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I Know What You Are | n romanoff

Summary: The bane of Natasha’s existence had finally slipped up but when sent to eliminate her, feeling get in the way far too easily.

Warnings: blood, weapons, character death (oops), angst with no happy ending :)

wc: 5.9k (I got really carried away!)

note: this is part 2 of the ideas that were given to me by @katyaromanoffpetrova so thank you love ❤️ this was fun

-⧗-

“I’ve got your six,” a familiar voice crackled through the redhead’s earpiece. She rolled her shoulders back and adjusted her grip on her gun, eyes darting across the smoke covered landscape that loomed before her. They’d picked a good vantage point but it was far too exposed for the assassin’s liking.

Natasha turned away from the edge and nodded to Clint, who’s arrow was already strung in his bow, ready to strike at a moment’s notice. Her flash of red hair was the last thing he saw before she disappeared down the dark stairwell and back out onto the street.

“How long are we going to be circling like this, Nat?” Clint asked, a little out of breath as he finally caught up to his partner. Her eyes were distant, darting between the loosened bricks of the wall they were currently hiding behind. “Are you sure she’s here?”

“She is, I can feel it.” The echoes of gunfire and explosions rattled through their skulls, although the assassins were quite deaf to it now. Clint more than Nat. They clearly weren’t the only ones disturbed by the actions of one woman and her organisation.

A particularly loud bang went off nearby and Clint winced, his hand flying up to the hearing aid in his right ear. Natasha would have sent her best friend a sympathetic look if something hadn’t caught her eye across the desolate square.

A flash of silver, glinting in the orange sunlight as golden hour descended across the war zone.

“Got her.” Natasha scrambled up from her place and raced after the dark figure, her movements as silent and deadly as the night. Frustration spurred her onwards. This woman had been the source of Shield’s stress for months, but that was all about to end.

Her target’s preferred methods rather intrigued Natasha, who was all about efficiency when it came to killing. Guns were always in her arsenal, widow bites too. Her thighs often felt empty without a full holster. But the mystery woman never touched a gun. She was a master with a blade, stabbing and slashing her enemies with a brutal grace, silently dancing across the battlefield leaving disaster in her wake.

She was a free spirit, which drove Natasha mad. No one should be allowed this amount of freedom with her track history and there was no way Natasha was going to return to Shield empty handed. Not today.

The cacophony of noise ceased suddenly and Natasha felt Clint’s presence on the rooftop to her right. The hazy air was still so Natasha stuck to the shadows, the rough brick pressing through the fabric on her suit as she skulked around a corner.

But a sharp pain struck the back of her knee and she collapsed to the ground, a grunt of pain escaping her chapped lips.

A five inch blade thrown with horrifying accuracy had lodged itself in her upper calf ,only inches away from her knee. The pain was nauseating, but Natasha barely had a chance to properly process it before two dust covered boots stepped into her eyeline. With another grunt, she looked up at the figure before her, determined not to show pain on her face.

Her icy glare was met with a mask-covered face, one she knew well. The black mask was made of hard plastic and resembled two hands that covered the wearer’s mouth and nose - basically a muzzle. But playfully glinting eyes peaked over it and it was obvious they were paired with a smirk. Gloved hands twirled a knife, almost daring Natasha to step up and attack. But the redhead had been knocked off her game by those very eyes that taunted her.

She knew them…

Too well.

She used to love them. And as those gloved hands moved to slowly lift the mask from her face, Natasha felt her heart fall into the pit of her stomach.

“Y/n?” She dared to ask, voice barely above a whisper. She got no reply, but the subtle tensing of her opponent’s muscles told her all she needed to know. Fate was laughing at her. The woman she thought had been ripped away from her when they were teenagers was now towering above her, forcing suppressed memories of the Red Room to come crashing down onto both women, leaving them breathless.

This moment of hesitation was all Clint needed to fire, but Y/n was one step ahead. She’d seen him on the roof and knew what he was waiting for, so by the time his arrow had implanted itself into the wall, she had disappeared into the smoke, leaving Natasha alone. The knife in her leg and the rubble indenting her skin did nothing to shake her from her mind, still staring into the empty space where the woman had just been.

Clint came rushing over and dropped to his knee to inspect Natasha’s wounds. He didn’t dare address how much his best friend looked like she’d seen a ghost, pale face and wide eyes and not just from blood loss.

“Cmon, we have to get out here.” He hooked his arms under hers and tried to get her to stand, but Natasha was far too spaced out too even notice what he was trying to do. But Clint’s main concern was the knife. He couldn’t pull it out lest she bled out before they made the jet, but Natasha couldn’t exactly walk far either.

He propped her up against the wall and lightly tapped her face a few times, her green eyes shooting back to his.

“Where did she go?” She asked, suddenly breathless.

“I really don’t know. But you need to get to medical, Nat. We have to let her go.”

“I knew her. Oh my god, I knew her, Clint. Why is she here?” Clint didn’t know how to answer. Part of him thought she was just rambling nonsense from the bloodloss, but a small part of him knew she was making sense. And it didn’t take a genius to figure out where they knew each other from.

“We’ll figure it out when we’re back.” His eyes widened as Natasha’s hand gravitated to the knife lodged in her calf. He reached for her hands, holding them up and away from her injury.

“Clint,” she warned, trying to pull her hands away. “Let me pull it out and we can go after her.”

Clint had to stop himself from rolling his eyes. Natasha’s stubbornness was infuriating sometimes. “That’s not gonna happen. She’s gone, Nat, and you need medical attention. Fury wouldn’t be impressed if you bled out from a knife wound.”

Natasha glared at him but stopped struggling and allowed him to help her limp back to the jet. They’d parked on the rooftop of an abandoned warehouse, so the stairs were a killer. Natasha’s lip bled from how hard she was biting it to muffle her cries of pain.

But the moment she sank down into her seat, memories flooded her mind, both positive and negative, but all involving Y/n. She wasn’t fifteen years old anymore with eyes full of hope, but the same spark was still there, one Natasha had fallen in love with.

What had happened to her?

~~~

The low clunk of a heavy metal door echoed through the chamber, three pairs of footsteps following suit. A female assassin, flanked by two guards, made her way to the centre of the room, her mask resting loosely between her fingers as her eyes remained fixed on the cracks in the concrete floor. The lighting was harsh, yellow bulbs buzzing, making her eye twitch.

Hushed voices became silent as she was presented before them and Y/n knew what was about to happen. She’d lived this day a thousand times.

“Agent,” one of the men called out, his voice gruff. “Mission report.”

“There was an ambush. I could not complete the mission, Sir.” Her eyes remained at her feet but she felt the air in the room shift and the guards beside her tense up. No one failed a mission in Hydra.

A pair of boots approached her and stopped only inches away. A calloused hand firmly gripped her chin and tilted her head up to the light, fingers bruising the skin on her jaw. “We taught you not to fail,” he spat, jerking his hand to emphasise his words. Y/n didn’t flinch. “All of your training, everything we’ve done for you and this is how you repay us?”

“There was a complication.”

He jerked her jaw again, forcing her to look him in the eye. “What complication?”

“The Avengers were there. I couldn’t-”

The sound of a fist slamming on a metal table made her jump and her mask clattered to the ground. The Avengers were a sore spot, and judging by the amount of Russian curse words intermingled with the Avengers’ name in only a few sentences, that hadn’t changed in the three days she’d been gone.

The agent in front of her returned to the group and Y/n finally took a breath, readjusting her jaw after its rough treatment. Although she worked willingly for Hydra, Y/n wasn’t that bothered with keeping track of exactly who they hated each week. She just did as she was told and breathed through the punishments that followed after. Work was work, unfortunately for her, and Hydra provided food and a roof over her head. Luxuries, as far as she was concerned.

A door opened to her right and she watched from the corner of her eye as a figure slipped through, sticking to the shadowed walls on instinct. The glint of a metal arm gave her a weird sense of peace and she turned to meet his eyes, his gaze softening as he looked at her.

“Soldat,” Pierce called, finally rising from his chair after staying silent for so long. He smiled slyly at Y/n who only ignored him. “Take our prized possession to the training room and make sure she never fails again. Use whatever measures you have to.” He directed his orders at Bucky who clenched his metal fist and grabbed Y/n/s forearm, dragging her out of the room.

Neither spoke a word until they reached the training room, just as dark and cold as the rest of the facility. You’d think an organisation like Hydra would have the funds to buy some decent light bulbs. All this yellow light was on Y/n’s last nerve.

Bucky threw her down onto the mats and stood with his arms behind his back as he watched the woman try to get her breath back. He didn’t intend to wind her, but the cameras in every corner were monitored so he couldn’t go easy on her.

“Sorry,” he muttered, his hair swinging beside his face and hiding his lips from view. Y/n waved him off and climbed to her feet, bringing her fists up to her face and setting her feet in a fighting stance. The cameras had no audio, so as long as they fought and he got a good few punches in, no one would suspect anything different.

“Don’t. Just hit me.” They circled each a few times, blocking a couple of punches but nothing major until Bucky grabbed Y/n’s arm and trapped her in a headlock, squeezing just tight enough that her airways were constricted. She tapped out and regained her position before they fought again, this time with her sending a few hits to his stomach.

“I need to ask you about something,” Y/n said through gritted teeth, deflecting a series of punches. Bucky grunted, which was his way of saying ‘go ahead’. “You know when you saw Steve for the first time since… you know, how did you handle it?”

Something shifted behind his eyes at the mention of his old best friend and he sent a strong left hook towards Y/n’s jaw, metal colliding with the bone with a crack. Her head whipped to the side and she let out a cry of pain, palm coming up to cradle her cheek. Bucky just watched for a moment before pulling her in front of him and forcing her to fight. They both hated this, but Y/n’s punishment would be ten times worse if he didn’t get enough good hits in. And Y/n preferred to be bruised by him than some old guard with unbridled rage and unchecked anger issues. Not a good mix.

“Was that not the right thing to ask?” How she could joke with a cracked cheekbone and bruised ribs was beyond Bucky, but humour seemed to be her preferred coping mechanism so he let her at it.

“It’s fine.” His words were more of a grumble than anything, but Y/n was used to that. He wanted to help, but you had to read deep between the lines. “I smashed several helicopters and almost killed him.” Wasn’t quite the response Y/n was expecting, or needed, really. “But they did brainwash me so I don’t suppose that helps.”

“Well, kind of?” Bucky narrowed his eyes and ducked, avoiding a punch before sending a kick to the back of Y/n’s knees. She wobbled but stayed upright, kicking him in the ribs to buy herself a couple of seconds of breathing time.

“Why do you ask? Did you see him?” It wasn’t hope that interjected his words, but Y/n noticed a flicker of something she couldn’t place a finger on.

“No, but I saw someone who reminded me of the same thing. Someone I thought I’d lost.” Natasha’s eyes, full of recognition and aspiration filled her mind and for a moment she faltered, lost in the dizzying memory, encapsulated by a flaming halo of hair. The scar in her eyebrow, her full lips, the ash that had settled on her black tactical suit; all flooding back and hitting Y/n like a truck.

She barely realised she was on the ground until she felt Bucky pin her arms above her head. She just stared into his eyes, a crease between her brows, unable to shake Natasha from her mind. Bucky watched her for a second before slapping her across the face.

“I’m sorry. Again.” He helped her to her feet. “But if they find out you know someone on the other side, they’ll do it to you too.” She’d watched many of his brainwashing sessions and even supervised when he’d come out of cryofreeze and none of it looked the slightest bit appealing. “I don’t want that for you.” She was the only good thing about this place and for his own sanity, he couldn’t lose her too.

“They couldn’t do that to me,” she said with a cocky smirk, her eyebrows quirking upwards. “I’m too valuable. Besides, Natalia won’t forget me again and would probably go on a killing spree if that happened.” Bucky shot her a look. “You’re right. That’s more my style.”

Bucky rolled his eyes slightly, unable to smile at her words. He was supposed to be an emotionless killer - they couldn’t know he had a soft spot for her.

“Luckily for you, you won’t see her again,” he said, swiping her legs from underneath her and sending her crashing to the floor. She scowled and scrambled up, jumping to wrap her thighs around his head in an attempt to bring him down. “It’s better that way.”

“Who says I won’t?” Y/n used her momentum to swing herself around, feeling his hands grip her thighs. “I want- I have to see her again. So I will.”

Successfully flooring him with an ‘a-ha’, Y/n straddled his waist and held her forearm to his throat. But she didn’t expect him to suddenly flip them both and mirror her actions, pushing her down into the thin mats and letting the cold seep through her suit as he held her there.

“So what, you’re going to kidnap her?”

Unbothered by her compromised position, Y/n just smirked, relaxing her body as she accepted defeat. “Who said anything about kidnapping?”

~~~

“Natasha, it’s a trap.” Clint was trying to talk some sense into his best friend, who was clearly having none of it.

“You think I don’t know that?” She gave him a look and returned to fixing her belt. “I’m prepared for this, so please stop stressing.”

“Oh, well forgive me for being sceptical seeing as the last time you encountered her she threw a knife into your knee,” Clint remarked with his arms folded over his chest. Natasha just rolled her eyes and stood up, adjusting her collar.

“I’m going to be ok,” she reassured, although her words fell on deaf ears. “I know who I’m dealing with.”

Clint looked into her eyes for a moment, trying to find a hint of doubt behind her bright green irises. But he found nothing but confidence, as usual. “But, do you?”

Whether it was part of her plan, no one knew, but Natasha walked straight into the trap with her head held high. It was easy, too easy. Natasha knew it, Y/n knew it. Yet that changed nothing. The blindfold was tugged from her eyes and she blinked, trying to adjust the dim light above her. The bulb only cast a small pool of light that spread not far from her chair, plunging the rest of the room into an eerie darkness. There was no sound, no gunfire or wind howling, and no windows as far as she could see. But her assessment of her surroundings was cut short when a figure stepped into view.

A small woman, slim, but muscular and toned enough to make it known that she could take down anyone of any size. Her posture was impeccable and she balanced a small blade between her fingers as if it were a feather and not a deadly weapon. Her lips curled into a smile, but it wasn’t all that inviting or warm. The yellowy light cast shadows across her face as she observed her hostage for a few seconds.

“I thought interrogations were supposed to be your thing, Natalia.” The way her old name dripped off her tongue was like sweet honey and Natasha clenched her jaw, eyes fixed on the woman prowling in front of her. Sure, she could get out of the ties around her wrists, but something kept her there. A desire to learn more about her. “You gave up pretty easily.”

“You know damn well I didn’t give up,” she spat, glaring up at the woman who was now standing so close their legs brushed. “I came willingly.”

“Oh I know,” the woman said with a smile, tracing the sharpness of the redhead’s jaw with her knife. “You can’t resist me.” Her Russian accent was thick and had Natasha completely transfixed. The tip of the knife trailed down to her collarbones so gently. “I didn’t think it would take years though.”

“I knew where you were.” Not exactly a lie - she’d been tracking Y/n’s work for years. She just didn’t know it was Y/n behind the killing sprees and assassinations.

“You break my heart.” There was a mischievous sparkle behind her eyes and it frustrated Natasha to no end. “Guess you thought you were too good for me now, huh? All caught up in your Avengers business and no time left for me.” She pouted like a child.

Natasha looked up at the dim light above her head before answering. It was cliche really, tied to a chair in the middle of a damp room with only a single string bulb as a light source. But the woman before her was far more calculated than she ever let on, so Natasha knew it was part of some much bigger plan.

“Well I can’t exactly have a coffee with the enemy,” she said sarcastically. “The Avengers would take you in if you stopped murdering people for no reason.”

“Ha!” She spat out, turning back around to face Natasha, her knife spinning casually between her fingers. “Avengers. What a pathetic excuse for an organisation. You think they mean well, and that’s just adorable really.”

“They’re not pathetic.” If there was one thing Natasha was protective about, it was her family. “Take a look at who you work for, you’ll find some pretty pathetic business going on there.”

Y/n’s eyes darkened. “Hydra is not stupid. At least our scientists actually do something useful instead of pottering about building metal suits.” A jab at Tony Stark. Classy.

“Yeah sure, if you call illegal human experimentation ‘useful’.”

Y/n let out a soft laugh. “Don’t get all big and bossy with me,” she replied, watching as Natasha’s stony expression cracked slightly. “The twins signed themselves up, I did nothing.”

“You lured them in.”

“What can I say, I’m irresistible.” She winked at Natasha and disappeared into the shadows, leaving a very disgruntled redhead alone.

To say she was the most annoying person Natasha had ever met was a severe understatement. That woman got under her skin and just festered there, and no amount of focus would ever make her go away.

Whether she was knocked out or drugged, Natasha didn’t know, but when she next woke the room was a lot brighter and her hands were no longer tied behind her back. Y/n sat opposite her, the same blade laying flat in her palm.

“Took you long enough.” This wasn’t the same place as before and Natasha reached for her belt, wanting to feel protected. “Don’t. I’m not going to hurt you.”

“That’s reassuring, considering you kidnapped me.”

Y/n finally looked up and scoffed, pushing her chair back so it scraped harshly across the wooden floorboards. “I did not kidnap you. We went over this Natalia. You came willingly.”

“And then you tied me up.” Natasha gestured to her wrists, now free of course.

“What can I say, I’m into that kind of thing.”

Natasha sighed. This was her chance. She wasn’t restrained, Y/n seemed relaxed and no one else was around. She could save a lot of lives, and her own ass by killing Y/n now. But somehow she couldn’t shake the memory of all the stolen kisses and touches they’d shared within the icy confines of the Red Room. How that young girl had been through so much and yet still felt so familiar sitting in the chair opposite.

