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skandarismyturkishdelight · 3 years

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I Despise You (Part 8) - Edmund x Reader

Warnings: none

Characters: Edmund, Lucy, Peter and Susan Pevensie and (Y/N)

Setting: The Golden Age, Narnia

Blurb (???i think???): (requested by @alwaysinnarnia)The reader is a Swordswoman/Knight of Doorn and visits Narnia, soon getting off on the wrong hand with King Edmund. She stays in Narnia and they train together, and they become friends and maybe something more…

Tag List: @aisforaltamoda @sanya-gryff @wantingtobekorra @sweetpeasturtleneck @suruhcha @foreverfangirling123 @fosterthe-peter @expellimarvelous @fandoms-allovertheplace @irreplaceable-ecstasy @fiftyshadesofnarnia @heyohheyitsgabi @nimaiwe @thellamaisinthehouse @hopebaker @a-studying-narnian-demigod @margot-black @fangirled-101 @aisforaltamoda @ajediherowitchrunner @spinning-oysters @hopebaker @just-my-weirdness-and-i @fandom-writer642 @xcyber-queenx @disfunctionalcrab @changing-constantly @answer-the-sirens @wildflowersrm @lizziel1410 @hocus-pocus-i-dont-focus @torisecrets @mya-bleu @hunnybunimdun @andycanbeemotional @lady-miidnight @writingweirdness413 @just-my-weirdness-and-i

(sorry if I missed anyone!! Also, there are some accounts I’ve attempted to tag but it doesn’t seem to fully work - please let me know if it did! Also please comment on this post if you would like to be added to the tag list! ❤️)

“...and have the supplies out by the end of the month,” Peter said, dragging a finger across the map before (Y/N) to gesture to Tashbaan’s port. “it’ll take around four months for the iron and oil supplies to arrive.“

Yaro nodded, his hands braced on the edges of the wide table. “With the King and Queen now increasing the mining and production work in the country, Doorn will surely have their products delivered to Tashbaan a little while after Cair Paravel’s shipment would have arrived.”

The High King and Yaro looked up to (Y/N) who had a stern look on her face as she crossed her arms.

She nodded. “There’ll still be a spare month before their deadline. It may work in our favor if something goes wrong-”

“It won’t,” Peter stated confidently. “Everything will go according to plan.”

(Y/N) sighed, letting her arms fall to her side. It was a relief that she didn’t have to go back home yet, especially with the Knight’s meeting just around the corner. (Y/N) couldn’t shake off the crawling feeling of anxiety, though. The terrible thought that her family and people could be in danger terrorised her. So much so that insomnia would consume her days and follow her into the night, never allowing her a moment’s rest.

It was easier with Edmund. (Y/N) had often visited him when the moon was still shining overhead in the star-scattered sky and the woodland creatures whispered into the wind. He would give her comfort when she crawled into his bed, kissing her forehead and the spot behind her ear she had always found ticklish. He would tell her stories about his first time wondering through the wood in the summer, and how he felt when he had stepped into the castle for the first time.

Those stories made her feel warm, and there were nights when he came into her room, too. His shirt would be dampened by sweat, his voice just shy of a tremble as he lay his head onto her stomach and asked for a tale of her own. He would often fall asleep with his arm draped around her, and his soft snores lulled her into her own slumber.

Now with the meeting finished and the organisation for the iron and oil shipments were finalised, (Y/N) felt a slight weight lift from her chest. Yaro took a long look at her and sent a reassuring look when she met his eyes.

“Your Highness?” he said carefully.

(Y/N) almost smiled. Hardly anyone had called her by her formal title, and she genuinely would’ve preferred anything else than that. But now, hearing that title, it reminded her of her older brother and how he used it to mock her incessantly. It comforted her.

“I’m fine,” she said, a small smile on her face. “Thank you, Yaro.”

He nodded curtly and gave her a bow, his arms resting by his sides. (Y/N) turned to Peter who offered her a sympathetic smile and a firm hand on her shoulder.

“Your family will be okay,” he said confidently. “We will never turn away from our allies, or our friends.”

Smiling despite the tears shimmering in her eyes, (Y/N) let herself be swept up into Peter’s brief embrace. He let her go, offering a reassuring nod before she began to walk towards the exit of the war room.

Her hands automatically began to smooth out her tunic and readjust the belt hanging from her hips. She brushed her fingers over the silver dagger safely positioned at her side. Susan had gifted it to her last week for assisting with the organsation of the ball, and (Y/N) felt her chest lighten when running a hand over the hilt which was decorated with sapphire gems.

(Y/N) unsheathed it from her side as she walked down the main hallway towards her quarters. She moved the dagger skilfully between her fingers and flipped it over her hand to rest in her palm again. The cool metal tempered the anxiousness creeping in her chest and left her to focus on the movement of spinning silver.

As quickly as she had flipped the dagger into her other hand, a force hit her from the side and drove her towards the wall. She let out a grunt as the hands she knew so well had skilfully twisted the knife from her hand and held her wrist to the wall; leaving her body trapped between his.

A smile graced her lips as Edmund let out a low laugh. “Your lack of peripheral vision is concerning.”

(Y/N) rolled her eyes, leaning her head back against the velvety curtains that covered the sunlight. She let her free hand move to his shoulder, and up into his hair as he leaned forward to kiss her chastely. The kiss could only be returned enthusiastically, and soon, Edmund let go of her hands and wrapped his arms around her waist.

The weakness in his movements caused her to smirk into their kiss, not giving a second thought before gripping the collar of his clothing and spinning him around to press him to the wall.

Edmund shook his head, his hair falling into his eyes as he let himself smile at her antics.

“Doesn’t feel so good, does it?” (Y/N) said, teasingly raising an eyebrow.

The dark haired king leaned forward, his breath tickling her lips. “On the contrary - this feels perfect.”

(Y/N) huffed out a laugh before taking his lips with hers again, softly and with determined slowness. Edmund wound a hand into her hair and melted into their embrace, and (Y/N) felt how rapidly his heart beat against hers.

She pulled away from the kiss to catch her breath, and Edmund‘s lips followed her to give her a light peck.

He took both her hands in his. “How was the meeting?”

(Y/N) smiled briefly, and she was sure that Edmund saw right through it and into her troubled mind.

