#fic: in search of silver linings | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

diejager · 6 months

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Saccharine and Monstrosity pt.1

Pairing: Eldritch Horror!König x mermaid!reader

Cw: kidnapping, manipulation, DARK FIC, trap, luring, mention of breeding kink, protective König, mention of partial nudity, hunting, tell me if I missed any. Wc: 4K

I got inspired by @konigsblog ‘s post.

You enjoyed the sun as much as any other betta fish mermaid, laying on the warm rocks and bathing under the bright, yellow sun. You lived in a school of fish that moved near the shores of a tropical island a few generations before, building houses under the coral reef and rocks where newly placed branches would grow and work as a natural shield. The world you lived in - the part of the ocean you called your home - was bright and colourful, the shallow waters clear and gleaming under the warming sun.

You liked all things bright and colourful, either big or small, you decorated your part of the cave with things you found while swimming around your territory. Be it a golden coin shining on the ocean floor, or a shard of coloured glass, you picked it all up and stuck it around your room. Sometimes, you found pretty things near the limits of your home, and other times, you ventured closer to the edge of the darkness when something shiny caught your attention.

Over the ridge of sand that drew the start of the darkness, that deep and menacing slope down to the deepest part of your ocean, where darker, meaner and cruel beings born of cruelty and madness lived. It was somewhere all mers were warned of, to stay far away from the darkness and never stray from the light that fed and protected you. You thrived in the light, your body absorbing the warmth from the sun that made your scales vibrant and feeding from the fauna and flora that lived beside you: seaweeds and small fishes.

Your kind grew up with stories of horrifying monsters and cruel creatures that lived in that abyss, lingering near the shallow to catch a pretty, little mer for their hoard. Whatever became of the taken was still unknown, once a mer was taken by One, no one would hear from them from then on. Your parents had warned you about straying too close from the shallow, daring fate when you swam over the ridge to collect those pretty gems you fancied so much.

“Don’t worry,” you’d grin at her, fins flickering behind you. “I’m a fast swimmer, mom!”

You were a fast swimmer, slipping between rocks and corals, hands cradling your little shells while you fled from the dark, twisting over the ridge and vanishing between the corals. That’s what you did most days, picking up people’s trash to make it your treasure, fingers cleaning the sand off the holes and crevasses before sticking them to your walls. You also tinkered with metal creations you found, a silver fork or a rusted-looking instrument.

Granted, you joined in hunts, catching sardines and herrings, claws digging into its scaled bodies and teeth ripping into its flesh, the only other taste being sea salt, or bathed under the sun, but you preferred scavenging for loot. Although mers hunted alone, most found it easier to do it in groups, swarming shoals of fish and catching in a group of a dozen at a time for your little colony. So when you were fed and rested, you were back out, treading the line between the shallow and the abyss.

You swam slowly, head turning left and right for anything that would catch your attention, for that small glint hidden under a thin veil of sand or a long metallic object sticking out from the ground. You already had a few things in your arms, a few shells, human objects thrown overboard or floated into the sea, and small treasures: white pearls. You picked things up from both sides, mind in a comfortable and pleasant space, prideful of your catch so far that you were oblivious of the eyes following your colourful body.

His pale eyes wandered over your puffy cheeks and sweet lips, those squinted eyes in mirth as you searched for more. He went down the curve of your shoulders and the swell of your breasts, perky nipples covered by pretty shells, over your soft stomach and that bright, colourful tail of yours that first caught his attention. Every scale glistened under the sun, reflecting the light on the sand while you swam, your fins curving with the twist of your tail.

You were the prettiest thing he’d ever seen, an angel collecting treasure, just like he did. He saw the batch in your arms, clutched between your breasts when you dove to pick something up on his side. You were as adorable and innocent as you were pretty, your action oblivious of his predatory eyes, dipping into his territory without fear of retribution on his part. He liked that bold and daring attitude of yours, fitting for someone so courageously bright and flashing your bold colours to him.

If he were to drop something closer to him, would you still swim towards it or ignore it for something closer to the ridge? If he hid until you were close enough, would he be able to wrap his limb around you? To feel your soft skin and coarse scales under his slimy arm. He was glad he decided to hunt today, searching for both prey - mer or fish, he isn’t picky about what he ate - and treasure. Hidden under a couple of tentacles, he dropped a golden coin a few feet away from him, his veil and the darkness helping him hide from your sight.

His heart soared when he saw your eyes widen, a smile curling at the corners of your lips when you saw his little coin, diving towards him with enthusiasm. You were so close to him, hand stretching to grab the object with small, clawed fingers. When you held it in your hand, appraising it, he felt pride bubble in his chest, rising to his mind as he took this occasion to get his arm around you. You flinched when he wrapped the tip of his tentacle around your tail, squirming around in terror. In a panicked struggle to escape him, you dropped everything you’d collected and fled from him with a cry.

He watched you swim away from him through saddened eyes, hearing the thudding from the things you dropped, even the coin he gifted you. His eyes never left your fleeing body until you jumped over the edge, your tail the last thing he saw in that moment of self-deprivation and sadness. He hoped you’d come back, forgetting the fear of his sudden attention and daring fate once more.

He came the next day and the day after that, but you weren’t there, your precious smile and happy eyes were a memory in his mind, a fleeting moment in his gloomy world. He came back every day, hiding in the darkness, on the line between pitch darkness and light shading. He wished you were there every day, his eyes bleeding with optimism and hope for a single smidgen of bright colours.

He hadn’t seen you in the following week. His shoulders slumped and caved into himself in sadness every time he came by, his blue eyes dulling bit by bit, that hopeful thinking drowning under realistic thinking and a pessimistic mind. Then he caught a glimpse of colour against the white sand. Before long, he saw arms filled with shiny items, trailing nearer to your side than his, but still chasing for treasures.

If he wanted to approach you, to touch your soft-looking skin and run his arms over your scaled tail, he’d have to find a way to lure you in. He watched you the first few days, his tentacles curling on itself and burying himself in the sand, the hundreds of suckers searching for buried treasures to leave for you. When you turned your back to him, his unwinding arm left the things he found near the ridge for you to find and take. Little gifts for you, courting gifts he left and gifted you in an attempt to woo you.

You were skittish and fleeing but took all his gifts with shaky smiles and grateful eyes, you knew he gave them to you. Of course, you did, you were his brave and smart little mermaid, approaching his offerings with apprehension - he felt hurt you feared and got nervous around him, but he understood you, his kind ate yours - and scanned the sand around you for any danger before crossing the line. He felt giddy when you added them to your stack, his mind-blowing with dreams and thoughts of you decorating your little cave with the things he gave you. On the ceiling, against the wall and on the ground or surfaces, you would use the things he gave you for your home.

It sent him up the walls of his caves with joy and excitement, his limbs curling to rearrange his home to prepare for you, to accommodate your arrival to his big, lonely home.

It took a week or two - or so he thought, his perception of time was and had always been warped in some way - before you became comfortable enough to approach him, to let him curl his slimy tentacle around your tail and up your body. He could finally feel you and it made him ecstatic - he was over the moon every time he got to touch you. Little pokes, fleeting squeezes and feathery bites from his suckers on your flesh, all things he let himself taste before your coupling. A coupling between the prettiest and the cruellest beings in the ocean would unwind the seams that made your worlds, pulling the string that separated the beauty and the beast in this cursed universe.

Granted, you hesitated to cross into the pitch darkness of the abyss, dancing just a few inches from his abode with an armful of trinkets from König. Your slow and steady breath, words you blessed him with when you muttered to him, calling out to know if he was there and your grateful grin were a common, yet welcome sight in his daily swim. While a bit reluctant to join him on the other side, you eventually swam across, your eyes melting into the black before you. You were unseeing as much as you were blind, if not for the guiding palm of the Eldritch creature that you befriended and the shine of treasure you saw around him.

You wished you could see anything but the gleam of treasure and the black mist of the abyss, your hand wandered over his, searching for his body, to feel the one who’s been gifting you treasures. Your fingers trailed upwards, feeling the tightness of his muscles, the curves and hardness of his arms were sinful. You truly wished you could see him at this moment, but you kept at your advance, clawed fingers moving slowly with unbridled curiosity. When you reached his broad shoulders and well-pronounced chest, it rumbled, a purr coming from König. Its deep sound shook you with need, your tail enthusiastically moving back and forth as you listened to him.

“Are you happy, Schatz?”

His voice was even better than his soft purrs, in a way that made you want to melt into his arms and never bother moving if he kept talking to you, the sound of the creature that gave you gifts and affection. König’s spine-chilling voice seemed like a mix of many voices, both soft and raspy, and both deep and smooth, but it was something you enjoyed, that you found yourself liking a bit too much.

“Yes,” you breathed, eyes travelling skyward, towards the source of his voice.

Your breath caught in your throat, choking a gasp at the prettiest blues you’d seen staring down at you. They were majestic, gem-like with a pretty sheen that made them glow like a beacon of light. You wondered why you’d never seen them, seeing how bright his eyes were. They lit up his face, or the veil he wore over his face, showing the pale streak of makeshift tears down the incision he made for his eyes. You shamelessly admired him, unbothered by the lost puppy-like stare you gave him in your glowing beauty.

You’d crossed a threshold, where a creature of light never dared to cross, stepping into the arms of an Old One and embracing their madness. Although you were oblivious to his intentions, the loud proclamation of his courting rituals and attempts of crying out his love - the Old One’s rituals and cultures were much of a mystery to those who didn’t study them, much of a taboo for anyone outside of delusion and greed - he hadn’t refrained from his deliberate show that would be nearly shameful and embarrassing to others of his kind.

Some wouldn’t bother with such frivolous acts: confessions from the deepest part of their dark soul, proclamation of love and undying adoration, or having to scavenge for gifts - offerings - to the subject of their attention. His kind took and took, reaching for that small glimmer of hope and beauty and corrupted it, bending it to their liking and building something from the ashes. It wouldn’t - would never - be the same as they were before, but that was how the Old Ones liked it: control, corruption, ruin, madness and power.

König wouldn’t do that, he wanted to cherish you, add to what you were and watch it bloom like those bioluminescent creatures in the abyss; even against his creator’s wishes. He’ll put you on the highest pedestal he has, eternally imprinting the image of you as his most precious treasure into his mind. You’ll be a thing of miracles, a thing of blessings, a thing of new beginnings. He wanted all and everything with you, but he’d have to take it slow, to coax you into this redundant pattern that ensured your trust and comfort and have you follow him of your own volition.

He doesn’t mind waiting, he’s had hundreds of years of sitting and waiting, patience was a virtue he grew to learn, to hold in his giant palm and clutch like a gift from the ever-growing, chaotic universe. He can wait and plan, so he will, König will lay down his plan and wait until he can bring it to reality.

Wait he did, for you to grow comfortable enough to follow him deeper and let him pull you in from your side. It took you a month of back and forth, squirming around your infatuation with König and exchanging trinkets, words and fleeting kisses with him. He adored your little giggles when he traced your sides with a bolt tentacle, curling under your plush tits and the tip sliding under your strap. He loved the pretty shells you gave him, cleaned from sand and any barnacles, it showed him how much time you spent on it for him. His heart bloomed and swelled to impossible heights when you pecked his lips, giving him shy and gentle kisses that he grew addicted to.

You were so sweet and so soft, your lips the taste of heaven for a creature of madness. Your hands were gentle like a cool balm over a burn, soothing his wild thoughts. Your little gifts for him - reciprocating his affection - were currently the most important things in his cave, a sign of your love and devotion. It made him wonder what would you let him do once you gave yourself to him. Would you succumb to the everlasting pleasures he could give you, or would you demand to help him take care of his own in a mutual haze? He couldn’t help himself, letting his chaotic mind conjure the most absurd and erotic dreams, his body vibrating with excitement; and now, at the peak of your trust in him, he watched his plan - a well-placed trap - come to fruition.

“Come, Schatz,” he beckoned you forward, his burly arm stretching to coax you to follow him, holding out his open palm to you. “I have something I want to show you. Pretty things.”

Without a thought, to question his intentions or to ask why he couldn’t have bought them for you like he usually did, you took his hand and let his fingers curl over yours, intertwining your smaller digits to his as he pulled you to his chest. His embrace was as safe and pleasant as the last one - yesterday - and caused a flurry of emotions to erupt in your chest, he was warm in the cool darkness, loving in all the ways you could think. You could close your eyes and imagine a smile rippling across his face with joyfully squinted eyes peering down at you.

Held against his chest, his other arm wrapped around your waist with a firm squeeze of his hand where your skin turned to scales. He whispered sweet promises, words of encouragement to see the way to his home and excited explanations of what awaited you. Pretty things, he said, you knew what he meant - at least you think you did - you shared much in common, and pretty things were something you both agreed on: shiny metals, interesting trinkets, shimmering shells or finely-minted coins. All things humans valued before throwing away; one man’s trash is another man’s treasure.

How unfortunate that you couldn’t see in the dark, yet how fortunate you wouldn’t know the way back, it was something he relied on heavily to keep you, if you didn’t know how to navigate in this utter blindness, there were no risks of you trying to escape his caring hand. You were smart, you wouldn’t simply venture off without knowing where to go and how to see, especially with how vast his territory was and how dangerous it was. He shared his home with other simple-minded animals, sharks, fishes, eels and any other abyssal creature that lived and depended on the dark to live.

Your innocent curiosity about the things he deemed pretty enough to hoard made his heartbeat, that addicting feeling he got from touching you, kissing you and speaking to you. Even if the deeper he went, the colder it became, you never once complained, your wide eyes and grinning face were the only thing you gave him. He was truly relieved to know that you were patient and understanding of his home, not one hiss or pout while you shook and clung to him, depending on him for warmth. He liked that, to see you rely on him so much.

“We’re here, mein Liebling,” he hushed, cradling your face as he dove down, through the entrance of his cave. He shielded your fragile body with his many arms, protecting you from the rush of water current flowing against him. He chose this one to build his nest, using the strong current as a natural barrier against weaker creatures.

When the waters calmed to a still, he loosened his hold on you, unravelling his arms to let you explore the many passages and alcoves in his home. To accommodate you, he strung up bioluminescent flora, using them as light to find your way around, with silken algae over a few rocks to mimic the beds mers slept in and a few other things that he thought you’d need: a mirror, a few floating plants to add to its mystical beauty and clusters of soft materials in nearly every room.

He let you wander, your tail flapping back and forth to lead you down the long hall and explore the many rooms. He used a room to sleep, one as a pantry and storage, and another one to hold his hoard, but he had a lot of empty and unused space, more than enough for you and your children to thrive. He wanted to let you roam at your own pace, but he had something to show you, something he was proud of making.

He pulled you from your little cloud of joy, wrapping an arm around you, his sticky suckers latching onto you as he coaxed you his way. Only then had you taken the time to admire König under blue light, cheeks warm with a burning flush and doe-like eyes staring at the naked expense of his hard abdomen, stomach sculpted to perfection that had Adonis shying away. His arms were big and round, muscles straining the scarred skin with delicious appeal.

Downwards, following the sharp dip of his navel, were dozens of dark tentacles lined with round, pulsing suckers. Like an octopus, they were covered in a slimy sheen, every limb flexible and able to move independently. The lower ones were thick and soft, acting as a cover for whatever he hid beneath them, while some were thinner, whose source came from under his veil. Those, however, were a mix of normal and horrific tentacles, some had eyes replacing the usual suckers, tinted in the same colour as his irises, that glowing, pale blue.

It made your body heat up, fingers tingling with nerves - or was it? When faced with something you found appealing, it’d be natural to feel flustered, no? König thought so, that’s how he spent the first days reacting to you, heating up to a bothersome flush to everything you did. He watched your awed stare, that daydreaming haze in your eyes when you looked him over, his whole body clear under the gentle light in his cave.

“This way.”

Without making your gaze leave his figure, he drew you in, heading towards his biggest room where he caught and strung everything to fit his pleasure and mood. It was somewhere deeper into the system with walls strong and sturdy, and the round ceiling higher than the other rooms. On one side was a pile of golden objects of all shades, light yellow to a darkish gold, nearly bronze; on the other was a mix of pretty silver things and metallic black objects, rusted by age and the salty ocean; and on another, the smallest of them all, comprised of a few dozens of colourful shells and corals frozen in time that you’d given him.

He saw your chest expand, your smile growing brighter and brighter at the pile of gifts you gave him, your bubbly laugh as you swam towards it, twirling around it proudly. You looked around the room, admiring his large collection and how it seemed to spill down every pile in an attempt to reach the other one, forming a protective ring around your presents, but always coming back to the bright pink, blue and yellow shells. You were happy and appreciative of the time he spent working and arranging his hoard. If he could, he’d preen and purr to you, to show just how much your proud smile meant to him, watching you appraise his work was satisfying.

He already felt like things were falling into place perfectly, he could see the life he had envisioned with you coming to life, the little intricacies that popped into his mind seeming too appealing. His dreams were slowly becoming a reality, the things that he could only imagine were now tangible to his hands, and the future he salivated at was so, so close that he could sink his teeth into its flesh.

He knew it. He knew it when he watched you swim to him with that big, adorable smile on your face, that it was in his hands. He could see it now, how his lonely cave would be filled with life and laughter, children with a mix of your beauty and his madness chasing one another between the many openings and your round, swollen stomach welcoming another of your children to the world. That was all he could think of while he cradled you in his arms, his tentacles latching to your tail and back.

“You’re happy, ja?”

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @tallmanlover @distracteddragoness @vxnilla-hxrddrugs @konigsblog @candlewitch-cryptic @im-making-an-effort @0alk0msan

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navybrat817 · 7 months

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How does Bucky handle you being sick? 🥺

I may have gone overboard, nonnie. 😂

Sick Day

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Bucky takes care of you when you get a cold. He also takes care of the guy who may have given you a cold.

Word Count: Over 2.4k

Warnings: Fluff, humor, established relationship, reader has a cold, implied smut, interrogation, Bucky Barnes being a ridiculously wonderful boyfriend in love (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: I don't know where this came from. Maybe a bit of inspiration from @inklore here. 😂❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

When you had a hard time getting out of bed this morning due to a cold you caught at work, you tried to brush it off. Bucky immediately called in to take a personal day and said he had to take care of you, which forced you to take a sick day as well. It was for the best. You had a tendency to push yourself past your limit some days and he kept you in check.

You snatched a tissue out of the box beside you just in time to sneeze into it. With a pained groan, you scrunched up your face and dropped the tissue into the small pile in your lap. It took you a moment to sip your water, followed by your herbal tea. Though your throat was sore, you had to stay hydrated. You also had to get some rest.

Bucky wouldn’t let you hear the end of it if you didn’t.

“I hate this,” you mumbled to yourself before your boyfriend rushed into the living room to check on you, his piercing eyes searching the room as if to assess a threat.

“I heard you talking, baby. You need to rest your voice,” he said, adjusting the humidifier he set on the coffee table before his concerned gaze snapped back to you. “Wait. Do you need something? Do you not have enough blankets? I can get you more tea. Or I can put something on TV. Shit, where’s the writing pad?”

You tried not to smile as the massive shirtless supersoldier bustled around the room. He hadn’t seen you under the weather since the two of you started dating and you should’ve known he’d make a big deal out of it. Whether it had to do with growing up with Steve who dealt with all sorts of ailments or simply because it was his girlfriend feeling less than stellar, you weren’t sure. Either way, it was endearing to see the former Winter Soldier worked up over you.

He had nothing to worry about though.

“I’m fine,” you croaked before you went into a coughing fit.

Bucky’s eyes widened as he crouched beside you and brought the water back to your lips once you had yourself under control. His brows furrowed when he checked your forehead with his right hand, which made you fall in love with him a little more. You tried to tell him earlier to keep his distance so he didn’t get sick before he gently reminded you that he wasn’t exactly prone to catching colds thanks to the serum.

A silver lining from the pain he had to go through.

“You’re not fine. You’re sick. Well, you’re still 'fine',” he smiled a little, making your heart swell. “I used that in the right context, didn’t I?”

You almost went into another coughing fit as you giggled, the sound huskier and deeper than normal. “Only you would think I’m fine when I’m like this,” you said, reaching up to run your fingers through his silky chestnut hair. He hadn’t brushed it today. Too busy taking care of you. “And I’m not ‘sick’ sick. it’s just a cold.”

“It isn’t just a cold. Not to me,” he said, his jaw clenching as his vibranium fingers curled.

“I’ll be better before you know it,” you assured him, raising an eyebrow as his cheek twitched. “What’s the matter?”

Why is he getting himself worked up?

“I just don’t like you feeling any kind of pain,” he said, leaning up so he could press his lips to your forehead. He huffed as they lingered there. “I wish I could take it away and I can’t.”

It was a sweet sentiment, especially after everything he went through.

“I know you would if you could and it’s okay that you can’t,” you said. You understood where he was coming from though because you didn’t like the idea of him in pain either. He had a heart almost as large as his body and you were lucky to get a single ounce of his love. “Don’t worry, okay?”

“You’re my girl and it's impossible not to worry,” he said, a touch of possession and tenderness seeping into his tone. Belonging to him was as natural as breathing. “But I'll try to relax a bit.”

“As long as you try,” you said as he pressed another kiss to your forehead.

Your head tingled from his lips before you frowned. This close, you could usually get a whiff of his woodsy cologne. Your eyes welled up when you inhaled again and couldn’t smell him, doing your best to blink the tears away so he wouldn't catch them. It was silly that you suddenly missed the comfort of that smell because your nose was acting up.

He didn’t need your tears on top of that.

But, of course, he caught your sad sniffle, which sounded slightly different from your cold sniffle. His body stiffened, like a cobra ready to strike. “Tell me what’s wrong, even if I can’t physically fix it.”

God, I love this man.

“I know this is going to sound ridiculous, but I really miss the smell of your cologne,” you told him, your gaze probably nothing short of pathetic as you tilted your head to see his handsome face.

Your breath caught when he looked back at you and brushed a tear away with his thumb. There was nothing but love and adoration in those brilliant eyes of his. It made you feel lighter.

“That’s far from ridiculous because I smell amazing,” he teased, bumping his nose against yours to bring a smile to your face. “How about I spray the blankets after you take a nap and I make you some soup? That way my scent will be there even if you can't smell it.”

Tears clogged your throat as you gave him a nod, committing the moment to memory. You were used to going it alone before he came into your life. He couldn’t take the pain away, but he could make you feel better in ways that mattered to you. That likely comforted him just as much as it soothed you.

“That would be great,” you said, yawning a bit. “Can we watch a movie after my nap?”

“We'll watch whatever you want.”

You pulled him close so he could join you on the couch, knowing that his muscular and warm frame against yours would feel just as comforting and safe as the blanket that covered you. And he relaxed and quickly accepted your wordless invitation to wrap his arms around you, keeping you in his loving embrace. It was home and always would be.

“Thank you for taking care of me,” you said, closing your eyes as you nuzzled your head against his bare chest. “I love you.”

“I’ll always take care of you,” he promised, his vibranium hand moving in slow circles along your back as you began to drift off. “I love you, too.”

You let out a happy moan before you said one more thing. “And hunt down the person who gave me this cold, okay?”

With your eyes shut, you didn’t see the determination written all over his face. “You got it, baby.”

You were right as rain and back to work a couple of days later, thanks to Bucky caring for you and some much needed rest. Not even an hour into your shift though, Steve requested for you to meet him in the second lower level. You didn't hide your surprise as that was usually reserved for interrogations.

Which was exactly why he called you down there.

“What's going on?” You asked as you walked into the viewing room. Steve, Sam, Natasha, and Tony all looked your way, but didn't give you any sort of response. “Seriously, what's up?”

“You don't know?” Natasha responded, nodding toward the glass.

You followed her gaze with a gasp as you saw Bucky tower over some blonde male agent in the cell. Your boyfriend was almost unrecognizable with his face devoid of any emotion, dominant and on the edge of terrifying. It was a far cry from the loving side you were privy to, yet you loved this side of him just the same.

“Buck dragged John down here a few minutes ago,” Steve explained in a quiet voice as he punched the bridge of his nose. “Said something about him hurting you.”

You tilted your head as you looked at John, recognizing him after a second due to his punchable face. “Him? No. He didn't hurt me. He just bumped into me the other day in the break room,” you explained. Which wasn't that big of a deal to you, but probably offensive to Bucky. “But he didn't apologize.”

He also had a cold.

Oh, no.

“So, you had nothing to do with this?” Sam asked, chuckling as you lifted your chin.

“No, I didn't,” you replied as you bit your lip. “At least, I don't think I had anything to do with this.”

Your heart raced faster when Bucky pushed the sleeves of his shirt up and gripped John by the collar, the veins in his right arm popping out. You wished you could lick them. Maybe later.

“I know it was you, you piece of shit,” he said, roughly shoving the agent back into his chair. “You got my girl sick.”

Oh, Bucky.

You stared straight ahead as you felt the group collectively look your way, refusing to react under their stares. “Before any of you say another word, this is definitely not my fault,” you stated.

“Of course it isn't,” Natasha smirked. She knew Bucky loved to play the hero on your behalf even though you could take care of yourself. “Just enjoy the show.”

Your mouth fell open as your boyfriend slammed his left fist on the table, leaving a sizable dent as John nearly fell backwards in his chair. This guy was an agent? He was either new to interrogations or simply scared shitless of the former assassin.

Maybe both.

But you ignored him as you shifted your attention back to your beefy, perfect boyfriend.

When you had mumbled for him to find the person who gave you the cold, you didn’t think he’d actually do it. You weren’t sure how he narrowed down to John, but the former assassin was resourceful and you should've known he'd take you seriously. And, fuck, if it wasn’t slightly mortifying on your behalf and hot as hell watching him in action.

“That cold you gave her made her cry. You made my girl cry. Do you know what I do to guys like you who make my girl cry?” Bucky said through his teeth, bringing his fist down on the table again as John flinched and you smiled. With all the strength he possessed, you never had to worry that he'd hurt you. But you couldn't say the same for the frightened agent. “You're about to find out.”

You didn't think you could love Bucky more after he helped you get over your cold, but he proved you wrong.

And you could now add Bucky threatening people to your list of things that made you dreamily sigh and tingle between your thighs.

“Look, I'm sorry. I’m sorry! All I did was bump into her. It was an accident!” John shouted, putting his hands up in surrender and trembling when Bucky stood to his full height and cracked his neck. Your boyfriend waited a beat before he grabbed one of his hands and began to twist, making the agent pale as you bit back a whimper. “Fuck, stop! I won’t even breathe around her again. I’ll hold my breath! Just let me go!”

“You're enjoying this, aren't you?” Tony asked you, taking out his phone to type a quick message as you hummed. Maybe you were enjoying it. How many guys went out of their way to scare someone who possibly gave you a cold? “Does the Manchurian Candidate know how much I’ll have to pay to keep this guy from suing him?”

“We can tell him it was a prank?” Steve suggested, bringing another laugh out of Sam as Natasha shook her head.

Bucky's eyes narrowed as he flung the hand away, his hair falling in his eyes as you held your breath. He looked like a wild animal, untamed and stunning. “I should choke you. Make you see how long you can really hold your breath before you pass out,” he snarled as John rubbed his sore skin.

Steve snuck a glance at you, his cheeks a little pink when you put a hand to your throat. “I don't want to overstep because you're my best friend's girl, but you do know you just moaned, right?” He whispered low enough for only you to hear.

Oops.

“Oh, my god,” you groaned, putting your warm face in your hands to hide your embarrassment for a moment. “Is anyone going to stop him?!”

“Why haven’t you stopped him?” Natasha countered knowingly.

Because I’m too busy thinking of how I’m going to suck his dick so good later that I'll make him see God.

You took a breath as the ache between your legs got stronger and pressed the button beside the glass. “Bucky?”