“Y/n,” she started, switching her approach completely. “What happened to you?” The woman looked up, eyes dark, scanning across every inch of the redhead’s face.

“Why would you care anyway?” Her witty sarcasm was gone, replaced by a steel wall behind her eyes that fully blocked Natasha out. The redhead plagued her mind and tugged at the knot in her stomach, but she refused to let it win.

“You were there, and then you left. And I never knew why.”

“No. I didn’t leave. You did, Natalia.” Her tone was accusatory as she leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “You left me alone in that place and you let them take me.”

“I didn’t leave you. They told me you got out, escaped, so I asked to go on more missions. I couldn’t bear it there without you.” Natasha’s voice dropped on the last few words, almost scared to admit her feelings out loud. How could she? The woman she swore to love for the rest of her life had broken her heart to the point where she had never loved anyone since.

“And you believed what they told you?” Natasha said nothing. “Somehow you manage to escape and you don’t come looking for me. We had a promise, Natalia. No matter what, we’d find each other. What happened to that?” Y/n was no longer a deadly Hydra agent gripping the handle of her knife like she was ready to send it flying into a target. No. She was a little girl again, holding onto promises as the last sign of hope in her life. Holding onto Natasha’s pinky finger with her own like their lives depended on it.

Noticing that Natasha didn’t want to break the silence, she continued. “Do you know how hard it is to find work with our skill set? For the ‘good guys’, I mean. You got lucky.” There was a hint of resentment in her words and it hit Natasha in the stomach. “When you tell people you’re an assassin for hire, they usually want to throw you into a penitentiary or shoot you dead right there and then. I had no choice.”

“If you knew where I was, then why didn’t you come and find me?”

Y/n hesitated for a moment. “You didn’t need me ruining what you’ve already got here.” This amount of vulnerability made Y/n’s skin crawl, but all her usual standards seemed to fly out of the window when Natasha was around. It had done ever since they were barely teenagers, soft lips pressed against each other in the gentlest of kisses. The fear of getting caught was worthless when compared to the comfort they had found within each other. “Besides, if I went after an Avenger, we’d both be dead.”

“They gave me a second chance, they would give you one too. You just have to prove it.” Natasha rose from her seat and joined the other woman who had moved to look out of the water-damaged window. “I can see how much you hate it, Y/n.”

“Hate what?”

“Working for Hydra. I can see it.”

Her grip tightened around her knife and Natasha took a step back. “No, they gave me everything.” But her words weren’t as convincing as she intended them to be, her lack of will to live and keep fighting catching up with her. “I owe them everything.”

“But Shield can give you more. You deserve to have something good.” Natasha squared her shoulders and reached out to place a hand on the woman’s shoulder. “No more pain, no more manipulation. You get to call the shots, make your own decisions.” Y/n wasn’t convinced. “We’d get a second chance too.” Her nose scrunched slightly, unable to gauge how Y/n would respond to her last words.

Y/n looked down at her hands, avoiding Natasha’s gaze and trying not to focus on how comforting her touch felt. She stared at the blood that had dried under her fingernails. It never seemed to fade, no matter how hard she scrubbed. She wanted so desperately to run, leave her problems behind like she’d always done. But part of her clung onto the prospect of a second chance with Natalia - she’d craved her warmth for over a decade.

Natasha saw the conflict flicker behind the woman’s eyes, a stark contrast to the sarcastic and confident front she’d put on only hours before. She was exhausted, anyone could see that and Natasha knew all too well what it was like to want to stop running. To stop fighting for other people and start fighting for yourself.

“Why are you doing this? I thought you came here to kill me?” Y/n’s eyes turned icy and she pulled her body away from Natasha, distancing herself once again. But the emotion in her voice couldn’t be masked, and it made Natasha’s expression soften.

“I made a different call.”

Y/n bit her lip, the knife between her fingers spinning rapidly but controlled. “I don’t deserve this second chance, Natalia. Just do what you came to do, earn yourself some more brownie points for the boss.” Her jaw clenched and Natasha pulled her gun from the holster. But instead of firing it, she simply slid it along the dusty floorboards, along with her belt full of weapons. Y/n scoffed at her actions, holding her knife as firmly as she could, but the tremble in her fingers gave her away. She didn’t mean this. Any of it.

“Well that was stupid.”

But her movements were suddenly halted. The door to Natasha’s left crashed down and three figures burst in, firing shots at Y/n before Natasha had a chance to protest. They’d seen the knife and reacted, ignoring the way Natasha yelled at them. The women threw themselves down onto the ground, Natasha shielding Y/n’s body with her own.

“Stand down!” She yelled, holding Y/n against the floor whilst turning over her shoulder. Steve, Clint and Sam stood in the doorway, weapons aimed and pointing at the assassins on the floor. “I didn’t signal anything!”

“You’d been gone for hours Nat, we had no choice. Fury gave the order.” Natasha ignored Clint’s words as Y/n groaned beneath her. Their weapons were still aimed at the Hydra agent despite Natasha’s glare.

The redhead slowly removed her hands and went to help Y/n sit up, but then she noticed the blood. It was visible even through her dark suit and Y/n gingerly pressed her hand to her stomach before pulling it away with a frown.

“I don’t know if we’ll get that second chance, Natalia,” she whispered, looking up at terrified green eyes. “You’ll have to do it on your own.”

“No, don’t say that.” Natasha replaced Y/n’s hands and began to press down on the wound, muttering her apologies as Y/n whined in pain. “You’re going to be ok.”

‘I want to be good, Natalia. I really wanted to be good.” Her words were strained as blood continued to pour from her wounds, coating Natasha’s hands instantly.

“I know, Y/n, I know. You will be, just stay with me please.” She pressed down harder, tears blurring her vision as she felt blood pooling beneath her palms. No one was listening to her cries for help- why weren’t they listening?

Y/n weakly grabbed Natasha’s wrist and pulled her hands off her wound, shaking her head at Natasha’s protests. She could taste metal on her tongue and the redhead’s face faded in and out of focus as she tried to shakily cup her cheek.

“Natalia-”

“No!” Natasha’s lip trembled and she shook her head frantically, pulling her hand away from Y/n/s grip. “You’re not leaving me now, I swear to god. You can be good, I know you can.” Y/n smiled weakly, barely conscious now as blood trickled from her lips. “Please, I just got you back! I can’t lose you again.”

“You won’t lose me, I’ll always be here.” Her nose scrunched up at how cheesy it sounded as she reached her hand up to point to Natasha’s chest. “Right here.”

“No, no, no. Don’t talk like that! You’re not giving up on me, Y/n. Pain only makes you stronger, come on!” She was just spewing words now, her sentences all jumbled and barely making sense as she pressed down on the wound. Y/n smiled up at her and tried to squeeze her thigh where her hand rested. But the energy in her body was fading fast and she could do nothing but look Natasha in the eyes in her final moments, wanting to memorise that specific colour one last time.

When her hand slipped to the floor with a thud, Natasha’s heart stopped. An eerie silence fell across the room, the feeling of death weighted like a blanket. The redhead didn’t make a sound, her sobs silent despite the tears trickling down her flushed cheeks. A stark contrast to her pale skin.

“No,” she shakily whispered, pushing Y/n’s hair back out of her face with a bloodied hand. “I’m sorry.” She cupped her bruised cheek and brushed her thumb over it, finally feeling her skin under her hand for the first time in years. It wasn’t as soft as she remembered, years worth of scars destroying the surface, but it was still perfect to her all the same.

Tears mixed with the blood and created a watery mixture that dripped down off Y/n’s chin and into the collar of her suit. Natasha dropped her head to rest on the other woman’s chest, hands moving to grip her shoulders tightly as though she might disappear. The redhead kept muttering apologies, wanting to make up for all the time they’d lost, even if it was fruitless.

The three men in the doorway shifted uncomfortably, the scene before them an unexpected one. “Natasha-“ Clint began, taking a step towards the redhead.

“What did you do?” Her voice was dangerously low and she slowly turned around, Y/n’s hand now clasped in hers. “Look what you did!”

Sam and Steve hung their heads, not wanting to see anymore of the dead woman across the room. Clint was just focused on his distraught best friend, who’s hands now matched the colour of her hair.

“Nat, we need to go-“

“Then go,” she spat. “I’m not leaving her.”

Clint let out a sigh and slung his bow over his shoulder. He gestured to Steve to help, who looked rather uncomfortable but followed anyway. “Well bring her with us-“

“What, so you can parade her in front of Fury and show off? Yes, well done, target eliminated! You don’t touch her!” Natasha was clawing and kicking as Steve pulled her to her feet. She held onto Y/n’s hand for as long as possible before Clint gently tugged it free, triggering an outburst from Natasha.

She was a mess of limbs, uncharacteristically uncoordinated as she struggled against Steve’s body as he guided her out of the room, practically carrying her as she refused to walk. The whole time she screamed out for Y/n, her voice growing more hoarse by the second. She took no interest in her surroundings, the dimly lit stairwell not even registering in her mind. All her spy training had completely vanished.

She was placed onto one of the benches in the jet and she watched, a shaking mess, as Clint placed Y/n’s limp body on the floor opposite, blood no longer pouring from her stomach. Natasha stayed frozen in her seat, knees pulled up to her chest as a defence mechanism. She didn’t care that there was blood on her hands, nor that it transferred onto her cheek when she wiped her nose. No, she didn’t care about anything except the woman lying in front of her.

The lifeless woman.

She wanted to scream but it was as if all the emotions had drained out of her body like a flood. She was numb, just staring with empty eyes, the light behind them barely flickering now. Clint shot worried glances in her direction once the jet was in the sky, and Steve and Sam stayed well away, not wanting to fall under the wrath of an extremely angry and emotional Natasha.

Not that she cared what the others did. She just wanted the one thing she couldn’t have. Fate had shown her time and time again that it was not on her side, but this truly was her final straw. There was no fixing this.

They had found and lost each other within the space of a months. But this time there were no second chances. It was set in stone, just like Y/n’s name would be for the rest of time.

Maybe, in another lifetime, they would finally meet again.

Maybe, in another universe, Natasha Romanoff could truly be happy.

#natasha romanoff #marvel #fanfic #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x female reader #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff angst #wlw #lovers to enemies #marvel angst #black widow

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gaysindistress · 3 months

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Limits of a Fae Heart - six

Pairings: Azriel x Reader

Summary: With war looming over their heads, the Inner Circle is desperate for a solution. The one they found comes in the form of a resurrected female who’s fated to not only their Shadowsinger but once to their enemy as well.

Word count: 3.6k

Warnings: cursing, blood, gore, fighting and war canon level violence, detailed emotional description of torture. Reader is tortured but the description is more focused on her emotional state rather than the physical actions. The king makes an appearance so that’s a whole warning in itself.

One | two | three | four | five

A/n: I did things a little differently for the final part and the last half of this is in Azriel’s pov. It’s marked with his name as the heading so it’s clear when it switches!

taglist: @isa1b2h3 @dr4g0ngirl @sidthedollface2 @p4ndawrites

Time stands still.

The minutes cease to pass and the hours come to a halt.

The light of day fails to pass through the barred windows, blanketing this cell in darkness.

The places shadows may have danced are nothing but voids of that same darkness.

Night and day bleed together with no marker of the passage of time that occurs.

Food comes at irregular times to prevent me from gaining a sense of time.

Time stands still after what feels like a millennia of isolation and solitude.

The King made his presence within hours of Azriel and I drifting to sleep. He called for me from the war camp and beckoned me to him as he waited for me with a cruel smile. Taunting words and terrifying threats were thrown at me but none shook me to my corner than the sight of seven Ravens converging upon the tent where Azriel slept. Whatever magic the king had used to hide himself from us extended to his warriors, rendering Azriel defenseless as he slept completely unaware of the dangers that lurked around him. The bond begged me to wake him, warn him at all but I pushed it down and forced it to be silent as I faced the king. Any attempt to wake my sleeping mate would ultimately lead to his brutal torture and death.

The king glowered at me as he watched me try to scramble a plan together but seemingly to no avail. The shadows that had bound me the night before followed me and anxiously waited for me to give them a command in the treeline behind me. As the king told me of his plans to take Prythian by siege, I sent the shadows away and told them to hide until we left. They cried and writhed from their place in the trees but didn’t rush towards me.

“Tell him that everything will be okay. Tell him to not worry about me. Tell him everything you hear now and take him back to Velaris. Make sure that Rhysand gets the information he needs and keep Azriel safe. Do not let him come for me; matter what he does or says, do not let him come for me,” I’d whispered to the distressed creatures and they listened. Their cries of agony and anguish could be heard for miles but they listened to me and did not find their singer until the King took me back to Hybern.

Now it is here in Hybern that I’m facing the consequences of my actions; the effects of allowing myself to feel anything other than suffering. With my arms held up by chains and my wings outstretched in a painful way, having been bolted to the ceiling above, I'm forced to kneel on the unforgiving stone floor of my cell. Whatever blood that coursed through my veins seems to become solid as it has stopped leaking from my wounds. My breathing is so swallow and soft that anyone passing by would assume that my body was left up as a warning to all other prisoners.

However those who know better, those who know what other signs of life to watch for, don’t dare to come any closer to me, the beast of his own making.

A male appears at the entrance of the cell with a disgusted look on her pale features. Moving as he is one with the air, he flicks his wrist and the gates unlock before he steps into the cell. The smell makes him wrinkle his nose and hold his head higher to block out any stench. As if you escape the stench of death and blood in a place like this.

I'm at the center of the room, unmoving but chuckle lightly when I sense that he’s near.

“Come to torture me some more?” I ask.

The King of Hybern sneers at me for speaking to him and with another flick of his wrist, I groan out in pain. My body tenses from the pain that was inflicted upon it but aside from the low groan, I make no other indication that his actions harmed me.

“I need answers.”

“Ask and I’ll decide if I’m feeling generous today.”

He stalks around me, ducking under my massive wings, dragging a sharp blade nail down the sensitive and aching muscles. Once again I can’t react even though we both know that the pain threatens to take my consciousness.

“That little Shadowsinger has ruined you,” he sneers again as he finishes his predatory circles and kneels down to get a better look at my face. “He’s made you think that you have any value outside of being my little spy.”

I lift my head only enough to lock eyes with him, my irises flickering with rebellion and hatred as I speak, “I’m not your spy anymore. I haven’t been for years now otherwise you wouldn’t be pulling risky moves trying to one up a pompous High Lord and his band of friends.”

The king cuts me off with a dagger through one of my wings but I only howl out in laughter, throwing my head back to fully reveal my face to the guards at the entrance. They shrink back when they see my face covered in dirt and caked in blood. My features are severe and sharp thanks to the thick layer of filth but achingly beautiful nonetheless. Arched brows raise at the King’s frustration and a laugh ghosts on my lips. My flaming eyes never leave his as I smirk at the attempt to hurt me and gather information.

“Do not speak to me like I’m some foul beast.”

My voice is harsh but soft, calm but chaotic, dark but light as I speak, “The only foul thing that I know of is you, the Failed King of Hybern. Or do you simply prefer your highness now? I’m not privy to the gossip of the world anymore.”

The King pulls a face of coldness and stone the moment I start speaking again but it falters at the last name that I call him. His eyes flicker with disgust as he poses his own question, “Who are you to demean and belittle me for my actions? Have you forgotten that you were…”

A smirk widens across my face as I cut him off, “There will come a day when all those you have come to trust will turn on you and you will be forced to become the male you truly are. And when that day comes, I will happily watch you burn the world you’ve come to love.”

Death hadn’t been a sweet release from the torment I lived through under the King’s violent rule nor in the arms of a male I thought I loved more than myself. Instead I spent years in limbo on my island, never fully dying but never fully living. The only reprieve I’ve found in it all is the fact that I can’t feel the bond to the king anymore. There is nothing where that jagged line used to be and it’s been silent in my head where he used to torment me day in and day out.

However it’s rather short lived.

Now as I’ve been brought back, life is proving to be just as painful as before. What little peace and joy I’d thought I’d found was destroyed when the king took me. I don’t know how long it’s been but I’ve felt nothing but my own suffering and Azriel’s through the bond. Every second of every day I feel his despair as he searches for me, tugging at our thread in attempts to reach me. I feel his disappointment and heartbreak when I don’t respond, when I can’t respond. Not a moment goes by in this cell where I don’t feel every single step he takes towards a complete downward spiral.

A downward spiral of my own is fast approaching as I awake to the sounds of battle surrounding me. Fallen warriors scream from their lethal wounds while monsters created by dark magic laugh as they devour all around them. A female’s earth shattering scream follows the sound of bones cracking. I snap my head to the side where I see Nesta holding a broken Cassian while the King looms over them. He turns to look where the Ravens deposited me in a heap of torn flesh and weeping wounds.

“Come,” he beckons to me and I feel the sharp teeth of his naga hounds sink into my wings and drag me towards him.

Nesta’s eyes are wide with panic as she looks between Cassian and me but she hardens her face and stares at the king.

The hounds halt with a jarring tear to my wings and I let out a shaky cry. One comes to stand before me, holding eye contact with me as it just stands there. I have half a mind to tug on my bun but something tells me that it wouldn’t work. The hound lets its jaw drop as a deathlike scream rips from it and through the still tense air around us.

The call of inevitable death.

This is the long awaited end that I thought would never come and I can’t help but welcome it.

I’m tired.

So tired.

There is only so much of myself I could’ve given and I reached my limit the day that the king left me on that island. I reached that limit years ago and now I welcome the release even if by the jaws of a naganound. What a sweet release it would be to allow myself this one peace, a peace that no one can take from me now.