“The shipments will arrive soon,” she said, intertwining her fingers with his. “I’m praying that it will go smoothly. My family cannot afford a war.”

Edmund’s eyes wandered across her face, pulling one of his hands from hers to caress her cheek.

“Hey,” he whispered softly, furrowing his dark eyebrows. “Everything will be fine. If there is anyone you can trust with a task like this, it’s Peter.”

(Y/N) could only nod and lean into his warm hand, moving her face to peck his palm before giving him a tight hug. His strong arms wrapped around her and tucked her as close to his chest as possible. She breathed in his familiar woodsy scent, and she let herself smile at the faint smell of chocolate that always found its way to him.

As they heard scuffling from down the hallway, they pulled apart only to see Lucy come into view with her chin high, and her pale yellow dress swaying and sweeping across the marble floors.

“(Y/N)!” she exclaimed, rushing towards them with her eyes crinkled into a smile. “How did it go? I heard that the supplies are being shipped out soon.”

(Y/N) brushed a hair behind her ear and nodded. “You heard correctly.”

Lucy squealed and tackled (Y/N) with a hug, and Edmund chuckled at the surprise on (Y/N)’s face.

“Oh! We need to celebrate! Should I request for the kitchen to make your favourite dinner?”

“Oh, that’s alright,” (Y/N) said. “I appreciate it, but that’s not necessary.”

Lucy squeezed the young woman’s arms in response and whisked back down the hall excitedly as she called out, “I didn’t hear a no!”

Edmund pushed himself from the wall and took (Y/N)’s hand. “Come on, let’s go somewhere.”

“Oh?” she said, raising her eyebrows. “Where to, my king?”

“Horse riding,” he chuckled, turning to pinch (Y/N)’s waist. “Where else would we go?”

The swordswoman rolled her eyes and smacked his hand away.

Edmund shook his head, his hair moving away from his eyes as he continued to lead the way. They walked along the east wing and descended down the marble staircase, (Y/N)’s hand running along the smooth handrail.

She found herself being pulled to an abrupt stop by Edmund, who took one more step as he focused on a middle aged man standing at the end of the stairs. He wasn’t burly, but he looked strong. His broad shoulders and chest were clad with armour, and a shiny helmet was tucked under his right arm. Dark green eyes flicked up to (Y/N), who also took another step down to stand in line with Edmund.

Edmund spoke first after a tense silence. “Lord Rami.”

The man took a step forward, his eyes still searching (Y/N) and Edmund’s faces. Something in his gaze told (Y/N) that the man didn’t seem too keen on having kind conversation. He didn’t seem to want to address Edmund’s existence.

“Forgive me, Lord Rami,” she spoke out, calmly. “But King Edmund is addressing you. It is only common courtesy for you to respond.”

His cold eyes lay on her, and she felt her skin prickle as he scanned her from head to toe.

“King Edmund,” he said quietly before bowing briefly. “It is an honour to be in your presence.”

Lord Rami turned to (Y/N) again. “And you, milady?”

“(Y/N) (L/N),” she stated. “Knight and Princess of Doorn.”

Trying to keep her face as stoic as possible, (Y/N) tilted her head up as Lord Rami bowed once more.

“Forgive me,” he responded to her. “I must make my way to my quarters.”

The man slowly began to ascend up the staircase, and with one final look at the pair of them, he continued on his way and disappeared as he turned a corner.

(Y/N) tightened her fist and let it go in an attempt to settle her nerves, and she turned to Edmund who seemed to be doing the same, but with a flick of fury in his dark eyes. He clenched his jaw and looked back up to where the man had been, almost as though he was expecting him to reappear.

“Ed,” (Y/N) said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Ed, are you alright?”

He stayed quiet and took a long look at her before continuing to walk down the stairs.

“Who was he?” she asked, feeling quite ridiculous because of her cluelessness.

“No one,” he said quietly.

(Y/N) continued to follow him as he turned left at the staircase and down another hallway, opposite the exit towards the stables.

“Let’s still go on that horse ride,” she said earnestly, moving closer to him. “It’ll get your mind off of whatever you’re thinking.”

Edmund stopped abruptly and worked his hands through his hair. “I don’t need a horse ride.”

“Then what do you need?” She didn’t want to pry it out of him, but she needed to know. “Edmund, what did he-”

“I just need some peace and quiet,” he interrupted, hands falling to his sides. “Can you give me that?”

(Y/N)’s immediate reaction was to scoff. “You’ve never given that to me, so why should I do the same?”

Edmund turned to her, his dark eyes gleaming. “You can never give anyone a moment’s rest, can you?”

“Ed, I just want to know-”

“But I don’t want you to know!” He said, his voice raising. “Stop asking, stop pushing, just stop! Some things are better left unsaid, but that isn’t enough for you! You have this habit of pecking your nose into things that clearly don’t concern you.”

(Y/N)’s heart sank, and her words of comfort died on her tongue. His tone of geniune impatience and fury was one she hadn’t heard in a while. She pressed her lips together, angry at the painful words he spewed, but she grew even angrier when she felt tears prickle at her eyes.

“You’re so ungrateful, you know that?” She retaliated. “And frankly, you’re quite stupid for not thinking that I’m asking you all this because I want to help you. Not everyone here is trying to attack you, Edmund!”

Edmund stepped closer to her, his eyes dark and challenging. “You have no idea what I’ve been through.”

“You’re right, I don’t - so help me understand. Or I’m not going to waste my time chasing you around trying to figure you out. You have a family that loves you but you never focus on that! At any sign of conflict, you lash out; just like you’re doing now! Like a child!”

He moved past her and continued down the hall, not looking back as he made his way to his quarters. (Y/N) took a deep breath a wiped away any evidence of the tears that formed in her eyes. She spun around and headed towards the exit of the castle, suddenly missing the feeling of Edmund and his warmth beside her.

A couple of hours had gone by since (Y/N)’s return from her ride, and nothing about her mood had changed in the slightest. She fidgeted with the book in her hands, the words not processing in her mind due to all the anger that clouded it.

“It’s Edmund, isn’t it?” Susan asked, looking at (Y/N) from across the room with a book of her own on her lap.