He swung his head toward the glass and met your gaze even though he couldn’t see you. No matter what, he’d always be able to spot you. “Hey, baby. I found the prick who gave you a cold. Want me to beat the shit out of him?” he bragged as John paled.

“I love you,” you giggled from how sweet and ridiculous he was. “And no. I appreciate you defending me, but I think you can let him go.”

Tony playfully rolled his eyes when Bucky grinned. “Your crazy matches his crazy.”

True.

“Okay. I love you, too,” Bucky said in a light tone, his smile falling the second he looked back at John and smacked the table against the wall with a clang. The agent looked like he was on the verge of passing out. “Next time you see my girl, apologize and walk away. And the next time you have a cold, stay the fuck home or you'll answer to me.”

Yeah. I’m going to suck the soul from his body to thank him for everything the moment we get home.

And maybe the two of you could take another sick day to spend the day in bed.

Totally normal boyfriend, right? Love and thanks for reading! 💙

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

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thekinslayed · 18 days

Text

The First Time You Called Me Baby

summary | The beginning of the story between you and a certain silver-haired man.

pairing | modern aemond targaryen x girlfriend!reader (saltburn au)

tags | 18+, MINORS DNI! unprotected sex, blowjob, semi-public, pantyfuck, squirting, handjob, attempt at harassment, rough sex, Felix Catton’s nasty ass room

wordcount | 8.4k

note | this is the prequel to The First Taste, but can still be read as a standalone! this is set a little over a year from the events of that fic :) thank u for the love on that nasty little thing, and i hope u guys enjoy this one too!

song rec | The First Time - Hozier

likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated! i am open for fic requests <3

(dividers by @thecutestgrotto)

You had first laid your eyes on him at the library. His silver hair was a stark contrast against the dark wood of the aisles filled with books. You were a first year at Oxford, and he was in his second. The simmering heat that still lingered at summer’s end licked at your skin, bringing about droplets of sweat down your back, despite the thin summer dress you were already sporting. He, however, was clad in a black henley, paired with dark jeans and sneakers, and looked utterly divine. It was unfair, really.

The mysterious man was absorbed in his reading, scribbling on a notebook with every couple of lines that he read. You perused through the aisles in search of a book required for one of your classes, and as you passed his table, he lifted his head to look at you, no doubt feeling your eyes peeking down at what he was reading.

You immediately looked away, pretending as though you hadn’t just been caught. Your cheeks flushed hotter than they already were, and as you scampered away, you missed the way his good eye followed your retreating form, curiosity filling his good eye.

In the weeks that followed, you kept seeing him around Oxford, in the halls, at the pub where you learned he was good friends with Felix Catton, and again at the library. It turned out you shared a class, Philosophy with Professor Quinn, though you had always sat on either end of the lecture hall, paths never crossing. Your interactions were limited to swift eye contact whenever you were in the same vicinity, never speaking a word to each other.

One Tuesday, you were seated in the lecture hall of your class, organizing your notes when a shadow cast a dimness over you. You looked up to meet the eyes of your mystery man, who had silver hair tied back into a low ponytail, clad in yet another black shirt.

“Is this seat taken?” was the first thing he ever said to you. He pointed to the empty seat beside you, awaiting your response. It was already a good month into the semester, and at that point, everyone had their unofficially assigned seats in the hall. The guy who usually sat beside you hadn’t arrived yet, rendering his seat vacant.

“Uh, no, not really,” You responded, shaking your head lightly. You anxiously bit your lip as the object of your curiosity sat beside you, pulling out his notes. When he had settled, the silver-haired man leaned back into the seat, turning his head to you.

“I’m Aemond,” he said casually. Your ears perked up at his unique name. Only a certain group of people would have such a strange name as his. He was a Targaryen, you realized, descendants from some sort of royalty, and filthy fucking rich. You turn your head to him staring at you, expecting you to introduce yourself.

“Oh!” You blushed, before telling him your name. Aemond nodded, before extending out his hand to shake your hand. You place your hand in his, gripping it firmly to shake it.

Wow, his hand is big, you thought.

You were surprised when he asked you a few questions about yourself, initiating a light conversation between the pair of you. Based on what you had seen, he didn’t really talk much, often just listening to Felix Catton run his mouth whenever you spotted them together. He seemed interested in your major, what classes you were taking, and what you thought of Oxford so far. You indulged him as much as you could, asking some questions about him yourself. Your conversation was cut short when the professor walked in, starting the lecture. Soon after, the guy whose seat Aemond had taken walked in, complaining to the man beside you.

“There’s some more seats at the back, mate, you’ll be fine,” Aemond said nonchalantly, pointing a thumb to the back of the room. The student, Kyle, looked at you, but you only shrugged and gave him a sheepish smile. He scoffed, before walking away to find another seat. You silently thanked Aemond for taking his seat, because fucking Kyle was always sneezing without covering his nose and sprayed his snot everywhere like a child.

Over the next weeks, you and Aemond became friendly acquaintances. You helped each other with the work assigned for the class and had a few study sessions together in the library. He was incredibly nice to you, in contrast to the intimidating aura he naturally possessed. You would be lying if you said you weren’t attracted to him, because that man had a face sculpted by the gods. However, you paid these growing feelings no mind. You heard he was seeing Floris Baratheon, and you were talking to Mark, who was introduced to you by your best friend.

Mark was nice, sweet, and had a way with words that made you laugh with little effort. Talking to him felt easy and casual, but something was missing. He lacked the intrigue you felt with Aemond, and the enigmatic, alluring way the silver-haired man looked at you made you feel a tingle in your stomach in a way no one else could. Still, Mark was good fun, but you couldn’t see things going further, not when your mind was always stuck on a certain silver-haired man.

It was a Friday night, and you were at a party with some friends. You nursed a beer while you sat with them, engaged in conversation. The whole thing was quite casual, which you were thankful for because the last one you were at had gotten so chaotic that you narrowly avoided being puked on by someone in the middle of the dark room.

You laughed when one of your friends’ started wildly waving her hands animatedly as she told her latest gossip, the alcohol in your systems made all of you warm and loose the more you drank. In the corner of your eye, you spot a familiar head of silver hair passing through the crowd of people. You turned your head to see Aemond, though he wasn’t alone. He was with none other than Floris Baratheon, who held his wrist as she guided him through the crowd to leave the party. You ignored the strange twinge in your chest at the sight, gaze following the pair.

Sensing a pair of eyes on him, Aemond turned to meet yours. You gave him a friendly smile and a wave, to which he responded with a nod and a small smile. All of a sudden, he forgot why he was letting himself get dragged by Floris, but made no move to stop her. He watched as you tore your gaze away from him, directing your attention back to your friends. The sight of you giggling at whatever your friend said was the last glimpse got of you before Floris led him away from the party.

You were walking back to your room, alone, after having dropped off all of your friends at their dorms. Having been the least drunk out of the whole group, you had made sure they got back to their rooms safely, before heading back to your own. You also were in a separate building, so you quickly made your way back, trying to stay mindful of your surroundings. Much to your luck, a student had stumbled out of one of the buildings you passed on your way, clearly intoxicated.

“Hey, all alone?” He slurred, giving you a lopsided smile.

“No, someone’s waiting for me,” You lied, trying to walk faster when he blocked your path.

“Oh yeah? I don’t see anyone, pretty girl,” He snickered turning his head around where you had pointed into the darkness. “Why don’t you come up to mine, can’t be walking around all alone! ‘S dangerous, you know?”

You expressed your refusal at his offer, pushing past him but he had grabbed your arm to prevent you from walking away. You struggled to pull away from his grip, but he was much stronger than you. Your heart beat erratically in your chest, starting to panic when he started to drag you despite your efforts to plant your feet firmly into the ground.

“Do we have a problem here?” A voice spoke behind you. You whipped your head around to see Aemond, whose good eye was filled with anger at the sight.

“Nah, mate, was just taking my girl back to my room,” The man chuckled casually, grip still unrelenting on your forearm. You subtly shook your head at Aemond, eyes silently pleading for him to not leave you alone. He studied your expression, before turning back to the drunk student.

“Yeah? Looks like she isn’t up for it, mate,” Aemond said, taking a step forward closer to you.

“Oh, fuck you, one-eye! Why don’t ya just leave us alone?” He spat at Aemond, his loud voice echoing through the night air. In a flash, Aemond’s fist sent the drunk man sprawling onto the pavement. You gasped in shock, stepping away. Relief flooded in your chest when you were finally freed from the tight grip on your arm. In his intoxicated state, the man could barely recover from the singular blow to his nose, moaning in pain as he lay on the ground.

Brushing a hand through his silver locks, Aemond walked back to you, the anger in his eye now replaced with concern. He called your name lowly, hand reaching to hold your elbow as you wrapped your arms around yourself.

“Hey, you alright? I’m sorry you had to see that,” he said softly, rubbing at your skin comfortingly. You nodded at him, chest still panting from the rush of adrenaline you felt.

“Y-yeah, thank you, Aemond, really,” you thanked him, giving him a shaky smile.

“No need to thank me. Can I walk you back?” He offered, to which you gratefully accepted. You both started to walk back to your dorm in silence as you took the time to calm down. After a couple of moments of comfortable silence, your head turned to the Targaryen beside you, curiosity sparking in your chest.

“I thought you were, um– I saw you leave with Floris,” You stuttered, cringing inwardly at your awkward tone. Aemond only hummed at your words, grimacing as he stuffed his hands into his pockets.

“I did, but, I don’t know…I figured I was tired of whatever it was we were doing, so I just walked her back to her room and left. Then I found you,” He explained, looking back at you when he finished speaking. You couldn’t help the flutter in your stomach at the revelation.

“Oh,” was all you could say. You bit your lip as your face warmed when his gaze stayed on your face, turning your attention to your feet while you walked.

“How are things going with you and Mark?” Aemond suddenly asked, much to your surprise. He rubbed the back of his neck, waiting for your answer. You had told him a bit about Mark, but you hadn’t divulged how you actually felt about him. An awkward chuckle fell from your lips as you pondered on what to say.

“I think we’re just gonna stay friends,” you confessed shyly. Your eyes studied his reaction, but he only nodded, sniffling at the cold breeze that whipped his silver hair.

“Oh,” was all Aemond could say.

You continued to walk in another comfortable silence until you reached your building. As Aemond walked you to the door, you turned around to look up at him. You could feel your pulse thrum in your ears, the tips of your ears growing flushed when his face had been much closer than expected. The icy blue of his good eye almost glimmered under the light illuminating the pavement, his prosthetic eye unmoving on the left side of his face.

“Thank you for walking me back, Aemond, and for… you know,” you said, implying how he practically saved your life earlier. “I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t been there.” Sincerity filled your tone, one that reached Aemond’s heart. He shook his head at you, thin lips lifting to a warm smile.

“I told you there’s no need to thank me,” he said. The night breeze blew a loose strand of hair into your face, and Aemond’s fingers carefully lifted to tuck it back into your ear. Your cheeks warmed up at his gesture, your lips lifting into a flustered smile.

“It’s dangerous to be walking alone at night. If you need someone to walk you home, I’ll always be there,” he told you, tone comforting. You nodded at his words, uttering another sign of thanks.

You stared up at him, studying his face. Your eyes ran down the faint scar on his left cheek, curious as to how he acquired it. You couldn’t help but shift your gaze to his lips, the warm feeling in your belly returning as desire pulsed deep within you. You wondered how it would feel against yours, how his hands would wander on your skin after he pulled you close.

Aemond caught the way your gaze fell to his lips, and with a surge of courage, he slowly dipped his head toward yours intending to capture your pink lips, soft and inviting. Your breath hitched when you realized his intentions, and before your lips could touch, you placed a hand on his chest, prompting him to pull away. You bit your lip guiltily, before leaning up to plant a soft kiss on his cheek.

“Good night, Aemond,” You whispered in his ear, before stepping away to turn around. You twisted the doorknob to the building open, stepping inside. You spared him one last glance, giving him a sweet smile, before shutting the door behind you.

As the door closed behind you, Aemond let out a heavy sigh, leaning his head back and closing his eye. His heart hammered heavily in his chest, his throat suddenly dry after being so close to you. He chuckled to himself as he walked away, turning back one last time to catch a light flicker on by a window on the second floor.

Your leg bounced as you fidgeted in your chair anxiously, eyes scanning the words on the book yet you barely understood what any of them meant. Beside you, Aemond scribbled down on his notes, lips moving as he mouthed the words he was reading silently. It was late, yet both of you were stuck poring over the material for your upcoming midterm. You had been in the library for hours, only taking breaks to get a breather and grab a snack. A big portion of your grade for the class depended on this exam, and you were wary of how you would do.

It didn’t help that Aemond smelled so fucking good. His perfume was not overpowering at all, but rather clean and inviting, the kind that made you want to press your nose against his skin to smell it more. He looked unbelievably handsome when his eyebrows furrowed in concentration, or when he leaned back to stretch, letting out a groan that went straight to your core.

As your eyes trailed over the notes scattered across the table, your gaze fell on his exposed forearms. You could see the fibers of his muscular forearms as they flexed with every moment, while the veins ran down to his large hands. Your thoughts drifted to what they would look like around your neck, or on your tits, or how his fingers would tease your—

Fucking hell.

You let out a frustrated sigh, leaning back on your chair and rubbing a hand across your face. Aemond looked up at you in concern, putting down his pencil as he turned to you.

“You okay?” He asked. His good eye ran over your features, taking in the way the skin in between your eyebrows creased while a frown adorned your lips. You have dressed in one of your adorable little sundresses again, paired with a knit cardigan to keep you warm in the chilly library.

“Yeah, yeah, ‘m just tired,” you mumbled. Aemond hummed, leaning back against his chair as well.

“Why don’t we take a break? We’ve been at it for a while,” he suggested, to which you eagerly nodded. You stood up from your seat, arms lifting in the air as you stretched. Aemond’s eye trained on how your short dress lifted ever so slightly, only a couple inches away from flashing him your rear. The silver-haired man gulped, ignoring the way his cock twitched at the teasing sight, before rising from his chair.

He followed you through the aisles as you walked around to stretch your legs. The library was practically empty, so it was safe to leave your stuff without worrying about it getting stolen. He watched your fingers trail over the spine of the books, stopping along with you when you paused to read some titles that interested you. You took the stairs up to the second floor, where there was not a single soul around.

Your eyes wandered around the vast, historical space, admiring the old architecture. Oxford was much more beautiful at night, with the moonlight that shone over its stone walls, and the amber glow from the lights casted a warmth in the quiet room. You craned your head back to admire the intricate woodwork on the ceiling, pointing up a finger to show Aemond.

“Isn’t it so beautiful?” You said to him, looking back with a smile. He was looking at you with a strange look. His good eye was filled with something intense, something that threatened to wash over him. It made you feel warm all over, and goosebumps rose on your flesh as you took the sight of him in.

“Breathtaking,” he whispered, though his eye stayed on you. He gave you a fond smile, one that caused your heart to thump heavily against your ribcage.

Since he took you home that night, the two of you had toyed with the line separating your friendship from becoming something more. The way he looked at you made you feel light as air, and his words caused your usually sure self to stutter in bashfulness. For weeks, you had felt as though you were on the verge of stumbling over, and the slightest touch would have you falling over the edge. You could only hope to be caught, and without any sign of that assurance, you willed yourself to keep your balance.

But with how he was looking at you tonight, you realized you were already in the wind, freefalling to whatever awaited you. It couldn’t be helped, not with the way you searched for him in everyone you came across, for the sensation only he seemed to arouse from you.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” You asked, careful yet hopeful. The tension was palpable, you could feel it in your fingertips. You knew, even without him saying it, but you had to hear the words. When his eye was usually analytical and cold, it now seemed to resemble the vast ocean, with nothing but fondness swimming in its waters.

“You know why,” he said softly. As he took steps towards you, you took steps back, up until you were pressed against the wooden shelf. His taller build caged you in, but it didn’t feel claustrophobic at all; it felt safe, comforting.

“Aemond,” you breathed out, suddenly breathless. His hand caressed the side of your face, and the pad of his thumb pressed down on your bottom lip.

“So pretty,” he whispered. Aemond seemed hypnotized, by the way his skin grew warm and his chest panted when he stepped into your space. You tilted your head up at him with big eyes, but his eye were stuck on your lips. Your lips slightly parted when you let out a gasp, and his thumb moved up to dip into your mouth.

Aemond’s jaw dropped ever so slightly when your lips wrapped around his thumb. You hollowed out your cheeks to suck on his finger, running your tongue on its underside. A grunt reverberated from deep within his chest, his cock throbbing at the erotic sight. His free hand came up to your waist, its warmth exuding through the fabric that separated your flesh.

You looked like a doe with shining eyes as you remained staring up at his face, the innocence in your orbs a sharp contrast to the erotic sight of your lips. As your spit gathered around his thumb you felt a similar wetness between your thighs. You subtly pressed them together in hopes of trying to soothe the pulsing ache from your cunt.

Aemond’s eye dropped from your lips to your legs when your knee accidentally knocked against his, catching you in the act. His mouth all but watered at the sight of you, coupled with the way your nipples poked through the thin fabric of your dress.

Pulling his thumb from your lips, Aemond’s lips surged forward to fill in its absence. Teeth knocking against each other, you let out a low whimper as he all but devoured your mouth. His kiss was hungry and all-consuming, turning you lightheaded. His hand pressed against the shelf behind you, fully caging you in. You wrapped your arms around his neck, fingertips running through the soft silver tresses that had captivated you since the first day you laid eyes upon him. Kissing turned into gnawing, and you gripped his starlit hair, opening your mouth further to welcome his tongue. You wrapped a leg around his waist, the ends of your dress lifting to allow his bulge to press flush against your damp center.

You gasped into Aemond’s mouth when his straining cock rubbed against your clothed pearl deliciously. Your hips started to swirl against his, taking on a mind of its own. Breathless, you chased Aemond’s lips when he pulled away from you, earning a chuckle from him. He caressed the side of your head lovingly, before grabbing the end of your dress to lift the fabric.

Aemond cursed under his breath when the sight of your panties greeted him. There was a damp patch where your arousal started to stain the cotton, and the indent of your folds made for a mouthwatering sight. His fingers hooked to the side, pushing the fabric away to reveal your weeping cunt. Another whimper left your lips as the chill air blew on your exposed pussy, clenching around nothing. You gripped the fabric of Aemond’s shirt, silently urging him to touch you.

Two fingers swiped up your slit, arousal coating the pads of Aemond’s fingertips when he pulled it away. He brought it to his lips, letting out a low moan when he tasted your essence.

“Fucking delicious” he growled. His aquiline nose pressed against your cheek, taking in the sweet smell of your flesh.

“Please,” you pleaded weakly. His hand rubbed your waist comfortingly, before squeezing the soft flesh through the fabric.

“What do you want, hm?” He asked, placing a hand under your chin to make you look at him. You gulped, trying your hardest to keep your voice quiet. Despite the lack of people in the library, you knew you still had to be careful.

“Touch me, Aemond, please,” you begged, grabbing his wrist to place it back on your pussy. Aemond gave you a sweet kiss on your lips, before pushing his fingers past your fingers once more to feel your slick core.

You bit your lip hard to prevent moaning out loud when his middle finger dipped into your slit, teasing. Aemond smirked at the way your eyebrows furrowed at him, eyes desperately pleading with him.

“You’re adorable, you know that?” He chuckled, before pressing a kiss on your forehead. He decided to forego his teasing, entering his whole finger into your cunt up to his knuckles. Your walls swallowed him up deliciously, and he wondered how you would be able to take his cock.

One thing at a time.

You dropped your head onto his shoulder when his finger curled upwards, caressing the rough spot within your walls. His finger thrust into you at a steady pace, soon adding another. Your walls felt full, fuller than when you would use your own fingers to pleasure yourself. You panted into Aemond’s neck, letting out small cries against his hot flesh as his finger bent in a ‘come hither’ motion. You gripped his shoulders to ground yourself, your hips moving in tandem with the rhythm of his fingers.

“Aem– mm,” you moaned.

“Keep making those sounds for me, yeah?” He whispered into your ear, running his lips against the shell of your ear. You let out another whine, before running one of your hands from his shoulder down to cup his clothed cock.

Aemond’s breath hitched in his throat when you squeezed his bulge lightly. Your shaky hands unbuckled his belt, zipped down his jeans, and dipped past his briefs to grip his hard cock. Aemond let out a low moan of your name, biting your neck lightly when you began to stroke his length. He continued to fuck you with his fingers, keeping his grip on his sanity as your dainty hands rubbed at his flushed tip. He barely registered when you pulled out his cock to direct it to your pussy to replace his fingers, but he was able to stop you in time before you pulled on his wrist.

“Not here, baby,” he said, earning a whiny pout from you. He planted another kiss on your forehead to soothe you, mumbling a ‘next time’ into your skin.

God, he wanted to fuck you so bad, but he wanted to do it right. He wanted to take the time to devour you in all the ways he could, he wanted to see you take your pleasure from him, to fall apart on his fingers, tongue, before claiming you with his cock. It wouldn’t be possible to do it here, in a library where anyone could see you.

Instead, he directed his cock to rub on your slit, before pulling your panties back over to cover his cockhead with the fabric. The underside of his cock rubbed on your slit deliciously, its mushroomed tip getting caught by the curve of your folds to rub directly on your clit. You let out a pathetic whimper, slapping your hand to cover your mouth at the sensation.

The halls remained quiet except for the slick sounds coming from in between your thighs, and the heavy breathing from both of you. Aemond bit back a groan as the sensitive tip of his cock snagged on the cotton of your panties, the fabric now drenched with both of your juices.

Your thrusts moved in tandem with one another, chasing both of your releases. You gripped the back of Aemond’s neck to pull him towards you, smashing your lips together. Your hips had a mind of its own, moving desperately as you felt the warmth in your belly grow. You panted into Aemond’s mouth, who swallowed every moan that left you with his lips. A chorus of his name fell out of your lips, voice turning whiny as he hurled you towards your precipice.

The feeling of the protruding vein on the underside of Aemond’s cock rubbing at your clit was what sent you overboard, burying your head into the crook of his neck as you spilled in your underwear. In the dizzying haze of your release, you tried to catch your breath and watched Aemond pull his length away from you. His expert hand began to stroke it furiously, and you watched, mesmerized, as his face contorted into an expression of pleasure. Your hand fondled his balls to aid him towards his release, your mouth capturing his in another passionate kiss. You felt his stones tighten in your touch, and Aemond pulled away as he felt the coil in his stomach start to snap. His free hand hooked onto the top of your panties, exposing your cunt once more. He points his cock down towards your pussy, before ejaculating into your underwear. You gasped at the warm droplets of cum that painted your mound, relishing in the sound of his grunts of your name in your ear.

Aemond’s fingers snapped back the elastic against your skin, before cupping your clothed cunt that kept his seed, making sure it stayed there. He leaned back to look at your flushed face, tucking back some loose strands of hair behind your ear.

Your eyes closed when he placed a tender kiss on your forehead, breath shuddering as his lips trailed down to plant another one on your nose, your cheeks, and then finally, your swollen lips. The kiss was sweet and gentle, and as you pulled away you couldn’t help the sheepish smile you beamed up at him, to which he responded with a fond look.

After that little tryst, you and Aemond were practically inseparable. You would walk together around campus, study together, and of course, take classes beside each other. He had even taken the initiative to wait outside your lecture hall during your other classes, walking you back to your dorm or taking you out to eat afterwards if you were hungry. He was the perfect gentleman, always carrying your books or your bag and keeping a protective arm around your waist as you walked. Speaking of touch, whenever you and Aemond were together, he always had to be touching you in some way, be it with an arm around your shoulder, or through the kisses he planted on your skin whenever he got the chance.

He had even introduced you to Felix, who admittedly, Aemond could barely stand. He and Felix were childhood friends, having been around each other’s families for years because of their connections. He was only around Catton and the little bundle of people that followed his tail because of their familiarity with each other, but even being around their boisterous, mentally obtuse group for a short period did Aemond’s head in.

Still, you graciously accepted Felix’s invites to some parties, though you and Aemond only ever stayed for a few moments before wandering off hand in hand. After that night in the library, the extent of your touches only ever extended to making out and fondling each other. With exam week coming up soon, you both barely had the time to indulge in your desires. Your friends were excited for you, often asking you the juicy details about Aemond, to which you only shyly responded with vague answers, much to their protests. They warned you, however, about the Targaryens’ nonexistent commitment abilities. It wasn’t specific to Aemond, but to all of the ones that came before him. One of your girlfriends still harbored a bitter resentment for his older brother, Aegon, for having treated her like she was nonexistent despite being the reason for her pregnancy scare.

Their advice made you think, Aemond hadn’t explicitly asked you to be his girlfriend yet, so you weren’t technically together. Yet the way his hands squeezed your tits when you made out was certainly an indication you weren’t just friends… right?

These thoughts clouded your mind as you sat beside Aemond. It was the end of midterm season, and many students appropriately wanted to celebrate. You were invited to a pre-game by Felix, a prelude to the actual party later in the night. You were sat with Aemond on the couch, his hand drew circles around the exposed flesh of your thighs, while he listened to the group’s conversation.

Your best friend, Sarah, was on the loveseat to your left, her legs extended across the length of the seat. Her soft call of your name made you turn to look at her. She cocked her to Cerelle Lannister, who had been openly making eyes at your kinda-but-not-really boyfriend. The blonde was also another childhood friend of Aemond’s, and you wondered whether there had been something more between the two that you didn’t know about.

These fucking rich people, I swear, you thought as you glared at Cerelle from across the group. She had made a couple of passes at him throughout the night, shooting him teasing remarks despite it being completely out of topic from the group’s conversation. Aemond had only responded with a roll of his eye or completely ignored her together. However, his lack of shutting down her attempts only seemed to encourage the blonde, which enraged you.

Your eyes met Sarah’s, who raised her eyebrows at you, silently conveying, ‘Can you believe this bitch?’

You only let out a sigh, to which Aemond turned to you to kiss your temple and rub at your skin. You flashed him a fake smile, before downing the liquor in your cup in one go.

Besides his inner circle of friends, Felix also invited some people he knew, one of whom was Mark. The familiar brunette appeared, passing by you and Sarah on the couch. Your best friend called him over, greeting him. The friendly second-year greeted both of you with a smile, telling you both he was headed to the kitchen to grab another drink. Sarah grabbed you along, snatching you from Aemond’s touch to lead you away.

“I’m just gonna be at the kitchen,” you quickly said, already being dragged away before he could reply. Aemond watched as you walked away with Sarah, though his eyebrows furrowed in dismay when he spotted Mark trailing behind you. His eye stayed on you until you disappeared through the kitchen, debating whether to follow you or not. Aemond ultimately decided to let you be. If Sarah was with you, he doubted she would let Mark try anything on you.

“So… that’s why you aren’t seeing Floris anymore,” Farleigh spoke up beside Aemond, watching as the silver-haired man's eye still stared down the hall you disappeared to. He sighed at his friend’s words, returning to face him.

“I’m not seeing Floris anymore because she makes me want to get run over by a bus, Farleigh,” he responded, staring back at Felix’s cousin who stared him down analytically.

In the kitchen, you accepted the shot of vodka handed to you. You downed the shot, grimacing at the burn of the cheap liquor down your throat.

“Listen, I love you,” Sarah started, pouring another shot for herself, “but you have got to do something about that blonde little cunt before I do it for you.”

“She’s right,” Mark agreed, nodding at you. He had been debriefed on the whole situation by Sarah, pitching in his friendly advice.

“I know, but they’ve known each other since they were kids! What if I was the one clueless about something that has been going on between them?” You spoke, shoulders sagging as you thought about the prospect of your words being true. You contemplated whether that was the real reason why he refused to fuck you in the library.