The hound shutters while several more start to circle me. I can feel their eyes boring into me, begging their master to give them the command so they can attack finally. They grunt and growl at me. Their unspoken message is the same as the one that sings from my heart:

Give in. Give up. Let it take you. Give in. Give up. Let it take you. Give in. Give up. Let it take you.

I don’t see the king give the command until they descend upon me like starving wolves who haven’t eaten a good meal in months.

I barely feel their teeth or their claws as they rip and tear at my body. Like true servants of the king, they attack my wings first and shred at the membranous limbs. My vision becomes blurry as tears fill my eyes. Agonizing pain radiates from my back and threatens to crush me but I don’t move. My pulse races even though I tell it to calm down. It’s half panicked, half confused but knowing all the same. I can’t stop this.

Nesta and Cassian can’t help either. Azriel…

Sweet sweet Azriel.

He is nowhere to be seen and I thank whatever gods and goddess that are listening that he isn’t here.

My ears fill with the sounds of tearing flesh and the squelch of blood while an endless sleep begs for me to close my eyes. My head feels light, everything around me starting to spin and darken. A feeling of nausea creeps up as the coppery smell of my blood invades my nose.

I let them tear my wings from my body no matter how much pain it brings me. I had loved them, cared for them, and protected them my entire life. They’ve been my prized possession for so long, a symbol of the strength that I’ve created and wielded. A symbol of my strength and mine alone. I hated them at first because of who wanted to take advantage of them but as I learned to exist with them, I learned to carry them with pride. I never forgot that it was my wings that landed me in the clutches of the king but there is a dignity in creating good out of evil and I had done that with them. I had created good with these wings no matter how evil others wanted them to be.

A weight is dropped from my back and I hear two thuds in the mud around me. The nagahounds stop their assault on me once my wings hit the ground and move their attention to them. Every breath I take, albeit ragged and shallow, sends waves of throbbing pain through my back and chest. It’s exhausting and I feel truly sick as I watch them play with my wings like they’re toys. Sweat is pouring from my forehead, my hands are clammy and trembling and my teeth are gritted. For a second I consider listening to my body which is telling me to let go, to give up and fall in the arms of that endless sleep. I take a deep breath, then another and then another. It becomes harder and harder to swallow the pain, to ignore the sensations and the voices soothing me to sleep.

So I stop fighting it and allow it to take me.

A state of calm returns to my mind and a warmth washes over me. I drop my head into the mud and it threatens to drown me but my inner peace won’t let me care. With hooded eyes, I stare as the nagahounds continue to tear my wings apart.

I feel nothing.

After what seems like forever, I hear the muffled sounds of those deathlike screams and someone calling my name. The voice calling my name begs for me to keep my eyes open and stay with them.

It’s useless to call me back from the brink of death but this voice does it nonetheless. Strong arms lift me and I’m cradled against an equally strong and blazing warm chest. A gentle wave of cedar and chilled mist scent washes over me as I let my heavy head rest between their jaw and shoulder. Whispered gilded words of reassurance take the place of the sounds of my wing’s destruction. My eyes flutter closed as I let myself find another peace in the embrace of these familiar arms. I barely feel us winnow from the battlefield before everything fades to black.

Azriel

What the fuck did that bastard do?

What could have possessed him to do this to her? To my mate?

Her rapidly cooling forehead against my neck feels like a blade slicing through my skin and it takes everything in me to not winnow back to the battlefield and slaughter the king.

Her breathing is slow, too slow and her pulse is so weak. Fear grips my insides as I winnow us into the Town House. I almost crumble to my knees when I’m wrapped in the familiar scent of my home and it gently whispers to me “you’re safe. Rest easy now.”

“Madja!” I shout into the air, hoping that the healer remained here. Madja peaks her head out of the sitting room and curses under her breath before disappearing back into the sitting room.

“Azriel,” she calls appears at the doorway, waving me in. As soon as I enter the room, she orders me to set y/n face down on one of the couches and hands me a pair of scissors to cut away the rest of her shirt. The scissors tremble in my hand as I gingerly cut at the bloody fabric and expose the mess of torn flesh and muscle. The healer glances at my shaking hands and puts hers on them, stopping them for a moment. Gentle brown eyes watch my chest rise and fall rapidly and her brows furrow even more.

“If this is too much, I can call someone else,” she tells me in her ever soothing tone.

I shake my head, strands of hair falling into my and add to the wild look I no doubt have about me. She doesn’t seem to want me there anymore but she permits me to stay and takes the scissors.

“Fetch me a basin with fresh water and a cloth please.”

She’s giving me a task so I don’t become frozen in shock. It fails the moment my hands are emptied. With nothing to ground me to this reality, all I can do is stand there and stare at y/n’s back where her wings once stood tall and proud. Her usual comforting cent is fading around us. Her aura is cooling. Her breathing is even slower. Her pulse is too weak for me to hear.

It’s all fading.

She is fading.

Madja gives the task to the town house instead and instructs me to sit. A chair appears behind me and with a flick of her wrist, she urges me to sit. I do. Fall more like it though.

I’d been cutting down several Ravens when I felt her side of the bond awaken again. The wall that had been separating us for weeks now came crumbling down and I was hit with every ounce of emotion that had been kept from me. Being hit with weeks worth of her suffering and yearning to be home nearly dropped me to my knees. I’d sent my shadows out to find her and within moments, I was on my knees in front of her with tears in my eyes.

Even alone Madja makes quick work of cleaning and bandaging the base of her torn wings. Once satisfied with her work, she moves on to the smaller but no less significant claw and teeth marks. My shadows nuzzle against me, making soft whining noise and distracting me from the wreckage of flesh before me. I drop my forearms to my thighs and let the shadows wrap themselves around me. Their embrace is the closest to a hug they can give me but I’ll take it.

“Is she alive?” I find myself asking before I realize it.

Madja looks at me with raised brows, “You can hear her heartbeat can’t you?”

I barely spare her a glance from beneath my lashes.

Thump thump.

I can hear it. It’s faint but I can hear it.

“Azriel,” Madja starts, “she’s lost a lot of blood. Her wings were quite literally torn from her body, there’s no telling the true extent of her injuries just yet.”

I lift my head with tears pricking my eyes and her tone softens. “But she’s alive. She will have a lengthy recovery ahead of her but she’s alive and most importantly she has you to thank for that.”

My jaw tightens and I bring a hand to rub at the taunt muscles. Flicks of blood paint the tan skin of my hand but I ignore them.

“I didn’t do anything. I let her be taken and held prisoner for weeks.”

Madja sighs and stills for a moment. She simply stares down at the unconscious Fae on the couch. “There was nothing you could’ve done to prevent it and you know that. Do not commend yourself for things that you had no control over.”

A small gasp muffled by couch cushions draws all of our attention as she dips down to look at y/n’s face.

“Easy,” Madja mutters to her as she places a soft hand on the back of her head, “don’t try to move or you’ll hurt yourself more. You’re in Velaris and safe now.”

My shadows skitter around me and beg to go to my mate. I don’t let them and wait for Madja’s signal. She asks her if she would like to go to her room and there’s a weak but clear reply.

“Where is Azriel?”

Madja’s brown eyes flicker to me and she nods so I stand and walk on unsure legs to kneel before y/n. Even through the dirt and blood, this female is beautiful beyond compare and she’s looking at me like I’ve hung the moon and stars just for her.

“Azriel,” she whispers as tears start to fall and tentatively reaches a hand out to touch my face. It causes her a great deal of pain and she winces before dropping it and settling on grabbing my hand instead.

“I’m sorry. I'm so sorry,” I find myself repeating over and over again as I brush back her hair and squeeze her hand so tightly it might break.

She smiles at me in a way that completes me but also destroys me. I let all of this happen to her and yet she’s still happy to see me. “It’s not your fault,” she tells me. “You couldn’t have stopped me and I didn’t want you to.”

I want to ask her how it all happened, how did the king manage to take her that morning at the war camp but I can’t find the words. None of it seems to matter now that she’s here and he’s gone.

“Is he..is he dead?” She asks in that small, broken voice.

I nod and the sobs finally break free from her. Against my better judgment as well as Madja’s, I help her to sit up and pull her into my arms, careful to not touch her wounds. I guide her into my chest with a hand in her hair and another around her waist, gripping her thigh as she clings to me and sobs. Relief washes over me both my own and through the bond. My cheek comes to rest on her head as she hides her face in between my collar and jaw.

I’ve come to realize that in all of my 500 years, I’ve never known comfort and safety like I do now. Quite frankly I don’t know much at all but none of that matters when my mate, my sweet girl, my y/n is in my arms.

#limits of a fae heart az x reader #az imagine #azriel spymaster #azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger #azriel imagine #azriel acotar #az x reader #a court of thorns and roses

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topguncortez · 6 months

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Court of Thieves || Chapter 3

previous part | masterlist | next part

synopsis: A ball is thrown in celebration of The Lady Mitchell and Prince Jacob's engagement. The Prince and Lady Mitchell meet for the first time and it goes anything but smooth. The Lady Mitchell must figure out a way to get The Prince to like her.

word count: 3.6k

warnings: historical inaccuracies, era-related misogyny, minor character death, mentions of murder, mentions of virginity, forced kissing, mentions of sex, mentions of cheating, mentions of religion

The ballroom was decorated with white curtains and gold streamers. Candles burned brightly, illuminating the great hall. Lords and Ladies mingled amongst each other, some of them dancing to the strings that were playing. Jake loved balls, he loved them even more when they were being hosted in his name. Of course, this one wasn’t totally thrown in his honor. It was being thrown to celebrate his future bride being in Landing Center. He had heard the whispers from his pageboys and the maidens that she was one of the most beautiful ladies to ever walk into Landing Center. But, he was yet to even see a glimpse of her.

“Robert,” Jake said, leaning over towards his friend, “My wife does realize she has to be here, right? Or is she a bit. . . tied up?”

“The Lady Mitchell knows she has to be here,” Robert nodded. Jake looked at him, a smirk forming on his lips. If there was one thing about Robert, the man was incapable of making a joke or understanding one.

“Robert,” Jake chuckled, “Never change a damn thing about you!”

Jake sat back on his throne, looking out at the guests who danced in front of the table. Every so often, he would catch the eye of a young maiden, and wink to them. Their skin would flush, and they would try to hide their giggle in their partner’s body. He looked over and noticed that his mother had a pleasant smile on her face, probably due to the fact that all three of her daughters were mingled amongst the crowd and that her only son was home from war.

“The Lady Micthell and Lord Bradshaw!” The page yelled, catching Jake’s attention.

In the center of the room, walked forward the most beautiful woman Jake had ever laid eyes on. Your jet black hair was pinned back, a golden tiara resting on your head. Your body was clad in the most elegant white dress with beautiful gold embroidery, Jake assumed it was made by the designers in North Island. Your skin was flawless, with not a single blemish or scar on it. And the way you walked into the room, was demanding all eyes be on you. The corset on your body was squeezing you just right, making your breasts perk up.

Jake leaned down to whisper in Robert’s ear, “I wonder how quickly I could undo the corset.”

“Jacob,” The Queen scolded her son. He smirked and stood up from his throne.

He stepped down from the high table, walking to meet you in the center of the room. Jake didn’t know much about Bradley Bradshaw, but he didn’t like the fact that he walked into his engagement ball with his girl on his arm. Bradley shot Jake a look, as the Prince’s green eyes traveled up and down your body.

“Lady Mitchell,” Jake grabbed your hand and bowed to you.

“My Prince,” You said, giving him a curtsey. You stood straight and turned to Bradley, giving him a curt nod. He squeezed your arm, before turning and making his leave. You looked down at the floor, listening to the fading footsteps of your friend, before looking up at the prince.

“It is time for the first dance!” The page announced.

Jake held his hand out for you to take, and you accepted. He walked you in a small circle, then pulled you into him. You rested a hand on his shoulder as one of his went to your waist. Jake took the lead as he moved you back and forth, side to side in the waltz. You kept your head high and remembered the dance lessons your maid had given you. However, dancing with Bradley was different than dancing with Jake.

Bradley was always a shy leader, gently moving across the floor. His hand was almost feather-light as he would touch your waist. Jake, on the other hand, kept a strong grip on your waist, occasionally moving lower on your backside. Slowly, more couples came and joined you on the floor with Jake.

“Surprised you can dance,” Jake said to you.

“I have been taught,” You nodded, “I wished to have conversed with you earlier, my prince.”

Jake smirked, “I’m sure you did,” He leaned in closer to you, his hot breath fanning your neck, “If you wanted a private meeting all you had to do was ask.”

You gasped and looked up at him, “Your grace!” Jake expertly twirled you around and then pulled you back in close. You were very well aware of his hand that rested on your lower back, dangerously close to your bottom, “My Prince…” You scolded.

“You smell of cherry blossoms,” He whispered, knowing that the precious oil must’ve been a gift from his sister Jane, “I wonder if you taste as sweet as you do smell.”

You scoffed and gave him a shove, pushing his face away from you. If you weren’t feeling the eyes of some of the highest lords on your skin, you would’ve slapped the Prince. Instead, you promptly stomped on his foot, making him groan in pain.

“Your tongue ought to be cut for the way you speak,” You cursed.

“Trust me, my lady, you don’t want that,” Jake gently cupped your face and pressed his lips to yours.

When you had dreamt of your first kiss, you always pictured it to be in the middle of the meadow behind your father’s house, and the person you were kissing was Bradley. But here you stood, in the middle of the grand hall, with the Prince of Brinefell’s lips on yours. You were frozen for a moment, before reaching and grabbing his wrists, pulling his hands from your face. There was a flash of hurt in Jake’s eyes as you turned from him, and walked out of the center, your hand covering your mouth.

“Y/N!” He called out to you, but you had moved through the crowd. Jake noticed a flash of black and gold out of the corner of his eye, Lord Bradshaw, swiftly follow after you, “Fucking bastard.”

Jake pushed his way through the crowd, following the exact footsteps you did. He cursed the gods for making you so short as his green eyes scanned the unfamiliar faces. He had barely reached the side of the grand hall when a loud scream erupted from the high table.

The music was promptly stopped and the couples on the floor stopped dancing. Silence flooded the grand hall except for the sobs that were leaving the Queen’s mouth. The crowd seemed to part this time for Jake as he made his way back to the center of the floor. His mother was being held up by Robert, as Jane rubbed soothing circles on her back. Jake already knew what the words were going to be when Master Moore, who had a sad frown on his face, opened his mouth.

“King George of Brinefell is dead!”

— — —

You hadn’t been that far from the grand hall to hear the announcement of the King’s death. You had stopped running when you heard the Queen’s loud scream ricochet throughout the hall. In an instant, the joyous occasion had ended and the Castle had turned from white and gold, to black and red. In the days following the death announcement; memorials started to arrive outside the palace gates. Pictures of the King had either been taken down or draped with a black sheet. The flags had all been lowered on the ships and buildings. The church bells had gone silent.

The quietness of the Castle had made it even harder for you to try and make a routine. It had only been a week since you had moved to Landing Center. You hadn’t seen the Prince since the night of the engagement ball. You had found out from Robert, his confidant, that Jake had primarily been by the Queen’s side and overseeing the preparations for the King’s funeral. It broke your heart to think of the Queen being all alone in her chambers, but you were glad that Jake was there for her.

“Excuse me, my lady, but we must get you dressed now,” One of your ladies, whom you had grown rather fond of, Clara, said as she entered your room.

The day was dark and gloomy, as all days had seemed to be since the King’s death. You were still in your nightgown, swapping out your usual white one, for a black one to mark that you were in mourning as well. One of your favorite spots in your chambers had been the large window that overlooked Brinefell Bay. The glistening sea had always been your source of comfort, but now, it looked dark and dreary.

“Yes, Clara, come in,” You said, closing the poetry book you were reading. It had been a gift from the Queen, and she said it had been the key to her successful life as a wife, Queen, and mother. You wondered now if it also had the key to handle the loss of a husband.

You stood from the window seat and walked into your dressing room. You stood with your arms out as the various maids and ladies came flocking to your side to undress you. It had been weird at first, having someone to do every little thing for you, from cutting your own food to turning the pages of your book. But slowly, you had gotten used to it.

“My lady, Lord Bradshaw wishes to see you,” A maiden said to you, “Shall I tell him to wait for-”

“No, Ethel, it is quite alright,” You said, “Draw the curtain please.”

The maiden nodded and did as you instructed, pulling the heavy red curtain between the sitting room and dressing room closed. You heard Bradley thank her before walking as close to the curtain as he could get. You knew it was rather unbecoming of you to have Bradley in your room in such a state, but he was one of the only people who seemed to understand what you needed at this time. It was like living in deja vu, reliving your mother’s death all over again. Your father had shut you out, making you deal with the grief on your own. The only person you had to confide in was Bradley.

“You worry about the Prince having your head, this is one sure way to solidify that one,” Bradley joked. You sucked in a sharp breath, both from his joke and from the way Clara tugged at your corset, “Sorry.”

“Always playing the fool, Bradley,” You shook your head.

“You are done, my lady,” Clara said.

You thanked her, and pushed the curtain back, seeing Bradley indulge himself in one of the various bottles of wine that had been sitting on your bookshelf. They had been gifts from some of the noblemen. He was dressed in black as well, but for him, that was not a new sight. You hated the color black and had forbidden it to be in your closet. When the Castle went into mourning, you actually had to borrow a dress from Jake’s sister Margeret.

“What is it that you are looking for, Lord Bradshaw?” You asked, crossing your arms over your chest.

“I came to see how you are fairing, Lady Mitchell,” Bradley said, pouring both himself and you a goblet of wine, “I know this is not easy for you. I wanted to see how you are getting along with the Prince.”