Susan had spotted (Y/N) riding in the woods and it didn’t take her much to figure out she was basically losing her mind. (Y/N) wanted to be alone at first, but she realised how much Susan had helped in trying to get her mind off of Edmund’s angry outburst. The high queen hadn’t asked questions, or pressed for answers; she just rode around with (Y/N) for a couple of hours before they returned at dusk.

(Y/N) sat up, pulling her hair behind her shoulders and closing the book she barely read. “He’s stupid.”

“Oh, we know that,” commented Susan. “What did he do this time?”

Waving her hand impatiently in the air, (Y/N) let the frustration pour out in a wave of almost incomprehensible words. “He was angry at me for no reason! I really thought we were more than fine now, but when something doesn’t go his way - he just lashes out! I was clearly trying to help him when he got all bothered and upset after seeing Lord Rami arrive-”

“Lord Rami?” Susan interrupted, closing her book slowly. “He’s arrived?”

(Y/N) nodded, and Susan sighed frustratedly before leaning back with her hands covering her face.

“I knew something would go wrong,” she said through muffled hands. “He wasn’t meant to come this year.”

“Who’s Lord Rami?” (Y/N) asked.

“A noble from Arnchenland...”

Susan stood by the nearest window and looked out at the sky that began to darken, the faintest of pink and orange dusting the horizon. Her thumb was between her teeth as she turned and gave (Y/N) a worried look.

“This meeting won’t go well,” She stated.

(Y/N) simply watched Susan walk quickly to peer down the library’s exit before standing next to the couch (Y/N) was seated on.

“Lord Rami and Edmund had gotten into...an altercation.”

The swordswoman raised an eyebrow at the queen as she continued, “Edmund had made a comment about how the alliance between Archenland and Narnia was dissipating overtime - a fair observation, might I add. He knew that after Lord Rami had gotten more power over lands ruled by Archenland, he might have tried to take some of our own. Lord Rami retaliated, and of course so did Edmund.”

Susan took a deep breath and pressed a hand to her temple. “And then he had brought up what had happened in the past...with Edmund.”

(Y/N) unconsciously grimaced, standing up slowly and putting the book down. She stood closer to Susan with her arms folded.

“He kept blabbering on, and on, and on...about the White Witch...how Ed...”

Susan shook her head and (Y/N) put a hand out to touch her shoulder.

“Edmund knows what he did. He knows. But he’s learnt...so much. He’s changed. And it’s awful that only we know how much he has - there are some people in the palace that still can’t trust him. He thinks we don’t know, Peter, Lucy, and I, but we do. We truly do.”

(Y/N) pulled in Susan for a quick hug, and the queen immediately reciprocated. (Y/N) loosened her grasp on Susan’s arms as they separated.

“You should see how he is,” (Y/N) said.

“But-”

“You’ve known him your entire life,” she replied, hoping her confident voice was enough to mask the hurt in her eyes. “You’ll know what to say.”

Susan was now holding the swordswoman’s hands, tightening her grip for a brief moment before letting go and breathing deeply. (Y/N) knew she couldn’t do much except wish Susan a good evening and watch her disappear out of the library.

(Y/N) knew that it wasn’t her place to interfere with such situations. There was no possible way that she would be able to comfort him like his siblings would, and it amazed her quite a lot how much they cared for one another. Of course, her own siblings did show their affection every now and then, but not like the Kings and Queens of Narnia. It seemed as though they would pour out their whole heart to each other, and in the end, they knew that everything would all be alright.

She couldn’t help but think of how Edmund might act now. She worried that with Lord Rami here, his patience with her purposefully annoying antics would run short, and he would not treat her the same. (Y/N) wiped her hands along her trousers and then tucked a few stray hairs behind her ears. She needed to calm down a little. She let her feet take her to exit of the library and ascend the nearest staircase, not realising how much her legs had ached from horse riding until she had reached the top step.

Her leather boots clicked softly on the tiled floor as she made her way to her chambers, the familar intricate paintings and detailed rug that lay outside her door welcomed her. She entered with a long sigh and shut the door quietly behind her, peeling her clothes off and throwing them off to the side. She was too tired to take a bath right now, so she settled for washing her face and putting on her nightgown.

(Y/N) tugged her hair down from its tight knot and massaged her scalp as she collapsed onto her soft bed. Her long day began to catch up to her as her eyelids grew heavy, and as she lazily promised herself she would get up in an hour to check on Edmund, sleep had already begun to wrap around her mind. She let her hand fall from her scalp and nuzzled her nose into her pillow, and only seconds later did she fall into a deep slumber.

“(Y/N)?”

A quiet voice called out to her softly, stirring her awake. (Y/N) frowned in confusion, taking a moment to wake herself up. She blinked a few times and the first thing she noticed was that the room was almost pitch black. The sun had obviously set, and a soft breeze was circling the room, tickling (Y/N)’s bare legs.

The next thing she noticed was the person sitting up in her bed and their one hand that was laying on her calf, stroking the skin there softly with their thumb. (Y/N) immediately brought herself to sit up as Edmund shifted away and let his hand fall into his lap. Her stomach was swarming with nervous butterflies as she tried to make out the expression on his face.

“Edmund?” she began, watching Edmund as his eyes went from his lap to her eyes, the simple move giving her goosebumps. “Are you okay?”

Edmund nodded slowly and brought his hand to scratch the back of his head. “Can I stay?”

(Y/N)’s heart fluttered, and her mind reeled back to when he appeared in her room for the first time in the middle of the night. The moonlight had illuminated his terror-stricken face, with a sheen of sweat on his neck and chest. She had welcomed him into her arms without hesitation.

But, this time was different. When her eyes adjusted to the dark, and they roamed across Edmund’s face, she noticed a wetness around his eyes. She uncovered herself from the sheets and moved to the edge of the bed beside him.

(Y/N) guided a hand to his freckled cheek, letting it hover for a moment before resting it on his icy skin. At the sound of his soft sigh, her stomach twisted and she felt tears of her own prickle at her eyes. She swiped her thumb under his eye and Edmund’s tears met her soft hand.

Immediately, Edmund broke. A fresh stream of tears ran down his cheeks as he let out a quiet whimper and brought his hands to his face. (Y/N) didn’t wait any longer before sitting up on her knees and wrapping her arms around his shoulders, pulling him towards her tightly. He responded just as quickly, his arms enveloping her torso as he cried into her nightgown. She brought her lips to the top of his head and closed her eyes, her tears falling into his hair.