“Well, then, tell Aemond to say bye-bye to that majestic hair if that’s true. He can’t be going around fuckin’ touching you and kissing you in front of everyone if he’s got another girl, and he most certainly cannot be leading you in circles!” Sarah exclaimed. The back of her hand slapped Mark’s shoulder, who jumped at the sudden strike. “Back me up here, Mark.”

Your eyes looked at him, frowning. He sighed at the sight of you, thinking back to the possibility of what could’ve been. Mark nodded, giving you a genuine smile.

“A girl like you shouldn’t be left waiting. He’d be the biggest idiot in the world if he let his chance get away,” he said, tone filled with nothing but sincerity. Your heart warmed at his words, deeply appreciating the friendship you maintained. You flinched as Sarah slammed down her shot glass after downing another one, now tipsy, before pointing a finger at you.

“Y’know what? If he won’t tell you, just go and find out for yourself. It’s fuckin’ 2005, babe! Chivalry’s dead and buried six feet beside Princess Di. If you want him, go get him,” Sarah persuaded you. With encouragement from both of your friends, you realized they were right. You can’t be waiting around contemplating Aemond’s true feelings for you. You wanted him, and hell, you were going to make him all yours.

You nodded with conviction, exhaling a deep breath as you gathered all your courage. Sarah passed you another shot, which you drank for liquid courage. Wiping your hands on your skirt, you turned away to walk out of the kitchen to find Aemond.

Walking back down the hall, you found the couch empty, with no Aemond in sight. Your attention was grabbed by a series of hollers from further down the hall, where everyone gathered around cheering on while some guy was chugging an entire bottle of vodka, encouraged by the chants around him.

You found Aemond off to the side, leaning on the wall as he watched on in amusement. He took a swig of beer from the bottle in his hand, still unaware of your presence. He looked absolutely godly. He sported a gray crewneck that hugged his lithe form perfectly, the sleeves were pushed back to expose his forearms, and the silver chain hidden in his shirt glinted in the dim light of the room. With a sudden surge of desire going through you, you made your way to him. As you reached him, your hand grasped his elbow, making him turn to you. Without any warning, you smashed your lips onto his, cupping his jaw as you kissed him passionately. His lips responded in fervor, hand slithering around your back to pull you closer to him. Aemond pulled away to look down at you, studying the dazed look in your half-lidded eyes.

“I need you, now,” you made known, a steady conviction in your tone. The man before you smirked, nodding and grabbing your hand to take you away. The beer bottle in his hand was discarded, and he guided you up the stairs. He led you down the hallway lined with rooms, stopping at the third door on your left. He twisted the doorknob to find it unlocked, opening it wide to let you in first. Your eyes widened at how easily he had found this room, looking up at him in confusion.

“It’s Felix’s room. Knobhead never locks it,” Aemond informed you, cocking his head to urge you to enter. You stepped into Felix’s room, which was a little bit messy for your taste. Aemond locked the door behind you, before gripping your waist to turn you around.

Your lips locked together once more, devouring each other as you blindly stepped towards the bed. You pushed Aemond down on Felix’s mattress, before kneeling on the floor before him. Aemond ran a hand through his silver hair, his hungry gaze stuck on you as he watched you unbuckle his belt. Your hands worked quickly, a sense of urgency in your actions to take him. Pulling out his cock, you kept your eyes on his while your tongue darted out to lick his tip, teasing him. He let in a sharp inhale, before groaning when you began to stroke his shaft.

“Fucking hell… open your mouth,” he rasped out, gripping your chin to tilt your head towards him. A whimper left your open lips when Aemond spat into your mouth. His large hand gripped the back of your head, directing you back to his cock. With the extra saliva as lubrication, you took his length into your mouth, sinking until your nose hit his pubic bone. You heard him let out a curse, before starting to bob your head up and down. You switched between sinking your mouth onto his length and stroking it with you hand.

Your pace increased fast, sucking his cock with an air of desperation. It might have been the booze, or the sheer fact that your desire for him overwhelmed your senses. Your confidence was boosted at the sounds falling from his pretty lips, his raspy voice sending tingles straight to your core. You blindly reached for his wrist and, while your other hand gathered your hand into a makeshift ponytail. You guided him to grip your hair, pushing on the back of his to urge him to use you however he wanted.

His grip was tight as he moved you up and down his cock to his liking. His grunts verberated off the walls of the room, while the erotic sounds of your throat taking his cock filled the quiet space.

All too sudden, he pulled you off his cock. You panted when you came up for air, spit running down the corners of your swollen mouth. Aemond’s gaze darkened at the sight of you, his perfect girl. His thumb wiped on the side of your lips before he surged forward to kiss you.

“My good girl,” he mumbled against your lips, earning a moan from you. His hands on your elbows urged you to stand, and you pulled away to pull your dress off in one swift motion, before dropping your panties to the floor.

The sight of your bare body took Aemond’s breath away. His good eye stared up at you in admiration, and his hand gripped the soft flesh of your waist to pull you closer to him. He snuggled his face into your stomach, breathing in the sweet scent of your flesh. You giggled at the kisses that he tickled you with, running your hand through his hair soothingly.

“You’re perfect,” he said, looking up at you with adoration. Your heart swelled as you blushed, before leaning down to recapture his lips. He pulled off his shirt while your thighs straddled his lap, caging him. Aemond could taste the salty tang of his pre-cum on your tongue, though he didn’t find it within him to be disgusted. He reached into his pocket to pull out his wallet where kept a condom, but your hand stopped him from taking the foil out.

“We don’t have to,” you said, biting your lips as you looked at him. Aemond’s eye stared at the way your lips were swollen, your cheeks flushed from the growing heat in the room.

“Are you sure?” he asked, to which you nodded.

“I’m on birth control, and I… I’m clean,” you tell him. He nodded at you, giving you a comforting smile, and caressing your cheek softly with his thumb.

“Me too, there’s no one else,” he said, to which you gave him a surprised look. Confusion graced his features at your surprise. “Did you think…”

You gave him a sheepish look, avoiding his gaze by keeping your eyes on the dragon pendant of his necklace. You saw his chest shake when he chuckled, slightly jumping when his hands squeezed your waist to prompt you to look at him.

“You’re so cute,” he teased, squeezing your plump cheek. You looked at him shyly, meeting his amused gaze.

“You’re my girl,” Aemond said softly, now cupping your jaw. Your eyes slightly widened at his words, joy filling your chest. “Really?” You beamed up at him.

“Of course you are, I thought I made it pretty obvious by now,” he responded. You huffed at his words playfully, shaking your head lightly. Idiots, you both were. You could have saved yourself a lot of confusion and torment if only you had talked sooner.

“Well, you didn’t really ask,” You shrugged, to which Aemond nodded in understanding. He pecked your cheek, and then your lips, mumbling an apology against your pout. Your look turned playful, hips scooting closer to press your wet slit against his cock that still stood high. “And I haven’t really given you an answer. Actually, I might need some convincing,” you suggested with a teasing tone. He raised his eyebrow at your words, lips pulling up into a smirk.

“Hm, why don’t I just show you then?” Aemond said. Before you could respond, he lifted your hips and aligned his cock to your slit. He impaled you on his length in a split second, causing you to let out a loud moan in surprise. His large hands guided you up and down his cock, giving you no time to adjust as he set a quick pace. From this position, his cockhead kissed the end of your cervix directly, the sensation making your eyes roll back into your skull.

Despite being on top, it was clear Aemond had full control, which was good because you lost your wits almost instantly. He wrapped an arm behind you to keep you bouncing on his lap, before leaning back to lay down. His feet propped up on the edge of the bed, allowing him to thrust up into you. You felt like a ragdoll in his arms, pliant and purely his to fuck. His free hand gathered your hair, pulling it back to expose your neck. Breathless whines freely fell from your slacked mouth as Aemond bit and sucked marks onto the expanse of your neck. His hips stayed relentless, and his balls slapped against your ass with his quick pace.

From his perspective below you, your tits bounced in Aemond’s face in tandem with his thrusts. They looked fucking delectable, and he took one in his mouth to suck on the plump flesh. The sensation made your toes clench, and the brewing warmth in your belly only grew the more he thrust into you. You felt him everywhere, his touch burned every inch of your skin, warming up your viscera. His name fell from your lips like a prayer, ‘Aemond… Oh, Aemond’, as though he were a god.

Tantalized, Aemond watched as your eyes clenched shut, mouth falling into an ‘o’ that released whiny moans. The flush from your cheeks had run down to the surface of your chest, painting your skin with blotches of pink. Sweat beaded on your hairline, some even trailing down the length of your neck. Aemond felt a spark at the bottom of his spine at the sight of you, the beginning of his end fast approaching. The air in Felix’s room started to smell like sex, and at that point it wouldn't be surprising if the windows started fogging up.

Hips never faltering, the silver-haired man dipped a thumb in between your folds, rubbing quick circles into your clit. You had met his thrusts enthusiastically, but as he started to stimulate your pearl, your pace turned erratic at the added sensation. You could no longer control the volume of your moans, not even registering your mindless babbling while you chased your release. A strange feeling started to spread, something akin to the sensation of wanting to pee. You had started to panic at the odd sensation, but before you could tell Aemond to stop, you squirted a clear liquid from your cunt. Felix’s sheets were stained with your release, though that was the least of your worries because Aemond continued to fuck you through another orgasm that quickly followed.

His climax washed over him not too long after, pulling out to spurt his seed on his stomach. He used his friend’s sheet to wipe the cum on his abs, to which you gave him an incredulous look.

“Aemond!”

“What? It’s fine. I bet these sheets have probably seen far worse than a little cum. Come here,” he said nonchalantly, pulling you flush against his now clean front. You snuggled into his warm embrace, burying your face into the crook of his neck. You laid there in a comfortable silence, basking in the afterglow of what may have been the best orgasm you’ve ever had. His hand ran down the expanse of your back with a soothing caress, and his lips planted soft kisses on your damp forehead. You felt Aemond’s chest expand as he sucked in a deep breath, before letting out a sigh.

“I feel like an asshole,” he suddenly said. You raised your head from his neck in confusion, brows furrowed as you met his eye.

“Why?” You asked. His icy blue glimmered from the dim light that filtered in through the window, and his starlit hair fell around him like a halo. He looked absolutely ethereal, otherworldly.

“I wanted to take you out on a nice date before we did anything else. I didn’t wanna make you feel like I was only after you sex or whatever,” he admitted, nothing but sincerity in his tone. Your eyes softened at his words, your heart warm at how sweet he is.

“You could still take me out, and then… we could, you know, do this again,” you suggested, making him chuckle at the inviting look in your eyes. He nodded, whispering an ‘okay, baby’ before pulling you towards him for another kiss.

After that night, everyone at Oxford knew you as Aemond’s girl. The pair of you were always stuck together, and at the rare moments any of you were caught walking alone, best believe you were more than likely making your way to meet the other. Felix Catton was none the wiser about the things you did in his room, but it was most certainly not the last time that happened.

By summer, Aemond took you to his family’s estate, Dragonstone. You spent your days in a heated daze, basking in the sun together with Aemond and his siblings. You had gotten incredibly well with all of them, especially Helaena. His mother, Alicent, thought you a doll, and always pestered Aemond to bring you back whenever he could.

You had taken him to meet your family as well, driving back to your childhood home. It wasn’t Dragonstone, but it was comfortable enough. Your parents absolutely adored what a gentleman he was, even managing to earn your father’s approval, a feat that no other previous boyfriend had been able to achieve.

By summer’s end, Aemond tried to convince you to move out of your dorm and into an apartment with him instead, one just outside of campus. Despite every fiber of your being begging you to say yes, you wanted to keep your own space for a while longer. As much as you loved Aemond, it would be best to not rush into things. You were still students after all, and you wanted to make the most of what university had to offer. You had the rest of your lives to do more things, this you were sure of.

As the first semester of your second year at Oxford started, you found yourself rushing through the halls towards your tutorial. You were running a few minutes late, and you hated being tardy. You entered the room quietly, throwing your tutor an apologetic look. The other student was already seated, flipping through a book when you entered. Slightly out of breath, you settled down beside him, before turning to give introduce yourself. You gave him a sweet smile as you extended your hand for him to shake. His eyes, covered by thin frames, shifted from your face to your hand, before hesitantly returning the greeting.

“My name’s Michael Gavey,” he said.

#bella writes ✍️#queued post #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen imagines #modern aemond #aemond smut #aemond targaryen #ewan mitchell #hotd x reader #hotd fanfic

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nastyaromatherapy · 7 months

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"Fuck Maddy" (18+)

Nate fucks you at a party in a way to get back/over his ex.

to the anon who sent me an Ethan request, i see u 🫡

pairing - nate jacobs x fem!reader

one shot length, 1.3k+ word fic

warnings: PIV, swallowing spitting, delusional ass reader, teensy bit of drinking

You had a crush on Nate Jacobs since eighth grade. But it was nothing special. Who didn't? He was cute, played football, and came from a respectful family. What was there not to love?

You've had your eye on him since you were 13, and you were now a senior. Still no luck with him. Your friends would always tell you to give up, especially after he started dating Maddy Perez. She was the hottest most confident cheerleader in school. But there was a party coming up and you knew they were fighting. You knew it was your time to shine.

You didn't tell your friends because you knew they would obviously not approve. "Y/n, what the fuck were you thinking?" You could just imagine their scolding.

So, you got one of your guy friends to drop you off, one that was semi close to Nate. They played football together. You never considered him because he was sweet, kind, medium ugly, not the best at football just not your type.

The two of you enter the party and quickly go your separate ways. You wore a skimpy dress which kept hiking up whenever you took a step. You took a scope of the cars and didn't recognize any of them except for Nate's silver truck. You rushed inside to search for your parasocial boyfriend. And then there he was in the kitchen, downing shots like a champ.

You rubbed at your waterline just in case, trying to erase as much flaking mascara and eye boogers as possible. You approached the island with a smirk you've practiced for awhile. "Can I take shots with you?" You ask him confidently. "No," he gawked, making a face. You kept your face straight, you've been teaching yourself things about Nate. One thing was to not take the stuff he said to heart. He chuckled when he noticed your never changing expression. "Okay yeah, sure."

He knocked the stuff off of the island, making people gasp and groan at his arrogance. Typical. He laid you on the cold surface, lifting up your dress. "Body shots," he said with a smirk. Everyone cheered his name as he poured the bottle of liquor down a line on your body, from your chest to your naval. He's quick to lick it up and he stares at you coldly as he does so. God was he hot, you felt heat build up in your core. Your cheeks flushed, and you sat up on your elbows after he finished slurping the drink and everyone stopped their cheers.

He smirked and walked off through the crowd, probably going to talk to McKay or something.

Nate's friends started to egg him on. "Yo, that girl was fine as hell hit that before I do, shi," and "I heard your girl Mads was getting around, fucking some bitch in the pool," "Shit that's my mom's pool!" It all started to get to Nate's head. You were hot, sure, but you weren't Maddy. But if Maddy got to fuck a bitch, why couldn't he?

He found you dancing on the dancefloor with some of your guy friends and approached you. "Y/n, right?" He asks with a smirk. "Yeah," you giggled out, a little tipsy. "Care to dance?"

You agreed and started to dance as he joined in. The two of you inched closer to each other, and soon the dancing became grinding. You could hear his groans, even over the loud music. His eyes flicked to out the window where he saw Maddy all over some random guy. "Come on," he said, dragging you by your wrist. You stumbled behind him and he led you to a bathroom.

He threw his lips onto yours, groaning into your mouth. He knew you were just a random girl, but he imagined you as Maddy. His girl, not a random one. You knew that, but you didn't care, this was your chance with fucking Nate Jacobs.

He reached his hand up your skirt, finger pads coming in contact with your damp panties, making your breath hitch. He smirked against your lips.

He slipped his tee off, exposing his fit torso. He's quick to take off your dress as well, leaving you in your matching set. He reaches down to grab your ass, and sits you onto the countertop. He reconnects his lips with yours hungrily, tilting your head up by the back of your neck.

He pulled away and grabbed your tender thighs, spreading them open. He slipped your panties off and crouched down to be eye level with your pussy. He licked a stripe up it, not breaking eye contact, before plunging in two fingers then standing back fully up.

Your eyebrows curled upwards as you looked in his eyes. He bit his lip, focusing on his movements, fingers curling inside your wet cunt. Your dreams were becoming a reality. He slowly left his mouth agape and continued to finger you, your legs inching wider and wider.

You felt that knot build up in your stomach, moans starting to escape from your lips. You didn't care how loud you were, no one would hear you or care. Your sounds just made him hungrier and he thrusted faster. Wet squishy sounds filling the room. With a final moan coming from you, you cum around his fingers, thighs clenching.

"Fuck," he mutters to himself, pulling his fingers out of your cunt and sticking them into yet another wet and warm hole: your mouth. You took his fingers and gagged on them as he chuckled to himself. His fingers were salty, and it could've been because of your unconditional attraction, but you found it intoxicating. He pulled them out of your mouth, a string of spit following after it, making you pant slowly.

He looked down at you while biting his lip as he started to unbuckle his jeans. His pants dropped to his knees, followed by his boxers, leaving his cock free. You just so badly wanted to suck him off, practically salivating. But he had other plans. He spread open your aching thighs once more, lining himself up to your gaping opening. He leans in to the crook of your neck, teeth grazing on your shoulder as he slid in, your pussy swallowing his length whole.

You whined when he entered you, gripping on the faucet and the edge of the counter. He started moving in and out, slow but deep. He breathes loudly in your ear, sending shivers down your spine and making your hairs stick up erect. Your moans in his ear make him greedier, speeding up, hitting that same spot inside of you repeatedly. The two of you stayed silent for most of the time, letting out grunts, groans and moans but no words. Just focused on the pleasure of the moment.

The mirror behind you started to cloud as he started to get close. You could feel him twitch inside of you and him getting louder. You clenched tighter around him, wanting to feel that sweet cum inside you, but again that's not what he had in mind.

He picked you up off of the counter, still inside of you, before finally pulling out and putting you down on the ground in front of him. Your mouth watered being eye to eye with his throbbing cock, covered in your wetness before taking it into your mouth, sucking him sweetly. He groans as you work your tongue around his shaft as your throat takes his tip, gagging when it hits your esophagus. He throws his head back and starts to buck his hips in and out of your mouth before cummings down your throat. You pull off of him and regurgitate the semen, letting it drip down his cock and your chin to the floor.

He pants, wiping sweat off his forehead before removing yourself with your heavenly mouth.

He pulls his pants and boxers back up and grab his shirt from the floor. "Yeah, fuck Maddy," he says before leaving the room.

#nate euphoria #euphoria x reader #euphoria #smut #euphoria smut #nate jacobs x y/n #nate jacobs x you #nate jacobs smut #nate jacobs #nate jacobs x reader #nate jacobs fic #nate jacobs fanfic #euphoria fic #euphoria imagine #nate jacobs imagine #jacob elordi #jacob elordi fanfiction

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remlionheart · 8 days

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⟡˙⋆ MDNI ⋆˙⟡

Teacher's Pet

♡༊·˚ the second installment in my euphoria x jjk drabbles. this takes place where megumi's left off, but it's still a standalone fic so it's not necessary to read both parts if u don't want to ♡ tw for drug use and slight coercion. gojo x shy fem!reader. 𐙚 praise kink girlies who have ever dreamt of an authority figure having their way with you - hi, hello, welcome, enjoy your stay 𐙚 your former teacher's house was a place where anything and everything happened. a place people came to let go of their responsibilities and lose themselves for the night. there was only one rule: no one was allowed to step foot in his bedroom... shout out to the loml @bratbby333 for literally being gojo. 3.9k words. porn with a plot. lemme know whatcha think, luv u ♡༊·˚

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Satoru Gojo had never been the most morally sound, neither in his personal or professional life. There were many things he was willing to turn a convenient blind eye to, secrets he was willing to keep in order to protect himself and those he deemed valuable enough. In a world predominantly made up of black and white, he was the condemning shade of silver that connected the two. Always towing the line but never really committing to either side.

With the amount of wealth and status he possessed, there was hardly anything he couldn't have - not a person or a drug or material object that was off limits to him. The entire world had always bent to his will, and he intended on keeping it that way.

His footsteps were heavy as he maneuvered through the crowd of sorcerers that were scattered about his living room.

Every weekend was the same, a hazy blend of laughter and smoke and blue lights. Girls snorting coke off of his marble countertops and couples fucking in the pool, not caring at all who saw. It was the place that people wandered to when they needed to let go of their inhibitions for the night and succumb to their own vices. "Gojo's house of debauchery" as Megumi would so endearingly name it.

He tilted back the rest of his drink while he made his way upstairs, pleased with the way bodies parted for him without him having to say a word. He was imperious, subconsciously operating with an effortlessly powerful presence anywhere he went, but especially within the domain of his lofty penthouse.

He came to an abrupt pause, noticing the door of his bedroom was cracked open. There were hardly any rules when it came to his Saturday night depravities, but the one thing that everyone knew was to not step foot into his room.

His jaw clenched, grabbing onto the door handle with every intention of having to drag someone out when the tension in his shoulders suddenly settled. A small smirk crept across his face as he closed the door behind him, his annoyance completely overruled by a new sense of perverse curiosity as he noted the way his sheets hugged the side of your hip.

"You lost sweetheart?"

Your eyes snapped open when you heard the click of the lock, your mind was racing trying to piece together where you were. You'd taken at least 4 shots too many before you'd stumbled upstairs.

The last thing you remembered was searching for a bathroom, barely being able to push your way through the crowd when Nobara noticed you. "You don't look too good," she had shouted over the music, "here, follow me." She'd forced you to drink some water while you peed and then guided you to the connecting bedroom. "You need to lay down for a little bit, 'kay?" It was the last thing you had heard before your head hit the pillow and your surroundings finally stopped spinning. You'd assumed that she'd taken you to one of his many guestrooms, but no, in her own drunken haze, she'd managed to leave you in his bed.

"Gojo-sensei," you immediately grimaced at your own formality, scrambling to correct yourself while you rolled over to face him. "I - mean, Gojo." Satoru? No, definitely not. You shook your head at the thought. "I'm sorry, let me just grab my stuff and -"

His smirk only grew at your hesitation though, a slight laugh leaving his lips as he waved a dismissive hand and took a seat on the edge of the bed next to you. "You're already here. Stay."

Your body froze when you met his stare, the low glow from the red light above his headboard emphasizing the sharpness of his face. You were surprised he even recognized you considering you hadn't seen him since graduation. Out of all of his former first-years who would so frequently pass out after overindulging, you had never been one of them.

Never, until now.

His eyes drifted along your silhouette, noting the curves that had replaced your once slender frame. The maturity that had stolen your timid teenage smile. You’d always piqued his interest, but you were now piquing something much more sinister inside him as he continued to look you up and down.

"This is new for you, hm?" He asked, looping a slender finger under his blindfold before pulling it down. "I mean, you were always a good girl, right?" Your heart stuttered in your chest when your stare caught his fully. An impossible shade of cerulean gazing back at you through thick lashes. "A bit shy from what I remember."

You shrugged, thankful for the way the lighting was covering up the heat that had migrated to your cheeks. You were better off than you were 2 hours ago but you still weren't as coherent as you should be, especially for this situation. "I was a kid back then." You finally managed.

"Seems like you're still one seeing as you couldn't handle a few shots without needing to lay down." His tone was more amused than it was scolding. "Look, it’s all about balance. If you're drinking or taking more downers than you're used to, you need an upper to counter it."

It almost felt like you were back in his classroom listening to one of his lectures, only the lesson he was about to teach you was definitely not Jujutsu High approved. He leaned over, grabbing a black Versace box from his nightstand. "If you're ever bordering on the verge of blacking out, the quickest way to regain your composure is this."

You watched him pull out a bag of white powder along with a dainty, almost doll-sized spoon, scooping out a bump before holding it to the left side of his nose while another finger covered the right. His pupils bloomed as he inhaled, letting the drug enter into his system with ease. "Come here." He instructed.

You leaned toward him, it was almost muscle memory the way your mind and body both followed his directions with such blind obedience. A slight grin pulled at the corner of his lips as he brought another spoonful up to your face, his free hand closing one side of your nose for you. “Take a deep breath f’me.” He gave you a low nod as you complied without a second thought. “There you go, just like that.”

Your jaw tightened, an odd sense of clarity washing over you when you looked back at him this time. The coke had managed to reel you back in, neutralizing at least some of the alcohol in your system as your body buzzed from the stimulants. Reality suddenly had a stronghold over you, reminding you that you weren’t just in your former teacher’s bed, but you were in it with him while he spoonfed you drugs.

“Better?” he asked, cocking his head at you with the same smirk.

All you could do was nod, gradually coming to terms with the fact that you were powerless to the two opposing substances that were now working within you. Your heart rate was slowed by the alcohol but accelerated by the coke, neither one of them necessarily overpowering the other. They were instead coming in waves, almost taking turns as they flooded your thoughts and calmed your nerves. Gojo-sensei was always right, but you never imagined this would be something you’d learn from him.

“A lot better.” You admitted, watching him set the box on the nightstand, wondering if the way he left the bag inside of it open was intentional or not.

“Good.” He pulled at his tie, loosening it around his neck as he stripped out of his black blazer leaving him in just a white button up. “What were you doing here tonight anyway?”

Your mouth opened and then closed as you met his stare again. There was no subtle way to admit that you were still recovering from your latest breakup. That you’d come out tonight in a sad attempt to maybe, accidentally run into him.

“Oh, god,” he groaned, reading like you a fucking book. “Please don’t tell me you came here to get Takuma's attention.”

Your pupils dilated for an assortment of reasons, embarrassment churning in your stomach as you shook your head in denial. “What? No, I just wanted to get out for a few and -"

“Bullshit.” Despite the sharp edge in his tone, he was still wearing the same coy smile, his leg lightly grazing yours as he positioned himself closer to you. “You always had a thing for him. I remember the way you used to follow him around the hall like a lost puppy.”

“That was years ago.” You countered, trying to process the fact that he’d watched you that carefully.

“But you did, didn’t you?” His hand reached up, his slender fingers gently tangling into your hair, his voice dropping down to a pointed whisper. "I even heard you wanted him to be your first."

Your heart was racing, but it suddenly had nothing to do with the coke. Gojo-sensei had never been the most professional teacher. He was always joking with his students. Always getting into gossip that had absolutely nothing to do with him, but you never thought that his interest in his student's personal affairs extended to you considering you hardly ever had anything noteworthy going on. You sat in the back of the class. You barely spoke to anyone. You were a wallflower from hell. The fact that he remembered your crush on Ino was astonishing. The fact that he knew you wanted Ino to be your first was insanity.

His hand was still attentively drifting across the back of your neck, light fingertips gliding across your skin while his eyes roamed along your lips. You were forgetting how to breathe between the way he was looking at you and the sudden realizations that you were quickly having to come to terms with.

"You didn't actually let him take your virginity, did you?" His tone was dripping with taunting curiosity.

"He -" you faltered as his palm met the small of your back, the oxygen all but gone from the room. "He was my...first and...." You nearly choked on your own honesty, your face matching the deep red lights decorating his wall. "...only."

Satoru's body stilled, an incredulous look taking over his face before a vicious laugh erupted from him. "You're joking. So, have you ever cum then? Like, even just by yourself?”

"Of course I have." Your response was immediate. Almost too defensive to be true. "Plenty of times." You tacked on, which only made it worse.

You froze as his grip found its way around your waist, his fingertips lightly digging into your skin. "Show me then." he challenged.

Your heart felt like it was going to explode. His touch equal parts tantalizing and intimidating the closer he got to you, his hand cradled your jawline, his thumb tracing over your bottom lip. "Show me how you make yourself cum when no one's around."