You rolled your eyes, “I would get along better with a goat than the Prince.”

“Not good?”

“Awful,” You sighed and sat down on the couch. Bradley took up residence in the chair in front of you, “I have tried everything, Bradley, to get him to talk to me, but he won’t.”

The night of the King’s death, you didn’t expect Jake to come and seek you out. You knew that he was going to be with his mother and sisters. However, you did expect it to be going on for nearly a week. You had seen him around palace grounds, and every time you tried to strike up a conversation, trying to get to know him and see how he was fairing. But he didn’t seem to have the time of day for you. You changed up your tactic, deciding to leave gifts for him in his chambers.

It started with having the baker make extra sweet cakes for him at dinner, except the cakes were almost always left on the table when you went to look in the middle of the night. Then, you had found some paintings in the square you thought he might like and had them delivered to his chambers. But you say one of the pageboys carrying them out with the trash the next morning. And last night, you had decided to give him one of your mother’s poetry books, leaving it yourself, right outside his door with a handwritten note. But, the book had been returned, with the note still attached, to right outside your chamber door this morning.

“I don’t know what to do,” You shook your head, “How can I do my duty if he won’t even speak or look at me!”

“Seduce him.”

“Bradley!”

“What!?” He chuckled, setting his cup down, “I am serious. What is the worst that can happen? You are already betrothed,” You scoffed and tossed a pillow at him, “He is the Prince of Brinefell. The Crown Whore Prince. You have to get on his level. Engage in the things he likes. Seduction has more benefits than harm in this case, Ducky. It might just be the only way for you to get through to him.”

“I don’t want to sell my virtue.”

“You’ll have to sell it eventually,” Bradley shrugged.

“I… I don’t know about this,” You fiddled with your fingers as your ears started to turn red. It took Bradley a moment before it dawned on him.

“You’ve never-“

“Hush!” You basically leaped from your seat and covered Bradley’s mouth with your hand, “By Gods, shut your mouth!” Bradley chuckled and removed your hand.

“I can not say that I am surprised but I also am surprised. You do know who you spawn from, right?”

You rolled your eyes and sat back on your knees, “I have read about how women seduce their husbands. I know… what to do. It’s just how do I actually do it?”

“Well,” Bradley said and shifted in his seat, so he was sitting back against the couch cushions, “Here’s my advice.”

— — —

It was late, the witching hour, as you carefully walked through the halls of the castle. You had to dodge the watchful eye of the guards and maids. If you were caught out this late, the rumors would run wild. You had already heard the gossip about you. Some of the maids had recognized your familiar features to your sister and wondered if you were as liberated as she was.

The night air was cool against your skin. You had dug into the back of your robe closet to find a nightgown that was a gift for Allison. It was the lightest shade of pink, with the finest traces of lace on the skirt. Your cheeks heated as you felt your nipples harden as the brush of cold air on your skin. The top of the dress was sheer, giving little to the imagination, but was just perfect for what you had planned. You pulled your dressing gown tight against your body as you made your way down the candlelit hall.

“My lady?” You gasped and turned, coming face to face with Lord Floyd.

“My lord Floyd,” You greeted, and he gave you a small bow.

“What are you doing out so late? It is unsafe for a woman to-”

“I could not find sleep,” You spoke, cutting him off and pulling your dressing gown tightly against your body. Lord Floyd’s blue eyes bore into you and it felt like he knew what your true intentions were. He was best friends with Prince Jake, he knew his every move.

But, if Lord Floyd knew what you were up to, he saved you the embarrassment of saying it out loud, “Very well,” He nodded his head, “You ought to be on your way. It is not safe or proper for a lady of your renown to be walking the castle at night.”

“Yes, Lord Floyd,” You bowed your head as he walked past you, going back on his way. You let out a slow breath and continued your journey to the Prince’s room.

— — —

The fire felt warm as Jake sat in front of it, a goblet of wine in his hand, his green eyes locked on the orange flame in front of him. The flame’s warmth was the only thing that Jake felt these days. After spending hours tending to his mother and setting preparations for his father’s funeral, Jake was drained emotionally and physically. He had never seen his mother so broken and lost. She was always a force to be reckoned with, now, Jake feared that he’d be planning her funeral soon. He sighed, bowing his head slightly and bringing the chalice up to his lips. No amount of wine in the world could help numb the pain in his heart.

A gentle knock at his door pulled him from his wallowing thoughts. Jake furrowed his eyebrows as he looked over at the cedar door. If it was any of his men, they knew to just walk in unless the door was locked. Another knock had Jake on his feet, walking to open the door. A small gasp sounded out as he pulled the door open, coming face to face with his future bride.

“What are you doing?” Jake asked, and stepped out into the hallway, looking both ways to see if anyone was around. He quickly ushered her into the room, shutting the door and locking it, “Have you gone mad? Wondering the palace at night?”

You gulped, shaking your head, “N-No, your grace,” You quickly curstied, showing him the respect he deserved. You look up at him, your doe eyes wide.

Jake gestured for you to stand up, and you obliged standing up. His eyes raked over your body, taking in the red dressing coat and the light pink skirt that poked out underneath. You froze in your spot as Jake stepped towards you, his fingers going to the tie of your dressing coat. He pulled the tie, letting it fall open revealing your nightgown. Jake sucked in a breath as he took in the sight of your breasts clothed in sheer linen.

“What is it you come here for, my Lady?” Jake asked, his voice low.

“To please you, my Prince,” You said, your eyes not leaving his.

In an instant you felt his lips on yours, the taste of wine on his tongue. You had never been kissed like this, and it sent a sort of heat spreading through your body. Your hands quickly went to his blonde locks, tugging on them slightly. He groaned as his hands pushed the dressing coat from your body, letting the red fabric pool on the ground. Jake walked the two of you backward, leading you to his bed. The back of your knees hit the mattress, and Jake gently lifted you up to lay you down on the bed. He crawled up your body, one of his hands going under your nightgown, lightly tracing up your thigh, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

Your heart was beating rapidly in your chest as Jake’s lips grazed up your neck, placing feather-light kisses on your skin. You felt heat rise in your eyes as his hand drew near your cunt. You had never been touched there, and to be touched there now, made your heart race and your stomach flip with nerves. Jake must’ve sensed your anxiety as he settled his hand on your bare thigh and his lips stopped below your ear.

“Hath, you lain in the bed of another?” Jake whispered in your ear.

You sucked in a breath and looked at him. Your eyes were glassy with unshed tears, “No, my Lord.”

Every fiber in Jake’s being was screaming at him. Part of him wanted you. There was no denying that you were an attractive woman. Your beauty was one that he’d only seen in painting and read about in poetry. The other part of him wanted to savor the innocence that you had. He knew soon enough that the two of you would lay together in the marital bed and be forced to perform married couple duties. He knew girls like you, girls who had been raised to be noblewomen and princesses. He knew that keeping your virtue until the wedding was important.

Jake sighed as he pulled his hand out from under your nightgown, pulling the dress back down to cover your skin. He laid his stomach on your abdomen, running his thumb over your clothed hipbone.

You were confused as you looked down at Jake. You weren’t sure if this was a part of sex or what was happening. Bradley hadn’t told you about this part.

“My lord?” You asked quietly.

“Get out,” Jake mumbled. He sat up and turned his back to you, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He waited a moment, before standing up and walking out of his bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

A small escaped your lips, as you tried to bite back the tears that had started to fall.

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seresinhangmanjake · 2 years

Text

More Than What We Are

Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader

Summary: You and Jake are friends with benefits, and you have one rule: No feelings! Jake decides that rule doesn’t work for him anymore.

Warnings/notes: 18+ angsty, sort of fluffy, happier ending, sexual references, almost smut, cursing, love confessions, emotional denial before acceptance. You know when you read something so much you start to hate it? Well folks, here it is. I reread this so much and I can still guarantee there will be mistakes. I tried not to make it too long.

Words: 2890

His arms were tight, wrapping you up like a cocoon, your back against the chest that caged his thumping heart. You could feel it beat strongly, lively through the layers of clothing.

Breath was hot on your neck, teeth making little nibbles, tongue giving slow, short, licks that turned into thin, wet trails.

Surely if you could feel the pace of his heart, he could sense the aftershock of the tingles he forced up your spine from his continuous tasting of your skin.

You giggled when he finally met that sensitive spot below your ear. More tingles followed that affected each nerve ending and extended through to your fingers until the tips felt numb. Your elbow instinctively bent, hand reaching to the back of his head to hold him and keep his mouth from releasing you. Vibrations from his moan danced from his throat to yours where he sucked hard.

“I’m not going to be able to find my key,” you choked out between his bites and kisses, “if you’re distracting me.”

“That’s a shame,” he whispered against your skin, hands moving down, fingers slipping into the front of your jeans. “Guess we’ll have to fuck out here.”

That sobered you.

Your eyes snapped open.

“On my front porch? I don’t think so,” you said firmly. You lowered your hand to smack at the wrist that was starting to fiddle with the button securing the denim around your hips.

He snickered. “No hitting.”

And though you didn’t turn your head to catch a glimpse, you knew that signature smirk—the one that was so sinfully arousing it practically made your jaw fall open when you first met—was plastered on his handsome face.

“Be a good girl or you won’t get what you want,” he nipped at your earlobe, “and then you’ll have to beg for it.”

By his forearm you pulled his hand from your pants and twisted to face him. His arms circled your waist again, encasing you within the heat of his body. He squeezed your ass, holding you still as you had done so he could create the friction that hardened him within his own pair of jeans.

Impressively, your eyebrow managed to raise in question, despite your thoughts being ripped away from caring for anything other than how thick he was against you.

You’d slept together before, so many times you lost count, and you already knew how perfect he was under his clothes; how frustratingly flawless. Knowing that was the only thing keeping you from staring at the outline of his cock. If you looked now, you’d fall on your knees before you had the proper brain functioning to stop yourself, to drag his zipper down and take as much of his length into your mouth as you could.

But that would mean he’d win for the night, and you couldn’t have that. You loved seeing who would be the first to lower themselves before the other. Not that you kept count, but there was a competitive edge between you. A competitiveness that had tripped you both into bed after three drinks at the Hard Deck surrounded by your friends and some thrown comments about who could get who to cum harder. The unprompted hypothetical argument very quickly bled into reality, and you’d found yourself drunk more from the feel of him inside you than from the alcohol.

Neither of you knew for sure who won that first night, so you decided the only fair way was to call it a tie.

You held your risen eyebrow in challenge. “Oh, I won’t get what I want?”

You let your purse fall to the wooden flooring of the porch. Your palms forged a path upwards from his stomach to his shoulders, feeling every valley and hill that defined the muscles that stiffened and clenched under your touch.

“Jake,” you tsked, “I think we both know that of the two of us, you are more likely to do the begging.”

“Is that so?”

You loved that look on his face; the playful one that he never seemed to show anyone else. It held a million promises of your pleasure. Promises that he always fulfilled as if his life depended on doing so.

“It is,” you said, walking your fingers up the length of his neck, along that throbbing vein. “See, I may like your cock, Jake, but you are in love with my pussy—”

His grin widened as you spoke, green eyes flaming with adoration.

“—I don’t think you could deny me what I wanted if you tried.”

He continued to stare, the curve of his lips never faltering, arms not even slightly loosening, even as you struggled to reach down for your purse to attempt the hunt for your house key once again.

“Am I wrong?” you asked when you realized he still hadn’t spoken.

He shook his head slowly. “You’re never wrong, Y/N.”

You would have reveled in his admittance had you not clasped your fingers around your keys in the same moment. Relief flooded you. Not finding them would have likely had its repercussions come morning, since Jake would undoubtedly wear you down until he was rutting into you at a torturous pace against your front door for all the world to see. Darkness in the sky or not, you had some nosy neighbors that had no issue peering out windows and holding grudges.

A satisfying click sounded after you slipped the key into the lock, and the door was open in record time, your bodies fumbling to get on the inner side of it. Jake slammed it closed with the arm not around your waist as you tossed your purse somewhere to your right. It thudded against…something, but you didn’t care what. His lips were on yours; that was all that mattered.

He was so fucking delicious. Tongue like silk as it played with yours. So good. He tastes so, so good. Unlike anyone else you’d been with, Jake had his own taste, his own scent, his own way of touching you, that worked so perfectly well together to drown out everything else around you. He had the power to encase you in a bubble along with him. A bubble that kicked away the care of time and space and the existence of others.

He licked along your bottom lip; tangled his hands through the mess of your hair. You whimpered. So good.

You only broke your kiss to rid one another of your shirts, then your mouths were glued again, your fingers unbuckling his belt as you stepped backwards and pulled him along until your bottom hit the edge of your kitchen table.

“You weren’t wrong,” he got out when you took a second to breathe, though those breaths where heavy. His chest was heaving, and his hands cupped your face. “You did miss one detail though.”

“Oh, yea?” You snorted, doing your best to shimmy out of your jeans.

“I’m in love with more than just your pussy.”

You froze just as you kicked your pants to the side. The blood began rushing so fast the clarity of your hearing was starting to fail you. Repetitive pumps filled your ears; the only indication of promises that you were still alive.

“I’m in love with all of you,” he said, foggy words fighting their way through a layer of fuzziness. “So no, Y/N, I would never deny you anything.”

You swallowed. You could hear that swallow. You could feel it strain your throat, almost painfully so. What was he doing? Why was he doing it?

“But…” But, what? you thought. “But we agreed,” you said, finally meeting his eyes, “No feelings.”

“Yea,” he drew out the syllable, “sorry, honey, but that agreement didn’t end up working out for me.”

“Jake that’s…” You tried to step out of that bubble. Tried and failed. He wouldn’t budge. “You’re not supposed to be in love with me. That’s not how this works.”

He chuckled.

God, how many times had you heard that chuckle? How many times had it brought you peace, or a smile to your face on a day when you needed it. And now it was so wrong. So wrong…and he didn’t even know it. He wasn’t getting it. He didn’t understand.

“Believe me—” he chuckled again.

Stop it!

“—I’m well aware of the shit situation I got myself into,” he said. “It wasn’t exactly the plan, but it’s ok because I—"

“I don’t feel the same.”

Those words did more than interrupt whatever he was planning to say; They seemed to cut off his oxygen supply entirely. His mouth closed, but then it opened again, he paused, and it closed again as his brows pinched.

“Y/N—”

“I don’t!”

An invisible force shoved him away from you with the ferocity of your tone. His lower back met the kitchen counter. “Um,” he ran his hand through his hair as he shook his head. He crossed his arms over his bare chest; looked at the tiled floor. “O-Ok.”

His belt buckle hung down. It clanked against the undone button and zipper, further weighing the flap open to better reveal the band of his underwear and the trail of hair that disappeared into it. Your fingers itched to touch, but you knew you couldn’t now. The bubble was gone. It was gone because you stabbed a needle into it, and now the world was around you again.

“Well, this is obviously over,” you said.

His head snapped up. “What?”

“We have to stop seeing each other.”

“Why?”

Your hands covered your face, slowly rubbing up and down as if to wash away your expression. You didn’t have to see your reflection in the mirror to know that you looked pained, but you couldn’t stop yourself from what you were doing.

Palms falling to your sides, you said, “Because we have to if you’re going to have these feelings. It shouldn’t be much of a problem. It’s not like we crossed paths before we started doing this, and had it not been for Bradley and Nat we wouldn’t have met at all, so…”

A part of him must have thought you were joking because it wasn’t until your last words that he stood straight as a rod, arms dropping to his sides. “What, are you just going to disappear from my life? Cut off all communication?”

His eyes as they searched yours begged you to be playing a game. A stupid game. One he would mischievously scold you for in the form of a few hard slaps to your ass once you surrendered to understanding just how little humor he found in it. But you weren’t playing, and each second of silence was solidifying that.

“You can’t be serious,” he said. A demand or a plea, you couldn’t tell. He made quick steps your way and took your hands in his. “Y/N, you can’t do this to me.”

“Jake, I—”

“Baby, please.”

“I…” You sucked in a sharp breath. You didn’t know what you were doing, why you were fighting, but you’d done it now and you couldn’t take it back. “I need you to leave.”

-----

For the first time in your life, you hated sleep. Being awake meant being at work, getting things done. There were responsibilities, routines, practices that you could throw yourself into to distract your brain from the memory of that night. You had to get up, brush your teeth, shower, dress, eat, focus. But when asleep, you had no control over your body or mind, and apparently your mind decided to lash out.

It was the tone of his voice that infiltrated your dreams, twisting them into nightmares, night after night that made up a full week.

Baby, please.

Those two words each sunk their teeth into the halves of your heart and ripped it straight down the middle.

Baby, please. Baby, please. Baby, please.

Over and over and over in your unconscious until a night came when you woke and screamed for him to shut up. But he wasn’t there to hear you. He wasn’t there because you turned him away.

He would be in your bed now if he could be. You knew he’d stay in it forever if you let him. And something in you, somewhere deep, could have guessed this long before he spoke the three words that confirmed it.

Unrightfully so, it swelled an anger in your gut. A knot grew tight in your chest as you sat up in your bed. You didn’t even notice yourself grinding your front teeth with your lip between them.

You couldn’t take it.

-----

“Why did you have to say you love me, huh?”

Jake heard the furious question before he was able to register that it was you standing in front of him, shivering in your sleep clothes at two in the morning as tears crafted rivers down your reddened cheeks.

“Why?” You took a step forward and shoved at his chest. “Why now?”

He grabbed your wrist and pulled you inside the darkened apartment, shutting the door behind you, then he quickly yanked his Navy hoodie over his head and tugged it down your body. “What are you doing here?”