(Y/N) let him cry, and soon his cries turned to sobs. His shoulders shook as he swallowed deep breaths, muttering things that she couldn’t comprehend. Her stomach had dropped down to her feet as he began to apologise; over, and over again, with his face burying deeper into her chest. A couple of minutes passed, accompanied by Edmund’s cries and the soft whistling noise that the wind made. When she felt him loosen his grip on her, (Y/N) brought her hands to both sides of his face and pulled his head from her body so that she could meet his eyes.

His bloodshot eyes met her own.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed out, shaking his head slightly. “I shouldn’t have said that to you, I should’ve held my tongue. I just...I got so angry. I didn’t mean any of it-”

(Y/N) began to hush him as more tears began to pool in his eyes. She pushed his silky hair out of his face and wiped the rest of his tears away.

“I know, I know,” she began as she sniffled. “It’s okay...Ed, it’s okay. I’m so sorry. For everything. I never meant any of it either.”

Edmund shook his head and brought his hands to (Y/N)‘s face. Silence danced between them as they caught their breaths.

“I don’t deserve you,” he whispered, smoothing down the young woman’s tousled hair.

(Y/N) brought her hands to his tunic and pulled him in to place a soft kiss on his lips. He kissed her back, his chapped lips moving against her carefully and (Y/N) tasted tears. She leaned further into his embrace and took her hand to the nape of his neck, the other placed on his shoulder.

Edmund broke the kiss and leaned his forehead against hers, breathing heavily. He pressed his hands against (Y/N)‘s back as she sat down on her heels, her face now level with his. She opened her eyes lazily, and saw that his were still closed. His hands moved up and down her back in soft, slow motions.

Edmund took a hand to her cheek and sniffled. He opened his eyes and leaned back to look at her longingly.

“Come,” she said earnestly, pulling at his hand as she shuffled back underneath the sheets. “Stay with me.”

The young king followed her as he did all those nights before, folding the sheets back gently and slipping right beside her. They found warmth and comfort as soon as their bodies met, and as they wrapped themselves around eachother, with Edmund’s head resting on her shoulder, (Y/N)’s cheek finding itself atop his head, they drifted into a dreamless sleep unlike any other.

Bright rays of sunlight shook the sleep from (Y/N)’s eyes, leaving her in a frustrating fight to fall back into unconscious. Warm breaths fell delicately on her left cheek, and as she fully awakened, she felt Edmund’s body by her side. His legs were tangled with hers and as one arm lay behind her head, the other was draped across her stomach. The blanket of warmth he provided lulled her to press herself closer to him, and rest her face in the crook of his neck before breathing him in softly. She leaned back again and took a long look at him, feeling as though it was like seeing the first break of spring sunlight.

Edmund began to stir, and it took a moment before she finally saw familiar gold-flecked eyes staring up at the ceiling. (Y/N) smiled at the sight of him, her chest bleeding happiness. She leaned towards his jaw and pressed a kiss there, and under his chin, and continued her path down to his chest.

A heavy chuckle escaped Edmund as (Y/N) propped her chin on his chest and looked up at him. He was heavy with sleep, but that didn’t stop him from sitting up and wrapping his arms around the swordswoman to lay her gently on her back. She let out a breathy laugh as he mirrored her previous movements, kissing her jaw, her chin...

(Y/N) grinned and tried to haul him up so she could kiss him properly, but as soon as his face came close to hers, she grimaced.

“Your breath,” she said in a croaky voice. “It smells awful.”

Edmund laugh lowly, sending a chill through her body. “Yours, too.”

He met her lips in a sloppy kiss, and she groaned in disgust.

“Ed, seriously it’s disgusting,” she said, her words muffled against his lips.

He smiled and pulled away, watching her wipe her lips on the pillow next to her. (Y/N) grinned widely as her eyes met his, pulling him in for a hug as she stroked his back.

Edmund spoke first. “We need to be careful tomorrow.”

(Y/N) frowned. “Because of Lord Rami?”

“Yes...and no.” He pulled away from her hug and settled his hand on her hip. “Representatives of Tashbaan will be there, too. And yes, they will have received news of the supply shipments making way to their ports, but it won’t stop their hostility towards you. You mustn’t do what I did. Don’t show your anger.”

(Y/N) feigned a gasp. “Me? Show my anger? How could I ever?”

Edmund gave her a half-hearted smile before brushing a hair behind her ear. “You would be very surprised.”

She chuckled softly and closed her eyes, reveling in the young king’s warm arms and his quiet breaths.

“I wish I could stay here,” she began. “Forever.”

“Then stay.”

(Y/N) opened her eyes to find Edmund’s gaze already on her, a serious expression taking a hold on his face.

“Ed-”

“After your siblings’ wedding, you can come back. I mean, if you really aren’t happy there...if you’re happier here...”

(Y/N) blinked slowly, her chest clenching as she realised that sooner or later, she would have to leave Cair Paravel. She would leave its woods and sun-kissed cliff side. She’d leave Peter, Susan, Lucy...Edmund.

And she would be miserable.

(Y/N) let her hand drift over to Edmund’s face to rest in his soft hair and stroke her thumb across the shell of his ear.

“My family needs me, Ed.”

He leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers, so carefully, as though it would be the last time. But it wasn’t. It couldn’t be.

Leaning back slightly, he pressed the tip of his nose against hers. “You won’t be leaving your family alone, we can help them. Of course, you’ll visit them whenever and for however long you like. You won’t have to choose.”

“But I do,” she replied softly. “We all do. I can’t be both in my head and in my heart. Especially not now. Maybe later down the track, when everything is better, we can do that.”

(Y/N) brought a hand up to the young king’s face, making a path of his freckles with her eyes. He leaned into her touch, eyelids falling shut. She forced back tears that sprung to her eyes and tried to swallow the burning lump that appeared in her throat.

If I leave, it won’t be forever, she willed herself to say over and over again until the lump almost disappeared.

Almost.