Your breathing came to a complete stop when he closed the already small gap between you, his hand gliding down your neck as his tongue parted your lips. His body was warm and inviting, pressing against yours with ease. "Let me see it," he continued, slipping the straps of your tank-top down your shoulders.

You were stuck somewhere between the desperate desire to pull him closer and a nagging sense of insecurity that you couldn't shake no matter how hard you tried. You weren't stupid, you knew that he was much more experienced than you. He'd probably been with plenty of beautiful women who had given him more of a show than you felt capable of giving.

He pulled away slightly, picking up on your apprehension as his eyes met yours again. "You wanna be here, right?"

You nodded back at him, an aching feeling building between your legs at how dominant yet unexpectedly gentle he was being with you. "I do, I just -" You felt your jaw clench, the coke mixing with your self-doubt causing your body to tighten up even though it was the last thing you wanted it to do. "My head is just kind of everywhere right now." You admitted sheepishly.

"Here," He shot you a small smile before leaning over to reach back into his nightstand while you stared at the ceiling, trying to relax into the softness of his bed. "Open." he said, hovering over you again.

His stare was locked firmly with yours as you lolled your tongue out for him obediently, swallowing down the yellow circular pill he'd given you. "Good girl." He praised, tracing over the side of your face with his finger. "We'll take things slow, yeah?"

You didn't know what you'd just taken. Truthfully, you didn't even care with the way he was talking to you. His voice was like silk when he leaned back into you, carefully wedging himself between your legs as he kissed you again. His movements were fluid but thoughtful. His fingers grazing along your skin softly, leaving little goosebumps in their wake.

He may have been with more people than you had, but you were gradually starting to realize that it was more of a positive than it was a negative. He was able to read you so easily, he knew exactly where and how to touch you.

You let out a faint whimper as his palm met the inside of your thigh, slipping up your skirt and moving your panties to the side. "Keep your eyes on me, okay?"

The way your bottom lip lodged between your teeth while you looked back at him with a doe-like expression made it all the harder to restrain himself, but he somehow managed to keep his resolve.

His long digits spread you apart before his middle finger slid between your folds and began drawing light but firm circles against you. He could see your timidness slowly dissipating, the Valium he had slipped you clearing doing its job as you arched your back from him and let out another whine.

You were overwhelmingly comfortable, your body completely melting under his touch. He was running uppp and downnn your clit with just the right amount of pressure, creating a heavenly amount of slick for the both of you.

"That’s it. Gettin' so wet for me." He breathed, his lips just barely ghosting yours. "Do you have any idea how perfect you look right now?"

The moan you let out was beyond your control, your vision was blurred by silver hair and blue eyes and how unbelievably good it all felt. "Gojo-sensei," you panted, your body writhing beneath him as he slid in a thick finger inside of you this time. "F - fuck."

Satoru groaned, plunging even deeper into you. He never knew how badly he needed to hear you moan out his formal name until you suddenly couldn't stop doing it. Your hips were bucking up towards him, your lips urgently crashing into his as more dazed out noises poured out of you.

"Keep going." He instructed, reeling in the way your eyes widened as he added another finger. "You're doin' so good."

You were grabbing onto the collar of his shirt, your walls clenching around him. He was hitting spots that you'd never been able to reach before. Spots that Ino had apparently neglected too. You felt yourself slipping. Your mind was racing. Your body grinding against him desperately and your voice breaking with each word you tried to get out.

"Go-jo... I'm - gon-na..." But you didn't have to say it for him to know. He slammed into you, nodding at you in encouragement as fire flickered through his steel eyes.

"Let it out." There was a fierceness to his tone that he couldn't mask anymore, his composure was crumbling right along with yours. "C’mon, let me fucking feel it.”

Watching you come undone like this was such a sharp contrast from the shy schoolgirl he once knew that used to skip class just to avoid group projects. You squirmed under him, mewling out his name like it was the only word you knew as an orgasm finally raked through your body, stealing away every last bit of hesitancy you once had.

You were staring back at him like he'd told you to, never breaking eye contact no matter how hard it was for you to keep still. Your irises bloomed with pleasure, a noise you didn't know you were capable of making escaping you as you drenched his hand.

"Good fucking girl."

He pulled out of you, bringing his fingers up to your mouth. Your lips parted without him having to say anything, sucking them clean as you continued to look back at him with the same innocent expression. He was afraid he was going to no choice but to get you pregnant if you kept this up.

"Takuma ever make you cum like that?" he asked, releasing himself from you so you could speak.

You bit back a smile as you shook your head. "No," you conceded, helping him lift your tank-top above your head. "Not like that."

"I didn't think so." He smirked, unbuttoning his own shirt while you slid out of your skirt, both of your outfits being tossed to the floor.

You felt your center throb watching him strip out of his boxers. An overwhelming sense of neediness flooded over you as you took in the intimidating masterpiece that was Gojo-sensei's body. You'd be lying if you said you hadn't imagined what it looked like a time or two when you were in his class. It was hard not to with the way girls fawned over him, but you'd managed to keep your infatuation to yourself up until now.

Seeing him stroke himself as he lined up with your entrance was prettier than any daydream you could've ever conjured up.

"Need you to focus on your breathing.” he said, rubbing his tip between your folds to wet himself with your slick. The temptation to absolutely destroy you was plaguing his mind, but he knew he needed to ease you into it. The only person you'd been with was Ino for god's sake, you deserved to be fucked properly.

You followed his lead and inhaled slowly, thankful for whatever magical relaxation pill you’d taken you as he prodded into you. It didn't take long to realize why he'd told you to breathe, his tip alone was stretching you out more than you were used to. You found yourself grabbing onto his forearm, your nails digging into his skin as a hazy whimper filled the space between you.

"It's alright, you can handle it." Your walls were smothering him, so impossibly snug and tight that he struggled to keep his eyes from rolling into the back of his head. "Just like that. Juuust like that."

He pressed into you carefully, harnessing all the restraint he could possibly manage while you tried but failed to hold back your whines. "God, you feel fuckin' good." He groaned. "Takin' me so well."

You were still clutching onto him, your mouth dropping open the further he went. You'd never felt this full before - this entirely enamored by someone being inside of you. You thought that you knew what you liked up until this point, but he was drawing noises and feelings out of you that you didn't even know existed.

Gojo's urge to break you was getting harder to ignore. You were so pouty and delicate and naively trusting of him. He'd been trying to keep a steady pace, watching you intently to make sure you were still comfortable, but the moment the words "deeper" and "please" left your mouth, he felt something inside him snap.

His hand laced around your throat, his thumb and index finger pressing firmly into the sides of your neck. The smirk he shot you was lethal. "Deeper? You sure that's what you want?"

It was your one and only chance to back out, but you couldn't. There was a coiling tension in your abdomen. A depraved craving coming from your core. It wasn't just that you wanted more, it was that you needed more. You could barely get out another, "please." before he was suddenly plunging into you.

His rhythm was merciless, his grip tightening around your airways turning your moans into strained gasps.

He leaned in, his hair brushing against your forehead as he watched your eyebrows knit together, your eyes locked with his once more.

"You've always been so fuckin' cute, y'know that?" His hips met yours with another damning thrust. "So good at doing what you're told."

The red lights blurred together, a mixture of stars and sedatives clouding your vision as the aching feeling between your thighs amplified. Your cunt felt like it was pulsating, that burning build suddenly breaking away from just your stomach and spreading throughout your entire body.

"Oh, fuck." He grunted. "There it is. Keep goin’.”

Your walls spasmed, drool spilling down your chin while you wriggled under his grasp. Your pelvis tilted up feverishly to meet his as you took every inch of him. You were teetering on the verge of passing out. Nearly crying from how overwhelmed your senses were when another orgasm ripped through you.

His grip loosened on you, his movements becoming more frenzied. The fucked-out look on your face coupled with the pouty, suppressed cries you let out when he removed his hand from your throat was enough to drive him over the edge too.

His lips caught yours with feral urgency, his hand tangling into your hair as a lewd warmth filled you, spilling out onto his sheets. “I want you over here again next weekend," he said in between breaths. “Got it?"

You nodded back at him, your mind humming from overstimulation as he slowly pulled out.

He took a moment before getting to his feet, admiring the mess that he'd made of you. "C'mere." He smirked, helping reposition you up to the front of the bed.

He placed a pillow under your head and brought the blanket up over your shoulders. There was no way you were making it home tonight.

He lazily slipped his pants back on, only bothering to button up half of his shirt as he ran a hand through his hair and reached for the Versace box on his nightstand. He divvied out another bump and held the spoon to his nose, inhaling sharply before turning off the light for you and venturing out of the room to see how many people were still up and about.

The music had died down for the most part, the once packed hallway now mostly empty. He rounded the corner, just about to head downstairs when he came to an abrupt pause.

"Ino." he called out, noticing the brunette wandering out of one of his guestrooms. "Didn't realize you were here."

"Oh, yeah." He shrugged, tilting back the rest of his beer. "Was just lookin' for someone, Nobara said that -" he stopped himself before he could finish his thought, shaking his head. "Y'know what, it doesn't matter. She's too needy to deal with anyway."

Gojo's eyebrow raised, an arrogant smirk cutting across his face as he played along, offering him faux words of shallow comfort. "Ah, yeah. Bet she's pretty whiney too, huh?"

"Right." Ino snorted, completely oblivious to the condescending trap he'd just walked into.

"Probably says you're not deep enough." Gojo pressed, earning another clueless drunken laugh from him. "Always so pouty."

"Exactly. Like she's never satisfied."

"Girls," he mused, adjusting the collar of his shirt from where you'd grabbed onto earlier while you were soaking him. "Sounds like she needs someone to teach her a lesson..."

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

#jjk x reader #rem writes #gojo satoru smut #gojo satoru #satoru gojo #jjk x you #jjk smut #saturo gojo x reader #saturo smut #jujutsu kaisen #jjk gojo #gojo x reader #gojo smut #gojou satoru x reader #shy reader

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 27 days

Text

Winter's King 12

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

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

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

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

Characters: Geralt of Rivia

Note: have a good weekend.

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

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

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You stand, still uncertain. You look at the king as he tilts his face up to the moonlight. The silver sheen washes over him with an unearthly glow. He looks lupine, much like your dream.

“Your highness?” You echo again, hands curling around the sides of your skirt.

“Will you continue to disregard my order?” He challenges as his gold eyes meet yours. You wince at the way they shine.

“No, your highness, I am only...” you hush yourself and clamp your lips tight. You turn and search around, numbly walking along the curve of the pond.

He growls as you reach the line of hedges into the next walkway.

“You will want to go much faster than that,” he warns as you hear him stand. “I will allow you some advance...” He exhales as you glance back at him, “ten...” he stares at you, his figure shrouded in shadow from far away, “nine...”

You blanch and tumble backward through the gap. You spin and stagger on your soles, throwing your arms out as your heart pulses madly. Something about his timbre, about his words, has you alight. There is something amiss about him.

You push your legs against your skirts and hurry blindly into the nocturnal void. The moonlight seeps in around the silhouette of leaves as you keep your hands ahead of you to prevent a collision. You try to see through the dark, like silk across your eyes, making out little more than hazy orbs.

You crash into a thicket of thorns and pull away from the rosy bunch. Their scent clings onto you as you turn to the left and dive down the next path. You don’t know these gardens, not like Debray. For all you know, you’re going even deeper.

You hear a step behind you and swirl to face it. You squint, trying to see who is there. Is it the king? Do you want it to be? What does he mean to do when he catches you? What is the meaning of this game?

You plunge back into a sprint, puffing as you pump your arms. You whimper and whine as you slow, legs heavy and feet dull. Where are you going? You don’t like this. You remember a night like this before, how the cold dew of the forest crept up your legs, feet hitting the earth in quick succession, the holler of men and snort of horses behind you.

You stagger and spin back. No, you can’t run anymore. You don’t like this. You don’t like those thoughts. That last night before you were taken to Debray, before you dawned the cap of your bearing. That orphan girl running from servitude.

You walk forward, shaking as you peer back and forth. You wade through the thick grey air. You hear a twig snap and a bush rustle, each noise from a different direction. Perhaps it is a rabbit or a chipmunk. You sniffle and wring your hands.

You must find the king. You will surrender this game and ask that he takes you back to the castle. You trudge over the beaten path and hear the soft trickle ahead. It must be the pond. The silver light blooms brighter as you come upon a space in the hedges.

Suddenly, there is only air beneath your feet. You kick out as something rigid wraps around your waist and lifts you. You wriggle desperately and cry out, your eyes tinging but not overflowing. Your fear has you clawing at the hold around your middle.

“Please, please, don’t hurt me!” You plead as you flail, “please, sir, I’ll go back to the castle--” you choke as the grasp on you slackens but your feet still do not meet the ground. You quiet as you recall your present, that you are not in that forest, that you are far from Debray.

You are sat upon the bench, the silver moon gleaming down on you as it outlines the broad shadow before you. King Geralt faces you, kneeling as you tremble and hug yourself. You put your head down in shame.

“Apologies, your highness, I was lost,” you reach to rub your cheek, flicking back your tears with your lashes, “I got confused.”

“No, it is I who should apologise, I didn’t mean to frighten you,” he takes your hand between his big ones, “I only meant to make some fun.” He brushes his touch up your arms and squeezes as you drop your hand to your lap, “little maid, did I hurt you?”

You shake your head, “I was only... delirious. It is too dark out here. I cannot see,” you bite down and look away, “apologies, I did act out.”

“Little maid,” he tickles along your cheek, sending a shiver down your spine, “I would not let you get lost or hurt.” He tilts his hand to cradle your face, his thumb stroking your cheekbone, “what was it you were running from in your head? Who?”

“No one,” you lie. “Just a memory.”

“Memories are not just that,” he insists, “but I understand how they can hurt. Forgive me, treasure, I wasn’t--”

“Your highness,” the sullen voice has the king recoiling. He quickly plants his foot and stands. You rise as well, toying with that word he called you. Treasure. “The queen sends for you.”

Bryce steps out into the moonlight. You look at him then the ground. How long had he been there? How much had he heard?

“The queen,” King Geralt grumbles, “what is it she wants? It is late--”

“She would not say and I would not guess,” Bryce says, “but she screams for it. Like a yowling cat.”

The king sighs and lowers his head. He squares his shoulders and resets his posture. He steps away from you and gestures to his soldier. The king twists around and marches away. Bryce falls into pace with you as you follow. He is silent, you all are.

You approach the castle, guards lurking in the shadows, and are let past the front doors by a sombre pair. Inside, you follow the king through the great hall and up the stairs. You peek over at Bryce as you proceed down the corridor. He gently squeezes your wrist, just briefly, and carries on.

“Your highness,” Bryce speaks as you hear a racket ahead of you; screeching and crashing. “Should I escort the maid back to her chambers?”

“Cursed woman,” King Geralt mutters as he slows, Queen Jazlene’s door just ahead. He pauses and looks over his shoulder, “the cost of a kingdom...”

“Your highness?” Bryce prompts once again.

You echo him and step forward, “I could calm her. Bring some wine--”

“No, she will have no more of that,” the king declares sharply. “I wed her, I put my name next to hers, so it is I shall attend to her. Sir,” he looks at Bryce, “do as you suggest, put the maid in her chambers and I will put the queen in her place.”

“Aye, your highness,” Bryce bows his head and points you back, “come, maid, the night wears on.”

You glance up at the king. His golden eyes are wrought as his gaze holds yours for only an instant. You see the hesitation bob in his throat before he turns away. You mirror him and follow Bryce back along the corridor.

As you climb to the next floor and continue down another corridor, Bryce slows. He stops as he gets to the door and faces you. He takes a breath as he looks you up and down.

“It’s treacherous here in the summer kingdom,” he says, “but that will not change on the road. Mouse, you keep yourself well.”

“Thank you, sir, I am fine.”

“Aye, you do not take my meaning but you do not take the king’s either,” he puts his hand on his belt, “his favour might do you fine in this moment, but it is dangerous. Let not others notice so they may not envy it.”

You grimace and shake your head, “what do you mean?”

“Your little games do not need an audience. It is no tournament.”

Your chest sinks and your skin speckles. Is he accusing you of something?

“I... I haven’t done anything untoward. I would not, sir--”

“You may not,” he intones, “but we are all ruled by the will of the king.”

“Sir, the king is married to Lady Jazlene--”

“And we both see how they fare,” he states bluntly. “Carry my words with you, do with them as you may, but I could not leave them unsaid.”

Your eyes gloss and your nose tingles once more. He’s mad. Truly, he can’t think you and King Geralt. A maid and her master.

“I would not,” you repeat.

He huffs and nods curtly. He turns to the door and unlatches it, “go, rest your head while you can.”

“Sir Bryce--”

“I am bid protect you by the king,” he pushes the door inward and rests his hand on the frame, “not from him.” He looks past you, as if through, “little mouse, I do hope I am wrong as well but I know better than to depend on that.”

You shudder and tug at the end of your sleeve. You slump and drag your feet through the doorway. You stop, just inside, “good night, sir.”

He grunts and pulls the door shut. Your lip trembles as your heart races, just as it did in the garden. He is wrong. He must be. You saw yourself how the king is trying, he even said it was the queen he meant to game with earlier. It was only that she was too unwell. He said it!

And he goes to the queen’s chamber that night. He is not there. He has not been disloyal. The matter is not your concern. You serve wine, you lace gowns, you braid hair. You are only the maid.

⚔️

You return to the queen’s service the next morning. The world is a bit more familiar as you help her into her gown and twine her hair into an elaborate coif. Servants pass in and out of her chambers as they prepare for the royal party’s imminent departure.

“Why can we not keep this capital?” Queen Jazlene whines, “but my husband does insist on return to his frigid homelands.”

You say nothing as you sift through the old monarch’s jewelry chest. You present to her successor each gem, brooch, and chain. She has yet to turn any away though you wonder if there would be room in her already bustling luggage. Perhaps the cart will be a touch more crowded on your ride north.

“And yet my husband did come to me,” she boasts, “I think... hmm, well, perhaps this marriage won’t be so turbulent.”

You show her a cuff and she snatches it. She puts it on her wrist, turning her arm this way and that, as she oohs and aahs. She wiggles excitedly.

“I recall this piece. One year, when I came with father to court, the queen wore this cuff. You see the emeralds. I remember she was so proud of it even though all the court knew it was only gifted to her by her husband to distract from his mistress,” she trills, “oh, how foolish. But the old queen was so boring. It is a wonder the king didn’t dispose of her, who can blame him for taking an amour?”

She sighs and looks at the mirror, “and she wasn’t half so pretty as me.”

You remain silent, continuing to sort with her endless approval. You don’t think there is a single trinket she could ever turn away. You don’t see the need for so many of the same thing. Some stones are brighter than others but why not keep the brightest and do away with the rest.

“As I was saying,” she goes on, “last night when the king came to me, he was... almost meek. That man. Can you imagine? I admit I was distraught after the day I suffered but he listened and we spoke.” She strokes her fingers as she admires her oval nails. “There are some southern lords who will come north as well, some northern to stay behind. He says it will help us acquaint the two kingdoms into one.”

She drops her hands and pushes her shoulders straight, “he is wise. I suppose I should heed him if I am to be a good queen.”

You are want to agree but to do so aloud may be taken as insult. She might have done it sooner and saved herself some trouble. Yet it isn’t your place and you haven’t the wisdom of a queen. You’re merely a servant.

“Once I give him an heir, he will have to listen to me too. Yes, I will do what mother could never. Give my husband a son,” she drags her hand to her midsection, “I think last night...” she flutters her lashes dreamily. Her suggestion makes you squirm. Her and the king’s relations are hardly your concern. “It was better,” her voice is brittle, “even if...” she peers around and clamps her lips. She narrows her dark eyes, “close the door.”

You obey. You come back to her and return to your previous task. She reaches in to pluck out a string of pearls.

“He puts me on my stomach,” she whispers, almost as if she thinks you won’t hear, but she is speaking to you. There is no one else in the room. Perhaps she is only embarrassed that she has only to the courage to tell a maid. “And he behind me so I can’t see him and... he can’t see me but... but if he could...” she toys with the pearls, “if he’d just look at me, he might like it better.”

You lift a pair of medallions earrings and she ignores them. She tosses the pearls back in the chest and stands. You back away.

“He won’t let me touch him otherwise,” she mulls as she paces. “But he is warming. It is early, isn’t it? And compared to the first night... I don’t know. It will get better. It must.”

She quiets and stands by the window. Her anxiety is palpable. It’s uncharacteristic. You’ve never seen her uncertain of anything yet you can understand it. She is soon to set off to a new life and to brave a long road. When she reaches her destination, she will be a true queen. When you get there, you’ll still be a maid.

“I’ll go to him tonight,” she says and raises her head, “yes, yes, I will go to him and try again.” She spins and smirks at her grand idea, “maid, I must find something to wear for him. Well, nothing very much,” she remarks coyly, “but I will need a robe. Yes, I saw a satin one in the queen’s closet.” She swallows and stands as straight as she can, “my closet.”

You diligently cross the chamber and search the wardrobe. You find a white satin robe stitched with gold and silver. You turn to show the queen. She giggles and claps her hands.

“Wine,” she says, “I must find some courage too.”

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

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s3thwrit3sstuff · 6 months

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The gojo/m!reader fic is just *chef’s kiss* I fucking love your writing. I know you just posted part 3 and I don’t want to be greedy but can we expect a part 4? 👁️

Lawd, don’t tempt me, nonnie! I have so many headcanons and ideas that I wanted to include but they did not feel relevant to the plot. 😭 Okay - not making any promises! We’ll see how it goes because I have some other fics lined up first! ( ´Д`)y━･~~

Below is the original ending of the fic as a treat! I didn’t write it out originally because I dislike reader-insert endings with a definitive end, I like giving room for the reader to be able to create infinite scenarios with the plot provided (｀_´)ゞ

alternate ending, angst with comfort | not proofread! | wc: 1.5 k

“You gave him a run for your money, huh? I told him it was a cruel idea.”

Air does not inflate your lungs but you inhale anyway, if only to feel your chest rise and fall. He reaches his hand out, and that onyx gaze makes your vision blurry.

“S’guru...?”

Clasping at your cheeks, you try to grasp the reality before you. Nails scratching at your skin as you cast your gaze downwards to your lap. The familiar colour of deep navy blue causes more tears to fall.

“What?” Those vortex-patterned buttons shimmer under the warm lights and Suguru’s hands invade your vision as he gently circles his fingers around your wrist.

“(Y/N), it’s alright. Everything is alright now.” His voice felt like honey, just like before. He’s not decayed or pale or rotten. Suguru is wearing his uniform - like before. Before the Star Plasma incident, before his betrayal, before his death, before your resentment contorted your memory of him into a grotesque spirit.

“You gave it your all. You can rest now.”

The sight past his shoulders is bright and cloudless. The silver beams that hold the glass together meld up and up and up into the roof. The floors are glistening, with not one footprint or stain and the pops of green from the potted plants and the distant forests beyond the glass make your shoulders droop.

“...Where...”

He squeezes your wrist and stands, you have no choice but to do the same.

When you do, he wraps his arms around you. A tight, comforting, squeeze that makes your arms hang awkwardly out with twitching fingers. Your clothes spill from between his hold and you can feel the fine hairs on his cheeks.

��You had every right to hate me, (Y/N). It wasn’t your fault. I don’t hate you, I swear I don’t.”

Tears stream down your face. They feel so cooling, unlike the usual burning that follows.

“I missed you, (Y/N).”

“Suguru...”

“I missed you too. Suguru.”

“(Y/N). Where is he?”

Silence befalls the room. His eyes search and pane from every face to every molecule in the air. As terrifying a thought as it is, Satoru’s six eyes hover unseen over his shoulders. Each pupil looks this way or that way. Some have more than one, long downward-facing lashes fluttering as it darts and consumes the sights before it.

They’re hungrier now. Famished from the timeless chamber that was the Prison Realm.

They’re hungry to lay themselves on you.

Drink in your beauty once more. Drown in your presence and weep when you meet their gaze.

You are not here.

The silence is too familiar.

Satoru feels his chest tighten.

“Mr Gojo,” Yuji steps forward and Shoko purses her lips so Satoru steels his expression. Yuji will tell him you are dead, he will tell him how you perished and if Satoru is lucky (which he hasn’t felt lucky in a long time) Yuji will tell him your body was here.

But Yuji says nothing.

He extends his hand after fishing something out of his pocket and Satoru feels a familiar weight in his palm.

It’s your wedding ring.

The other half to his own that he wore.

He thought you’d melted it down. He’d never seen you wear it after that night.

Were you sentimental too?

Satoru recalls the old books your mother had that left holes in his bookshelves - tracks of their departure shredding through the dust like a stampede of hooves. The drawings that were made in crayon and pens and paint by your children, lining the hallways of home or the fridge (”like the Americans do,” you joked). There were even documents you kept, receipts, of things that held no more value.

You were full of memories just like he was.

He stared at the ring. Delicate, detailed and forlorn without its user.

“He told me he had a plan,” Yuji’s fist shake as he speaks.

“Mr (Y/N) said he’d be alright. He told me to trust him and that everything would be okay. He just told me to get as many comrades out of the area so I did. He - He slipped the ring in my pocket and I didn’t notice.”

You’d been revealed by Sukuna, grasped by the back of your head like a toy. You were decorated like one. Those heavy, patterned, robes and styled hair and painted face. Even with pain contorting your expression you looked as pretty as a doll.

“Lovely sight, isn’t it, my concubine?” Sukuna croons. “You’ve made such an array of allies in my absence. Uruame tells me you’ve even mauled your father, how terrifying.”

Uruame, that bastard. The girl - no. The person that’d been bowing and showing you that horrid swirl pattern on their head - they’d been keeping an eye on you. Ever since you were a child, they’d kept track. To prepare you for Sukuna? Or just to make sure their master's return was celebrated with a feast to please his every desire?

His grip tightens and your yell makes Yuji’s anger simmer under his skin.

‘ I’ll leave the rest to you. ‘ Nanami had told him.

“Sukuna,” he growls out.

The King of Curses, with those lovely eyes Yuji cherished so dearly, smiled like a mad man.

“Oi, brat. Shall I show you how deeper into despair I can take you?”

“Sukuna told Mr (Y/N) to kill us or he’d do it himself. Neither of us expected him to,” Yuji trails off, his nails digging crescent moon shapes into his palms. It’s Yuta who finishes the sentence for him;

“He used Divine Flame to its greatest height. As a way to stop Sukuna from chasing after us and as a way to weaken him.”

“...He had sacrificed himself, is that what you’re saying?” Satoru watches Yuta nod and as Yuji sullenly does the same, Choso comes to his side.

“His flames are still burning. They’re fading but, he did weaken Sukuna considerably,” Shoko says. Satoru knows she’s just taking her time to tell him there is no corpse to be buried. You were gone in the wind and once the remnants of your cursed energy faded there’d be nothing left of you but memories and things; they’d collect dust and grief but none would satisfy Satoru.

He doesn’t mind the way they look at him as he unclasps the silver necklace around his neck to slip your ring. It joins Suguru’s button and he finds himself unable to curse the Gods.

Instead, Satoru closes his eyes to pray.

‘ Watch over me, ‘ he pleads.

It lasts no more than a second. His eyes open but they find themselves searching for hair that shines like vinyl and (E/C) coloured eyes that make heaven weep despite what he’s learned.

The best thing he can hope to do now is free Megumi and Tsumiki of their ailments. Then, then...he’ll bury them.

He’ll bury his family.

“Nanami. Is there a body?”

The furrowing of Yuji’s brows make Satoru’s cheek twitch.

“We’ll bury their things then. Side by side.”

There’s a familiar presence next to him. His scent wafted up Satoru’s nose in a way that made his eyes water. He knows him by the way he breathes, the way he walks, the sound of his hair being tied into a bun.