“Answer my question first,” you snapped as you slipped your arms through the sleeves. “Why. Now?”

“Technically, I’ve said it before,” he replied. “You’ve just been asleep.”

He couldn’t tell you how many times he’d spoken it aloud, but he’d never felt ashamed in doing so, despite being well aware of the possibility of you not handling it well if he told you. You proven him right on that front. But of every scenario he came up with, you kicking him out of your life hadn’t entered his mind once.

“You can’t just go around dropping bombs whenever you want, Jake,” you yelled, the intensity of the sound drowning out the noise of the television in the next room. “We drew that line when we started sleeping together and I had to figure out how to stay on my side of it, but now for some reason you can’t do the same? That’s not fair!”

“I’m not going to keep something like that to myself forever for the sake of an imaginary line we drew months ago!”

“Why the hell not? I’ve had to!”

Your mouth snapped shut.

A beat passed. And every miserable thought Jake had halted in that moment. The horrible feelings that had been eating him alive for a week dissipated, replaced by the blooming of hope in his chest.

“You’ve had to?” he asked. His eyes narrowed as he carefully observed your face, searching for the slightest tick or twitch of dishonesty.

You groaned and mumbled, “Forget it,” as you turned away with a shake of your head. But he grabbed onto your hand and twisted your body back to his before you could stray too far.

“Absolutely not. What do you mean, you’ve had to?”

“Nothing.” Your eyes avoided the laser-focus of his stare.

“You love me?”

You looked down to your hands as you fiddled with your fingernail. “I didn’t say that.”

“That’s what it sounded like.”

Crooking a finger under your chin, he lifted your face until you had no choice but to meet his eyes. And he saw it all. All the vulnerability was right there, stripped bare and real before him; so close to the surface he thought maybe he could reach out and touch it as if it was of solid form.

It was shock as it dawned on him, pure shock mixed with the realization that he had missed it when it was right in front of him. He’d have stumbled back a step had his legs the ability to move properly, but he stayed rooted in place. “You love me,” he said.

“I know, alright,” you hissed a tad too harshly. A long second weighed heavily between you. You sighed, rubbed at your brow, then muttered, “I know I do.”

He wanted to know how long. The thought immediately rushed to his mind, a slight twinge of anger behind it. How long had you been stubborn in admitting it to yourself? How long had you been keeping it a secret from him? You’d had him hooked for what felt like a lifetime, but then again, maybe it didn’t matter how long you had felt the same so long as you did.

Large hands cupped your cheeks and he pulled you into a kiss. His mouth was pressed hard against yours, branding you with the imprint of his lips. “Don’t lie to me about how you feel ever again,” he growled when you separated, but he knew he failed to disguise the desperation behind his tone, “Ever. I mean it.”

Your lips curved upwards, and an exhausted laugh left your mouth in the form of a thick puff of air. “You just going to yell at me all night now?”

“No, I’m not going to yell at you. I’m going to fuck you,” he said, thumbs stroking back and forth along your cheekbones. He kissed you again, soft, sweetly this time. “And then you’re going to explain to me what the hell you were thinking when you decided to leave me with a broken heart for an entire week.”

Tags: @marvel-ousnesss @thespeeder @nobody7102 @marrianena @fangirlingoverfangirls @blue-aconite @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @dempy @chaoticassidy @alana4610 @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @dracosluvbot

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anyaeras · 19 days

Text

I Didn't Deserve you || N.Romanoff

──────────────────────

Pairing: girlfriend!Natasha x gender neutral Reader

Warnings: Angst, mention of death, cute start, kinda sad ending, emotional abuse

Summary: y/n just wanted to enjoy theirs and Natasha anniversary, but everything went south.

Masterlist

──────────────────────

Being the partner of an avenger isn't always easy going. Often times special dates, and events are pushed off but y/n always understood how important Natasha's job was; and Natasha was great full to have them. At first their relationship was one you would see in the movies, soft and sentimental, but as time went by y/n saw less and less of their girlfriend, Nat would stay at work late, come home to tired to spend time with them. Y/n's love never died down for the red headed widow though.

Today was their 2 year anniversary. Y/n was home dancing around their apartment kitchen as she made a pasta meal for the each of them. As soft music rang from the smart speaker the clock showed 7:45pm. Natasha was out training but swore she would be back in time to celebrate this milestone with her lover.

As y/n set the table finishing it off with fresh flowers in the vase on their little circle dinning table, one which was perfect for the two of them. From that point y/n waited, well and waited...

The clock would tick, and the food was long cold. The time now read half past eleven and y/n was growing tired of waiting for Natasha. They were full of emotions, frustrated, betrayed but most of all disappointed that she had put so much effort to do something special for their girlfriend only too be stood up.

Doing their best to stay awake in hopes of their red headed girlfriend to come home any moment was becoming rather hard. Y/n grew overly tired falling asleep while waiting for on the small sofa in the living room.

12:45am, keys were heard as Natasha softly walked into her shared apartment. Staying silent to not disturb her girlfriend. Stepping inside the trained spy immediately noticed the plates of food on the table with a candle that had long burnt down. Looking around now moving towards the living room Natasha's heart broke. Her partner way asleep on the sofa, still dressed nicely, clearly they had cleaned up for Nat and she was...extremely late.

Natasha bent down in from of a sleeping y/n, slowly rubbing her fingers in y/n hair to wake them. As y/n slowly started to stir the black widow could only fear what her partners reaction may be.

"Natasha?" Y/n's sleepy voice called out as they regained consciousness. Sitting up y/n's face dropped to a frown as they stared back at their girlfriend.

"Y/n, my bad I was just get-" Natasha started yet was cut off by Y/n's huff

"Don't. You do this every time Nat! I just asked for one day! One day for us! Did you not care?" Y/n rattled off as they stood up clearly each phase they spoke they grew more distressed with Natasha.

Natasha was quick to reach out for y/n in hopes to calm them down yet was of course dodged.

"I'm not your toy, I'm not here for when you're bored, I'm not your second choice Natasha!" Y/n huffed as she had grabbed her keys and thrown a hoodie over her outfit.

Y/n stormed out of the apartment heading straight for the stairs before wandering out into the dark night.

Wandering for what felt like hours, it had started to rain as y/n felt the water seep into their clothing yet they were too damn stubborn to even face Natasha right now. Every night was becoming the same blur, y/n waiting up for Natasha, loads of ignored messages and maybe Nat would come home. The pain of waiting was taking a toll and for once y/n wanted her to feel it back.

Y/n seemed to get lost in thought as the walked, leaving their phone behind seemed to be working in their favor at this point. Cars went by, speeding on the main roads right beside her, sounds of crickets could be heard even in the city. Heading to the cross walk as y/n finally chose to start heading back home. As the red hand turned to the Walkman, y/n on autopilot started to cross, about half way through everything went dark.

Ring Natasha phone lit up at half past 2, expecting it to be y/n Natasha quickly looked at it, yet was surprised to see a random number. Yet she answered nonetheless

"Is this Natasha Romanoff, you're on y/n y/l/n's emergency contacts, they were in an accident, unconscious" a voice spoke to Natasha yet the words seemed to just flood her with panic.

"I'll be right there." Was all Natasha said before rushing out the door

Fast. It happened so fast, adrenaline never felt like this, adrenaline was fun, it was an exciting feeling to remember this time there was no memories. Just black space, and soft sound. Beeps...beep.

"Y/n? Are you awake" her sharp yet soft Russian accent made its way to y/n's ears, yet your eyes far to heavy to open. But a soft squeeze to the hand, which connected with their own showed that they could hear Natasha words.

"детка (Detka) you have to wake up, please. I'm really sorry I didn't stop you, I should've protected you I'm so sorry y/n" Natasha's words followed by her soft cries hurt y/n just as much as the crash had. Not being able to respond was even harder. Listing to Natasha try and communicate and fix something was new, and y/n just had to lay there. Natasha's soft wishes didn't stop but they began to sound far away, the once light that shined through now faded to black once again, as if it was the start of a peaceful sleep.

The beeping became more like a long drawn out ding as if it became a straight line. Making Natasha panic inside.

Nurses rushed into the hospital room shoving Natasha aside, her once locked hand with y/n's was pulled apart as nurses did their best to keep y/n responding.

Nurses frantic actions slowly came to a complete stop, the beep would now fall into background noise.

"I didn't deserve you" was the final thing Natasha got out, her hand holding now not her partners hand, but the ring box's she had brought home that night.

#natasha romanoff x reader #marvel #lgbtqia #writing #marvel mcu #fanfic #marvel edits #marvel fic #anyaeras #angst #black widow x reader #natasha romanoff #natasha romanov #the black widow #wlw fiction

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huramuna · 4 months

Text

wine red, tears gold - chapter 4.

king aegon II x baratheon ofc

previous chapter | next

a 'what if aegon didn't get poisoned and the greens technically won the dance but at what cost' au. basically aegon, alicent, otto and jaehaera are the only greens alive. and larys i guess. someone get rid of this guy.

word count: 3.5k

please follow & turn on notifs for @huramuna-fics for my fic postings

content: smut (specifics below cut), canon typical misogyny, canon typical violence, angst, fluff, arranged marriage, touch-staved aegon, aegon isn't a r*pist in this au but he is still a bad person and has his vices, ofc and aegon need to go to therapy together, justice for jaehaera, awkward sex, kind of a slow burn, infidelity

this comes from the inside - the living tombstone • oblivion - grimes

warnings: p in v, creampie

Being close with another person can be such a precarious thing. Not just in emotional closeness, but physical as well.

Lyanna never much liked being touched, not even as a child. She would shy away from courtiers pinching her cheeks, from her mother’s outstretched arms, from her father’s heavy hand upon her shoulder. Being touched felt like a burden of sorts, as if someone expected reciprocity from putting their hands on another.

She never wished to give it in return.

Since moving to the Red Keep, she has changed— in more ways than one, of course. She quite liked being touched now by her good mother, Alicent’s touches were soft and warm. Mayhaps it was because the queen mother was there to hold Lyanna at her lowest, and she found some comfort in her arms that she never derived from her own mother.

Then there was Aegon. His touches were… confusing. He seemed much at war with himself, like a stray dog wishing for affection, a scratch on the cheek or pat of the head, but didn’t know how to ask, how to convey he wanted it. His proposal to Lyanna of exchange of pleasure for nurture was a strange one, to be sure.

It must’ve been the wine, that would be why she had said yes, wouldn’t it?

Certainly not the fact that her husband seemed… jealous. Jealous of a Dornish prince putting his hands on her and making her laugh. Aegon, being the same one who had said she wasn’t a beauty that men go to war for. Aegon, who couldn’t even flow in the same atmosphere as Lyanna for weeks. Aegon, who fucked a whore the morning after their wedding and many days besides.

That Aegon— was jealous?

The notion of it seemed humorous to Lyanna, as if she held some great power over him, reducing him to his knees before her.

All for a touch.

In truth, it was more than just a touch. He had fallen asleep with his head in her lap, snoozing softly. Lyanna wriggled down, trying to get comfortable. As much as she detested Aegon, at least she thought she did, she didn’t want to wake him. Not when he seemed so at peace with his pathetic prize.

He was a heavy sleeper. She managed to lay on her back comfortably and adjust his position to where he was strewn across her stomach and chest. Lyanna watched him for… who knows how long, being lulled into some sense of relaxation by his weight and warmth on her, coupled with his rhythmic breathing. He was like a living heavy blanket.

Her fingers threaded through his hair, smoothing small circles upon his scalp absentmindedly, as she fell asleep herself.

When she awoke, he was still there— albeit, shifted slightly. He clung to her like a second skin, his leg thrown over hers, his arms draped over her chest haphazardly, still deeply asleep. Lyanna’s breaths fanned over his hair, his head resting under her chin. Whatever spell she had been under the night before had (almost) worn off, the novelty faded.

Gently, more gentle than he truly deserved, she roused him. “Aegon,” she murmured, “Aegon, it's morning— I must get ready soon.”

“Morning…” he hummed drowsily, lips pressed to her neck unknowingly. “No… I will sleep more.”

Lyanna rolled her eyes; it was like dealing with a child rather than a King. “Laze around if you must, husband,” she began to pry him off of her. “But I have duties to attend to.”

“Duties can wait, wife,” he blinked, supplanting his chin upon her chest and looking up at her in a way that made her heart wrench. He looked Gods awful pathetic, like an abandoned puppy. “Stay longer, please.”

“… I have things to see to, Aegon. I don’t wish for your mother to be cross if I’m late to break our fast together.”

He let out a huff, rolling off of her. “May I at least stay until you leave?”

“I suppose. You can help dress me. Do you know how to dress a lady?” Lyanna asked, getting up from the bed to open her wardrobe.

“Ehm— I know how to undress a lady.”

“My Myrish silk from last night begs to differ.”

“Well, you have too many layers, too many loops and ties. This is why whores are so much easier, they’re practically already naked.”

Lyanna shot a glare at him. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t remind me that you frequently lie with other ladies.”

Aegon came up behind her, a bit taller than her by a head, poking his nose into her neck. “Why? Are you jealous?”

She scoffed. “Jealous? Jealous like you were of Prince Qyle?”

“I don’t get jealous,” he grumbled, backing away from her and folding his arms over his chest. “I just don’t think it was appropriate the way he was touching you— like you were a whore.”

“You love that word, don’t you?”

“Mayhaps. I quite like other words, too. Slut, cunt, bitch— the list goes on.”

“You’re truly an ignorant, beautiful creature, Aegon. It’s a wonder to me that you survived infancy.”

“You think I’m beautiful?”

Lyanna let out a snorting laugh, it was undignified and unladylike— but real. Even more real than the laughs that Prince Qyle evoked from her the night before. She stayed turned away, sorting through her clothes. The noise she emitted, raucous and loud as it was, made Aegon smile for half a moment. He quite liked when his wife laughed— and he had been the one to do it this time.

Aegon ended up not helping her dress, as he took one look at the configurations of a corset and left.

That was fine by Lyanna, in all truths. She descended to the Queen mother’s chambers and broke her fast with her, as was her daily routine. Somehow, in the middle of their eating, their conversation turned to the topic of sex. Lyanna didn't feel much embarrassment talking about most things with Alicent, as she was a good conservationist– but sex was one of the things Alicent was… hesitant to talk about, all things considered, and Lyanna wasn’t exactly an expert.

Poking into her soft boiled egg with her spoon, Lyanna listened intently to Alicent.

“You’re the only one I would talk to such things about, dearest,” Alicent hummed, dragging her utensil through her own bowl of coddled eggs, “I never much liked it with… the late King. ‘Twas my duty, after all. I can only hope that, ehm, Aegon makes it less painful for you.”

“... he does fine, I suppose,” Lyanna murmured, prying the soft white of the egg from the shell and balancing it on the spoon. “... truthfully, we haven’t…” she rolled her shoulders to enunciate her meaning, “Laid together in a way conducive to making an heir– not since the wedding night.”

The queen mother perked a brow, crossing one leg over the other. “So you are doing such things in… other methods?”

“Only once– last night, in fact,” Lyanna admitted softly, poking the bite of egg into her mouth, wiping away an errant drop of yolk from her lip– to which Alicent was watching intently– “After the banquet. Was Aegon… jealous as a child?”

Alicent cracked a small smile, leaning back in her chair. “I’m not sure that he was jealous in the way that some may think. He wasn’t so much envious of what others had that he wished to covet, but rather what others were, comparatively to him. Rhaenyra was his father’s favorite, Aemond was the better swordsman, Helaena more beloved by my father– he was always the odd one out.” she blinked profusely, picking at the hem of her sleeve. “Why?”

“He… followed me to my chambers after the feast and started spewing heinous accusations about Prince Qyle and I.”

“And this… led you both to the bed?” Alicent took a long sip of her tea, her eyes not leaving Lyanna’s.

“No– my boudoir chair, actually.”

The queen mother’s cheeks reddened softly. “Oh my– I cannot say that’s something I experienced. Was it… pleasurable at least?”

“It was certainly enlightening– that he may not be as useless as I thought,” Lyanna paused. “That I may not be as repulsive to him as I thought I was.” she spoke a bit quieter then, the subject still tender to her, a wound not yet fully scarred over.

“It’s his blood.” Alicent replied in a matter-of-fact tone.

“His… blood?”

“The blood of the dragon– Targaryens have dragon’s blood in their veins, which runs thick and hot when situations become… precarious. It may be any sort of situation that might give you or I an adrenaline rush, good or bad– but for them, all my children included, it’s like igniting the spark to a wildfire. Some sort of primal, uncontainable thirst for… whatever it is that spurred them. For Aegon… he quells his blood with wine and whores,” Alicent frowned slightly at the notion, the corners of her eyes crinkling into a silent apology, “Jealousy could very well be one of the things that whipped him into a frenzy– mayhaps you should use such a thing to your advantage? Of course, I won’t condone adultery, my dear– but the illusion of interest in someone else may have Aegon more… inclined to lay with you.”

Lyanna sniffed slightly, putting down her empty egg shell. “I wish he would just want it without me having to… set him on fire, or however it’s put.”

“Men are– for the lack of a better word– stupid, Lyanna. They are blind to the things they need the most.”

–

Lyanna spent the rest of her week planning on how exactly to make Aegon jealous. She didn’t really understand how to put on such airs of that extent– acting confident was one thing, but feining attraction for another person was different, wasn’t it? She didn’t consider herself a massive flirt, either.

They sat in the dining hall, entertaining a visiting lord from the Reach, some Tyrell or Redwyne or other, who promptly gave Lyanna a bouquet of beautiful flowers. She was delighted at the gesture, not because she really enjoyed them, but because it would be easier to start her ruse.