132 notes · View notes

gagmebucky · 4 years

Text

His face dips into your shoulder and neck, lips skimming along the slope until he’s brushing your ear. “Just. . . just for added clarity, this isn’t a dream?” He’s genuinely asking, sotto voce and breathy in his wanting disbelief, but never breaking his menacing pace. “This isn’t one of my daily wet dreams about you, and I really have your soft little pussy underneath my fingers right now?”

in which you and steve share the bed. (includes agent!reader x avenger!steve rogers, masturbation, fingering, dirty talk, mild voyeur!bucky.)

do not repost.

—

Though you haven’t thought about it—at least, not before now—you don’t have a nightly routine. Other than the basics, a shower and tying your hair back in a protective style, you’re underneath the covers and it’s lights out. You don’t require anything special nor do you partake in miscellaneous habits.

You like to think that, as a trained operative, you’re grown to be adaptable in the other aspects of your life. The missions, constant moving around and shifting settings, settling down easily is a good skill to have. But there is one thing, which is your occasional insomnia, typically punctuated with a sudden upheaval of arousal.

It’s just your luck that the hotblooded urge attacks you in the current situation—in the arms of a coworker, several feet shy of another coworker. (A part of you giggles that it’s because you’re in his arms that it’s hitting you and not that it was simply inevitable.)

The job is your run-of-the-mill observe and report but the target you’re gunning for is in the bigger leagues therefore you’re accompanied by two super soldiers who have experience with this particular enemy. But the location has a huge event in the area, and the mission was somewhat out of the blue so all the hotels were booked up. Except for this one, and it only has one room available with two queen beds.

Agent Barnes, ever the charmer, passed out on the first before you and Agent Rogers even finished checking the place out. And Steve, ever the gentleman, insisted you take the bed and he was fine with the couch. But, you, you and your I’m-totally-cool-and-I-don’t-have-a-crush-on-you facade waved him off, assuring you’re both adults and capable of sleeping in the same bed.

The problem, you now realize, is that while you are an adult and you should be able to sleep soundly next to a coworker-slash-friend, you aren’t. Your libido, it seems, wants to spite you because the second you think you’re tired and ready to succumb to unconsciousness next to the six-foot blond, she awakens.

Preferring to wash up last, you walked out the bathroom to find that he squished himself on one side. Which you had fondly rolled your eyes at, slipping beneath the duvet then gently tugging his broad mass over. In his sleepy state, he followed your direction seamlessly, and somehow, you two ended up tangled together.

In the first hour, your mind drifted to very inappropriate places, depraved recollections of those videos you like to watch with one hand down your pants then more personal—but nonetheless perverted—scenarios, authored by you and starring the man beside you.

The second hour, you registered your amoral thoughts and vehemently worked on denying any further musings as well as the intense throbbing in your nether regions. You hoped to dissuade your feelings with other topics like how you’ll handle the mission tomorrow, and the economical and sociopolitical impact of human Shrek—really, anything not the way he’s nuzzled into you, or the places that could lead.

Right now, well into the third sleepless hour, you’re recognizing how fucked you are (God, you wish you were getting fucked for real). Because you’re so horny it hurts, and there’s no possible way you can sleep until it’s been quelled, and though you’d love to sneak into the bathroom to do the deed—it’ll take you five, ten minutes top—you can’t when Steve is dead asleep and holding you so tight: which, simultaneously, is stroking the fire. Pun intended.

His body coils around yours like a second skin, defined muscular cushion felt through your and his loose shirt, his a tank while yours a tee. He’s a radiator amid an air conditioned room and sheets that aren’t the best insulators. A strong forearm is braced across your partially turned hips, long legs stretched and intertwined with yours.

Quiet breaths inhale and exhale your nape, the tip of his nose nestled against the first ridge of your spine. There’s the intermittent adjustment, where he snuggles closer, brushing his impossibly soft lips over that spot, mumbling something like, “Don’t. . . don’t go. N - nng, stay,” when you try to slither out of bed, cementing his subconscious grip on you.

All things considered, you don’t mind it truthfully. In fact, he’s incredibly comfortable, and that those little twitches in his slumber are incredibly cute. You just wish your center would let it be wholesome, and not twist it into something salacious.

You ponder your options: continue to lie awake until morning, or—or, masturbate there. The position is good, really good for it, now that you think about it.

You’re halfway on your stomach, one knee hiked high, spread, while the other stretches downward; the corresponding arm is free, though the other is tucked beneath a pillow.

It wouldn’t take but one movement to sink your hand between that prime spot and satisfy yourself. And, yes, Bucky is snoring with his face aimed toward you, meaning if his eyes flutter open, he might make out what you’re doing in the darkness.

But, at this point, your need has outweighed your potential embarrassment.

Your teeth run over your lower lip then you move carefully. With your free wrist, you sink below and flush between your hips, placing the joint of your straightened elbow against his arm. And that contact while you’re doing it should put you on, seriously underline the indecency of your act.

It doesn’t though. If you’re being honest, there’s a visceral thrill in doing something like this: beneath the nose of two powerful and handsome men, the more vanilla of the duo whose arms you’re in. Your mind echoes something about professionalism but it’s drowned out by a flood of sensations via your fingertips.

“O - oh,” you whisper inaudibly. The position is good, better than you expected—it’s fucking ace, you realize, shifting your weight into your fingers, rubbing two of them against your bare clit. You bury your face into the pillow, hoping to muffle your reaction to the relief beginning to course through your veins.

You’ve always preferred to lay on your back, and to use a silicone helper. (On cases by yourself, or cases where superiors aren’t paired with you, you bring one—a vibe, a pretty color that packs enough of a punch.) But this, right here, oh, it really works.

Your muscles strain, and your toes curl in their respective positions. That wild throbbing has spiraled into a full-bodied fever, and it’s reaching a fever pitch. You press yourself harder into the pillow, biting down so nothing can escape because here it c—

“Nng-nng,” Steve’s groan rumbles behind you, a louder uttering than the times before, and your body turns to ice. Rustling, you can feel his long lashes fluttering against the back of your neck, eyebrows furrowing. “Hey.” The grip anchored across your waist tightens, and he breathes in: and your stomach clenches because he has to know, even when he continues groggily, “What are you - what’re you doing?”

“I—” You don’t know what you were going to say but it falls short when he moves.

His arm lifts so he can follow yours, hands ghosting along until he reaches that spot. He sinks in with you where you’re hot and dripping, and a small choking sound escapes you at the feeling of his rough pads.