Suguru is beside him.

He doesn’t know how it’s possible that they’re together once again but a quick glance around and he’s quick to figure it out.

Ah.

He wanted to win so badly.

They talk. They talk like nothing has happened. As if the years were mere footnotes in their story like friends reuniting again after some distance.

Behind him, Yū and Kento are sat. They tease and jest. He yells at Principal Yaga about dying with regret, he sees Riko and Misato talking to each other in their own corner of rhe world.

Kento huffs, Kento smiles.

“If you stop flitting your eyes so wildly you’ll find him, Gojo.” Suguru and Yū chuckle at Satoru’s expression. Kento twists his upper half and points to the windows.

“That woman...” Satoru’s eyes widen.

It’s unmistakably your mother. Her hair, her skin, her posture - youthful and healthy. He sees tiny hands clutching to her shoulder, a head of (H/C) peeking from over it and then your eyes blinking sheepishly up at her.

You’re in your mother's arms, a boy once again as she cradles you close to her.

When your eyes meet him, he sees the bashful way they avert themselves and your mother chuckles as she smooths out your hair. Kento hums and Yū tells him to stand, so Kento does.

Your mother’s smile is as warm as it's always been. Puts the damn sun to shame, really. She presses a kiss to your head then sets you down and with inward facing steps, you walk towards Kento.

With each step, you grow and grow and Satoru thinks of how nice it was that you’re spending your youth with Kento for an eternity now.

Because as you stand in front of Kento in your school uniform, with the bright smile you had in those old photographs, he feels his heart soar. The rings clink softly against each other as he leans back and wraps an arm around Suguru’s shoulder.

Your arms wrap around Kento’s neck and he wraps them around your waist.

“I hope you did not wait long, Ken.” He squeezes you tightly and sighs, “I would wait an eternity for you, my love.”

#s3thwrit3sstuff #s3thwrit3s asks #reader insert #male reader insert #male reader #male!reader #gay reader #nanami kento x male reader #gojo satoru x male reader #satosugu

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lathalea · 9 months

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The Arrival

Yes, my beloved readers, it's time for another Thorin fic from yours truly!

Relationships: Thorin Oakenshield x Reader/OC (pick one) Rating: G Warnings: none Author's notes: Thorin and his Company have reclaimed Erebor and started rebuilding their kingdom. Everything seems fine except for the fact that the King Under The Mountain is eagerly awaiting the arrival of someone very dear to him... Also, I want to apologise to Peter Jackson for stealing some lines from An Unexpected Journey and J.R.R. Tolkien for appropriating and rephrasing one sentence from The Lord of The Rings. I'm a hopeless romantic, what can I say? You can find this fic on AO3. For @legolasbadass 💙💙💙

Khuzdul: Iglishmêk - dwarven sign language Kurdelê - my heart Lukhdelê - my light of all lights

The King Under the Mountain, Thorin, son of Thráin, son of Thrór, the second of his name, also known as Thorin Oakenshield, the king of Durin’s folk, was not a patient Dwarf—and yet he waited. He had been standing on the main terrace above the Great Gate of Erebor since the moment when the first rays of the morning sun gilded the distant peaks of the Iron Hills. His eyes, however, were turned towards the west, where the jagged tops of the Misty Mountains grazed against the pink sky. As he took a deep breath, fresh spring air filled his lungs. It was his—and his people’s—first spring in Erebor since it was reclaimed. The winter after the Battle of Five Armies passed in a blink of an eye. The kingdom was being rebuilt and prepared for the returning Dwarves, food stores had to be replenished, new trade agreements had to be signed… but among all those duties, something else kept Thorin awake until late on many a night. His memories.

The memory of a pair of hands gently resting on his shoulders as he sat behind his desk, and the sweet timbre of the voice that went with it, “Come, Kurdelê, it is time we reposed for the night, those reports can wait until the morning.”

The memory of those soft, sweet lips pressing innocently against his cheek and murmuring something scandalously indecent into his ear.

The memory of how her body felt in his lap, his arms around her waist, her arms around his neck, her forehead pressed against his, her silver laughter as she pretended to scold his rash behaviour, so unbecoming of a king.

The memory of her bare skin in candlelight.

But there were other memories, too. Their lengthy late-night conversations about anything and everything. Their secret escapades to the market, or to an inn, dressed as common folk, pretending to be a couple of travelling merchants. Their wanderings through the Blue Mountains in search of the best view of the sea in the west (his choice) and the most beautiful flower glades (her choice).

During the lengthy council meetings he had to hold almost daily in Erebor, he would recall how much her presence changed the dynamics of similar gatherings back in the Blue Mountains. Her reasoning was swift, and her no-nonsense approach to the matters of state made even the most ancient council members nod in approval. Even now, he would—out of habit—turn to his right, wishing to discuss a matter with her or ask for her insight. But she was not there, and so he would give out a dissatisfied grunt and return to the matter at hand.

He knew that the only thing he had to do was wait, and he abhorred it. But there was nothing to be done. No sane person would risk crossing the Misty Mountains in the middle of winter. Now, however, the spring came into its own right. And he sent his best men to the High Pass to oversee the approach of the first dwarven caravan from Eriador. It was supposed to bring the first group of his people returning home, merchants, masters of craft, their families and belongings… and her. The whole Erebor was waiting for the arrival of their kin—the symbol of a new beginning for the Mountain and its dwellers. Many eyes turned to the west, counting the days, making wagers, discussing the route the waggons must have taken, and the current road conditions. It seemed that in those days, only one topic existed: the caravan.

But Thorin could only think of her lovely hand in his. Of her kindred touch.

As soon as a raven brought word from the caravan, reporting that they have succesfully crossed the mountains, he could not stop himself from looking to the west, and hoping.

This was the fifth day he spent on the terrace, waiting for any signs of the caravan’s approach.

On the first day, Gloin waited with him in hopes of seeing his wife and son, but was called away due to some issue in the treasure chamber. Thorin stayed, cursing the enchanted forest (and its haughty king, for good measure) for daring to obscure his view. Sadly, neither the forest nor its king moved out of the way.

On the second day, Dwalin asked Thorin whether he was growing mawkish in his dotage, staring at the edge of Mirkwood like a lovesick whelp—a question he had to take back on the training grounds.

On the third day, Dori asked whether Thorin would rather wait inside, on account of that nasty rain, and drink some warm tea with honey. No, said Thorin, he would not. And that envoy from the Iron Hills could join him there, on the terrace, by the way.

On the fourth day, Nori, Bifur and Bofur kept Thorin company, amusing him—and themselves in equal measure—with the latest gossip straight from the taverns of Erebor (all two of them, for now). He had no idea that several hundreds of dwarves, mostly newcomers from the Iron Hills and the White Mountains, could wreak such havoc. And marry so swiftly and in such numbers. Spring was truly in the air.

Now, on the fifth day, he stood alone, and waited. Roac was circling the Long Lake below, giving out a single caw from time to time, “Still nothing.”

And then, a hunting horn rang out in the air. Thorin knew its sound all too well.

“Balin!” he exclaimed to his friend who sat in the hall beyond the terrace. “Sound the alarm!”

The elderly dwarf raised his head from above a piece of parchment, slightly puzzled.

“Call out the guard,” Thorin insisted, feeling his impatience take the better of him. “Do it now!

“What is it?” Balin rose from his seat, his scroll forgotten.

“The caravan!” Thorin gestured excitedly—perhaps a tad too excitedly for a Dwarf of his stature—towards Mirkwood, where a long line of waggons started emerging from the forest. “They will be here soon!”

She will be here soon.

Over a year passed since the last time he held her in his arms, since he braided the silky dark waves of her hair, and since he looked into the brilliant, wise eyes of the woman he loved. To him, it felt like an eternity, and in that very moment, as he hurried down the stairs that led towards the Great Gate, he made a solemn promise to himself.

When the caravan arrived, most of the Dwarves were already gathered outside of the mountain. The guards held their heads high, presenting their weapons in an honorary salute, not leaving their posts, but even they cast curious glances at the newly arrived, trying to find familiar faces in the crowd. Thorin smirked at his thoughts. They looked as impatient as their king.

He knew the protocol of such meetings like the back of his hand, requiring him to stand by the gate, look regally, and welcome the newcomers to their new—old—home. His resolve wavered, however, when he saw a familiar figure clad in a green, fur-lined gown getting down a waggon, helped by one of the guardsmen. She was even more beautiful than he remembered. Without thinking, he took a step forward, and then stopped, recalling who he was and what he was expected to do. He was also not allowed to leave his post, just like his guards. Instead, he observed from a distance, admiring the way the waves of her hair fell down her shoulders as she looked around, perhaps slightly disoriented, taking in the surroundings. Thorin saw the exact moments when her gaze rested on the mossy stone shaped by his ancestors into statues of warrior kings. Then her gaze moved down, focusing on the green marble of the Great Gate. Her eyes widened, her lips formed an “O” and then moved, she spoke something, but her words were lost in all the commotion. In that very moment, she reminded him of that bright-eyed maiden he had met for the first time in a mountain meadow half a world away; the maiden who laughed at his abysmal jokes, who fit so well in his arms when they danced, and who accepted his awkward courting efforts. The time that passed between then and now did not take away her ability to wonder and enjoy the world around her. She endured so many hardships on the way from the Blue Mountains to Erebor, so many cold nights on the road, faced so many dangers, and yet she never wavered in her decision to leave the Blue Mountains behind to be with him and their people. Now, she was finally here and, at last, he felt complete. Being able to see his own kingdom—their kingdom—through her eyes, and to see how amazed she was at the view, was a reward on its own.

Thorin could not stop himself from smiling when her eyes finally met his.

“Welcome home, my…” he began signing in iglishmêk, in that discreet way they often did on official occasions when the eyes of many would rest on them.

A light flush bloomed on her cheeks, she responded with a smile, and began walking towards him, oblivious of her escort and the joyous crowd around her, forgetting about the protocol, moving faster and faster, a giggle escaping her lips, her braids danced in the wind, her cloak flowed behind her, and…

“Thorin!” she called him in that melodious voice of hers, and there were diamonds in her eyes, or perhaps it was only his vision that suddenly turned very blurry, and he opened her arms, and thought “the Abyss take the protocol!”, and he rushed towards her, ignoring Balin clearing his throat in embarrassment, because she was finally here, and he had waited long enough—and they finally met halfway.

He wrapped his arms around her and felt her pressing into him, and there was laughter, and more tears in their eyes, the diamonds of happiness, those most precious among gems, and he was finally able to finish that sentence.

“Welcome home, my wife,” he rasped out, pressing his forehead against her, breathing in her familiar flowery scent, the one he adored so much. This was her, finally her, in his arms, and only she mattered in this very moment, not the crowd cheering around them, witnessing this moment of tenderness between their ruling couple, not even his kingdom, nor the world around them—now, it was only her.

“I missed you, my love,” she murmured, holding tight onto him, as if she wanted to make sure he would not disappear, and a wave of warmth washed over him. “I can’t believe I’m finally here, with you, after all those months…”

“Neither can I,” he agreed, cupping her cheek tenderly and eliciting a small sigh from her. “It was much too long, Lukhdelê.”

“Aye, it was,” she nodded, her eyes searching his face, as if learning it anew.

“I made a promise to myself,” Thorin continued. “Never again.”

“Oh?” she tilted her head in that alluring way of hers, and he had to suppress the improper urge to kiss her passionately in front of his people.

“Never again shall we part for so long. I crave you by my side, my heart,” he stated, bringing her hand to his lips.

“Then I will be looking forward to you upholding the promise,” she graced him with a teasing smile that made his blood run faster. “We have been apart indeed for too long, and so were our people. I believe it is time for us to work on improving their morale, would you not agree, my king?”

“Your wish is my command, my queen,” he agreed and took her in his arms again, and then their lips met. Sweetness intermingled with warmth, tenderness fueled the fire inside them, and he cared not that they stood in front of the gate in the sight of many.

After all, who cares about protocol when you have to properly welcome your wife home?

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#thorin oakenshield #the hobbit #richard armitage #thorin x reader #legolasbadass #the hobbit fanfiction #thorin x oc #thorin oakenshield x reader #hobbit fic #thorin

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raayllum · 10 months

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s5 really was the “in search of silver linings” long con. rayllum combining their attacks together with weapons and magic; rayllum being captured and callum getting tortured with electricity; the last minute love confessions when you think you aren’t getting out alive; morning person Callum and disgruntled Rayla; holding hands to reassure her as they go into the water; and most surprisingly of all, dark magic /aaravos having their roots in something akin to literal cannibalism.

#fic: in search of silver linings #oh 2019 me we're really in it now #predictions achieved #thosefiveadoraburrs #bc we co-wrote it <3 #s5 spoilers #once again i am saying that tdp really is a show where i get everything i've ever dreamed of i just Wait long enough lmao #wishlist achieved

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eddiernunson · 2 months

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Really Drives Me Mad | Older!Eddie x Fem!Reader | 18+

Prev Part l Master List |

Word Count: 10k

A SPECIAL HAPPY BIRTHDAY POST. (I’m 28 y’all)

Chapter contains: brief pregnant!reader, babies/kids…this is like a lil collection of blurbs. I have some head canons about each OC I can post if you’d like xoxo

I had ideas about their kids for ages, lol. This crazy lil family is chaotic

Still thank you to @forget-you-morelike-fuck-you and @bebe07011 for without you two this fic wouldn’t nearly be this good

Third trimester is a bitch. I barely have the bandwidth to write lately. I hope you enjoy

Two pink little lines stare back at you as Eddie turns the shower on, completely oblivious to the manic state you’re in.

He offers you to join him, a temptation you decline with an intense amount of reluctance. You just claim you need your own bed, which was true.

Eddie missed four weeks of work while you were on your luxe honeymoon, which means he now has several fires to put out. It keeps him busy for the week, making the doctor’s appointments and blood work you do that much easier when he passes right out on his couch at the end of his long days.

The following week, knowing you're pregnant but not being able to tell him is pure torture. It doesn't help that for some odd reason Eddie seems more lovey, more affectionate. Your first instinct is to chalk it up to your newlywed status, but his affection feels different, the way his arms wrap around you each morning to wake you up, his gentle voice low in your ear. It's driving you up a wall not being able to share your secret with him.

He seems to consistently have a hard time letting you go to leave for work (not that you’re complaining.) Though eventually you have to practically push him out the door.

The ultrasound is nearly dull, the implantation in question is only a bundle of cells, but once you get a photo from the tech at the end of the appointment, it’s the very thing you needed to tell Eddie.

After another early night of falling asleep you empty the face of the fridge, yanking every magnet off as you place the sonogram on the silver surface with a pink heart magnet right at his eye level.

Eddie wakes in the middle of the night, a sudden urge to rise hitting him out of nowhere. His arm tightens around your waist, admiring your pretty face as he kisses your cheek. Your face falters only the littlest bit, twitching your muscles to shake off the tickle of his stubble.

He finds himself starving, craving something only a feral racoon would also be satisfied with. He rubs his eyes as he walks down the steps. Sometimes he thinks he’s going to see you back in the kitchen chair in the dress and bathing suit, Dylan searching manically for a parking pass as if Eddie has imagined this whole dream scenario. Your love is just too good not to think he’d made it all up at times. He smiles to himself as he turns on the stove light, turning to the fridge for a snack.

He feels frozen by the blank fridge at first, wondering where all the magnets got to. The black and white image staring him dead in the face suddenly registers, the heart shaped magnet falling to the floor as he rushes to pick it up to make sure his tired eyes aren’t fucking with him. They bulge out of his head when the significance of the photo occurs to him, and the hunger that woke him up seems to vanish.

His long legs take the stairs two and three at a time as he rushes back to you, hurling himself beneath the covers.

The cold of his arms startles you, a gasp leaving your lips from the shock as you abruptly awoke. “Hmm?”

“Are you fucking pregnant, sweetheart?” His eyes are unbearably soft, melted pools of milk chocolate staring intently at you.

A burst of sleepy giggles leaves your mouth, turning your body so you don't have to crane your neck. “You got up early.” You comment, weaving your fingers into his curls.

“Skip the pleasantries, love.” He dismisses, scooping his arms beneath your back. “Are you fucking pregnant?”

You pull him in for a kiss, your legs wrapping around his hips to pull him down against you. “What’s the sonogram tell you?”

He chuckles against your lips, his thumbs swaying against your smiling cheeks. “You’re a little shit, you know that?” You nod, absentmindedly playing with his curls. “Fuck, I’m so excited right now, baby.”

“Really?” You ask him, grinning.

“I just found out my wife is having my baby. Are you fucking kidding me?” he asks, rutting his hips against yours desperately. “I’m rock hard, sweets.”

Lucky for you and him, you opted for a pair of tiny panties and a t-shirt to bed, feeling his hardened cock against the thin lace fabric of your panties. Your fingers fumble to his boxers, hurriedly pushing them down his hips. “Then fuck me.”

Eddie gently pulls the fabric aside, exposing it as his head perfectly brushes against your entrance. “God, my girl is soaked for me, ain’t she?”

Your thighs tighten around his hips, jaw dropping as he teases you. “Want you, please, Ed.” Your eyes squeeze shut, relishing in the feeling of him pressed against you

He pushes in, arms wrapping themselves around your torso. “Oh my god you’re having my fucking baby,” Eddie mumbles, face curling into your neck. “Gonna see your stomach all big when you’re carrying my baby, sweets, and you’ll be even hotter than you are now. Which I thought was impossible.”

No words come to mind, mouth open and gasping at the way he moves in you. The cotton of your shirt is too hot, your hands shakily grabbing at the fabric to take it off. Eddie admires the sight he sees as your piqued nipples fall out of his faded black t-shirt, his eyes glazed over as he stares down at them. A moth drawn to the light, he dives into one, curling his tongue around the nipple with the perfect mix of teeth, pulling little mewls from you.

“Fuck, we’re gonna be the happiest little family,” he chokes, kissing from your breast up to your neck, his voice filled with emotion.

“Love you,” you sigh, gasping into his open mouth as his hips hit you harder.

Eddie smiles, a wicked little grin as his hand curves over the swell of your tummy, thumb petting it gently.

“Hold on to me, sweetheart. Hold on to your baby daddy,” you grin the line, wonderfully cheesy, but Eddie feels the way you tighten around him. Your arms curl around his back, pulling his body against yours.

“Eddie, make me cum, please.”

“Hold on, baby, I’m almost there, hold on,” he stutters, his deep voice starting to falter. His lips bend down to your ear, gasping desperately, bordering on whining. “Fuck– cum with me.”

His lips wrap around yours, delicately connecting his tongue with yours as his hips stutter a final time, the little moans vibrating against your lips as he fills you up. As you collapse on the bed, sweaty bodies intertwined, he spends the twenty minutes until he falls asleep cooing, whispering in your ear how excited he is.

You wake up the same way, with rounds two and three before he begrudgingly trudges off to work.

The sun accounts as a natural alarm clock as Dylan stretches his limbs wide, turning to face his girlfriend. His arm falls over Maya’s form, pulling her in as he starts to wake up. “Morning, Dylan,” she whispers, her pink lips spreading into a smile.

He pulls her back against his stomach, hiking his legs under hers. “Mornin’.”

She hums as he kisses the back of her neck, giggling as he takes a deep inhale of her shampoo. “You work today?”

“No,” Dylan answers, caressing the strip of her exposed skin with his thumb. “I am seeing my dad today.”

She smirks, turning to face him. “And your stepmom?” Dylan grits his teeth, tickling her stomach until she begs him to stop, hunching over the arm around her. “Okay, I’m sorry!”

“Mmhm. I’m telling them, did you want to join me?”

Maya squishes her face, seemingly debating on pros and cons. “I’m gonna pass on that, respectfully.” She can feel the questioning look Dylan gives her. “I have a long shift today, and I am exhausted.”

“Next time, I’m dragging you with me,” Dylan insists, squeezing with his arms wrapped around her.

“I’m counting on it.”

As soon as Dylan opens the door, he listens in, waiting for a sound that never comes. Good, he waited long enough to come. He wanders into the kitchen, meeting his dad drinking orange juice straight from the carton. “Dad?”

His dad freezes, removing the spout from his mouth, and wipes his face hurriedly. “Hey bud.”

Dylan raises his eyebrow at him, pointedly glancing to the carton and back to him.

“Don’t tell my wife.”

Dylan smirks, rolling his eyes. “Speaking of the devil, where is she?”

“Upstairs.”

As if your ears are burning, the two men’s ears pick up the particular sound of someone coming down the stairs. Eddie prays you come downstairs with some clothes on. Your face lights up when you see Dylan, welcoming him into your arms without a second thought. “Dylan!” The familiarity you two share is still new, but wrapping him in a hug is like second nature at this point. “What brings you into this part of the world?”

You leave the embrace, backing straight into Eddie’s arm. “Actually, I have some news I wanna share with you guys.”

Eddie’s hand tightens around your arm, he’s mentioned Dylan talking about proposing last month, and this news felt right around the corner. He feigns ignorance, innocently asking, “Oh, what news would that be?”

Dylan’s cheeks bloom in red, glancing down to his feet sheepishly. You just hoped you wouldn’t have to travel to a destination wedding while largely pregnant. “Uh, we–or, Maya,” he clears his throat, a laugh stuttering through it, “Maya’s pregnant.”

The first thing you do is glance at your husband, both sporting wide eyes and slacked jaws. To say you’re surprised is a grand understatement.

“Not the news you were expecting?” Dylan asks, watching the two of you share a silent conversation.

In sync, the two of you switch back to him, twin smiles on your faces. Dylan had no idea what either of the faces in front of him could possibly mean, and there’s a part of him that wonders if this is happy news for either of you.

“Um, no, actually,” Eddie barely holds back the sound of laughter in his voice. “That’s, that’s fantastic news, Dyl.” Truly, fantastic news. Eddie has been looking forward to being a biker grandfather since Dylan showed interest in being a father.

You smirk, leaning into his shoulder. “How far along is she?”

“Uh, 8 weeks, or so,” Dylan answers, squishing up his face comically.

“Oh wow, so a week behind me, then,” you say nonchalantly, nodding at Eddie.

“Wait, what?” Dylan asks, making sure he understood that correctly.

You giggle, nodding as you sit your head in Eddie’s neck. “Yeah, I’m pregnant too, ironically enough.”

Eddie leans into your ear, “So you’re gonna be a mom and a grandma in the same year…”

Your eyes widen. “To think, I was just getting used to the idea of being a mom.” You lean back, meeting your husband’s pretty brown eyes. “Are we sure the kid’s gonna call me grandma?”

Dylan picks up the conversation right away. “I mean, unless we’re gonna be completely honest with them, it doesn't make sense otherwise. You’re grandpa’s wife, therefore grandma.”

Am I mom, then, too? You think to yourself, knowing you’ll point it out later. Your stomach rumbles, turning around to the counter to start making a breakfast of sorts. Your eyes hit the open orange juice jug and the lack of cup. “Did you drink straight out of the carton, again, mister?”

Eddie avoids your eyes, looking at his son. “Hey, I didn’t say anything,” he surrenders, having a seat at the island.

“How’s Maya been handling the pregnancy so far?” you ask, grabbing a pan from under the cupboards. “Because morning sickness is no joke.” You pause, leaning on the counter. “Not just in the morning, either.”

“I think it’s some nausea, a bit of acid reflux, but to my knowledge she hasn’t been sick,” Dylan says, taking out his phone to text Maya about the news.

“Bitch,” you mutter, the tone in your voice clear you’re joking. “We can’t all be so lucky. Eggs?”

Dylan nods, grinning at the text Maya shoots back. “So dad, you’re gonna have a kid and a grandkid the same age as each other?”

Eddie shrugs, taking another large sip from the carton. “Since my girl showed up, my life hasn’t been normal, and this just means it will never be normal again.”

“You’re welcome,” Dylan laughs, rolling his eyes at the exasperated look you shoot at him.

Dylan’s phone buzzes, glancing at the unknown number as Maya fades in the middle of her sentence. “One minute, babe, I’m expecting a call from the interview I just did last week. Dylan Munson, speaking.”

“Oh, Dyl-pickle, you sound so big!” Only one person has ever called Dylan that. He gulps, the sound of her voice bringing up old, sore emotions.

“Brooke. W-why are you calling me?”

“Brooke? C’mon, I’m your mom, sweetheart,” she whines, her voice the sound of nails on a chalkboard.

“Really, are you?” Dylan asks, getting up from the bed and starting to pace the hallway, his anger already building. “Ok, what college did I go to?” Silence. “What did I major in? What year did I graduate high school? When did I have my first kiss? Who’s my current girlfriend? What’s my best friend’s name? What sort of vehicle do I drive?”

She doesn’t answer a single question, instead giving stuttered empty answers. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to answer any of that… We haven’t exactly been talking for the last fifteen years.” She says, somewhat accusatory.

Dylan sighs, rubbing his face frustratedly. “What, your phone didn’t work all those years?”

“As far as I’m concerned, I’m not the only one who had a phone,” she protests, sounding incredibly defensive.

“Yeah, well, you also weren’t a child for 8 of those years who begged his dad for his mom to come to one thing that was important to him,” Dylan retaliated, angry at her gaslighting. “My dad had your number, always left voicemails inviting you to my soccer games, to award ceremonies, to my birthdays, and you never answered a single call, let alone showed up.”

“I’m sorry, Dylan, I am, but I was young then, you can’t blame me for wanting a fresh start.”

“Actually, I can,” Dylan answers, now done with this conversation. “You had eight years to be a mom before I finally gave up on you. You don’t get to pick and choose when to be my mom, now.”

“I’m sorry that hurt your feelings, Dyl. But I have two boys, and they really want to meet their older brother. Would you come down for lunch one day?”

He nods, knowing that this sudden need to be a mom again wasn’t going to come for free. “No. I have no interest in being your life. Not since the day I turned 18.”

“C’mon, Dyl–”

“No, mom–Brooke. No. Don’t call me again, please. I need to go now.”

She starts another sentence, but Dylan hangs up on her before he hears it. When he walks into the bedroom he shares with his girlfriend, he crawls into the bed next to her, feeling like the ten year old whose life got torn apart.

It looks like Brooke still has that uncanny talent for making everything about her.

Eddie sits in his office, a small room decorated with frames filled with the faces of those he loves and papers strewn around the desk. He’s going over the receipts and payments, and silently regrets not having hired an accountant by now, but he’s far too stubborn to admit it.

There’s a knock on the door and Eddie looks up in relief. Please, let there be a disgruntled customer to save him from the numbers. “Come on in!”

Connor, one of the new apprentices he hired only a few months ago comes in, looking timid. The first few months he has a new hire they’re usually shy, and when their self confidence in their ability to do their job kicks in, Eddie truly starts to miss it. “Uh, hey, boss, there’s a client out there who wants to speak to you.”

Eddie chuckles, leaning back in his chair as he rests his feet on his desk. “Don’t, don’t call me boss. What do they want?”

Connor screws up his face. “Uh, I forgot to ask.”

“Always ask, man. Tell them I’ll be right out.”

“Alright, I’ll tell her.” Eddie sighs in relief, women tend to be more understanding.

“Hey, send in Joe, will ya?”

“On it!”

Joe, a man who’s worked for Eddie for 20 years, older by ten years, walks into the office just a moment later. “What’s up, Ed?”

“Give the lady a talk, will ya?” Eddie asks, scratching the itch on his right forearm. “Ask her what she wants.” Joe, tall, dark, and quiet, nods and shuts the door.

He’s back in the office in seconds. The door’s loose knob has barely clicked shut before it’s abruptly opened again. “That fast?”

Joe shakes his head, his eyes wide with a grimace on his face. “Uh, no, it’s…it’s Brooke.”