“Oh, thank you, my lord– these are gorgeous, absolutely gorgeous,” she hummed. She was wearing a green dress that, somehow, matched Aegon’s deep green tunic that eve. “How did you know that sunflowers were my favorite?”

“Ah, your grace, the sunflower is my favorite as well,” the lord smiled heartily, chattering on and on about sunflowers. “It very much reminded me of your radiance, my queen.”

His audacious compliment earned a warm giggle from Lyanna, her face blistered with a blush– half of the blush was from real bashfulness, as she wasn’t used to receiving such compliments. She knew it was false, of course. She was more reminiscent of a plain dandelion than a sunflower.

The dinner consisted of Lyanna talking to him, making much smalltalk and overall, talking to him more than she’d talked to Aegon in their entire marriage. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see her husband practically stewing, rolling around a brussel sprout around his plate with the tip of his knife, an inhuman heat blistering off of him in waves.

Apparently, to Aegon, enough was enough– his hand slipped from his goblet of wine, drenching the front of Lyanna’s dress. “Ah– my dear, I’m so very clumsy,” he crooned, “Let’s get you cleaned up, shall we?”

Lyanna nodded slowly as her husband looped his arms around her and led her out of the dining hall. She murmured some apologies to their guests, citing that they would return soon. Aegon led them down a corridor, not far from the hall, into a closed off enclave, where he closed the door.

“You’re doing this on purpose,” he grumbled, spinning her around so that her back was pressed against the stone wall in the close quarters of what was basically a servant’s closet. “You’re egging me on purposefully.”

Tilting her chin up defiantly, she spoke nonchalantly. “I have no idea what you’re speaking of, husband, truly.”

Aegon gave an unamused expression, his mouth wrought into a thin line. “I’m not even that drunk and I could plainly see you letting that… absolute peon of a Lord come onto you.”

“So? He fancies me and gifted me a bouquet of flowers– I don’t see anything terribly wrong with that. It isn’t unheard of to pay homage to their queen, is it?”

His hand shot out, gripping her chin and jaw. “I don’t– You– you’re so fucking frustrating!” he growled, raising his voice. Their noses were touching from their proximity, their breaths intermingling. It was the closest they’d ever been.

Footsteps echoed from the hallway, to which the both of them froze. They came past the closet, then descended back down the corridor.

“This is scandalous.” Lyanna murmured.

“How? We are husband and wife, simply having a chat.”

“We are the king and queen of the Seven Kingdoms, not… animals– I’m sure that anyone who opened this door would see you… pinning me against a wall. I’m not sure much could be left to the imagination there, Aegon.”

“You really should get the stick out of your arse, wife.”

“Mayhaps it would do better up yours, then?”

“Careful, I may actually enjoy that.” he grinned, the expression lighting up his usually solemn face. Lyanna considered him quite handsome at that moment.

“You’re vulgar.” she quipped back, biting down on the soft part between his thumb and forefinger gently.

A sound akin to a breathy moan came from Aegon’s mouth at her bite. “And you call me an animal? You’re fucking biting me, you cheeky minx.”

“Yes? Well, if you are to drag me to your level– we are both animals then.” she stared at him with wide eyes and she wondered if he could feel the beat of her heart. It felt like it would abscond from her body at any moment. Her heavy chest fell and rose in weighty breaths.

“That lord is quite wrong, you know,” Aegon whispered, his lips dangerously close to hers– they hadn’t kissed since the wedding ceremony, and even then it was a quick peck – his mouth quirked into a smug grin. “You aren’t a sunflower. You’re a sweet little rabbit. I quite like rabbit, you know. They’re delicious, succulent,” he paused, leaning forward and speaking against her lips, “Tender.”

It was unsure who closed the gap first, but their lips fused together into a ferocious kiss. They both tasted of a deep, rich wine. It was a fight of tongues and teeth, a battle where they both wished to devour one another– Lyanna’s hand tugged at his white curls, nails scraping against his scalp as he held her face in a vice-like grip, as if he was afraid she would dissipate from his clutches at any moment. His lips were soft, surprisingly, where she had expected them to be rough and chapped. His skin pressed against hers and the slight growing stubble upon his cheeks tickled her in kind, her lips perking into a smile as they kissed.

The once silent closet became a cacophony of small sighs and gasps from both the king and queen. Aegon’s free hand trailed to the small of Lyanna’s back, resting right in the divots above her bottom, his fingers splayed out in exploratory fashion. His repose was short lived, as he grabbed the fleshy globe of her arse, emitting a pleased hum of surprise. They parted for a moment to breathe, as it was wholly necessary– if they hadn’t needed to breathe, they wouldn’t have parted at all, reveling in one another’s taste for hours.

“I forbid you to cut my dress, Aegon,” she whispered in a playful warning, staring at him with a look that couldn’t be described as anything else other than fondness. “I refuse to go through these halls with my garment sliced to shreds.”

“But you love it, don’t you? You quite liked it last night.”

“Aegon.”

“Fine,” he acquiesced, his hand retreating from her face to unbuckle his belt. The light of the closet was dim, close to none– the soft flickering of the sconces outside of the corridor bleeding in through the cracked door. She couldn’t see what he was doing, really, but she heard the soft grunts coming from him as his fist slid against his length. Giving her ass a playful squeeze, he used his other hand to ruck up her skirts, the pad of his thumb swiping down her underclothes. “Lovely.” Aegon practically purred, hooking his finger and sliding the wet garb down her legs.

The air was cold against her bare sex, causing her to shiver. She chased the warmth of his body as he adjusted himself, parting from her closeness for just a moment, making her all but whimper.

They didn’t need words, despite their new trend of back and forth quips– and it was nice to not have to say anything. She let him take the lead, as he was more experienced than she. His legs were between hers, keeping them open as he glided his member between her folds, gathering the wet slick that had been ruminating since they came to the closet, then he slid into her. Lyanna stifled a gasp, the sensation still so unfamiliar– it wasn’t painful like before, as she was prepared for it now, but it was a feeling of stretching she wasn’t used to.

Aegon, in turn, huffed a moan into her neck, murmuring something in broken High Valyrian under his breath. He sheathed himself to the hilt inside of her, resting both hands on her hips, which had the perfect little clefts for handles, he noted. He didn’t move right away, savoring the warmth and tightness of her, squeezing around him like she was all but made for him.

“P-please,” she whispered, so quietly, into the shell of his ear.

He set a wonderfully slow pace, which only sped up with each kiss they shared, their tongues mingling and dancing to the soft sound of Aegon’s heavy stones smacking up against Lyanna’s core. Their cacophony became a full on symphony of wet, slapping noises, coupled with their borderline obscene sounding kissing as they moaned into one another’s mouths.

It felt like something of newness for both of them as Aegon’s thumb came up to circle at her clit– Lyanna was experiencing a fullness and indulgence in having her husband slotted in her so deliciously. Aegon was experiencing something akin to euphoria at the fact that he was fucking someone who wanted him, whom he did not pay, and was not doing so out of duty. He had been a bit hesitant on the latter at first, but there was no way in the Hells that she was faking such debaucherous, beautiful little moans. This was sensual ecstasy and closeness that they’d both never felt before in their lives.

Lyanna’s whining became more pronounced as Aegon’s attention on her clit came to fruition– she clenched around him like a vice, feeling a small dribble of wetness soak around his cock. This act alone brought Aegon to his own completion, the wetness of her slick now mingling with his seed as he spilled inside of her, deep enough to hopefully take root. He bit onto the lobe of her ear gently as he came, whimpering.

Lyanna quite liked that sound– of her husband whimpering into her ear as he emptied himself. It made her put both hands on each side of his face and kiss him again– but soft, like his little whimpers. It wasn’t something born of lust, but something completely different. Something that they both really couldn’t name yet.

Coming down from both of their highs, Aegon quickly situated himself back into his trousers– but not before reaching two fingers to his wife’s folds and pushing back in the seed that threatened to leak from her.

“Aegon,” she keened, dangerously close to overstimulation as he gave a cheeky flick to her wrought-over clit. “E-Enough– too much…”

“I couldn’t resist,” Aegon chuckled as he pulled her undergarments back up, snug once more against her. “I don’t suppose we are returning to dinner?”

“Gods– I don’t think I can. I am still reeking of wine and I won’t be able to look them all in the eyes when we come back looking as if the cat just ate the canary.”

“Or the dragon ate the rabbit?”

“... I am sure I can feign sickness just one time– what do you think? Mayhaps we should retire early tonight.” Lyanna flattened out her dress.

“... we?”

“Yes– we.”

“We as in… me and you? In the same room? Together?”

“That is what ‘we’ means, Aegon.”

“... I suppose I could be convinced.”

–

They did indeed retire early that night, but not before going for round two, then three. A thoroughly fucked out Lyanna rested in bed, her body riddled in hickies of Aegon’s doing, her fingers tangled in his hair. She was well and fast asleep, Aegon noted.

He loathed to untangle himself from her– she was so nice and warm and soft… but something inside of him nagged. Something broken and heinous tugged at his humanity, willing him to get out of bed and dress, donning his usual thick black cloak.

Off to the Silk Streets. To sate the broken parts of him and to quell the incessant nagging within his head.

Your fault, your fault.

#aegon ii targaryen #aegon ii targaryen fanfic #aegon ii targaryen fanfiction #aegon ii targaryen smut #aegon ii targaryen angst #aegon ii targaryen fluff #aegon ii x reader #aegon ii #aemond targaryen #hotd #house of the dragon #my writing #wine red tears gold

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soapskneebrace · 1 year

Text

to rival the sun

Pairing: Gaz x f!Reader Rating: Explicit Word Count: 3.4k Warnings: virginity loss, established relationship, praise kink (kind of), discussions of contraceptives, gratuitous use of italics, a metaphor perhaps stretched too thin, really just a lot of gooey sweetness, only one editing pass so be gentle Author’s Notes: Listen, I am not a Gaz girl, but this thing just came out of me.

Now on AO3!

You’re in the middle of making out on his couch when you tell him.

You’re straddled across his lap, arms hung loosely around his neck as his hands slide soft and soothing up and down your back. Something is burning low in your belly, something you’ve often felt but never shared with anyone else, and his mouth is warm and eager on yours.

“Can’t ever get enough of you, feels like,” he’d said to you, early in your relationship. He’d meant it as a joke, at the time, referring to the near three-solid days you’d spent together between deployment. You hadn’t even done that much—one or two outings to a cafe had only punctuated longer stretches given simply to sharing each other’s company. You’d still been getting familiar then, the both of you, still sharing kisses that were more shy than anything else.

Kyle is not shy now, and neither are you. His entire body is warm, and almost pliant beneath yours, but you can feel a kind of tightness that always seems to be there when the two of you get into these positions. It’s in his shoulders, pulled taut along the muscles of his trapezius, and as you tease his lower lip with your teeth you knead circles into the meat of it with the tips of your fingers.

The massage does the opposite of helping, though—he intakes a sharp breath, and pulls away from you, hands tight on your waist as he breaths hard. His eyes are closed, and the warm brown of his cheeks is made warmer by a tinge of red.

“Maybe we should slow down,” he says, sounding like that’s the opposite of what he wants to do. The grip he has on you seems to agree.

“If you want,” you say, but making the offer feels like pulling your own teeth. That low burn is beginning to spread, but insecurity suddenly threatens to poison it. Does he not want you?

It’s been a little like this throughout the span of your relationship. Even without any admissions, you know it’s pretty obvious that you don’t have much experience. And for the most part, his attention to the slow pace you set has been nothing but a relief—people could get weird about your needs, about what you hadn’t done, but Kyle makes you feel like the rhythm you set isn’t a strange one to dance to at all.

“Do you want to?” Kyle asks, opening his eyes to meet yours.

The insecurity dissolves. You can see it all over his face, in the crease of his brow—he doesn’t want to stop. He wants to keep you comfortable, even if he ends up unsatisfied. You feel like his expression is mirroring yours perfectly, painted stark and hot with aching want, and settling into that shared feeling is like sinking deep into a warm bath.

“No,” you whisper, hands moving to frame the sides of his neck.

He inhales again, less sharply. “Just say when, yeah?” he whispers back. The words are accompanied with a shift of his hips, a flutter of his hands on your waist.

“There isn’t a when,” you say, and then without thinking, “I want you to be my first, Gaz.”

He goes still. Blinks at you. “Oh.”

And instantly you regret opening your mouth. Your hands fall away, sliding down to his chest, curling into embarrassed fists. You look down. Of course it’s weird. Who was a virgin past eighteen these days? You know Kyle is experienced, unlike you—you’ve felt it every time he’s touched you, every time he’s slung an arm around you with the casual ease of someone who knew how to be with someone else. Shame and disappointment flood you, and that burn in your belly rapidly banks.

But his hands—broad, strong, and gentle—are on your face, bringing you back to him. “I would’ve thought—god, I mean, people must have thrown themselves at you!”

He’s smiling, wide and joyful, and it’s like seeing the sun rise. As quickly as it came, the embarrassment flees.

You smile too, the relief making you laugh, and refrain from correcting his generous assumption. “It just never felt right.”

He kisses you, swift and solid, but suddenly pulls away again, but you know this time it’s because he’s thought to say something. “And it feels right now?”

You nod, hands going back to his neck, lashes lowered a little demurely. “You feel right, Kyle.”

He surges forward again, lips finding the corner of your mouth and working toward your jaw. “Tell me the minute I do something you don’t like. Promise me, yeah? Promise.”

“I promise,” you gasp, as suddenly his teeth find the juncture of your neck and shoulder. You don’t think, in that moment as the burn suddenly roars back to life, that he could do a single thing to make keeping that promise necessary. “Kyle, that feels good.”

His lips part from your skin with a wet smack, move to give the hickey he’s just sucked into your skin a companion. “That’s the idea, love.”

Your hands find the expanse of his back as he presses you closer, fingers spreading over the flex and stretch of taut muscle, and you dig your nails in as a little moan leaves you. The tension you’d always felt is gone, and when you realize that it’s been there because he’s been holding back for you the entire time, your breath leaves your lungs.

“That feels good, too, love,” he says against your neck, smiling up at you when you look at him. “Always feels good when you touch me. Always. Didn’t want to scare you with that.”

You melt a little. “I’m never scared of you, Kyle.”

You don’t have the words to describe his expression. The smile has dropped away, but it’s been replaced with something you think borders on beatific. His eyes, warm and brown and soft, are seeing you against a backdrop of something else, something you know is bloody and ugly and a place of no pride. You don’t know the details—you don’t have the clearance—but you know enough.

You take his face in your hands as he pulls back. “Never,” you repeat.

His arms tighten around you like vices, and he leans forward again, kissing you hard. His tongue finds the edge of your teeth, licks into your mouth as his hands flex across your back and your fingers find the collar of his shirt. It feels illicit to delve beneath the flimsy cotton, to trace the shape of his muscles with your nails, but the purr of satisfaction he gives against your mouth tells you it’s exactly the right thing to do.

“Off,” you say between kisses, and the fabric complains as he yanks it up, pulls his arms and head out, and throws the thing away without a second look. You splay your hands across his chest, digging your nails into the swell of his muscles as he claims your mouth again, and his skin is blazing to touch. You think there’s a fire burning inside him, too, and in the back of your mind you wonder if his flat could burn down just from the two of you being together like this.

His arms sink lower around your body, traveling from waist to hips, and abruptly he’s pulling you forward, hands splayed across both ass cheeks, as he shifts his hips and settles back against the couch. The new position has your mons nestled against an interesting bulge at the front of his pants, but he doesn’t give you much time to blush or fluster about it.

“Ride me, love, I’ve got you,” he murmurs, the deep dark of his eyes alight with the firestorm whipping up between you.

You grasp his shoulders and lean in to seal your mouth over his again. His fingers dip under the hem of your shirt, hot on the already warm skin of your back. Encouraged, you pivot your hips a little, experimentally, and in synch the both of you groan at the sensation. His erection is almost perfectly aligned with the clothed seam of your pussy, the drag of it made simultaneously just perfect and not enough with the fabric’s friction. You grind down again, pressing your mouth harder against his, whimpering when his jaw opens and his tongue finds its way into the space beneath yours. He shifts his hips, pushing up into you a little, grabbing you by the ass again as you bear your clit down hard on what feels like it could be the head of his cock.

“Christ, love, that’s fucking perfect,” Kyle gasps, tendons in his neck pulled completely taut.

“Gaz, it feels so good,” you whine, pressing down harder, dragging against him, the need suddenly feverish.

His hands leave your shirt and wedge themselves into the back of your pants, eliciting a sharp gasp as he kneads the flesh. “This okay? You want these off?”

“Yes!” you exclaim. “Yes, Kyle, please.”

It’s a clumsy job, and they end up hanging from one ankle because you cannot be bothered to do more than get them out of the way. Somewhere in the back of your head you want to laugh at how slapdash the both of you must look—him shirtless but still in sweatpants, you naked only from the waist down—but the rest of your mind is an inferno. As you settle back onto his lap, there’s only his clothes separating you from him now, and when you press your mons against him again the heat coming from his cock is breathtaking.

“We need a condom?” Kyle asks, spreading his big hands across your thighs.

“I’m on the pill,” you murmur, grinning at his foresight, blessing your lucky stars that you’d thought to take precautions as early as the first time you’d made out with him.

“Fuck yeah,” he enthuses, grinning back. “Option’s always open though. If we need it.”

That has you kissing him again, burrowing your hips into his, swallowing the sharp moan he gives as his fingertips dig into the meat of your hips. You can almost imagine him throbbing against you—or is that your own pulse you feel, beating a rhythm between your folds? Heat floods your face at the thought, and a needy ache blooms quickly from your center.