It’s then you manage a rasped, “C - can’t sleep.”

“Oh,” he says then his smile tickles your nape, swiping two passes over your slick button, and your moan widens his smile. “Then need some help?”

Your brain may have short-circuited but you nod, jerky as it may be. “Y - yes,” you speak with a sharp gasp. “That - that would be n - nice.”

Turns out, Captain America is not as vanilla as you previously thought because he doesn’t hesitate to dig right in. His index and ring finger part your sex for his middle to hone in on your clit. Then he’s abusing it in rapid circles that besiege your nerves with stimulation.

You aren’t expecting him to be so skilled, passionate off the brake of sleep. A high moan tears from your lips, followed by a series of squeaks and whimpers in a lame attempt to quiet yourself. Your body jolts, and your hips careen into his onslaught, encouraging that pressure in your belly.

His face dips into your shoulder and neck, lips skimming along the slope until he’s brushing your ear. “Just. . . just for added clarity, this isn’t a dream?” He’s genuinely asking, sotto voce and breathy in his wanting disbelief, but never breaking his pace. “This isn’t one of my daily wet dreams about you, and I really have your soft little pussy underneath my fingers right now?”

“Not - not a dream, Steve!” you gasp, outright writhing into his palm. The fingers you had on yourself are now clawing at the sheets while your frame shakes. “Definitely not a dream.”

“And those pretty sounds are because of me?” he wonders, a raggedness to his voice that’s mimicked in his merciless fingers. “These f - fucking whimpers and moans you’re makin’. . . trying to muffle so Bucky won’t hear are for me?”

“God, yes,” you choke, squeezing your eyes shut because his best friend is snoring softly, and you don’t know how but you just know that he’ll know if he awakens now. You rationalize that the embarrassment will be less so long as you don’t see whether his gaze flickers open—which there is a high probability of happening since you’re doing a shit job at being discreet.

“Okay, good,” he exhales before his teeth latch onto the vulnerable part of your neck, tongue lulling out to soothe the sting, and your entirety is bucking into him, calling out for the remedy only he has. “Oh, shit - shit. You’re soft—sweet Jesus—you’re soft. I didn’t think someone could be this soft—fuck.”

You swear to God he’s doing his hardest to have you wake up his counterpart because his words are gasoline to a glowing blue fire. His name is a desperate cry on the tip of your tongue, and you’re trying to hold back but between his husky baritone in your ear and swirling caress, it’s becoming impossible.

“And God, you’re really . . . you’re drenching my fingers and the sheets. How long - how long were you touching yourself in my arms before I woke up? ‘Cause fucking hell, honey.” There’s this almost feral guttural groan he makes on the petname, and it rattles between your thighs.

“S - Steve—“ you warble, half-whimpered; you’re crossed in warning him about your lack of control and moaning his praise.

“I knew I smelled something sweet, and it’s you. You. You’re sweet, so sweet—“

And that’s it. The volcano explodes, and you come crumbling into his hand. In more ways than one because thankfully, he knows you’re going to scream his name and the arm propped beneath the pillow slides under and around to clamp over your vibrating mouth.

It’s pure euphoria pumping through your blood, lasting far longer than you could have ever caused on your own, possessing you in sporadic tremors until you slump in his arms. Panting, your muscles relax, and he reaffirms his grip on you more comfortably.

When the stars dissipate and you think you’ve regained your sense, you force yourself to face him because the mortification wants to rear its head, never mind your now sleepy state. Despite the darkness, you can discern some of his handsome features, and it comforts you.

“T - thanks,” you murmur; you aren’t sure what to say.

“No, no,” he murmurs back, and his crystal blue eyes are raking over your face. “Thank you. The pleasure was mine. Next time, don’t hesitate to ask ‘cause I - I’ve been thinkin’ about that—thinking about you for awhile now.”

The admission graces a smile on your lips, and you wiggle closer, leaning forward to seal the deal while he does the same. Before you can, however, a voice breaks through the moment:

“Well, I hope you’re both happy because I’m awake and I’m hard now.”

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers smut #steve rogers imagines #steve rogers x you smut #marvel smut #marvel reader insert #marvel imagines #me writing: is there anyway i can reference kat #me writing this: YES #the sentence you read and you were like HUH? it’s kat <3 #this was originally bucky but there's another similar premise i would like to do with him so now it's steve #my writing

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sweetsoursugarcube · 6 years

Text

Dream Weaver

Read on AO3 or FF.NET

Levi goes to meet Carla the dream weaver, but is instead greeted by someone else entirely. ~3k

Levi had been to the dream weaver once before, two weeks before his mom had died of soot sickness. Creeping up her arms and thighs, the ink had coiled around her. When she had curled her fingers and toes in her sheets, her nails had left charcoal stripes behind. Every time she had coughed, it had been clouds of black dust. Three months into the losing fight, the town’s healer had crouched before Levi and said “boy, you have to run to Carla, there’s nothing I can do for your mother anymore. Here, this should be enough to buy her some good dreams.”

When a healer gives you money to wrap yourself in some good dreams, you know they want you to buy a comfortable death. Or in little Levi’s case, for him to buy his mom a comfortable death.

A decade ago, Levi had balanced on the thin line between childhood and adulthood; small for his age, but fast and smart enough to make up for the inevitable frailty of growing up hungry. He had trimmed his hair, gained weight, and strength since then thanks to his employment at Smith’s Sawmill, and bought high quality clothes that fit him well with his honestly earned money. Regrettably, his growth spurt never hit, but time shaped him in other ways.

With his hand on the gate to the dream weaver’s house, Levi studied the scenery. Greenery still covered the cottage, though a few patches of flaky yellow paint shone through where the ivy had yet to conquer. The garden had grown wilder, wishing to merge with the forest surrounding it. Otherwise everything looked the same as it had in his youth, with birds building their nest underneath the roof and sunshine painting the windows.

During Levi’s last visit, the dream weaver’s grinning, bright-eyed son had showed him the backyard and all the colorful plants growing there through one of those windows, forever burning the brilliant landscape into his brain. Surely, the dream weaver’s house was one of the most beautiful places on Earth. Maybe even the most beautiful—at least to Levi.

And the dream weaver herself, the wonders she could perform, the things she could do—the things she had done, the shawl she had weaved for Levi’s mom, and the daydreams that had come with it just made it all the better.