Eddie scrunches his face up. “Brooke, like…Brooke?”

“Yeah. You want me to–”

“No it’s okay, I got it,” Eddie insists, a pit forming in the depths of his stomach. He rubs his face tiredly, fully unprepared to deal with this.

“Dude, you sure?” He asks, having been with Eddie through the divorce.

“Seriously, I got it. Thanks, man.”

Eddie gets up from his desk, catching the eyes of his long-time employees on his way to the entrance of the garage. He’s fine. He’ll be fine.

There she stands, looking around the garage holding her purse with two hands. She’s dressed like one of those Instagram moms, high waisted jeans with a loose blouse tucked in under a long coat. Her eyes land on him, her face lighting up as she exclaims, “Wow, the garage looks great!”

“Thanks,” Eddie mumbles, sighing. “Is there a particular reason for…”

Brooke smiles, and Eddie could almost see a genuine human behind the mask. “Um, do you mind if we go into your office?”

Eddie raises his brows, perplexed. “I really don’t see the necessity for it.”

“It’s not really a conversation to have in front of the guys, Eds,” Brooke comments, shuffling her feet as she crosses her arms.

Eddie winces at the nickname she calls him. She really doesn’t know him well enough to call him such anymore. The audacity of it astounds him. “I’m not Eds to you…and my office holds things that are precious to me, that I honestly want to keep out of this conversation.”

“Like I haven’t already seen pictures of your little wife,” Brooke grimaces, her tone switching from sweet to condescending in a split second, her eyes rolling. “Congrats on that, or whatever.”

Eddie blinks, too exhausted to argue. “Alright, come on.”

It's not like Brooke hasn’t been in his office before, Eddie thinks, they were happily married, after all. She looks around at the changes, her eyes seemingly fixated on where photos of Dylan’s previous achievements are proudly displayed. “Wow, he looks just like you,” Brooke mutters, a look on her face that Eddie can’t quite place.

Eddie assessed the bulletin, Dylan’s graduation, first school dance, the Munsons spending a weekend at the Harrington’s, it certainly spelled out to her what she missed out on.

He clears his throat, quietly asking for her to continue. “Right, um, I was wondering if you could talk to our son.”

“Our son?” Eddie asks, barely holding back his laughter. “Last time I checked you said he was my son.”

Brooke ignores it, faltering in her seat. “I tried calling him last week, but he shut me down.”

“What do you need me to talk to him about exactly?” Eddie leans against his desk, his hands gripping the edge.

Brooke blinks, tilting her head. “When did you cut your hair?”

“Irrelevant. What do you need me to talk to him about?” Eddie enunciates, already feeling the exhaustion of her mere soul sucking presence.

“My sons are asking questions about him, and they would like to meet him.” She inhales, as if preparing herself for what she was about to say, “I would love to reconnect with both of you, honestly.”

Like an anvil, Eddie feels his stomach pull him all the way down into the floor. The silence she’s given him and Dylan for the last fifteen years has been stable, reliable even. The most reliable thing about her. This is turning off the road into a ditch with nothing to instigate it. “What did he say?”

“Uh, he had no interest in it,” Brooke shrugs, leaning back in her seat.

Eddie nods, having expected it. “Brooke, those pictures on the wall? My son spent so much time begging me to call and get you to at least one event, one time just to show that you still cared about him.” He pauses, watching her avoid his eyes. “I left dozens of voicemails in your inbox, and I know it was your inbox, because I remember the day it went from Munson to Prescott. I begged you to show up. Just once. The last time I did was for his graduation, but by then I had stopped telling him.”

“He told our lawyers and the judge he wanted nothing to do with me. Forgive me if I thought he was telling the truth,” Brooke huffs, her voice sounding defensive.

“He was a child, Brooke!” Eddie deadpans, narrowing his eyes. “A child hurt by his mother’s actions tearing apart his happy family. Staying with the stable parent was probably the more appealing option.” He scratches at the stubble on his face, glancing over to the sonogram sitting on his desk. He’d hoped Brooke hadn’t caught wind of that news, yet. “At first, he was really hurt, but after a while, he just wanted his mom. Who never showed up.”

“Well, I might be a little late, but doesn’t it count for something that I’m trying, now?” She asks, folding her arms across her chest.

“I think it counts more that he’s about to be a father and he has no interest in including you in his kid’s life.”

Her eyes bug right out of her head. “Wait, what?”

“Mmhm. Seems he’d rather give what was supposed to be your title to someone he’s known for less than a year.” Eddie flickers to the photo of you he has framed, a portrait of you surrounded by the sunset in your wedding dress. “You had eight years, Brooke. Eight. You don’t get to decide to be a parent when it’s convenient for you. I never had that luxury. I had to pick myself and my son up and find a way to get through it emotionally without falling apart at the seams.”

She seems to start talking, but Eddie is on a roll. “I finally feel like I’m living my life, and not just surviving. If you reached out five years ago, I probably would’ve said yes. I even had a low enough self-esteem to hope it would mean something more…but now I have this woman, this beautiful person who showed me how much she believes I’m worth, showed me how much I am worth. Brooke, no offense, but when I look back on it, especially comparing the two, you treated me like shit.”

“Uh, okay,” Brooke mutters, holding her hand out. “I did not treat you like shit.”

“You never stuck up for me with your parents, forced me to do things I was uncomfortable with all the time, gave ‘our’ son’s teachers hell all the time, and, oh yeah, left me for the person you told me not to worry about. So, no I will not be talking to my son. If he comes to the conclusion to reconnect with you, then fine. But I will not be participating.”

“Wow, you’re being harsh.” Brooke complains, grimacing. “Eddie, I was young. I made a few stupid decisions.”

“You know, my wife is a bit young. Somehow, she already knows not to act like a stone cold cunt.” Brooke stutters through an empty response, completely rendered speechless. “I think we’re done here.”

“I’m not done!”

“Well, I suggest you be by the time my pregnant wife gets here, because she’s not your biggest fan.” It gives him the utmost satisfaction to start looking through the papers. He glances back up to her expectant expression. “Safe travels back to Boston, hmm?”

Eddie swears the smile on your face in the photo of you grows, glad the backbone he needed seems to have finally grown. “You’re not going to even–”

“No. I’m not. I’m done here, Brooke. Give Kevin my condolences, yeah?”

Brooke nods, reluctantly understanding she wasn’t going to get what she wanted. Eddie had indeed grown the self-confidence she never saw when she was with him. “Condolences?”

“Yeah, for still being stuck with you. Close the door on your way out.”

Brooke’s nostrils flare, her jaw locking. She turns around without another word, the slam of the door echoing through the garage as she storms out, every click of her heel enunciated.

Moments later, Joe pops through the door. “Everything, ok, Ed?”

Eddie looks up, his dimples pronounced on his face. “Oh just, peachy, Joe. Mind if I take off for the rest of the day?”

“I would be concerned if you didn’t, man.”

The ringing of your phone stirs you from your slumber, having passed out on the couch mid snack. An app you downloaded on your phone for the pregnancy said the first trimester would have you feeling quite sleepy, and you didn’t believe it until you find yourself constantly falling asleep during your off days, and exhausted at work when you really shouldn’t be.

Your sister’s name lights up the screen, and the quick assessment of the movie tells you you’ve been asleep for at least forty-five minutes. “Hey, Viti.”

“Hey, sis,” she greets, an airy tone in her voice. “Sounds like you just woke up.”

You haven’t broken the news to your family, yet, waiting to present the information in the form of a present next time you and Eddie make your way over to your parents’ house. “Had an afternoon siesta,” you sigh, watching the movie you’re tempted to restart. The twist of Carlisle’s death just isn’t the same if you don’t build up to it. “What’s up?”

She sighs, a habit you’re all too familiar with. “Spit it out.”

“Okay,” she starts, gaining her courage. “Me and Arlo got together the night of your wedding.”

If you were attempting to get rid of any sense of sleep, it disappeared within a second. The information takes a second to register, eyes darting around the living room filled with wrappers you have yet to throw out. “Harrington?”

She laughs, probably expecting a much worse answer. “Do you know any other Arlos?”

“Guess not.” You pet the bangs in your eyes away from your face, trying to remind yourself of the look on your baby sister’s face when she was slow dancing with him. “Ok. How did it happen?”

“You’re okay with this?” She asks, your heart melting at how little her voice sounds.

“It was never my choice, Vi,” you answer, using the remote to restart the movie. “If you like him and trust him, then, yeah, I’m okay with it. So how did it happen? Tell me all about it. But if you’ve slept with him, then maybe not all about it,” You chuckle. Viti sighs exasperatedly and you can practically hear her eyes roll through the phone.

“Um, so we were kind of flirting a lot after the family dinner. I thought he was just being nice, but I was willing to be his friend. It got a bit more intense at the wedding, and he asked me to dance…”

“I saw,” you admit, granted you only saw because Eddie pointed it out to you. “What happened after that?”

You can hear the smile on her face. “He led me to a hallway, and then we went to the hotel room I was staying in…” She trails off sheepishly. Oh, that's all you need to know.

“Damn, girl!” you laugh, opting to push away the mental image and simply be your sister's friend right now.

“We went to dinner last week,” she says, a giggle laced through her sentence. “I really, really like him.”

It had to be Arlo Harrington. “Then I’m really, really happy for you. Have you told everyone else yet?”

“You’re the last to know, to be honest. I think Eddie even knows at this point.” You roll your eyes, because of course that’s why he was so peculiar this morning.

“Just because I don’t necessarily approve of the choice of boy doesn’t mean I won’t be happy for you. Plus, I could get used to him, after all, Steve isn’t so bad.” That’s a damn lie, Steve Harrington has become one of your favorite people. “Tell me you got out of the hotel room before mom and dad discovered you.”

“We heard them coming down the hall…” she says, giggling. “We were dressed as they were about to come in the door. Luckily, they were both pretty drunk, so they didn’t really catch on to what was happening. Well, until the next morning at brunch, I guess.”

Note, send a text to your mom asking about what her perspective was, because there’s a chance she knew more than she let on. You think to yourself.

“Anyway, four weeks in Cancun. Spare me the dirty details but tell me all about it,” she giggles, moving the phone away from her face, “shut up, stop, shut up!’

“Let me guess. Arlo?”

A burst of giggles runs through her body and you can hear the smile on her face. “Maybe,”

“You couldn’t wait until you were alone?”

“She’s not really alone all that much these days,” Arlo’s voice rings out. You can picture the smug smirk on his face.

“Arlo!” She chides him, and yeah, this might not be so bad, you decide.

“I’m gonna let you two go,” you offer, dismissing any protests she let out. “Also, without the dirty details there’s not much of the honeymoon to tell. Well, except one thing.”

“What?”

“You'll have someone new to meet in seven months!”

“No way!”

If there’s one thing you know, it’s Christina Perri’s A Thousand Years is the song for the last credit scene of the Twilight Series. As each character is shown with the corresponding credit, it gets closer and closer to the main cast.

It might just be the hormones, but this round of credits just seems to hit differently, tears spilling down your cheeks as it gets to the Cullen family. The front door to the house slams shut, announcing the arrival of your husband. Odd, he’s about three hours early.

The weight of the cushion next to you sinks down with a comforting arm wrapping around your shoulders. Your head falls easily into his embrace, curling into his lap as you sniffle. It’s ridiculous, the irrational reaction that takes over you, but damn do the editors know how to elicit a reaction out of the audience.

His hand pets your shoulder, kissing your forehead. “You crying at Twilight?”

You nod, furrowing your eyebrows. “Lose the smug attitude, mister. This is your doing.”

He laughs under his breath, petting your hair. “Hmm, that’s not how I remember our honeymoon.”

You tilt your head back to look at his face, fretting at the curls that are starting to resemble closer to a mullet. “Just because I begged for your babies does not mean you had to listen to me.”

He rolls his eyes, leaning in to place a kiss on your lips that takes the breath out from your lungs. As he backs away, he hums with a peculiar look on his face. “What’s on your mind?” You ask, your brows knitting together.

Eddie sighs, petting the bare skin exposed on your hip. “Minor Brooke update, today.”

Your brows instinctively rise, feeling every little muscle in your face tense up. “Oh?”

“Yup. Are you interested?”

You close your eyes, asking any entity out there listening for a lick of patience. “You piqued my interest. Lay it on me.”

Eddie can’t beat around the bush, or he would never say it. “She came into my work today.” He pauses, allowing you to absorb the information before continuing. “Requesting that I convince Dylan to…let her back into his life, so to say.” You squint, remembering the few times that Dylan had confessed about his mom to you, always finishing by claiming he wants nothing to do with her and never will.

“Yeah, good luck with that,” you comment, watching his eyes flicker back and forth between yours.

“She reached out to him last week and when he refused, I guess the next most logical step was to drive the six hours from Boston and corner me at work.” Your teeth grit, angry at the fucking gall that fills Brooke whatever-the-fuck her last name is. God forbid Steve or Eddie ever accidentally tell you what it is, because the day it comes her inbox will be flooded with just a little piece of your mind, and she'll be lucky if profanities are the worst things you say.

“What are you thinking?” He asks, having watched your face move through the storm of emotions.

“I was thinking that I fucking hate your ex-wife and if she has no haters then I’m dead,” you answer, dead panning.

“I love you,” he sighs, tugging you in against his chest. “Are you hungry?”

You look at the wrappers decorating the mahogany coffee table, “Surprisingly yes.”

“Lets get a real meal in you, shall we?”

Eddie is present at every doctor's appointment, every ultrasound, birthing class, and even at 20 weeks, when you were inexplicably spotting, stayed with you throughout the 7 hour wait at the ER. He certainly helped you hide from the embarrassment of the doctor explaining the bleeding seemed to be brought on by intercourse and to start being a bit more careful.

Only one time does a health care worker mistake Eddie for being your father, a mistake quickly fixed at the death glare he gives her. You don’t know how, as you look nothing alike and he has been doting on you too affectionately to be a dad, but you can’t help teasing him by calling him daddy as soon as she leaves the room.

Well, that’s a lie.

There is one other time he’s mistaken for your father, running into the maternity ward and anxiously stating your name to the front desk of labor nurses. The head nurse, a woman bearing silver streaks in her hair, calmly tells him to relax and sit down, only the baby’s father is allowed in the room with patients.

“Well you better take me to my wife, then,” he deadpans, his eyes harsh enough to shoot daggers if it were physically possible.

She stutters through her response. “Oh, you-you’re her husband? I’m so sorry I assumed–my mistake, she’s in the third door on the left.”

He rushes to the door, ignoring her last pleas for forgiveness. He was far too busy focusing on how he knew he shouldn’t have gone into work when he knew you were due to go into labor any day now. He knew he should've told them to ask Joe for the solution, as he was basically acting owner while he was away.

When he bursts through the door, you’re sat on the bed in the room with Bethany petting your face as you push through a particularly hard contraction.

He waits and watches anxiously for you to get through it before announcing his arrival. As soon as your eyes land on him he sees your face crumple in relief and your hands reach out for him. “Baby,” you whine, seeking the comfort of his shampoo and cologne.

“I’m so sorry,” he apologizes, planting a big kiss on the hand that was reached out. “Thank you so much, Bethany, for taking her.”

She shrugs, dismissing his over exaggerated gratitude. “She’s been a champ. Let me know if you two need anything.”

Eddie pets your hair, leaning in to plant a gentle kiss on your lips. “How’ve you been, baby?”

“Only been an hour, and I am so over labor,” you whine, smiling pathetically. “Thanks for coming so fast.”

Eddie was surprised he didn’t get pulled over, going 90 down the freeway. He turned a 20 minute drive into 8. “Made any progress?”

“I’m only one centimeter dilated. We could be here for a while.”

“I’m here every minute,” he says, grabbing a chair to sit by your bed. “I believe in you. We’ll listen to Taylor, listen to a smutty audio book, watch a true crime series, whatever you want, baby.”

True to his word, he allowed you to blast your Faves Spotify playlist, watched a few episodes of 48 Hours with you, and even sat with you as he let you play with the makeup you had packed in your hospital bag on his face.

You made him look like a Captain Jack Sparrow, giggling as he animatedly talks in a pirate voice. The best thing about Eddie being there is that he wards off your parents and others who wish to visit you in your labor and acts as your advocate when the nurse is too rough with you and requests a new nurse immediately. Well, and his presence alone puts you at ease, of course.

It feels like forever, but you’re eight centimeters dilated when a familiar face walks down the hall, passing his father as he carries the millionth cup of ice chips you requested. “Bud! Did someone text you about–”

“She told me when Bethany was driving her to the hospital, but that’s actually not why we’re here,” Dylan sheepishly admits, his shoulders shrugging up to his ears as a pink blooms across his cheeks.

“We?” Eddie catches on, blinking. “Is Maya also..?”

“Yeah, we got here about three hours ago,” he squinted one eye comically, crossing his arms. “She’s about halfway there, now I think.”

“Wow she’s progressing a lot faster than we did,” Eddie comments, it taking you far more than three hours to get to five centimeters.

“It would be ironic wouldn’t it, if they had the same birthday?”

“Irony is one word for it,” Dylan chuckles. “My girlfriend asked for ice chips about eight minutes ago, and she is not patient, so I’m going to get back to it.”

“Let us know any updates, won’t you?”

“I bet my kid will be born before yours,” Dylan answers, only somewhat joking.

“Oh, you’re on, dude.”

As nurses and the doctor rushes around you, frantically assessing the baby while helping you with the afterbirth, birthing the placenta and ridding the bodily fluids that came out with the infant. Eddie cut the cord, watching carefully as the nurses quickly washed his newborn son off.

He’s simultaneously whispering sweet nothings against your cheek, how proud he is of you, describing your son’s dark hair, his little mouth opening as the nurse's hand gently washes it. “Did so good, baby, so good, I’m so fucking proud of you.”

“Is he okay?” You whisper, eyes half open as you stare up at your husband’s brown ones. “J-Josh, is he okay?”

Eddie knows exactly what you’re asking, making sure his limbs are working, that he looks healthy, that the nurses don’t look too concerned about their results. He can’t help but answer, “He’s perfect.”

Your favorite nurse, the one who got assigned after Eddie demanded it, brings him over swaddled in a hospital blanket and tucks him into your arms. The hormones and adrenaline overwhelm you as you stare at his face, selfishly grateful he looks just like his father, happily staring at the little button nose.

“I love you,” when you stare up at your husband, you’re expecting his eyes to also be planted on the newest member of the little family. Instead they’re shiny and planted on you, his expression drenched in pure love.

“I love you,” you sigh, leaning in for a sweet kiss. “He’s so perfect.”

“I fucking love you so much.”

The love fest eventually dies down, all the medical aides surrounding you finishing up and leaving the room as they steal one last glance at the happy little family.

You’re lost in your own little world when Dylan runs in, seeing the little addition sat on your chest. Eddie looks up to face Dylan dressed in a hospital gown and a hairnet. His face is lit up with the same joy as the room is filled with. “You wanna meet your grandson?”

Eddie nods, quickly stopped by his wife still lying on the bed sitting in the afterglow. “Go,” you insist, petting at the soft hair on your son. “Say hi for me.”

He smiles, placing a gentle kiss on your knotted hair, followed by his newborn. “Be right back.”

On the way over to the emergency surgery room Dylan explains that the umbilical cord ended up twisted around his son’s neck and they took Maya straight into an emergency C-Section. He sat with his girlfriend as they emptied the contents of her abdomen to allow the newest Munson to come into the world.

Eddie asked several times to make sure it was okay if her father in law, her boyfriend’s father, to go into a room where she is this vulnerable. Dylan insisted that she said it was fine and since Eddie was here for the birth of his son it would be cool for him to meet his grandson, too, within the same half hour.

Miraculously, after getting in his own scrubs, Eddie wanders in with Dylan as Maya is finished with her stitches. She’s still loopy from the general anesthesia, holding her newborn on her partially covered chest.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” Eddie asked, knowing how against visitors you were.

“Just come say hi to your grandson, Eddie,” Maya chuckles, passing up the newborn. “Meet Jace Edward Munson.”

“Edward?” Eddie laughs, barely holding the mist that comes to his eyes. “What?”

Dylan scrunches his nose, tilting his head to face the newborn now in his father’s arms. “You stepped up when she left. You were everything to me. You may have stolen a girlfriend, but that is small beans in the grand scheme of things, you know?”

“Jace and Josh,” Eddie muses, laughter bubbling up his throat. “God, they even sound like twins.”

Kayla smooths over the dress she wears, nervously looking around the classroom. Are there enough learning centers set up? Will the children like the home center she put together? Will there be any difficult teachers during her first year?

For the first time, she’s on her own, placed in the very class she had spent so long working toward, kindergarten.

Her little classmates with their parents, usually mothers, wander in with wide eyes, nervously holding onto their sleeves and looking around anxiously. She talks to each little one at a time, welcoming them and offering them many activities to distract them from wanting to stay with their parents.

One little boy doesn’t need much, or any, peeling off his father as he runs in, his shaggy brown hair rustling in as he bolts straight to the building blocks. His dad walks in right after, carrying his bag dressed in a leather jacket and acid wash jeans.

“Hi,” he sighs, sounding tired. “That’s Dylan.”

“M or H?” Kayla asks.

“M.”

“Dylan, can you grab your bag from your dad and put it in the cubby?” Dylan runs to grab his bag from his dad, shouting in slight frustration as he’s pulled in for a hug. “Yours will have an M next to your name!”

He listens, but doesn’t look back as he runs back to the blocks.

“I’m Eddie,” the father says, holding his hand out. “His mom, Brooke, will pick him up after school, uh, she’s a bit of a hardass, so just beware.”

Oh, goody. She gives him a strained smile, insisting she’ll be able to handle it.

Eddie and Dylan end up being one of his favorite pairings for the year. But when Brooke walked in, she knew it became a big deal for something as small as Dylan putting his book in the wrong pocket in his bag.

Kayla got along great with Eddie, as they turned out to be the same age. They saw one another around the school as Dylan got older, even became someone Dylan could rely on for a maternal figure when his parents ended up divorcing in fifth grade.

About twenty one years after initially teaching Dylan, she’s a veteran teacher in her own right, having a monopoly over classroom #3 as she continues to be the answer for dozens of individuals when asked their favorite teacher.

She sits in her lumbar chair that her coworkers raised the money for the previous Christmas as she finally is able to look over her newest class list. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary until she came across 9th and 8th from the last name, two boys with J initials and the last name Munson. She’d been wondering if she would ever have the pleasure of teaching Dylan’s boys, or if he decided to skip town like most of his classmates.

Their birthday right next to their attendance names indicated they had the same birthdate, so she was safe to assume she would have another set of twins. If they were anything like Dylan, they would be a fun sort of challenge for her, that she was sure of.

On the first day the following fall, she keeps an eye out for her former student, keeping in mind it could very well be the mother that decides to drop them off.

As she’s helping a particularly shy child settle into her classroom, she notices a parent helping their kid out of the wind breaker they’re wearing. As soon as the little girl is settled she goes to them welcoming them. She immediately recognizes the parent. “Dylan!”

“Oh, Miss. Thompson! I didn’t realize you were still teaching!” He sheepishly admits, looking at the plaque now containing her married name.

“I am just married, now,” she answers, answering him the same way she would a student out of habit. “Now, who do we have here?”

“I’m Jace,” the little boy answers shyly, brown hair of this father but stark green eyes.

“Well, Jace, would you mind finding your name at one of the cubbies for me? I think you’re put right next to someone named Josh,” she tells him, watching for any recognition of the other name she thought was his twin.

“Oh, sweet!” Jace exclaims, running with his Pokémon bag.

She gets up from her squatting position, her knees far too achy for doing it continually like she still is. “So, there’s another Munson on the class list, would you know anything about that?”

Dylan chuckles, sighing. “Well, about that–” Dylan is interrupted by a little boy with dark hair hugging him, exclaiming his name. “Hey, Josh, we were just talking about you!”

Josh laughs, tugging on Dylan’s arm. “Is Jace here?”

“Yeah, he’s playing with the dinosaurs, if I know him.”

“Cool!” Josh runs straight off, meeting his supposed relative at the play carpet.

Kayla turns around in confusion, questioning what just happened.

As if answering her, in comes another familiar face, holding a bag that looks comically small compared to his tall stature. “Ah, Kayla. I was wondering if you were still here.”

“Eddie!” She greets him, giving a very frank hug. “I have to admit, I am very confused.”

“That’s okay, you wouldn’t be the first,” Eddie comments, crossing his arms. “Me and my wife had Josh at the same time Dylan had Jace. They’re assholes, they like to gang up on adults, but don’t let them intimidate you, they can’t with their adults anymore, so they try it on teachers.”

“Takes a lot more than that to intimidate me,” Kayla answers, looking back at the boys who gained ownership over the carpet with dinosaurs and cars. “I appreciate the warning, though.” She looks back to her old friend, seeing the smile lines on his face, still carrying his son’s things. “I’m happy you found someone, though.”

“Thanks. His mom will pick him up after school,” Eddie tells her, going to the cubby with his kid’s name on it. “She’s not as bad as Brooke, so there’s no worries, there.”

“Alright, can’t wait to meet her.”

Eddie and Dylan share a look, one that Kayla misses as she starts to welcome in a few new classmates.

The bell rings for lunch for the rest of the elementary school and end of day for the kindergarteners. Mrs. Franklin, or Miss. Thompson, as Dylan knows her, helps all her students with their backpacks and jackets. It’s one thing to manage five-year-olds, it’s another to get them to stop wrestling and help them simultaneously.

The Munson boys are certainly no help, Josh trying to stick his finger up Jace’s nose, pinning him down on the dirty floor as Jace wiggles underneath him. Kayla wished Josh would stop telling Jace he’s his uncle and he has to listen to him, that way she wouldn’t have to hold back her laughter so hard.

“Okay, Mr. and Mr. Munson, break it up, your parents will be here any minute now. Get up.” They both switch their glances up to her, eyebrows raised over wide eyes. “Get up.”

They roll their eyes, Josh reluctantly getting off Jace slowly and helping him up. Slowly but surely, parents start to pick their kids up, both Munsons waiting for their parents anxiously. You wonder in with your youngest, a little three year old by the name of Stevie. She holds onto your pointer and middle finger anxiously, eyes darting around at the unfamiliar noises and faces.

Your son is seemingly nowhere to be seen, usually seen with his counterpart but you can’t see him around the crowd of parents kneeling with their kids and asking how their day was. The teacher, someone both Dylan and Eddie insisted is the best in the school, approaches you kindly to ask which kid is yours.

Before you can even answer Josh runs into you, happily glancing up at you as he wraps his arms around your legs. “Hi, baby,” you greet him, kneeling down as you pet his sweet face.

You miss the peculiar look Mrs. Franklin, or Kayla as Eddie referred to her as, gives you. Surprised to say the least that the Mrs. Munson she has yet to meet is so young. Her brows furrow even further when Jace notices you, yelling, “Grandma!” as he also runs for a hug.

“Were you boys nice to Mrs. Franklin today?”

“Of course!” Josh smiles, and you squint through his bullshit.

“Well we’re gonna make sure to be nicer or we’re gonna have to lose our tablet privileges, won’t we?”

You get back up, smiling at their grumbly faces. They never listen to new adults, it was a field day at their first day of preschool. One glance to their teacher’s observant face told you all you needed to know. “Eddie didn’t warn you, he?”

“No, but they did have a peculiar look on their faces when I mentioned meeting you. Should’ve known better, with those two,” you tilt your head, curious at what she meant. “Seriously, your husband needs to tell you more. I taught Dylan when he was in kindergarten.”

“Oh!” you exclaim, somewhat surprised. “That’s really cool! Were you surprised to see Eddie wi–”

“With another kid,” she interrupts, laughing, “yes, I was. I’m happy to see that he found someone else, Brooke, was, well, she was not a nice person.”

