. I force myself to look at her, softening my eyes. “You’re sure you want to do this? I wasn’t- this wasn’t what I was planning to happen. You don’t have to do this, y/n.”

I’ve never wanted anything more. Not only to have all of her but to give her all of me. I’ve been hers for a long time. I can wait longer for her to be mine if that’s what she needs. I’ll wait forever. From the moment I met y/n, I didn’t belong to myself. I belonged to her. My heart hasn’t been my own for quite a while and nothing would change whether she wanted to do this with me or not.

“I want to. I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.” She kisses my cheek and I practically melt into a puddle in her hands. I am at her complete mercy.

My forehead drops against hers, my hand moving to rest on her hip. I let out a shaky breath, positioning myself up to her core, but not allowing myself to touch her yet.

“Tell me to stop at whatever time, okay? If it hurts I want you to tell me to stop.” She nods and kisses me softly, my heart beating so fast I’m sure she can hear it.

“I trust you more than anyone,” she whispers against my lips and kisses my shoulder, and I would probably fall to my knees by the sweetness of it if I were standing.

I look down at where our hips are inches apart, grabbing my base and sliding myself up at down her heat, both of us shivering deeply at the feeling.

This is going to be over far too fast.

I meet her eyes one final time, looking for any indication she wants to stop. All I see is an intense look of heat and adoration, that I’m sure is on my face just the same.

I line myself up, unable to look away from our hips so closely together. I find a hard time believing this is real, even though I’m feeling everything so intensely. Being here, being like this with y/n might be the death of me. I’d be lucky to die like this. I’d thank the god that allowed me to be so close to her, only if it were for one time.

Both of us take one deep breath as I shift forward, taking that final movement to push myself all the way into her.

And then my world is shattered.

Y/n’s POV:

Anakin falls forward, his forehead resting against mine as he connects us completely. A choked noise falls from Anakin’s mouth, a noise so wonderful I would do anything to hear it again. I hold on to him like I’m dying because I think that I am.

He doesn’t move, letting me adjust to the new feeling. The truth is, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to adjust to this. I feel so incredibly, overwhelmingly filled.

The first thing I feel is fullness, the next, sharp, stinging pain.

It’s a kind of pain that I would go through over and over again.

“Are you all right?” Anakin asks, his voice so full of worry it makes my insides go even crazier than before.

I take a deep breath, the pain slowly subsiding into something else. Something more intense. “Yes,” I plead, “you can move.”

Anakin stays still for another moment, before pulling all the way out of me and then plunging back in. My face twists, a completely indescribable feeling hitting me so hard I lose my breath. My mouth opens into a small “o” shape, small whimpers leaving my mouth as he moves slowly.

He’s being so gentle I could cry if I weren’t on the brink of exploding into a million small pieces.

He brings his lips down to mine, searing me in a kiss that could end worlds, create entire galaxies. As he continues to move, the pain fades away, bleeding into pleasure so extreme it’s like he’s sucking my soul out of my body and pushing it back in over and over again.

The noises that fall from his mouth I’m sure were sent from heaven just like the rest of him. Some of them are deep and guttural and sometimes when my body tightens around his, a small, whiny sound leaves his lips, each and every one causing pleasure to spike through me.

“You feel so f-fucking perfect. So tight. I can’t- fuck,” he groans loudly as my cunt clenches around him. It’s like my body is trying to trap him inside of me, like it’s trying to prevent him from ever leaving. He’s practically molding himself into me with how much I’m being stretched, my walls constricting and tightening with every deep thrust.

“Ani, so- so full,” I moan, my fingers hooking into his short curls, my eyes not being able to leave the sight of him thrusting in and out of me.

“I know, I know. You’re taking me so well, doing such a good job, y/n.”

If I didn’t know for sure that Anakin was a virgin before this, I wouldn’t have ever believed he was. It’s like he knows exactly what spots to hit, how hard to go, and what will make me spiral.

Full is now not the right word. Complete is.

I watch his face as he looks at where his cock is impaling me over and over again, a complete look of awe on his face. His lips are parted and his eyebrows are scrunched, everything indicating that he’s in just as intense a state of pleasure that I am, maybe even more so.

His hand snakes in between our bodies, his thumb reaching my clit and pressing softly. My eyes squeeze shut, sparks going off and short-circuiting my brain. “Ani- Anakin,” I cry.

“Being so g-good for me. It’s like you were fucking made to take me, y/n,” Anakin groans as he slams his cock into me so deeply I feel like I’m being split in half. My eyes roll back, my back arching instinctively, pulling a sound that’s almost a whimper out of Anakin. “Beautiful, so beautiful.”

My pussy clenches around him so tightly I’m almost worried it hurt him, but he makes the loudest, most broken noise that I’ve heard come out of him yet.

“I- I- y/n, I can’t hold on. You feel too good, it’s too much.” His face falls into the crook of my neck, my arms cradling his head softly. He thrusts into me relentlessly while still keeping his movements gentle. I moan loudly into his ear, something in my lower stomach tightening and tightening. “Keep making those pretty noises, y/n. Please.”

The almost begging tone in his voice causes my heart to swell in my chest. He sounds so beautiful. I push my hips up to meet his, creating friction that causes both of us to let out excruciatingly loud moans. “An- Anakin-” His eyes roll back and his hips stutter, his thrusts becoming desperate.

“Fuck, fuck,” He hisses, “you’re squeezing me so fucking tight. Doing so, so amazing.” He rubs his thumb faster against my clit, my mind going completely blank. His groans turn into whimpers as his thrusts get sloppier, him clutching onto my hips so tightly they would probably leave bruises in the morning. I don’t think he realizes it, since he would immediately stop if he did, but I want to have marks. I want to have a reminder of what’s happening right now.

I feel this unexplainable tingling in my abdomen, the pleasure becoming so immense it’s like I could physically snap.

“Come for me, y/n. Let me feel you, okay? You’re safe with me,” he says softly, and the words make the rubberband inside of me tighten. I pull his lips to mine, both of our moans mixing. And as I wrap one of my legs around his back, he slides so deep into me it’s like I can feel him from my face to the bottom of my toes.

“Ani, I’m gonna- I think-” I cry out, sparks of white flashing behind my eyelids and my toes curling.

“Y/n, y/n, y/n,” Anakin pants as he pushes into me one final time.

And then, the world erupts around us.

My eyes squeeze shut, my fingers tightening in Ani’s hair as he slumps on top of me, his face nuzzling into my neck. My mind goes fuzzy, everything turning into a blur around me as I hold on to him for dear life.

Anakin’s body twitches and practically melts into my arms as he fills me to the brim, his hips still moving in and out softly, riding us through our insanely intense highs.

“Anakin, oh, force,” I whimper.

“I know. I know,” he mumbles into my neck. He presses soft kisses on my throat and collarbone, rubbing my hips with his thumbs softly. He pulls back after letting us catch our breath, a sudden look of worry on his face. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“It was perfect, Ani. Don’t worry, okay? You were so, so perfect,” I reassure him, kissing his jaw.

I notice the hint of vulnerability in his eyes and I bring my lips to his softly, wanting to wish away every bit of his insecurity. “You’re everything I’ve ever dreamed of,” Anakin whispers against my lips,

“You’re my love. My home.”

Note: I really hope this isn’t super insanely boring, lol. This was my first time ever writing smut or anything like this at all, so don’t go too hard on me! Anyway, I hope you enjoyed! If anyone has any suggestions on things you want me to write, I’d be happy to do it. <3

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