The gate creaked behind him when he trailed down the path of flat stones to the heavy wooden door. Two gray birds landed on the window sill and tilted their heads to stare at him with bottomless black eyes. He graced them with a cool glance before rapping his knuckles against the door, forcing himself to stay put and give this last opportunity a chance to resolve his insomnia.

Silence answered, followed by a loud bang and clattering of what sounded like an armful of pots and pans. The birds squawked and took flight. Someone hissed and cursed behind the door. Their footsteps were light, as was their boy-ish voice.

“Yes?” it said, through the door.

“I’m here to see Carla Yeager, the dream weaver.”

The door jerked open and on the threshold swayed a tan boy with a brown mop of hair and a wide, dimpled smile that revealed his pearl white teeth. “I’m sorry, mom can’t see you. But I’ve learned everything from her so if you need a dream weaver I’ll help you. Welcome in, follow me.”

“Where’s Carla?” Levi asked. Disappointment weighed his chest – the dream weaver was kind, the kindest woman Levi knew beside his own mom, and he wished to thank her one more time for the shawl that had given his mom the most restful two weeks of all her life.

“Mom’s dead. Has been for the past seven years,” the boy said, still smiling.

Levi faltered. “My condolences.”

“Thank you. I’m Eren, by the way.” Offering Levi his hand, the boy gave him a warm, heartfelt shake, which left him even more self-conscious than he had been before.

Eren showed the way to the main room. Woven rugs in mismatched colors, some with holes, hung on the walls and covered the floors. One of the desk drawers drooped open, and out of it gushed strangely shaped spare pieces of metal. A cat slept in a woven purple and red striped pouch hanging from the ceiling. Not one cobweb or dust bunny lurked midst the organized chaos.

Light flooded the main room through two large windows, exposing the secrets of even the shyest corners. Plush armchairs and couches, covered in thick, knitted blankets, cushions and stuffed toys lined the midnight blue walls. In the middle of the room sat a monster of a machine, from which protruded wooden arms holding dozens of yarn balls in different colors and sizes, ranging from the size of Levi’s head to so tiny he dreaded that they’d unfold if he huffed in their direction. In the front sat a keyboard similar to a piano’s, strings like on a lyre, and ten fifteen metal levers, all of which pointed in different directions. The daydreams materialized in the machine’s belly, where colorful strings of yarn hung on thick threads, ready to be interweaved and tighten into tangible dreams.

Eren sat down on a small, sturdy wooden stool behind the loom and gestured to the seats around the room. He studied Levi with unwavering alertness, when he made himself comfortable in the corner seat by the window from which the dream weaver’s son – Eren, it had to have been Eren because Levi had never heard of Carla having other children – had shown him the backyard during his last visit.

“Can I get you anything? Water, tea?”

“I didn’t come for that.”

“All right then. What did you come for?”

Levi shifted in his seat, slinging one of his elbows over the couch’s back rest. “I can’t sleep.”

“I see. And what would you like me to do about it?”

“Maybe give me some decent dreams?”

Eren hummed and leaned against the loom. Airy and spirited tones danced around them before fading into nothingness when he pushed a few of the keys.

“So you’ve been having bad dreams? Do they wake you up?”

“Not exactly.” Having nothing else to say, Levi peered out the window. The backyard had remained the same for the past decade; the trees stood proud against the sky, the grass grew thick and the vibrant flowers’ bloom rivaled the high season. Some plants flourished in cracked, but clean pots on the wooden back porch and by the steps hung heavy tomatoes whose plants had tightly entwined with their stakes. Just as Levi remembered. “Your garden isn’t all that bad.”

“Thank you, it thrives on the magic we weave here. Mom said it has soaked in the ground over time. She was a lot better at remembering to pick the fruits before they fell than I am.” Eren scratched the back of his head with a sheepish smile on his face. “Remind me to give you some tomatoes before you leave.”

Nodding in thanks, Levi said “it must be lonely out here.”

“Sometimes, but I’m lucky to have visitors every now and then. I think you’ve been here before as well.”

“Do you remember me?”

“Vaguely. You’re sitting in the same seat as you did when you were a child.” Eren frowned and narrowed his eyes in thought.

“Is it strange?”

“Not really . . . but most people wouldn’t choose to relive a bad memory like that. You were here to seek help for your mom’s death pains, weren’t you? You knew she would die.”

“I did, but it’s not a bad memory.”

“I’m happy to hear that, but . . .” Tapping his chin, Eren nodded in thought. “I’ll be honest. You look like you’re weighed down by some bad memories. Must be something worse than your mom’s death. I can feel it.”

“Not memories. The cursed dreams I have aren’t from this world.”

“Doesn’t mean they still aren’t memories.”

Levi considered Eren’s words. He had dismissed the strange recurring dreams as his imagination, maybe even childhood trauma that took shape as a perverse fascination with pain and misery, blood and gore. Calling them memories, dreams of another time, was bizarre. The townsfolk would deem him insane if he told them about these “memories” of a world in which magic had been forgotten and humanity lived in fear of mountain sized giants. He clenched his fists on his knees. “Maybe they’re memories, but they sure as shit aren’t my own. It could be an overactive imagination.”

“You don’t seem like the imaginative type,” Eren said and smacked his lips, to which Levi could only raise his eyebrow. “Is this why you can’t sleep? Are the memories restless, do they wake you throughout the night?”

“No. I just don’t want to fall asleep.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m afraid.”

Eren’s expression was gentle. He looked like a young Carla, with short, lighter brown hair and eyes of an oncoming storm instead of honey. His voice was deeper too, rougher than hers, but just as pleasant to listen to. “Of what?”

“Of . . .” himself. The things he had done and seen in those memories. Levi knew he was flawed. Awkward, short-tempered, prone to violence and more. But the things he had had to do to save himself and others, the sacrifices and decisions he had been forced to make, even if it was in another life, even if he understood his own reasoning and could not have outdone himself in any way-

It still disgusted and scared him.

“The universe is like a pocket turned in and out, with holes and loose hanging threads. Sometimes strange things happen. If they didn’t, magic wouldn’t exist. Dreaming of another lifetime is one of the least harmful things that could happen to you. Some people are more connected to the universe and get sucked in by the holes or tickled by the threads. They get to experience things others don’t. That’s my mom and me, and you too. I’ll weave you something for it.”