Your eyebrows raise at the mention of your husband’s ex-wife, this being the first person she meets outside Eddie’s inner circle to having even mentioned Brooke. “So, I’ve heard.”

“Hey mom,” you hear behind you, you shove the owner before you even see him, rolling your eyes.

It’s very recently become a silly habit of Dylan’s to call you mom, due to your son asking why his brother calls his mom by her real name and not mom like he does. After the best attempt at explaining Dylan has a different mom who is no longer around, Josh is still confused and insists that you still act like his mom, so therefore, are Dylan’s mom.

It was awkward at first, but now it’s a little inside joke. If you were told when you first got together with Eddie that Dylan would be referring to you as a maternal figure, you probably would’ve hit them on the head for fucking with you.

“Hey, kiddo,” you tease back, mocking his twisted face expression. “They were apparently giving her a hard time today.”

“Of course they were. You know we can ask one of you to switch classes, right?” Dylan asks, an aura of authority in his voice.

Their eyes go wide, even though it was a threat in their preschool room, they have yet to consider this. You didn’t want to resort to threats but with their shenanigans, it's literally one of the only things that will work.

“C’mon, your dad is making your favorite for dinner,” your shoulder cascades around Josh’s shoulder, telling him to say bye to his nephew and that he’ll see him tomorrow.

Two years later, Stevie shows up with her dark curls down to her shoulders after her father, giggling as she says hi to the teacher.

That was the last time Kayla taught one of Eddie Munson’s kids. Or, so she assumed.

The double doors to the high school flew open, big black boots echoing as the large leather jacket trails behind a slim torso. He takes the immediate left into the office, his presence large, with grey streaks leaking into his roots and an angry look on his face.

The kind administration lady looks up to his expectant face, the curiosity quickly melting into confounded terror. “Can I help you?”

“Apparently Stevie Munson is in the office right now?” Better be a damn good reason for peeling me away from one of the only moments I have left alone with my wife, he thinks, eyes observing around the office.

“Yes, she is, uh, are you her–”

“Her father, are you going to let me in the office or do I have to let myself in?”

The surprise that fills her features would be charming if Eddie wasn’t so fucking annoyed. He’s used to the assumption by now, but for the moment he just doesn’t have any patience in his body.

“You can go right ahead, Mr. Munson,” she peeps out, gesturing to the door marked Principal. Eddie’s not sure why he even asked, or how he had the foresight to ask, first. He’s surprised, honestly.

The door opens to face the school principal, his daughter and a boy sitting two seats away from her nursing his face with an ice pack. “Mr. Munson, welcome in! Have a seat.”

“No thanks,” Eddie answers, polite, but curt. He looks at his daughter, “What happened?”

She opens her mouth to answer but is interrupted by the bald principal, “I didn’t ask you, I asked her. What happened?” He directs his attention back to his daughter.

She smiles at him, the same sweet smile his wife bares. “This guy touched my ass under my skirt, so I punched him in the face.”

Eddie’s brows raised, teeth gritted as he sends a daggers at the boy he is now aware assaulted his daughter. “I’m sorry?” He asks, now directed to the principal.

“So she says,” the principal says, eyes widening at how Eddie manages to look murderous. “Granted, even if Mr. Jackson did do that, it’s not a good enough reason to assault him. She will be suspended for two days.”

Eddie laughs, loudly, shaking his head at the gall, the fucking nerve. This principal is extremely lucky it was him who answered his phone and not you. “Really? My daughter got sexually assaulted and your reaction to her defending herself is suspending her? Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Mr. Munson, if you could please calm down and have a seat,” he starts, gesturing to the chair, yet again.

“Oh, I am calm. You don’t want to see me angry,” Eddie answers, the Hulk flashing through his mind. “You deciding to punish her tells me exactly why this little shit felt confident enough to lay his hands on her, to begin with. I just think about all the other girls he’s done this to, too afraid to speak up, I wonder how many times he’s done this with no consequence to feel confident enough to touch under a skirt. What the fuck is this place? No-tolerance bullying policy? Utter bullshit.”

“Mr. Munson, calm down before I call security–”

“Don’t make me laugh. Seriously. Don’t.” Eddie sighs, pinching his nose. “If you do suspend her, I will press charges against him and I will sue this fucking school. If you punish him, like you’re supposed to, take him off his team for the season, put him in detention for a month, I don’t care, something with fucking consequences, I won’t. You decide.”

He looks down at the little shit, whimpering as he still nurses the barely there bruise. “You better hope I don’t hear you doing this shit to any other girl in this school, or you won’t get into any college in the country.” He pauses, opening the office door to an audience. Maybe he was louder than he thought he was. “C’mon Stevie, let’s go get some fucking ice cream.”

When you heard about how your husband stuck up for your daughter like that, you got on your knees for him in the bathroom. That might’ve cheered him up a bit.

The sounds are familiar yet foreign when you wake up to the blindingly white room, the chatter in the hallway and some heart monitor beeping. Two people immediately come into focus, Josh, sitting at the end of the bed on his phone, Stevie sitting concerned by your head.

You moan, sitting up in your bed annoyed at the stark contrast of the back of your eyelids. “What the hell?”

“Mom!” Josh shouts, getting up and standing on the other side of his sister.

“Mom,” Stevie runs out of the room, calling for a doctor.

You look to your son, brows furrowed. “What happened?”

“You passed out at the grocery store. You fainted and you didn’t wake up until just now.”

Your brows raise, because you haven’t felt off even the slightest. The dizziness hit you out of nowhere, going from fine to woozy in two seconds and falling flat on your face. “How long ago did that happen?”

“Like twenty minutes? The ambulance got there pretty quickly,” he admits, turning his head to his sister and the nurse coming in the door.

“Mrs. Munson! So glad to see you awake. I’ll let the doctor know and he should be able to give your results,” she says, sweet smile as she turns away.

Stevie’s bottom lip is stuck out, quivering as she grabs the hand containing an IV line. You thought that was a bit much. “Stevie, I’m okay.”

“Are you sure, because I heard the nurses saying it’s not normal to stay out that long after fainting. What if you’re sick?”

“I’m okay,” you insist, watching both their worried faces. “Fuck, you called your dad, didn’t you?”

“Uh, yes! He would’ve killed us if we didn’t!” Josh laughs, leaning back in his chair.

As if summoned, your husband pokes his head in, his eyes wide as he walks in the room, hands out to you as his long legs take him to the head of the bed. “Fucking Christ.”

“Hi, baby,” you greet him, leaning into the forehead kiss that he gives you. “I’m okay.”

“Fainting in the fucking grocery store, fucking hell. My god, baby.” He looks over to his kids, “What tests have they done, so far?”

“Just a blood test, I think,” Stevie shrugs.

“They might do an MRI but that could take weeks of waiting.” Josh offers no comfort to his dad despite his best efforts.

“I’m okay, really.” You insist to all their worried faces. “You didn’t call anyone else, did you?”

“Uh, we called Dylan,” Josh says, wincing at your annoyed face. “And Jace.”

“Fuck,” you mutter, intertwining your hand with Eddie’s rough one.

The doctor doesn’t come as quickly as the nurse promised, but he comes within two hours. “Oh, hello, you have quite the visitors, don’t you?”

You shrug, rubbing his thumb as it anxiously rubs your hand.

“We have the results, inconclusively.” The air is tense, every one of the family seemingly expecting terrible news. “Congrats! You’re pregnant.”

You knew nothing was wrong, but this was not what you were expecting. You’re forty-two, Eddie is nearly seventy. You weren’t even sure he could still get you pregnant. You meet your husband’s eyes, sharing a bewildered smile.

In the meantime, shouts of disgust from your teenage kids fill the room, standing up with tense shoulders.

“Gross!”

“Ew! I didn’t even know you guys still did it! Oh my god! Ew!!!!”

You bite your lip, shrugging. “Are you wanting to be a father to a newborn at almost 70?”

Eddie smirks, leaning in for a kiss that makes your kids jeer again. “Bring it on, baby.”

Steve calls an hour later, concerned for the text his name sake sent him. When Eddie informs him, you’re pregnant, twenty years of karma hits tenfold.

When Steve and Jocelyn said they were pregnant with Eliza fifteen years after having Dustin, Eddie spent the pregnancy making fun of their oopsie baby. Asking if they knew what protection was, joking how they still had sex, telling them to keep it in their pants, the works.

Now, Steve was more than happy to return the favor. “A baby at 70, you old bastard? What was that you told me twenty years ago? God, I’m surprised you two still do it, considering how low Eddie’s ball sack must be hanging.”

“You wish you could see my ball sack, you asshole,” Eddie teases, laughing with you as you sigh. “You’re just jealous I can still keep it up, you geriatric bastard.”

Five years later, when Eddie and Kayla are older, he wanders into classroom #3 for the last time, holding his third son who ends up being notoriously clingy towards his older father.

It’s ironic to the both of them how Eddie has a son for both Kayla’s first and last year of teaching, keeping tabs on one another for the duration of forty years.

Eddie doesn’t say anything, letting Tommy down and dismissing her questioning look. Don’t wanna talk about it.

By the time Tommy is 18, Eddie is too old to give a shit, wondering constantly what Wayne’s opinion will be when he ends up knocking on heaven’s door.

When you got into your sixties, Eddie was full of gratitude, thankful that you will no longer be confused for one of his kids despite his actual kids all calling you mom. He makes fun of your vision, stealing his reading glasses constantly despite his constant insisting that you get your own pair.

Despite the smile lines by his lips and his eyes, the sunspots decorating his skin, you still stare up at him like you did when he was forty-seven.

Your lives were forever intertwined from the moment you saw him, from the moment he saw you. He lies down in your bed next to you for the millionth time, his hand caressing your side, pressing kisses on whiskered lips, it doesn’t occur to you to ever be anything less than woefully in love with him.

———————-

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hwaightme · 4 months

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Burning

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🔥 pairing: best friend!mingi x gn!reader 🔥 genre: fluff, healing, friends to lovers, slice of life 🔥 summary: down winding roads, through the golden fields and into the shimmering night, you and mingi embark on a journey to live and love once again 🔥 wordcount: 5.5k 🔥 warnings/tags: editing??, language, indie film style, loosely inspired by murakami's 'barn burning' + youth mv, injuries/scabs, band aids/treatment, escapism, restarts, running away, love through hardship, healing, implied trauma, food/eating, reflecting on the past, mingi would do anything for you, arson 🔥 taglist: at the bottom of the fic 🔥 a/n: happy birthday to @byuntrash101!! my most wonderful cat, i love you, thank you for every moment and here is to many more <3 hugs to everyone, all reblogs, notes and comments appreciated! 🔥 playlist: the last stop of our pain - hanroro, the setting sun - the poles, bye - car the garden, summer night - jeon jinhee, 14:30 - damons year, silence - sunwoojunga, so life goes on - heo hoy kyung, dear my all - mingginyu

You looked down at your hands, spreading the fingers out and relaxing them again, watching the movement of every line and wrinkle. Band aids bent and took on the shape you commanded; the one in an off-white shade after having taken on the brunt of the physical burdens, - a ring that was wrapped around the middle finger of your right hand was frayed at the edge, having had to through the test of the elements and of haphazard lugging of items in and out of the white car on which you were sitting. The other, skin toned, sturdy and strictly not letting anything dare infect you, hugged the side of the same hand and spread a little to your palm. The markings of a person who ‘could’, and a person who ‘did’.

Gaze travelling downwards led you to a leather bracelet with a silver charm - a simple accessory, but one that held years of history, meaning and memories that tied you to the original owner. You were never one for big celebrations, having gotten used to treating every day the same as the rest - a uniform, dark reality where you were nothing but a little cog. The only mission you had ever had before this moment was to keep on turning. This bracelet was a promise, and a hope for a new beginning.

Golden fields and a warm grey sky blending into a hazy blend of yellowish green and burnt sienna. A tired breeze that had long lost its fight reminded you that you could still feel, running through your hair, dancing across your skin. The sweater you had borrowed was much too loose at the shoulders, and thus offered little to no protection from the elements. Nonetheless, the comfort it offered, along with the aroma that had permanently intertwined with the threads of the cotton fabric brought more than enough warmth to your heart, and caused a blush to rise on your cheeks. It was a considerable contrast to your still slightly tear-stained, exhausted eyes around which the signs of last night’s terrors were still remaining. But even then, the despair that had come with the sensation had been washed away by a caring thumb, a loving hand, a single impression that solidified that you were never going to be alone.

You moved to run a finger across the plasters, curious as to how the cuts beneath were healing. Little scars of a warrior. You had fought for your way and for your life and for your right to smile and breathe and enjoy the earthly wonders. The last days before your final decision to escape were somewhat of a whirlwind, tainted by persistent insomnia, demons that haunted you day and night and the yelling of far too many people, projects and parasitic ponderings. Even the things that had been under your control grew minds of their own and searched for ways to destroy you, be it in hiding a mistake in a word, an error in a table or a fiendish administrative problem. Those days were a countdown, until in one last effort to survive, you cried out for salvation and admitted that it was all too much. And in that chaotic flood that was threatening to swallow you whole, one person had been waiting, and before you knew it, you were safe, had someone cheering for you, sharing your anguish.

“Hey don’t do that. We don’t have any band aids left and I’m not about to go Rambo mode and go picking grass to wrap you up,” you turned to follow the sounds of the low, raspy voice, smiling softly as you met your friend’s mildly concerned expression. Black hair, softly tousled; you barely could restrain yourself from reaching out and ruffling those locks. Beauty marks like stars on that wonderful, charming face. Slightly parted lips that appeared to be holding back sagas and everlasting tales. Lips that you could watch move forever.

“It’s fine, Mingi, I was just checking.”

“That was some intense checking you’re doing, refrain from it,” he retorted and crossed his arms while pinching the sleeves of his black knit sweater so as to not let them slide up.

“Says the person who keeps picking at their face like no tomorrow. Without bandages, mind you. At this rate-”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I’ll sort myself out, alright?” Mingi winced as his tongue darted to the scabbed over gash on the side of his mouth, making you exhale sharply, bemused. You could sense him taking his words back with a shake of the head. One step back, another, and in a quiet mumble he added: “...at the next rest stop we’ll fuel up the truck, fuel ourselves and maybe get a proper first aid kit.”

“Sounds good.”

Turning one of the many rings on his fingers, your friend could not hold your gaze and resorted to studying the ornate silver patterns and precious embedded stones. It had been the same when he had first offered this way out for you. A man, supposedly tall and impressive in physique, but appearing so small as he stumbled over his words, one idea pouring and drowning another out until they connected like a puzzle and formulated a vision that was somewhat concrete. Though, even if there was no final agreement in his mind, you would have agreed anyway. All that mattered was that each sentence carried a ‘we’. And with that, you were more than happy.

Was it long ago that you had met him? It felt like eternity. You could not imagine any other life, at least not one where you had a chance at happiness. Sure, you had your fights and squabbles. It would be a big lie if you were to say everything was sunshine and rainbows. Both snappy and hot headed at times, you had each said a fair share of things you did not want to say. But it was the awareness and growing from mistakes that had led you to where you were now. You had both walked through some dark times, and ended up in the golden hour, surrounded by an equally glowing expanse of flora, reaping what you two had sowed.

“What are you looking at me like that for?”

“Hm?”

“I don’t get it, I know I have the thing on my cheek but… hate to break it to you, you don’t have healing powers,” ever so logical, Mingi was, once again, trying to establish a chain of thought. You had gotten better at explaining your thinking out loud, as did he, but in times where you were particularly wistful, words escaped you.

“I don’t know…”

“As if I do. Are you hungry?”

“I’m not a cat-”

“Then why?” he chuckled, lips automatically stretching into a toothy grin as you chuckled.

“‘Cause I can.”

“Okay then,” a breath escaped you as you stared at his hand, suddenly falling to meet the car’s surface and looked up to see him leaning over, staring intently at you. Through you. Like he could read you. Any courage you had disappeared, and you shook your head in defeat.

“Fine, fine,” how could someone put into words the feeling of wanting to picture an individual in everything and everyone?

How could you say that even in the grass that surrounded you, in the long winding roads, in the cloudy skies you were glad to be able to see Mingi. It had been a lifetime indeed. A lifetime of seeing him without realising it, a lifetime of looking forward to being together with him and falling apart when you weren’t, and now, when you were side by side with only the sun, moon and empty fields to bear witness, you were scared to blink. Like all this time would disappear. Priceless seconds. Mingi was merciful enough to note a tinge of nervousness, and backed away. It was obvious enough that he did not quite let your reaction go, but neither you nor him were ever ones to push further than necessary and beyond the other’s personal limits.

“Right, time to get going if we want to make it to the barn by midnight.”

“Okay.”

“Want to ride in the back or-”

“With you,” you did not mean to sound so ambiguous, but thankfully as Mingi was busy opening the door to the driver’s seat, he did not catch on, or courteously did not pry.

“Ah, you’re right. It’ll be getting cold pretty quickly, won’t it?”

As if you were not wrapped up and huddled in the bunch of blankets, backpacks and crocheted pillows just last night when you were parked at the last rest stop, silently accepting your friend’s reassurance as you mourned a past you were not going to miss. He knew what you were going through, and so he stuck beside you instead of heading for those plasters when he technically could have.

“A few hours won’t change these little cuts, but they can change you, and I’d rather be here so you’re not alone.”

The phrase resonated in your heart as you took your place beside Mingi, staring out at the windshield. With a quick glance to your left you could just catch his reflection in the glass, and with another tilt, the man himself. His plush lips, the beautiful curve of his nose, how the black-framed glasses that he had fished out of the cupholder between you suited him so well. Focused, he turned the key until a satisfying rumble consumed the vehicle, signifying its awakening. On instinct, Mingi’s arms flew to their respective positions, and he drove out of the improvised parking spot back out to the infinite line of cement - the one sign of civilization that had the ability to assure you that you were indeed going in the right direction. Since Mingi was familiar with this part of the country, however, you would not have minded even a sudden, more wild change in the scenery.

Choosing to not surf the radio stations in search of something remotely tolerable, you drove to the sound of your musings and let the last of the grey haze wash over you before the sun that was concealed by the thick cloud would inevitably fall into a slumber. For the first time in a while, you could enjoy the quiet without it being interrupted by a cacophony of inner qualms and disturbing rage. You could catch the occasional note from Mingi’s humming - a habit of his that you had grown to love. Every time, it was something unexpected. Be it a tune he was making up on the spot or one that you were familiar with, you never tired of how his thoughts travelled, and were delighted by the soundtrack which he was subconsciously crafting for the life you just so happened to share. Serendipity, writing a future that Mingi was taking you towards.

The idea he had proposed might have been radical, but it was the only one that made sense. Besides, it was not going to cause any harm. At the end of the day, the property belonged to a distant relative, said relative had no use for it, so… the conclusion and final decision basically made itself. The act to mark an entry into being your new self had to be grand, a lot more grand than what you had already done, and Mingi, being a creative mind, of course could be trusted to invent a performance of the century. Just for you.

A dreamlike day turned into an equally surreal evening as you halted at the gas station attached to the last rest stop of your adventure, with Mingi’s call dragging you out of your thoughts. You confirmed to him that you were fine with a quick smile and followed him out of the trusty Dodge. Patiently, you idled about as Mingi unscrewed the opening to the fuel tank and reached for one of the nozzles, rolling a stray piece of gravel under your shoes. Crickets, a myriad of crickets hidden under the cover of nighttime launched into a crescendo of their trill song, so much so that the buzz of the fluorescent lamp that illuminated the lonely station was almost completely drowned out. A light touch on your upper arm alerted you that Mingi was done, and you promptly followed him to the convenience store.

As though by newly found habit, he gravitated towards the bright red canisters lined up by the register, while you gave him a wary glance before ambling towards the ready to eat meals. Soon enough, Mingi joined you, satisfied by his quick perusal, and with a basket in his hand. Without a word, he picked up your favourite snack and was about to toss it in:

“This one, right?”

“Yeah, that’s right.”

It never failed to be amusing how, despite the innumerable occasions when you two had eaten together, Mingi still liked to check with you that your favourite foods were, in fact, still your favourite foods. You had to admit that it was very endearing and comforting to you. Without even considering it, he always gave you room for change, in every way you could imagine. Or maybe you were exaggerating and letting your fantasies speak for themselves. You could not help but dart your eyes at Mingi when he turned his back to you, spotting the two beaded necklaces you had made for him some time ago still being a part of his usual outfit. And so, you wondered, how large was the room for transformation? What could this brand new future of yours include?

“Ah… wait… band aids… should we get that… What was it? Antiseptic-”

“You said a whole kit.”

“Right. Let’s go try and find it… wait what if they don’t stock one?” eyebrows weighed down with doubt, Mingi looked at you like he was about to apologise. You sighed, moving to run a hand down his back. The gesture startled Mingi, but he did not stop you, instead choosing to wait it out and see your intentions. You noticed him lightly biting his lower lip as he stared back at you, perplexed.

“We’ll find the essentials then. It’s not like we are disappearing from society for the rest of time, yeah?”

“Yeah…” had he continued, you swore he would have expressed his wish for what you had joked about to be the case. Luckily, you were pleasantly surprised by the wide selection of items to pick from, and left confident in the remainder of your trip.

In the fluorescence of the small store, and then inside of the parked car as you devoured your pre-made dinner, you were suspended in pure bliss. To your right was your partner in everything, friend or however your silly racing heart wanted to call him. Above you, the stars - a vista worth driving further out from the rest stop for. Propped up on the cushions, this was your definition of heavenly and healing. Colours had regained their vibrancy, and finally, you were no longer too fatigued to notice the intricacy of things that had previously passed you by. Who could have guessed that the packaging of the sandwiches you used to buy before work to throw in the office fridge had changed? And apparently a bit of time ago, too? What else have you been missing? For certain, you had been missing out on times like this, where you could hold a comfortable pause with Mingi, simply enjoying each other’s company while digging into your meals. It was astonishing to think how many breakfasts, lunches and dinners that you could have had with the one person who always believed in you were ripped away from you by obligation and unwanted routine. Not for longer.

“Mingi.”

“Hm?” he hummed while chewing, eyes widened as he turned towards you. Quickly enough, he swallowed the bite, and waited for you to continue.

“I’m glad… that we can be here like this.”

“Oh… I…” at a loss for words, he let himself swim in your spontaneous confession.

“I am just… happy. Very happy. Thank you. Thank you for being the one who I can trust, thank you for sticking with me through complete and utter chaos, thank you for being you,” the words came naturally, buried under layers of hurt that needed time to evaporate. But now, the ritualistic expedition was wondrous in combating your inner demons, and in turn, let you speak for yourself, for your own feelings rather than those of illusory authority that had previously spoken for and was in charge of your every action, whether you were aware of it or not.

“No biggie. Things get in the way sometimes, but we’re here now, aren’t we?”

“Yes, that we are.”

“It’s going to get even easier soon, just you wait.”

A hand in midair, waiting for you to lift yours and meet it. Confused, you did so automatically, yelping when Mingi moved it closer to himself, and in a swift motion planted a soft, almost shy kiss on the back. He was careful to not put any pressure on the cuts which he had just re-cleaned and covered, along with the miniature wounds that only found themselves under the stinging alcohol solution, but kept on holding onto you, debating whether you would let him stay like this to his heart’s content, or if you would pull away. The tips of his digits reached the bracelet, and you could imagine a thrum of kindred energy reconnecting the item and the man. Shock prevented you from acting rashly, and so you simply read the fire in Mingi’s sparkling eyes, your favourite blaze that helped you out of a chasm, one that you would protect with your entire being until the world collapsed on you. And even then, you would stand up and try again.

Relief was evident in his features, from the curling of his lips to the relaxing of his shoulders. Clearly, an unfathomable pressure was lifted from his exhausted body. Every mile travelled, you were making revelations, it seemed. Venturing into the unknown, you were not quite sure who you were looking at anymore. Of course, you were confident in his name, in his presence, in his significance, but the many roles which he played in your years on this tiny planet left you struggling for words. Who was Mingi to you? Who were you to Mingi? Long gone were the days where you two had been moderately content with a distant and rapidly cooling friendship separated by glass and busy schedules. You were close. So close, that if the recklessness of acting on instinct caught up with you, you would get burned.

Burning, like your hand despite Mingi having let it float in solitude some time ago to stand up and hop out of the back of the pickup truck. Set ablaze like your heart and soul that were feverishly awaiting a shining dawn. Your tired eyes could only watch your one wish turn the key in the ignition again, determined to help you start over. Could he be your sun? If you were to say anything more than a hollow whisper to the moon, would you fall away and lose him? You were about to bring the fingers of your left hand to run over the other, but you stopped, remembering Mingi’s comedically stern words. Instead, you imagined him pressing his lips against it again, heat rising to your cheeks upon recollection. A quick glance to the driver’s seat, and you could swear you caught the ghost of a smirk dancing across your so-called friend’s face, but chose not to comment so as to not spark a conversation you knew you would not be able to continue.

“We’ll be there soon. There’s a neat shortcut we can take so it shouldn’t take us more than an hour.”

You nodded, trusting his judgement. Your thoughts were elsewhere, anyways and could not offer many suggestions in terms of the journey. These parts were foreign to you, and your decision-making here was as good as whenever you had a professional point to prove or a dream to follow; both flew out of your hands to be smited. At least in the case of the meandering roads, you had Mingi to shield you, letting you wander in your own mindscape for as long as you needed. The mind was a mysterious place, traversing memories both from years ago and ones that documented your most recent escapades much the same, though, maybe now they were all in brighter hues. The last of what was tying you down was packed and stashed right behind you and Mingi, both in the tiny space between the seats and the back of the cabin as well as in the exposed trunk outside. The monochrome madness stuffed into rucksacks, swaddled in sheets like a crying infant manifesting your prayers for the noise of a prior existence to cease demanding your attention. You were ready to let it all turn to ash, and be reborn.

It was fascinating how quick Mingi was to jump into action. Part of you wondered whether it was due to the times you had helped him, and he wished to somehow repay you. Or was this a genuine devotion? As the road turned into an unruly dirt path, you were certain it was the latter.

‘It’s our journey. I might not know everything that’s going on behind your forehead, and you would not know that about me, but the least we can do is stick through the worst storms.’

The grumbling of the engine turned into a roar as Mingi’s heavy combat boot pushed down even stronger on the accelerator. When people spent enough time together, they were bound to become more and more similar; such was the case with you and him. Parts had been exchanged, parts blended, and it was hard to think of a picture where there was a lack of the other’s presence in some form. Be it in behaviour or in little bits of jewellery. Mingi was driving selfishly, because he was driving for you and for the few breaths of air you had remaining in your lungs after holding up boulders of others’ opportunities at the cost of your own passions. There was experience, there was development, but there was also a need for self-preservation and a necessity to stop for the sake of health and mental clarity, and Mingi was not about to lose you.

“D’ya want to roll the window down? You…” used to do that when you and him were teens. He did not have to say it. No matter the weather, even if for a few seconds, you wanted to be one with the air, a flightless bird that finally got a chance to glide with the wind, pleasantly lost in the elements. Maybe one day you could return to that same carefree nature. You shook your head.

“It’s a little cold outside.”

“How about this…” while slowing down a little to not lose control of the car, Mingi reached around and behind his seat, fishing for something. Finally, having found what he was looking for, he flashed a triumphant grin and produced his dark grey denim jacket, letting it land on your lap.

You raised an eyebrow, unsure of what your friend was implying. But as soon as the first hint of a breeze hit you and you saw the window start its slow descent under Mingi’s command, a chuckle escaped you. So it was not a question after all, but an encouragement, perhaps even a challenge. Giving in, you pulled the jacket over yourself like a blanket, and stared at the all-knowing constellations that decorated the cosmic expanse - the best reminder of just how small you really were, and to what priceless insignificance your troubles amounted to. In the grand scheme of things, nothing really mattered, and so, you did not see anything as ‘too out of pocket’ anymore. Might as well enjoy life instead of letting it race past you for once.