You separate from him. “Kyle—touch me. Please?”

His hand goes to your sex like he’d been waiting for you to ask. Suddenly you’re fighting your own body, because your hips jerk away from him when his fingers slide through folds that you’re only now realizing are dripping wet. The pleasure is not dulled with fabric this time, not under the rhythm of your control, and it’s like flames are licking at your bare skin with the sensation of his touch. Every nerve is alive, alight with awareness.

“Sorry!” you gasp. “I didn’t do that on purpose.”

But he’s got a steady arm around you. His grin reappears, satisfied and almost smug. “That good, is it?” he teases, a lighter touch dragging again through the creases of you, curling his fingers into a sticky squelch that has you blushing furiously. “Shit, that is good.”

“Kyle,” you beg. “Please.”

He forms his mouth around your pulse, the tip of his middle finger circling your clit without actually making contact. “You want my fingers, love?” They brush around the borders of your entrance. “Want me to get you ready?”

“I can take you,” you say, bearing down, trapping his hand between your pussy and his cock. “I’ll tell you to stop if it’s too much. I promised, didn’t I?”

He sucks in a breath through clenched teeth, and searches your gaze. You don’t know what he sees, but his mouth finds yours again. “Jesus, darling. Fuck. You’re fucking perfect.”

He withdraws his hand, and scoots you back a little by the hips. You can’t help staring as he pulls his waistband down, showing a small dusting of curly pubic hair, and pulls his cock free with one hand. The burn almost peaks then and there, because the sight of it standing like that, rigid, the head of it smeared glossy with precum, is almost too much to take. He’s hard, hard because of you, hard because of what you’d been doing together.

Your trace your fingers along its length, almost lightheaded, before remembering that he’s been so good about staying at your pace. “Is this okay?” you ask, your touch lingering at the base. You want to show him the same consideration he’s shown you—want him to know how precious it has been by giving him the same.

His breath comes out unevenly, and he presses his forehead to yours—you think he understands. “Better than okay. Fuck.”

You stroke him again, lingering at the dip between shaft and corona, and your brows shoot up when his cock twitches in response. Your breath is suddenly shaky in your chest, shallow, and your throat feels dry when you finally speak. You hadn’t known that could happen. The implications have the blood roaring in your ears.

“How—” and you have to lick your lips, “—how do we do this?”

You look up at his face again, and his lips part in a smile that’s so tender it makes your heart hurt. “Come here.”

He helps you lift up on your knees, and you want to whimper at how easy it is for him to hold you steady with one hand while the other takes ahold of his cock. There is barely any space between the head of it and your folds. You swear you can feel the heat of it radiating out toward your skin, as if it’s stretching out to find you.

“Help me in, alright?” Kyle murmurs, hand tightening on your hip, the pressure comforting.

You grip his bare shoulder with one hand and reach down, finding your entrance—you’re familiar enough with that—and spreading your folds. As you lower yourself, trembling less than you might have without his support, you feel the head of his cock pass between the splay of your fingers, spreading them wider, and then your entrance surrounds him.

“Good,” Kyle breathes, “so good. You’re doing amazing.”

Lower. You feed him into yourself in centimeters, carefully, but it’s like you were made to take him—your body gives no resistance, the dripping slick you’re coated with welcoming him eagerly, hungrily. You toss your pace to the wind and push down, taking him to the root.

The moan that leaves you is long and loud as he hisses “Fuck!” in your ear. The hand that had been around his cock slaps against your ass, and you feel him go rigid beneath you, feel his shoulders go tight, feel his thighs flex beneath you as his grip on your body turns to iron. He’s hot and thick inside you, and deep, deeper than your fingers have ever been able to reach. You’re sure of it now—you can feel the his pulse in you, thrumming against your walls like the beat of a drum.

You find your breath somehow as the two of you sit motionless for a heartbeat.

Then he’s huffing a laugh. “Warn a guy next time, love! Shit, you feel incredible.”

You laugh too, and it’s followed by a gasp as you can feel yourself laughing around him. “Told you I could take you!” you pant.

He grins at you, showing his teeth, and nips at your jaw. “Fucking minx. Take the rest then, too, aye?”

You pivot your hips, already practiced from before, and give a cry as you finally register the stretch of your walls around him. It’s a good stretch, a burn that you’re sure is going to sear you from the inside. Your thighs are shaking a little, tight with a building pressure that threatens to combust, and Kyle gives a push upward with his hips.

“I got you,” he says, and his voice is low and breathy as he wraps both hands around your waist. “Go ahead. Take what you need. We’ll get you there.”

You pivot again, and pleasure radiates from your core from where your bodies are joined. You don’t need to think about it too much as you roll your hips, back and forth, falling forward to drape yourself across Kyle’s chest as you wrap your arms around his shoulders for leverage. One heavy arm loops around your back, and you’re squealing as his free hand is at your sex again, two fingers pressing into your clit as his hips rock, as ever, to match your rhythm.

Your breath is coming fast. The heat between your bodies is humid, heavy, settling slick across your skin as you move together. You rest your forehead on his shoulder, whimpering, panting, grinding your hips down as the muscles in your back and thighs pull tighter and tighter, as something in your core winds itself up with so much tension you wonder how far it can actually go. You’ve come before, with a vibrator, with your own hands, but it’s never been like this.

“Kyle,” you say, and it comes out as the neediest whine you have ever heard yourself make. “I’m so close, oh my god…”

“I can feel it,” he says, thrusting up into you with new momentum. “You’re almost there, love, it’s alright—shit, you feel good—come on, darling, come for me—Fuck!”

The tension snaps. Your breath escapes you in one sharp, long gasp, carrying a wordless cry out of your mouth, and then you can’t make any sound at all. Your orgasm floods your whole body, fireworks of ecstasy lighting up across your nerves in a sweeping crescendo, bursting to life behind your closed eyes, dancing for moments before winking out to make room for more. For one, singular moment, you feel every nerve ending beneath your skin blaze with pleasure, and wonder if this was how stars came to life.

You finally cry out, panting hard against Kyle’s skin, when you regain the use of your voice. He’s pistoning into you from below, and you only have a little time to gather yourself to watch his face before his hips shove up into yours, almost lifting the both of you completely off the couch, as he comes with a strained growl.

The expression he’s making is indescribable. Everything you’d felt in that climax, you see playing out in the draw of his brows, in the hang of his jaw. Had he looked like that the whole time? You experience an unexpected moment of disappointment, as the pleasure ebbs. You’d been very focused on you. You’d missed what was happening to him.

You’re both breathing hard. You tighten your arms around him, stricken suddenly with that old shyness, when he starts to pepper your neck with soft little kisses, and that eases the disappointment. You come back to yourself, to the both of you, as his hands are traveling across your back, splayed wide, stroking the sweaty fabric of your shirt. His body is still warm beneath you—still warm inside you—and for now, it’s enough.

“That was incredible,” Kyle says into your skin, “Christ, that was perfect. You were perfect.”

You take a deep, shuddering breath. “So were you,” you say, soft and a little tender. He turns his head to look at you, still resting against his shoulder. You realize you’re smiling, when he smiles back—and you lift your head to press your brow to his. “Thank you,” you whisper.

His lips find yours, soft and sweet. You know he understands.

You’re both sticky, glistening with sweat, and a little dizzy from the climax. This isn’t so unfamiliar a feeling—you and Kyle were known to exercise together—but when the two of you finally break apart, as he slips out of your body, you discover two things.

One, you feel horribly empty without him inside you. Your belly is still thrumming, and you realize that low burn has not gone out.

And two, Kyle is nowhere near flaccid. It isn’t the rigid mast it had been earlier, but like you, Kyle isn’t quite sated.

He sees you studying him, still on the couch after you’ve stood up, and smiles at you. You know what he’s about to say even before he says it.

“Told you I can’t get enough of you.”

You give a breathless laugh. Because now, you’re very interested in going at his pace instead.

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acotrash · 1 year

Text

Gold Rush

Azriel head canons inspired by Gold Rush by Taylor Swift

Azriel hated taking you to Rita's. He hated taking you anywhere for that matter- not that he was ashamed of you, no he'd never be ashamed of you. It was how every single male looked at you and then at him. Wondering how the Shadowsinger, the feared Spymaster of the Night Court got you as a mate.

The bond had snapped in place years ago, but it still felt new to Azriel. His heart still stopped a little whenever you flashed him a smile meant just for him, or the when your hand would lightly brush his arm when you walked past. He would do anything for you, he promised you as much that day when the bond snapped in place.

That promise is the exact reason why when you throw your arms around his neck, your face flushed and your breath smelling like the good wine Rhys keeps hidden from the rest of the Inner Circle and asks him to come along to Rita's to dance with you he immediately says yes before thinking and a smile as wide as your own spreads across his face, a smile he can't hold back, a crack in his usually cool demeanor that only you can crack

Azriel leans against the wall of the bedroom, watching you scramble to get ready to go dancing, at some point Mor floats in with another glass of wine for you and one for Azriel. He takes it from Mor, mostly to keep his hands occupied so they don't rip the navy blue velvet dress from your curves. He heard Rhys and Feyre return back from wherever their duties had taken them for the day, Rhys complaining that at this rate, he'll never have any good wine. Feyre joins in with you and Mor to get ready, the three of you trading heels and accessories and Mor trying to steal one of Feyre's dresses which Rhys immediately stops. Azriel finds comfort when you look over your shoulder, your hair held back by one of Mor's combs and smile with your pretty, red lips.

You held his hand tightly, you always hold his hand tight, he loves it when you do that.

All of you minus Amren walk to Rita's and you bump your hips into Azriel's as you walk along before he's tucking you into his side. Azriel presses a kiss to the side of your temple as you snicker at some story Cassian is telling but you quickly turn your attention to Azriel instead. "What was that for?" Azriel just shrugs "I need a reason to kiss my mate now?" You slightly blush as you shake your head "never"

When your group arrives at Rita's Azriel watches you, Mor and Feyre make a beeline to the dance floor, you sandwiched between Mor and Feyre. The three of you dance, your arms around each others shoulders spinning around. Azriel stands back with his two brothers, Cassian passing him a beer. He shoots any male a hard glare that so much as looks at you.

You never notice the attention though, your attention always on the Shadowsinger and not before long, your pouting and walking over "won't you dance with me?"

He always says yes, he'll always dance with you

He lets you lead him to the dance floor, his hands firmly on your hips, moving you to the beat

His favorite though is towards the end of the night, when a slower song is thrown into the mix, his head bent down to press against your forehead

You lean up grumbling about how. unfair it is that he's so damn tall, he huffs out a soft laugh that fans across your face as he mumbles that it's so unfair you're so damn short. You just playfully pinch his arm in answer as he sways the two of you.

He always offers to fly you back home since you've been complaining about the heels hurting your feet since you arrived at Rita's. You never learn. As much as you love flying, especially at night you always decline when he asks to fly you home in favor of walking through the city. It's just the two of you as you walk home, your friends having gone home or somewhere else. It's your favorite part of your night out and his too. He gets you all to himself.

You do let him scoop you up once you get closer to the apartment you have for nights when you don't want to be up at the House. He carries you inside, taking you to the bedroom, your eyelids heavy as you softly murmur a thank you for the night out.

Azriel presses a kiss to your temple, murmuring softly against your hair that he'll always take you out whenever you want, you just nuzzle your face closer into his neck in answer.

#acotar headcanon #acotar #a court of thorns and roses headcanon #a court of thorns and roses #a court of thorns and roses x taylor swift #azriel headcanons #azriel fluff #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel

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littlewriterfullofwords · 4 months

Text

Merry Christmas

Parring: Dr. Spencer Reid x gn!reader

Summary: You throw some Christmas party at your house where you show the BAU team your traditiona

Warnings: fluff

A/N: Hi! So, I'm currently in the 2nd season of CM, so there aren't more characters or anything, I'm new to the series, kinda, so please forgive. Second, the traditions in the ff are my country's traditions. Feel free to share yours in the comments!

"Merry Christmas!" Penelope opened her arms to hug you at the doorframe, big smile decorating her beautiful face. "Thank you for the invitation, sweetheart."

"I'm glad you came." You moved a bit to the side to let your coworker come in. "Make yourself at home, Pen."

"Sure will do." She winked at you and started to walk around your house, from time to time she was making nice comments about the decor.

The next person to come was Spencer. In a red sweater, Mr. "I know it all" greeted you with little, and cute, hand waving, his iconic move.

And after him, the others came in, in the order: Jason, Emily with JJ, Aaron and Derek.

"Your Christmas is a lot different than ours." Started Emily when you put another fish on the table.

"Yeah. Only 12 dishes? You have to try everything? That's insane." Murmured Derek with a glass of dried-fruit juice. "Where did you all get that from?"

"The Bible." Before you could answer, Spencer was faster. "You know, according to the Bible, there were 12 apostles so Catholic countries put 12 dishes on the Christmas table. They also leave an empty seat for an unannounced guest or, more spiritual, for those that had died."

"Yeah." You nodded with a smile. "That's right. Just the tradition, nothing more."

"Tradition is good." Whispered Gideon. "Tells a lot about the person."

"Once again, thank you for having us." Hotchner interrupted the info dump. "It might be a new experience for us, but that's life, right? We learning."

"Oh, stop. You making my angel blush!" Garcia petted your back in a soothing manner but with a smile on her face.

You were glad they came. Hey, they were family and Christmas is family time. You needed them now due to your family being all dead.

After dinner, came the present time! Everyone gathered in the living room and Derek, with a red Santa's hat, started to dispense the presents. Of course, he had to add something funny before giving it to the final owner, which has been making everyone laugh.

The atmosphere was amazing. It felt family-like and you didn't want it to go away any moment soon.

"It's party time!" Said Morgan, and with Emily by his side, they opened champagne and other alcoholic drinks they had brought.

Immediately , it reminded you of New Year Eve and the party your friends had always thrown. There was always lots of alcohol, music, dancing and many more.

"Let's go!" JJ grabbed your wrist and pulled into the dancing circle, you had no other choice but to join them, and you did.

Saying you weren't having the best time of your life would be a lie. You were so happy with those people, you were ready to call the your fucking family, and in your head you were. You loved each of them in your own way, and you hoped they noticed that. Well, they were profilers, they sure did.

The clock on the wall was showing 3:15am, with its quiet ticking interrupting the quiet carols. You turned off the tap in the kitchen and dried your hands. Everyone was asleep, either on the couch, armchairs or floor while you had been washing the dishes and cleaning after the party.

As quiet as possible, you came back to the living room with blankets and covered everyone with one, you didn't want them to catch a cold.

"Happy Christmas." You whispered with a shy smile before you started walking to the stairs.

"Happy Christmas, Y/N." The quiet voice of Reid's made you stop in the half way and smile again before you looked his way.

"I thought you were sleeping. Sorry if I woke you up."

"You didn't, don't worry." He shook his head with his innocent smile you liked so much.

"Would you like to join me for a movie?" You hesitated some time before asking that, it was your little secret.

"Sure." Spencer lifted himself from the armchair and came up to you, then followed you upstairs.

You had this thing, you needed to watch your favourite movie after Christmas Eve to fall asleep. It was hard to explain why only this time of year but you didn't complain. You loved the movie, so it was a pleasure.

"If you don't mind, we will watch 'The Nightmare before Christmas'." You said when you finally reached your room and turned on the TV.

"Whatever you want. I'm fine with that." Spencer sat next to you, on the floor by the bed and placed his head on his knees. "Did you know that Tim Burton only produced the movie, not directed it?"

"I read it somewhere. But thank you for reminding me that." A little smile appeared on your lips before you clicked 'play' and the movie began.

Only a few minutes of the movie passed and in the corner of your eye you saw Spencer rock back and forth.

"You know you can say that, right?" You whispered with your head turned his way and a smile. "That's okay. Go on."

"Did you know that Danny Elfman only voices Jack's singing, not his spoken voice?" With your permission, Reid lets out his kept breath, what made you chuckle, and he started to talk. "He also voices two other characters, Barrel and the Clown."

"Really? That's so amazing." You whispered. "It's good to have you by my side."

"Oh, that's... nothing big." Spencer scratched the back of his head in a shy manner.

You moved on with the movie, with Reid giving you some fun facts about it. And even though you knew all that, you'd been a fan since day one, you've been listening carefully like if you didn't know them. You loved listening to Spencer, you loved his knowledge and how passionately he was sharing it. You loved... Spencer. You liked it or not, you were in love with him and his knowledge.

Unluckily, the movie ended, so did your time with Reid.

"Thank you for your company." You said and turned the TV off. "And thank you for coming...to the party. I had the best time."

"We should be thankful." Chuckled Spencer. "You taught us a lot. We now understand more."

"Don't tell me you don't profile each other on a daily basis?" You joked.

"We do....At least I do. Especially Hotch." Reid looked at the open door as if Aaron was about to come in. "He's the easiest to read."

"True." You both laughed but immediately hushed it because you remembered about sleepyheads downstairs. "Especially his mood."

Your coworker smiled and nodded his head as an agreement.

You both were going along very well, even too well sometimes, from Emily's point of view (good meaning). She really often has been telling you, that you and Spenc were acting like siblings.

"If you want, you can stay here." You offered when Reid started to get up from the ground, you didn't think what were you saying.

"I-...A-... I'll go downstairs. I have my stuff there." He looked hesitant and a bit embarrassed, especially his eyes were hesitant.

"Sure." You nodded and watched him leave the room. "Spenc."

Seconds after him leaving, you called after him and ran up to him.