Eren’s words flowed untroubled. Settling on the stool, he brushed his fingers against the keys before him and closed his eyes. Silence blanketed them when the universe itself waited with baited breath for him to move.

When Eren opened his eyes again, it was to play.

Slowly, like a dormant dragon awakening for the first time in a century, the loom came alive, growling and wailing, creaking and clanking. Eren weaved, the yarn balls unraveling without his help. Did he choose the colors, or did the loom decide what it wanted to put into its next masterpiece on its own?

Eren did not sing, but hummed along the tune. Sometimes he lifted a hand off the piano to pull at a lyre string or two, or to reach into the center of the loom to help it weave straight. It mostly worked independently while he clinked away. Nothing marked when one melody stopped and the next began. He might even play one long piece, always picking up where he left when he was interrupted.

Levi’s attention didn’t stray, as it hadn’t when he had watched Carla weave. Back then, little Eren had sat right next to him, kicking his stubby legs and laughing as they listened to his mommy’s music. The melody Eren played wasn’t the same one she had performed either. The air around the room crackled differently too. Carla had saturated it with the sweet aroma of honey, chamomile and creamy apple pie, so heavenly no real meal could taste as good as her magic smelled, while Eren’s weaving made Levi think of eating cotton candy by the sea, under the burning sun.

Eren’s daydreams for Levi were green. The yarn ball spun on one of the loom’s arms around, fast, faster than any other, along with the gray and the white. Carla had weaved a red and yellow shawl for Levi’s mom, who hadn’t taken it off once since he had brought it home. She had smiled more, been more restful, and told Levi tales about faraway lands, all with happy endings. Death had embraced her in her sleep and Levi had not noticed until the next morning when she hadn’t woken up to empty her warm bowl of yesterday’s leftover soup.

“It’s done.” Mercilessly creaking, the machine let out one last roar, and stilled. Eren eased the woven daydreams from the loom’s jaws and fished up a silver button from a drawer lodged in its side. It glinted in the evening sunlight. Making quick work of sewing it in place, Eren held up his creation with a proud grin. “A cloak of daydreams for you. If you wear this in your sleep it’ll help you find good memories.”

“It won’t block them?”

“No, but it’ll protect you from nightmares. Here, take it, it’s yours.”

Levi clasped the thick cloak. Holding it to his chest reminded him of how he had hugged his mother’s shawl-clad, thin arm when she had told him about the daydreams Carla had gifted her. They were wonderful, otherworldly, but he had never experienced them firsthand. The shawl could only make his mom happy and Levi’s relief had been her smile. He had buried the woven dreams along with his mother in the cheapest wooden coffin he had found.

“What do I owe you?” he asked.

“How much do you think my fabricated dreams are worth?”

Levi pulled out his pouch and emptied half of its contents onto his palm. “This enough?”

“More than enough.” Eren laughed and picked up three gold coins.

“You sure?” Levi extended his hand closer. He hadn’t taken note of what the healer had paid for his mom’s shawl, but the pouch had been heavy in his hand. Eren rejected him with a headshake.

“You’ll have to replace the cloak eventually, so don’t use all your savings on this one. I can only weave dreams for who you are right now. When you change, it won’t be enough to protect you anymore. Oh, but I have something else for you as well. Wait here.”

Once Eren’s left, Levi examined his new woven cloak. It reached him to the hips and the hood covered his face without falling in his eyes. The white and grey yarn had gone toward a striped edge. He brushed the cloak against his cheek and filled his lungs with the smell of cotton candy washed in sunshine and a gentle ocean breeze. Mild and pleasant, the way a good dream should be.

“Think of this as a gift,” Eren said when he entered, his hair disheveled and electric. In his hand dangled a key necklace. “Paired with the cloak, you’ll sleep better than ever.”

“What does it do?” Levi asked, but accepted the gift all the same. He fingered the scuffed metal key. It was warm against his skin, as warm as Eren’s hand had been in Levi’s when he had introduced himself.

“It’ll help you find the memories you share with me.”

“And they’ll be good?”

“Yes, the cloak will make sure of that. And when you have trouble sleeping again, come by and I’ll make you a new one.”

“Yeah.” Levi weighed the key in his hand. “But what difference will it make if I dream about you or not?”

“It’s for comfort. You won’t recognize me in your memories and I won’t recognize you, but when you wake up, you’ll know you’re not alone. Or would you rather not have it?” Eren asked and offered his hand. “It’s up to you.”

“No, it’s fine.” Levi pulled the key to himself along with the cloak. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” Eren beamed, rolling his weight from his toes to his heels. “What else . . .? Right, the tomatoes. I’ll go get you some before you leave.”

Levi had hid the key under his shirt by the time Eren returned with a basket overflowing with rhubarb, unwashed carrots, some herbs, and of course, ripe tomatoes. Once they had changed owner, he patted Levi’s elbow. “Come by soon again, and I’ll give you more. There’s so many of these, I don’t know what to do with them anymore.”

Levi thanked him, unsure of how to receive Eren’s gifts. He rarely had a reason to thank anyone for anything, and the glint in Eren’s eyes told him it showed.

“I’ll take my leave then.”

“And I’ll go back to washing dishes. The water’s probably gone cold by now. I think I dropped a few things too . . . Mom wouldn’t be happy with me.”

Eren winced and the corners of Levi’s lips curled upward.

“Good night, Eren.”

He stepped out onto the stone path. The sun was on its journey down behind the horizon and it would be dark by the time Levi reached home. He should’ve went to visit Eren in the morning rather than the afternoon. Well, next time he’d know better.

“Bye, Levi. Remember to come visit me soon!”

Levi raised his hand in acknowledgement and opened the gate. It creaked shut behind him.

But the sweet smell of Eren’s magic followed him all the way home where it engulfed him. For the first time in a decade Levi slept through the night, soothed by woven dreams about faraway lives, lived by people not much unlike him and the kind dream weaver’s son.

#ereri #rivaere #riren #fanfic #levieren #fanfiction #snk #my fics #long post #the pocket universe #thank you so much nevermorexxx for beta reading #words that inspired this: daydreams dreamer serenity

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