It was a mystery to you when you fell asleep; you could only recall the ghostly pale silver and ashen blue that spread over the wheat fields and another serene, barely audible serenade hummed by Mingi. But just as quickly as you had drifted into a dreamless slumber, you jolted awake at the sound of your name being repeated once, twice by your best friend. Momentarily lost, you waited for your vision to focus before following the sounds of the truck door clicking shut and of rubber soles hitting gravel by fumbling for the handle. As soon as you opened the salon, you were embraced in full by the omnipresent hum of wildlife and distant rustle of leaves and tall grass, the field at which you stopped having been long abandoned and left barren, with only dirt to present as a fruit of labour.

Stepping onto the soft earth, you could feel the cool dampness beneath your shoes, a tactile reminder of the quiet countryside that surrounded you as far as the eye could see. Mingi, his presence like a comforting shield in the stillness of the night, paused in his search for the tools he had packed. A profound hush settled over the landscape, prompting you to tilt your head and look on further, to spot the target barely a couple hundred metres away. So this was it. The promised sacrifice. The place where the past could finally quit holding on to you and tearing you apart. The abandoned barn loomed ahead like a relic from another universe and a time long gone.

The moonlight painted the barn in ethereal shades, casting a melancholic beauty upon its worn facade. Mingi's eyes held the weight of a thousand untold stories and observations, and in the quiet exchange of glances, you detected a shared understanding – a recognition that you had the right, and more than deserved to forgive yourself, and throw away the hurt you had accumulated over the years with a light heart. He stood beside you, holding onto the sacks that you had stuffed full of items that haunted you, mutely berated you and induced agonising ruminations. Papers, trinkets, utter garbage that you had never been able to throw out on your own, all collected like nightmare capsules and you were more than elated to bid them farewell.

He had not yet taken off his glasses, eager to move onwards and upwards. One of these days you might muster up the courage to tell Mingi just how handsome he was in whatever style he chose, but that was a mission for a more courageous you. From tonight into the myriad of tomorrows. Your partner in self-revolution stretched his arms towards you, gingerly passing the hefty items over and waiting for you to get a better grip. To think that there were clouds of buzzing paranoia and dread attached to either one - suffocating, persistent.

While regarding Mingi’s tranquil resolve, you discovered a sliver of a near-boyish excitement, so characteristic of him before growing pains had changed your relationship and all that came with it, that your heart ached, and a prickly sensation made itself known on the back of your hand where he had left a solitary peck. And yet, he still was not giving up on you. From the pocket of his jeans - appearing to take on the shade of a washed out chrome under the shining skies, Mingi produced a box of matches, and upon leaning closer to the truck, grasped the handle of a stick protruding from a miniature canister. More than enough to carry out the impending transformation. Mingi’s stunning orbs met yours, and without words, he conveyed a mixture of determination and sorrow, a silent promise and cheer for the grand finale.

"Here’s to letting go, and to holding on to the things that make us right," he uttered, his voice carrying the power of a truth that echoed in the night air.

“Then… I’ll be right back.”

“I will be here. Cousin said everything’s unlocked. Put things in places where the fire’ll reach.”

One step. Another. Walk turning into run, you chased after who you wished to become and propelled yourself with unprecedented pride. You could do this. With one quick push the door to the barn creaked open, and you made haste in lining the walls with who you used to be. You could taste ash on your tongue and see the fire in your pupils even though you were consumed by pitch black; here, you had the final say. Upon throwing the sacks into whatever direction, you felt your way back out, and returned to Mingi who, apparently, had the time to reposition the car a little to have the back be facing the barn. With a mischievous grin he greeted you, and pulled you into a quick embrace before giving you a matchstick and the box and leading the two of you to the structure one last time.

This had been an agreement between you - you were the one to light the first flame, and he was the one to do the rest. Though this was a journey of healing, he did not wish for you to delude yourself into a guilt-ridden state. Mingi could bear the brunt of that for you and wear it like a badge of honour. As though patrolling the grounds, he went in a circle around the barn, leaving behind the acrid stench of splattered gasoline. Suddenly, the act felt more and more real. A yelp caught in your throat as Mingi shoved the empty canister inside through a loose wooden board, now only holding onto the unlit torch. Gazed at you, awaiting the monumental execution.

Trembling just a little, on the third try you managed to light the match, and stepped to the building full of your painful memories. the flames danced in the blackness like whispers of farewell. As you approached the ancient barn with Mingi in toe, the match's glow illuminated the grains of wood that had weathered countless storms. The night seemed to draw its breath, as though it sensed the profound act about to unfold. Outstretching the judgement between your fingers, you hesitated for a fleeting moment. The gravity of the act hung heavy – the acknowledgment that setting fire to the past was a painful necessity for new beginnings. Nevertheless, you were certain. The barn, with its history that you will never learn, became a symbol of surrender, resilience and perseverance. Holding your breath, you dropped the match, but when the result did not satisfy you, you sensed a wave of rage. You wanted more, you needed it all gone from sight and experience.

“Mingi.”

“Hm?”

“The torch, please.”

“Oh?”

“Please.”

With a silent understanding, Mingi raised the torch, the flames licking eagerly at its edges, and passed it to you. The blade that would slash through it all. The full stop at the end of this turbulent chapter. As you touched the fire to the barn, a crackling symphony echoed through the night. The dry wood, with the base generously coated in gasoline caught quickly, and soon the barn was ablaze, a kaleidoscope of oranges, reds, and yellows against the backdrop of the moonlit fields.

The flames danced with an insatiable hunger, consuming the old wood with a fervour that mirrored the intensity of emotions in the hearts of the witnesses. Shadows flickered and danced on the ground, casting ephemeral images of what once was, each crackle of the fire a poignant reminder of the release happening before your eyes. Mingi turned to you, his eyes reflecting the blaze that mirrored the intensity of his and your emotions. In that poignant moment, the warmth of the fire contrasted with the chill in the night air, echoing the bittersweet nature of letting go.

"We are making room for something new," he whispered before pulling you into a long-awaited kiss, as searing and filled with longing as the soaring flames that illuminated your bodies. The crackling fire served as a cathartic release, and in its glow, you saw promise. As soon as you parted, the two of you rushed to the truck, climbing to take the front seats to admire the masterpiece, not daring to sit apart, holding onto each other through it all.

As the fire continued its dance, the night bore witness to the act of relinquishing the old, a solemn ritual that paved the way to more and more. Together, you and Mingi stood amidst the mesmerising spectacle, your hearts intertwined with the rhythm of the burning, ready to step into the unknown and shape a destiny yet to unfold.

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honeybeefae · 4 months

Note

Nesta and Eris love triangle

smut number 9 🫣

Flames of Silver (Nesta x Reader x Eris)

Summary// You have been playing a dangerous game for the last month. It started with harmless flirting between Nesta and Eris, never veering too close to the sun, until one night during an Autumn Court ball, you realize not only that you were not playing the game alone but that you had just lost.

(First ACOTAR fic in a while and I am SO PUMPED. 4,720 words later and here it is! I love Nesta, I love Eris, I want them both to rail me simultaneously so this was a very self-indulgent fic. Thank you to the like-minded anon who requested this I love you <3 Enjoy!)

WARNINGS: Smut, 18+, Spanking, Cum Eating, Dom/Sub, Overstimulation

The invitation to the ball had been no surprise to you. Eris had been boasting about it for weeks, claiming in his letters that it would bring about a new era of the Autumn Court. You had rushed to tell your High Lord, Helion, who was already planning to attend after receiving his invitation from the Lady of Autumn.

You had given him a curious look, raising an eyebrow, and he quickly turned that look around on you by asking why Eris Vanserra had sent you an invite. Helion smirked when you fumbled for an excuse and left to prepare, warning you not to play too close with fire as the door slammed shut behind you.

He had very little idea of just how close you were to getting burned by not only Eris but someone else, someone who you would argue would be even more dangerous if pissed off.

Nesta Archeron.

When you met her, you already had somewhat of a flirting relationship with Eris, but you couldn’t resist her temptation. She was an enigma, a storm in the middle of the ocean that only the bravest sailors would dare to tread. Or the dumbest of ones. Which category did you fall in? You weren’t sure, but you knew from the moment she gave you an ounce of attention that she had you hook, line, and sinker.

Just like Eris. The two of them were so similar in their actions and words. How could you not fall for both? Each one could easily make you feel like you were the only person to exist, each one giving you exactly what you needed. You had been trying to make sure you never got too close with either, not wanting to go too deep in fear of hurting one, but that line was getting blurrier by the day.

Even now, as the day of the ball finally had come, you were reading over a letter from Nesta asking if you were available tonight. It hurt to tell her no but you had already agreed to this ball with Eris. Your heart felt like it was being torn in two as both seemed to be demanding your attention more and more over the last few weeks.

You needed to make a choice. You could string them along no longer, as it would only break everyone’s heart. But which would you choose?

—---------------

The imposing architecture of the Forest House sends a chill down your spine as you step out into the chilly air, following your High Lord as the rest of your group falls in line beside you. Your stomach had been in knots the entire ride over here, and it only seemed to get worse the further you went into the building.

Laughter and music echo around the halls as you stop in front of the grand mahogany doors of the ballroom. The smell of a feast made your mouth water as you made sure your outfit was perfect, knowing Eris was waiting for your appearance.

Tonight, you will have to decide which fae you want to court, but for now, as the doors open and the warm lights of the room welcome you, you are going to enjoy the peace while it lasts.

Helion walks in first, greeting everyone with a warm smile and a wave before he goes off in search of his Lady. You follow swiftly, nodding to the servants as you scan the room for the red-haired male. It only takes you a moment to spot him, standing by the throne with his crown atop his head, but who you see beside him makes you falter.

And the peace you entered with shatters.

Nesta turns her head to look in your direction, her smile dangerous as she gingerly taps Eris on his shoulder and nods towards you. He smirks, amber eyes matching the tone of Nesta’s smile as he raises his head in greeting.

Fuck.

You immediately turn around, hoping Helion is miraculously waiting for you, only to find him still engrossed in his conversation with the Lady of Autumn. The tightness in your chest continues to grow as you spin back around, looking for anyone or anything that could buy you time to escape, until you realize Nesta is heading straight towards you.

“Why, dove, you look as if you’ve seen a ghost.” Her voice is sickly sweet as she grabs your arms, turning you so that she is now blocking the exit. Damn it. “Are you feeling alright?”

“I’m-” Your voice cracks, and you flush in embarrassment, clearing your throat and straightening your spine as you try again. “I’m alright, Nes. I just got a little dizzy. I did not know you would be here tonight. When you wrote me, I assumed you had other plans.”

She smiles again, her eyes dancing with amusement as you refuse to hold her gaze. “I did, but they fell through, so I tagged along with the rest of the Court. However, I don’t recall you mentioning anything about a ball in your rejection.”

The pounding of your heart seems to drown out the music as you fumble for an excuse, frowning. “It was a last-minute thing, Nesta. I am so sorry. Of course I would have invited you if I had-”

“Known?” A sweet, sardonic voice repeats behind you. “You’ve known about this event for weeks now, pet.”

Dread pours over you like cold water as you turn to look up at Eris, dressed in his finest suit, while he looks down at you with the faintest hint of a smile. You swallow, mouth suddenly dry, as you realize you are now stuck between the two sides of your indecisive heart.

“I…” You trail off, looking between the two of them. “I didn’t realize you two knew each other this well.”

“Oh, we just recently started getting closer.” Nesta waves her hand dismissively, taking a sip of her wine. “Isn’t that right, Eris?”

“Yes, we found out we both had something very similar in common.” He agrees, handing you your own goblet, which you down without a moment's hesitation. “It seems we are being played by the same woman. Someone’s been bad.”

You choke on the wine, covering your mouth as your eyebrows raise to the top of your head. “Played? What do you mean played?” Your voice is bordering on hysterical. This is not how you wanted things to play out.

Suddenly, an icy, soft hand grips your chin and turns you until you look into Nesta's steel-blue eyes. “Do you think us stupid, dove? That we wouldn’t figure out your little game?” She frowns and it breaks your heart, your mouth flying open to explain before your brain can tell you to shut up.

“It wasn’t a game!” You protest, shaking your head vehemently. “I-I swear it was never a game. Not between us,” You say, looking at Nesta before turning to Eris. “Nor us. I didn’t mean for this to get out of hand, for anyone to get hurt, I just-”

“Just what, pet?” Eris cocks his head, his jaw clenching.

“I couldn’t choose between the two of you. You are both so similar and yet so different. I met you,” You gesture towards the High Lord of Autumn, smiling wistfully. “And you swept me off my feet with your sarcasm and wit…and then I met Nesta, who did the same, only with her passion and fury. I wanted you both. I still do, and I know that is impossible, that you must hate me, and I understand.”

The shame you feel for stringing them both along threatens to swallow you whole as they share a look over your head, one that you miss due to keeping your eyes on the floor until their mocking laughter makes you jump and look up in surprise.

“Look at her face, Eris,” Nesta coos, stroking a hand down your bare arm. “She looks as if she is about to burst into tears.”

“As she should. It might teach her a lesson in being greedy.” He responds darkly, seizing your wrist and pulling you into his chest. “You have been very bad, pet. Very bad and very greedy.”

Your face must give away your confusion as you blink blankly at the redhead, trying to figure out if this is a game or if you are about to be called out in front of the entire room. What were they doing?

Nesta’s slender frame presses up against your back as you feel her lips ghost against the shell of your ear, sending a pleasurable thrill down your spine as she whispers, “Go upstairs to Eris’s room. You know which one. And when you arrive, we want you to strip down and kneel by the edge of the bed.”

We?

You lick your lips, trying to form a sentence until you give up and mutter the only word that matters. “We?”

“Yes. We.” Eris confirms, a sinful smile on his red lips as he releases you all at once. You stumble back, barely catching yourself before you fall on your ass and look between the two of them. “Go.”

It wasn’t a request. It was an order. One that Nesta was nodding along with. You turn and leave numbly, going over the whiplash of conversation that just happened, and it doesn’t hit you until you get to the stairs of what this meant.

They knew you were talking to them both. They knew you couldn’t choose. They had planned this. It wasn’t anger or sadness in their voices that you thought you heard…it was lust. And power. You had played right into their hands.

And you were excited.

“I’m in way over my head…” You shake your head as you ascend the stairs and take the familiar route to Eris’s room. Time seems to slow as you arrive at the ornate door and slowly turn the brass knob, your fingers slightly trembling as you push the door open and peek inside.

The room itself looks as it always has. A large four-poster bed against the back wall decorated with warm browns and vivid reds, a large fur pelt blanket at the end. His grand wooden desk was against the other wall, close to the fireplace, with a tall, plush chair directed towards the bed.

As you scan the room, you almost miss it, the candlelight catching the array of objects that one of the two had laid out on the bedside table before you had arrived. You take a tentative step forward, mouth opening in shock as you see various ropes, paddles, and other things that make your skin flush and cunt clench.

What were they going to do to you?

You snap out of your thoughts when you hear heels clicking down the hall. Realizing you hadn’t followed instructions, you make quick work of your dress and underwear. The clothes fall haphazardly to the floor, and you barely kick them out of the way and kneel before Nesta opens the door.

“Hmm.” She hums, shutting the door behind her as she walks across the room. You clench your fists on your thighs, resisting the urge to look until two fingers find your chin and tilt it up. “You listen well, dove.”

The praise makes you shiver, your eyelids fluttering while she watches you for a moment longer before releasing your chin. You make a small sound in your throat but one sharp glare from her silences you.

“Don’t pout. This is your own doing.” She chastises you, removing her long, silver gloves and draping herself across the chair you noticed earlier. “You will accept everything we give you with a ‘Thank you,” do you understand?”

“Yes.” You answer immediately, jumping when you hear the door open again. Eris’s tall shadow envelopes the entrance as he turns to lock the three of you inside, his gloves already removed as he lays them across the nightstand.

“She was ready when you came in?” He asks over his shoulder, ignoring your existence as he removes his coat jacket. Nesta nods, shifting in her seat as the High Lord smirks and grabs your face roughly. “What’s your safeword?”

“I, um,” You falter, shying away from his gaze as you rack your brain. “Suriel.”

Nesta snorts but doesn’t say anything else as Eris grabs your arm and hauls you off, shoving you toward her. She catches you easily, positioning you to lay across her lap. “Stay still, little love. This is your first punishment.”

“First?!” Your voice is shrill as you struggle briefly, craning your neck to the side to watch as Eris considers which instrument to use on you. “How many am I getting?”

“However many we feel you deserve.” Eris snaps, grabbing a paddle and placing it in Nesta’s awaiting hand. “You think we would just let out off easy, pet? That we wouldn’t feel hurt about what you were doing?”

“I didn’t mean to-ah!” A shriek tears itself out of your lips as Nesta lands a sharp smack across your bare ass. The sting makes you wriggle, your nails digging into your palms as another two slaps follow in quick succession.

“No excuses.” She hisses into your ear, grabbing a fistful of your hair and pulling until you are facing her again. “Show us your apology by giving this to us, by submitting to us, and we might forgive you.”

Your eyes search her face, looking for any deception, before you nod and bow your head. You care for them both, love them both, and you would do anything to be in their good graces again.

“Okay…” You murmur, eyes squeezing shut when she delivers another blow of the paddle.

“What do you say, dove?” Her voice is teasing again, and despite the pain, you feel the first trickles of pleasure flow through your body at her nickname for you.

“Thank you!” You gasp out, tears starting to form in your eyes.

They share another look over your head while Nesta rubs a soothing hand over your red cheeks, a reward for being good. You freeze momentarily when you feel another hand join, this one larger and calloused, but you feel it dip between your folds before you can look.

Eris kneels next to you as he runs the tip of his finger through your pussy, feeling the wetness that is only growing as he coos mockingly, “I knew you’d enjoy this, pet. Was this your plan all along? Did you want to be punished?”

Before you can shake your head, Nesta gives you another spank, only this time, as it lands, Eris harshly shoves two fingers inside of you and crooks them. The sensation is dizzying, and you can’t stop your hips from pushing up in search of more of it.

Their chuckles fill your mind as they work your body expertly, giving you both pain and pleasure. You can feel Nesta shift again in her seat and your mouth waters as you imagine how wet she must be. Eris scissors your cunt and strokes your walls, his face heating up with desire at all the sounds you are making.

It takes only two more blows before they’ve had enough of the game. Eris pulls you off of her, forcing you to be on your hands and knees as he admires you from behind. You blush, feeling his hands groping your ass until your attention draws back to Nesta as she begins to undo the laces of her dress.

“Holy hells…” You whisper as the fabric falls and pools at her feet, the candlelight giving her an ethereal glow as she stands before you. “Nesta, you are so beautiful.”

“Such pretty words,” She smiles, reclaiming her seat on the chair before spreading her legs so you could see her glistening cunt. “But I can think of other things I want your mouth to be doing.”

You lick your lips subconsciously, looking back to Eris, who also seems captivated by her beauty until he feels your eyes and nods. “Go on, pet, show her how talented your tongue is.”

No further encouragement is needed as you crawl towards her, rising so that you can bury your face between her thighs. One of her hands immediately falls to grasp your hair while the other grips the fabric of the couch. Your tongue greedily laps up her juices, moaning at the taste as the rustle of fabric behind you has your ears perking.

“How does it feel, Nesta?” Eris asks huskily, folding his clothes and putting them aside before returning to his spot behind you. “Is she showing you how sorry she is?”

“Oh, yes,” She gasps, her hips grinding against your face as you continue to eat her out. “You’ve trained her well. I could almost get over you having her first. Almost.”

She emphasizes the last word by giving a sharp yank to your hair, enjoying the cry of pain you give before she pushes your head back down. You feel emboldened to make it up to her, to make her feel good, and you use the tip of your tongue to flick over her hard clit. This causes her to moan louder, and you smile, doing it over and over again.

You’re so busy focusing on Nesta’s pleasure that you forget Eris is behind you. However, he is quick to remedy that as you feel the head of his cock bump against your entrance. It takes you by surprise, but you instantly push your hips back, silently begging him to fuck you.

A low growl comes from his chest as he lines himself up and thrusts all the way into you with one rough shove. The stretch is painful and burning but you can’t find it in you to care.

“Fuck!” You moan into Nesta’s cunt, your eyes rolling into the back of your head as Eris starts a brutal pace. Every thrust pushes you further into her, the entire bottom half of your face covered in her wetness as her cries grow louder.

Eris’s hands come to grip your hips to hold you steady, the sound of his balls slapping against your sex making you shiver as he lands a sharp smack on your ass. You whimper, enjoying the pain, and he does it again. And again. And again.

“Take it, little whore,” He grunts, long hair falling into his eyes as he fucks you deep. “Cry for us, scream for us, let everyone in the hall hear how pretty you sound when you’re getting ruined.”

Nesta’s thighs start to tremble as you do exactly as he instructs, her nails digging into your scalp as she starts to rut against your face desperately. You can feel your orgasm building from Eris hitting your sweet spot, but before you can cling to that feeling, you hear Nesta scream out your name, her cum flooding your mouth as she holds you against her pussy.

You lap at her like a kitten with cream, opening your eyes to watch her face contort in pleasure. The vision of her coming undone by your tongue is one you ingrain into your memory. After a few seconds, she relaxes and lifts you by the hair again, tilting your head left and right to see the mess she’s made of you. You smile at her, proud of your state, until Eris rips another moan out of you that makes your eyes screw shut.

“Right there, Eris, gods-” You groan, looking back to watch him disappear into your tight hole. “I’m close.”

The coil in your stomach was tightening by the second but just as your vision gets fuzzy, the High Lord pulls out with a hiss. You couldn’t stop the whine even if you wanted to, pleas falling from your lips for more.

It falls on deaf ears as Nesta shoves you off of her, making you fall backward onto your sore ass. You hiss, frowning, until Eris seizes your shoulders and turns you around to face him. He is standing now, fully naked, with his large, glistening cock hanging right in front of your face.

Whatever words you were about to say die in your throat as you swallow, your breathing growing shallow as you glance from his dick to his face. He’s got his signature scowl, and one eyebrow raises as he waits for you to do what you already know he wants.

You raise your hand tentatively, grasping his cock and giving it a small stroke. Eris’s hips follow your motion, and you repeat it, rising to your knees so that you can move more easily. He allows you a few seconds before he grabs the back of your head, his other hand grabbing his cock.

“Open for me, pet. Stick out your tongue.” He orders, smiling with his teeth when you follow obediently. You gaze up at him through your lashes as he slaps the head on your tongue a few times, smearing your own wetness over your mouth and cheek. “Such a good, obedient girl.”

“Mmmph!” You moan, swirling your tongue over the tip before he shoves himself inside you without warning. Instinctively, you gag, your eyes watering as he pulls out all the way and does it over and over again. You have to brace your hands on his thighs to steady yourself as he fucks your throat just like he fucked your cunt.

Just as you feel like you’ve got it down, two hands roam over your shoulders and down your chest, cupping your breasts. Nesta’s scent surrounds you as she presses herself against you, toying with your nipples as she coos, “You look so pretty with his cock in your mouth, little dove. You were made for this.”

Eris continues his assault on your mouth as Nesta works your body with her fingers, her lips trailing down your neck and over your ear while one of her hands drops to your sopping pussy. She brushes against your clit teasingly, and you moan around his cock, your hole clenching on nothing as she repeats the action agonizingly slow.

“So desperate for us,” Eris growls, his hips beginning to stutter as he feels his orgasm rising from his spine. “Fuck, I’m going to cum in that filthy mouth of yours, and you are going to hold it. Understand?”

You try to nod, tears falling down your cheek as Nesta’s fingers speed up in time with Eris’s thrusts. She moves from your clit to push three long, slender fingers inside of you. In seconds she’s curling them to hit the spot, making you see stars just as Eris throws his head back and cums with a low groan of your name.

His seed coats your mouth, and you do your best to hold it in, feeling some of it leak out the corners of your mouth from just how much he cums. It’s tangy and musky, but you love how nicely it mixes with Nesta’s taste. Eris slows his pumping and gingerly pulls out, though he remains hard, lifting your chin to make sure you followed his directions.

However, you can’t focus for long as Nesta nips your shoulder playfully, reminding you of her presence. You allow your head to fall back as she continues to fuck you with her hand, rolling your hips as you feel your orgasm build for the second time that night.

Everything in you wants to cry out, to scream for more, but you know you can’t. You didn’t want to upset Eris more, but gods, Nesta’s fingers were heaven-sent. Just a little more, and you would….

She pulls them out just as you teeter to the edge, ripping your orgasm away with a cruel laugh. You sob, bucking your hips like a bitch in heat as you try to hold the feeling, but it’s no use. Instead, she kisses you fiercely and uses her tongue to scoop up Eris’s cum.

The action makes you shiver, and she pulls back so you can watch her swallow it, her eyes flicking to Eris, who’s smirking at her. A thought crosses your mind briefly of the two of them ravishing each other in a battle for dominance, a sight you would give anything to see.

Tonight was not that night, unfortunately, as a pair of strong arms lifted you and all but tossed you on the bed. You bounce, barely catching yourself before Eris is pulling you by the ankles until your ass is almost dangling off the bed. Nesta appears to the side of you, and looking at both of their expressions, you know your punishment is not over.

“Beg for it. For us.” Eris demands, his hand dipping down to begin to rub your clit again. You were already so sensitive that even that small action had you getting close, but Nesta held your hips down, her eyes glaring down at you.

“Do it, dove. Beg for mercy. Beg for us to use your body, to fuck you stupid.” She snarls, twisting your nipples until your back arches, and you sob again. “Be a good girl and beg.”

You gasp, staring at them as the last shreds of your dignity disappear into thin air. “Please, please, use me!” You squeal, heart racing. “Let me cum, please, I’ve been so good. I’m so sorry! I’ll be a good girl, I promise, just-” You swallow, your throat constricting from the overstimulation. “I wanna cum, I wanna be good, please let me.”

There were a few moments where you thought they would continue their torture, continue taking joy in your pain, but all at once, they pull back, and the entire mood shifts. Nesta maneuvers until your head is in her lap, her voice soothing as Eris smiles down at you and begins to kiss your inner thighs softly.

Your whole body is shaking as he takes your clit into his mouth, sucking, before moving down to tongue at your cunt. Both of your hands fist into the bedsheet as you slowly start to roll your hips, your mind buzzing as Nesta plays with your tits again. The combination of both of them makes you feel a bliss you’ve never felt. If you died right now, you’d be happy.

It doesn’t take long to bring you to the edge as Eris’s tongue fucks you. Your soft moans turn to whimpers, the only warning they get before your body seizes and you arch off the bed. Nesta talks you through it, telling you how good you were for them, while Eris drinks everything you give him.

He pulls away when you start to squirm, not wanting to overwhelm you anymore. He and Nesta share a look as she pulls you further into the bed, shushing you as you mumble out another apology.

“It’s okay, dove, you’re okay,” She soothes, brushing your hair out of your face. “You did so well for us. You were so good.”

A warm, wet something is felt between your legs, and you barely open your eyes to see Eris wiping you down, making sure to be gentle before he tosses it to the side and crawls to your other side.

“We could never stay mad at you, pet, not when you give us this.” He smiles, kissing your temple. “Sleep now. We’ll talk in the morning.”

You nod, nuzzling into Nesta’s bare chest while moving your arm to touch Eris as well. They both smile and rest against you, content. Tomorrow would bring new challenges and conversations, but tonight, you all could bask in each other and your shared bliss.

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