"Yeah?" Asked Reid with confusion.

"Merry Christmas." Shy kiss was planted on Spencer's cheek before you turned around and disappeared behind the door to your room.

"Me-....merry Christmas." Whispered the man while touching the place your lips touched.

#ff writer #ff #spotify #criminal minds #criminal minds ff #criminalminds #spencer reid #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds x reader

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writefightandflightclub · 10 months

Text

Say my name: (Santiago “Pope” Garcia x reader)

Blorbo thought of the day #4

A/n: pwp but with feelings (a dash of fluff and a dash of angst). Blurb. Few hundred words - and I think it turned out pretty well (or maybe I’m just hor-nee 😇😈🤣).

Minors interacting will be blocked. NSFW, 18+ only

GIF by clonecaptains

Santiago is buried in you, holding you still on his rigid cock, strong hands pinning your hips as you moan in frustration that he won’t let you move.

“Can’t behave, mhmm?” He asks breathily as you whine for more friction, a smug lopsided smile with the breath punched out of it inching across his pretty mouth. He bucks his hips up, up, up, in search of the limit deep inside you, the head of his cock pushing against a part of you which is deep enough that it almost feels unpleasant. Almost.

“Santiago,” you plead, voice cracked open by want.

His head is thrown back on the pillow and, even in your state of undone desperation, you feel a dull sense of satisfaction that you’re getting to him, eroding his firm, unerring control. His teeth tug over his taut lips, his curls splaying out as his head writhes back into the pillow. His jaw tips up as he submits a harsh grunt into the air, all for you.

He wants to move too. Needs to.

“Santiago,” you purr, from deeper in your chest this time, more brazen, husky, all frayed edges, knowing how he so loves to hear his name spill so desperately from the lips he so recently plumped with his full, veined cock. From the mouth he’s just been buried in.

His hands claw into the meat of your hips and he struggles for purchase against your sweat-slicked body, which only causes his grip to tighten, divots carved into the forgiving swell of you by his fingertips.

His eyes dance over you, as a low keen cracks in his throat, and you know he wants more.

Only ever more, from you.

He pulls you down on him, still pinning you here and you can’t move, don’t have the will to, your body half boneless already. You can’t rise on your knees but you do cant your hips; ever so slightly, as much as you can, gliding them in a circle so that your walls massage the flushed, throbbing head of his cock where it’s buried all the way in you.

“Fuck. Jesus. Christ.”

His punched-out expletives and praise are like music to you, and so you do it again. The slow drag and tight hug of you making his breath billow in gusts past the circle of his plush lips.

You do it again, and his fingers are giving up, grip slack, his eyes rolling back in his head. Eyes fluttering closed now, until you have him on the brink of losing control…

And that’s it.

That’s when he snaps; because he moves to take it back.

He snaps his hips up brutally, with renewed vigour. Thrusting up into you until the force of it is knocking you forward on to your arms, palms planting either side of his head. Fucks into you, until you’re hinging at the hips, your chest pressed up against him. Skin sticky and salty and slick - with a dash of cool metal slipped between you; but it’s nowhere near as wet as the flood between your legs. The flood of wet as Santi pistons in and out of you, planting his feet to the mattress and folding his knees skyward to better push himself into you, giving you everything.

Your clit grinding roughly against him - against the soft swell of his tummy there and the coarse thatch of hair and fuck-

Oh God.

You’re going…

You need to…

Your head lolls forward, arms folding around his head, fingertips grazing the ribbons of his soft curls and the prickle of his undercut. Your ragged, discombobulated breath settling haphazardly against the column of his throat and his cock fucking into you until you’re practically limp on top of him. As though he is the only thing giving you shape.

You’re right on the edge.

Of yourself.

Of him.

Of everything.

So close to the edge where he’s kept you for so long because he loves to make you need him. Gets off on you needing him so badly, because he’s so afraid. Afraid one day you won’t- need him - and it makes you want to hold him tighter than he’s ever been held and your cunt clenches down on him as though chasing that sentiment on your behalf.

He stutters. Stutters broken syllables and he stutters his hips clumsily up into you as you take him to his own edge.

You hold him. Bury your moans in the apex of his shoulder, sucking on the sweet, salted skin there, marking him with meadows of purple bloom like the flushed head of him which drags against your sweet spot.

And then.

Then his voice is burying itself in the shell of your ear as deep as he’s buried in your heat. In your heart. “Give me what I need, Princesa.”

You will.

You will give him what he needs. Always.

You shove your tongue over his. Still hungry. Always needing more. Always more when it comes to him. You lick the exertion from his lips. The taste of your own arousal. You feel the wetness and the warmth and the graze of his stubble and this divine, building pressure within you.

You would give him anything; and, gladly, you will give him this.

Your pleasure spills over for him - and then, he is spilling into you. Spilling into you as you speak his name whisper soft against his cheek like it is a prayer on a delicate leaf of paper. Dance your fingers over him like he’s your rosary. Confess yourself to him in moans and breath until he’s shaking. His whole body trembling. Fucking himself up into you to fill you, until you’re so full that it’s spilling out around him. Crawling down your thighs, his balls. All slick and full and sated.

“Santiago,” you suspire weakly but full of feeling, in total disbelief as your body continues to convulse with aftershocks. Tasting him like the lingering flood of sweet, full fruit over your tongue.

“Fuck,” he growls, scraping you with his sandpaper jaw as his smooth, supple tongue urgently seeks out yours. “I love it when you say my name.”

He kisses your smile, and he softens inside of you.

So soft.

So afraid to lose control.

So desperate to be needed.

Santiago.

Well. You’ll be desperate for him anytime.

Will always need him.

You’ll even say his name like it’s a prayer, reciting it over and over, until it is indistinguishable from breathing. Until you need him just as badly.

You do.

You have.

He shifts you, gently, slowly - scooping you up and cradling you against his smooth, warm chest as he sighs out every scrap of tension. As he lets himself feel safe with you - and, for him, that is no small thing at all.

And, as he brings your hand up to his lips and he kisses every knuckle in turn, your quickened heartbeat even drums his name.

His name is a prayer, every damn time you say it.

A prayer that he never gets sick of hearing it sound out from your lips; for, after all, you know. Know how afraid he is of no longer being needed.

He is afraid enough of it that he could even run while you still do; need him.

Need him like he’s air.

You have.

You do.

You already do.

And so, maybe, even as he holds you like all of his prayers have been answered…

… it is you who is most afraid of all.

#santiago pope garcia x reader #santiago garcia #triple frontier

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pearlesscentt · 1 year

Text

home

jaehyun x reader, 773 words, fluff

nights like this, you want nothing more than to forget about the day you’ve had and sleep peacefully in the comfort of your boyfriend’s arms. however, nothing has been on your side at all lately. so there you were in the living room, the fleece blanket draped on the backrest of the sofa was soft against your cheek as you stared through the window.

scenes from earlier that day played in your head as you continued to watch the city ahead: from the alarm that didn’t ring, your phone that was only halfway charged because it got unplugged the night before, the coffee you spilled on your supervisor’s shirt then the fear of losing your job tomorrow shortly followed, your forgotten umbrella when it rained, the team dinner that you were forced to attend ending a little too late, and the long, exhausting bus ride home.

it was 2:37 am, and the sparkle that filled the cityscape from hours ago was long gone. You were watching an unremarkable view with nothing but grey and fluorescent lights. with a sigh, you scanned the room around you.

the record player perched on the ikea side table caught your attention, it still had the roberta flack and donny hathaway record on it. it was from a couple of nights ago when you and your boyfriend, jaehyun, were dancing and giggling to it as the both of you were preparing dinner, you smiled at the memory. then you remembered the weekend the both of you moved in: him calling out to you from the kitchen to show you a sloppy ‘i love you’ written on the cupboard with a paintbrush before covering it with sage green paint, and you, replying with an even sloppier heart on the living room wall that was soon covered in eggshell white.

an overwhelming feeling filled up your chest and the heaviness on your shoulders weighed down on you. there was the restlessness from the day but it was being overcome with a sense of relief that you get to be in a place like this, so you let the tears in your eyes well up. this sight will never get old and you will always love coming home to every little thing in here, no matter how long of a day you’ve had.

you were unsure of how long you’d been sitting there when the creak of the bedroom door distracted you from your thoughts, it was followed by soft footsteps. you bit your bottom lip to suppress a sniffle and quickly wiped your cheeks with icy hands.

"i'm sorry, did i wake you?" you croaked.

"just got cold," he mumbled.

"come here." you reach your arm out to him as he took a seat on the spot next to you. his chestnut hair was so disheveled that it resembled a bird's nest and you couldn't help but smile at the sight of it. "i'm sorry for waking you up."

he pulled you into him with a gentle tug. "there's nothing to apologize for," he whispered against your hair.

the knots of tension on your shoulders started to unravel as jaehyun started to trace circles on your skin, so you closed your eyes and let yourself get engulfed in the warmth of his arms. all the worries and pent-up exhaustion melted away with every beat of his heart that you could hear and feel underneath you. it was soft and steady. it meant comfort and assurance.

you wanted to apologize again for everything — for not being able to sleep, for waking him up, for making him feel cold, for the flood of tears, for this sight that you never intended for him to see — but he just held you. his touch unwavering and certain, telling you that it's okay, that he's there with you, that there's no need to hide because you're home.

jaehyun is the familiarity of the song humming from the record player sitting atop the side table he spent all afternoon trying to build. he is the serenity of the sage green kitchen cabinets and the lightness of the eggshell white paint on the walls. he is the fleece blanket haphazardly thrown on the sofa, always there within arm’s reach ready to keep you warm. you weren't sure how he did it; how he managed to take the forms of all the things that remind you of home.

but there you were at that moment, with all the exhaustion of your previous days and the uncertainties of days to come, irrevocably and undeniably sure of one thing — that if home was a person, it would be him.

nct masterlist | navigation ── reblogs and feedbacks are highly appreciated !

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fallingintoyourlilaceyes · 6 months

Text

"Hope"- Once in a lifetime chance (Midsommar AU) Chapter 3

part 3 of 4 || series masterlist || previous part || next part

pairing: modern!Aemond Targaryen x Reader

summary: More and more questions get thrown up in your mind and then all of them become unimportant as you catch Aemond doing something you never thought he would do. Leading into the last ceremony.

word count: 1.7k

warnings: mentions of character death, drugging, cheating, weird sex ritual, manipulation, people disappearing, mentions of an unhealty relationship, afab reader

series taglist: @moonlightazriel, @daenerysqueenofhearts, @bellaisasleep

general HotD taglist: @urmomsgirlfriend1

(As always, if you want to be tagged in this mini-series or any other character/Series/general fandom taglist, send a comment, ask or DM my way.❤️)

Jace´s vanishing worries you much more than Aegon´s originally does. More and more questions popping into your head and going completely unanswered by Cregan and any of the other commune members. Even Aemond doesn´t seem to be alarmed by what has been happening around him. Whatever it was. He becomes more and more distant, mostly due to the fact that he had decided to write his own thesis on the same topic as Jace did, but in general as well. It just didn´t make any sense. As much of an asshole as he was at times, Aegon would never just ditch you. Neither would Jce. Where was Jace heading after he had given you the sleeping pill? And why did he look so secretive about it? What reason would Aron and Coryanne have to leave separately?

Ever since you had met them, you had never seen them without their significant other. Yet again the young women around you do their best to deviate your attention. Language barrier aside the make a point to include you in as many tasks and activities as they can. When you are not with them or sleeping Cregan makes a point to search you out. Talking and in a way connecting.

Still, at night you wish you could tell your friend about all of this craziness or you could just be home with your family again. Especially when the newborn from one of the girls keeps you up all night with its screaming and crying. You know it can´t help it, it´s still a baby after all, but that doesn´t make you sleep any better or faster.

One afternoon after preparing food with some of the other women, one of them leads you to the next ceremony. A big maypole stands in the middle of the meadow you are lead, to, but right when you want to approach it, the woman giggles and pulls you in a different direction. The two of you are being handed some sort of drink with what you think are flower petals in it.

“What is this?” Your curious question is only met by more giggles.

“It is for the ceremony. It will help you.” You look over to Aemond for reassurance that this would be fine, to find him already drinking a separate tea. Figuring that they wouldn´t give you anything truly dangerous you down the tea in one go and hand the empty glass away. All the women around your age line up around the maypole in two large circles, listening to the history given by the elder that has lead all the other ceremonies.

All of a sudden, you get pulled into one direction as the dancing competition begins. In the beginning the pulling around is the only sense of direction you get. Your heart beats out of your chest and you laugh along with the others, that one after the other fall to the ground from exhaustion. Your own breath speeds up until you fear your lungs will collapse in on themselves. Yet still something drives you to keep going regardless. The girl to your left says something to you.

“I don´t understand you. I can´t speak your language.” You force out between chuckles, but the next turn in the dance however comes natural to you and so does what she says when she repeats herself.

You gasp, never stopping to move. “I understand you!”

“Yes, you understand me!” She says back equally excited.

“I do.”

“It´s the dance!” she laughs and you agree with her.

Looking around there aren´t many more women left dancing. Only a handful still stand, the others all sitting to the side watching and clapping along.

Before long, it´s only the two of you and then there is only you. All of a sudden your body stops moving, unlike the world around you, which still spins with no end in sight. Your breath only slowly calms, unlike your heart, as you let out an unbelieving chuckle at your victory.

“We have a new May queen!” The elder proclaims.

And before your world has the chance to stop spinning, you get surrounded by women. One putting a flower crown on your head, while two others put a short cape made of flowers over your shoulders. You get hoisted up to stand upon a shield, carried by Cregan and another man whose name you don´t know. They carry you all the way up to the large table at which every meal is consumed. Where another speech is held. Your eyes only rest on Aemond, who seems nothing short of disoriented and even more out of place than before. You have a bad feeling about him, so when he leaves the table right after a red haired woman does you follow behind him. All the bad thoughts swirling in your gut. Yet still what you become privy to is a thousand times worse.

You tiptoe into the darkened hut close after him, careful not to be seen. Peeping through the door gap, you witness the older female members stand undressed in a half circle around that same red headed girl, that now lies with her legs wide spread towards the entrance. On top of her? Aemond, rutting inside of her like an animal. The sounds their bodies produce make the bile rise in your throat and tears prick at your eyes. The whole thing is just sick. The woman around the two in the middle mimic the moans that sound through the room. Your breathing grows labored, uncontrolled once more.

You press a hand over your mouth as to not give yourself away through your sobs. As if controlled by themselves, your legs carry you out of the cabin. You don´t know where to go in this still so strange place and the tears don´t let themselves hide forever. In the end you break down somewhere. Falling to your knees with no strength left to your body. The sight from that cabin has burnt itself into your brain and it hurts. It hurts so bad.

As you kneel there on the ground, you begin to feel sick so close to throwing up like you haven´t been in a while. A sheen of sweat covers your trembling body, as your lungs gasp for air through the tears. The dizziness that follows you down even more, bending you at the waist, when you feel a sset of hands lay themselves on your cheeks. Looking up, you see the women from earlier kneel down all around you. This time around however their faces are grimaces of sorrow. Corners of the mouth pulled down and eyebrows knitted together as they mimic your cries. While all this happens, across the settlement a naked and scared Aemond steps out of the cabin. Approached by two men , but before he can run, they strike him down.

When he gains back his conscience, he is unable to move. Sitting in a wheel chair, in front of the community and you.

Their eyes look up at you, but your eyes only rest on Cregan. Unable to even look at Aemond anymore, while a man starts to lead into the last ceremony.

“Today, on the day of our deity of reciprocity, we have gathered to give thanks to our treasured sun. As a gift to our father, we will give him nine lives today. As he takes, so he gives. For every new blood sacrificed, we give one of our own. Four times new blood. Four of our own and one chosen by the queen. They will die and be reborn in the great cycle. You will come into harmony with everything today.” Suddenly the disappearings make sense, but you can´t bring yourself to care anymore. Feeling numb to most of the things being said. He takes a pause to look at every single person surrounding you. Then his eyes land on Cregan, who wears a sort of crown made out of greenery.

“And you Cregan, who brought us new blood and a new queen, will be honored today for your unalloyed sense. Now, for our ninth offering. It is tradition that our beautiful queen chooses between a given new blood and a randomly chosen member of our community.”

The man goes over to something, that looks like one of those devices used to pull numbers for bingo games.

The man whose name gets called out steps in front of you. And then Aemond gets turned to you as well, to see an even bigger flower crown on your head and a cape that buried your whole body in them. It weighs you down quite a bit as you are sat on a throne on a small elevation before the rest of the people.

“These are the candidates for the ninth and final offering. We patiently await your verdict.” The elder turns to you once more.

With all the eyes on you now, you dare to look at Aemond for the first time since the incident, slowly. Unshed tears burning in your eyes and pulling the corners of your mouth down. No one says anything, and no one needs to. They know who you have chosen. He knows that you have just sealed his fate. You know it, but it is hard to feel regret over the decision.

From afar you watch the corpses of Aegon, Jace, Aron and Coryanne get put into the yellow hut that you had last seen at your arrival, next are the corpses of the elders from the first ceremony. As well as Sarah and a commune member you think is called Rickard. You saw him talk to Jace once. The last one is Aemond. Who got stuffed into the body of the bear Aegon made a comment about on your first day. When everyone is inside the wooden temple it is set alight. Once more you hear the entire commune mimic the screams and sounds of pain of the sacrifices. And as horrifying as it sounds, it is a beautiful sight to see the flames consume the wood and everything sheltered beneath it.

Turning your heavy sobs into a smile. For some reason you felt free, for the first time in a while.

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